The airwaves are always filled with news of tragedy and death. Lately, though, it seems that the news is more awful that we can bear. All week it has been the VPI shootings and the video clips of the shooter, tearful biographies of the victims, recaps of other mass killings, and on and on.
Most of us (who have time to listen during the day) were probably releived to hear the radio talk shows changing the subject, to replay celebrity asshole Alec Baldwin's child abusing rant to his 11 (or is it 12?)- year-old daughter who did not take his scheduled call. Everyone jumped on the bandwagon to condemn Baldwin's obviously poor parenting skills. A judge even issued a restraining order based on the content of the phone message.
The fact that a private phone message was leaked for the world to hear - and ridicule - is not nearly as amusing as it seems at first. The backstory is tragic and disheartening. A story of beautiful people who are rich and stupid. People who willingly create fodder for the papparazzi press and who squander the public good will by selfish and nasty acts.
I tried switching to BBC news which does not sensationalize the headlines. World war three would be reported dryly and in depth, then the news would turn to a dispute about the space width between painted lines in a Kensington car park with equal drama and thoroughness.
Even better, I've also been switching to the AM station that used to host Al Franken's Air America network. (Despite the constant assertions by political conservatives that the media is dominated by leftist commies, it was the only liberal talk station in the Boston area.
For some reason, people who listen to talk radio would rather listen to fascist neocons than to treehugging global warming alarmists. Personally, I think anyone who isn't suspicious of both parties, and who finds themselves polarized to the point where they are convinced that the (uninformed) other side is ruining the country, is totally full of shit. Air America was deeply flawed; it passed up the opportunity to argue a rational case in favor of progressive ideas, and instead devoted itself to mocking the players on the other (conservative) side. There was plenty of material, to be sure, but good, fresh and funny is hard to do, day in and day out. Stale humor is worse than watching weather forecasts for Nebraska.
Anyhow the Al Franken network is defunct - at least in Boston. Now that station plays Latino music most of the day, and the ads and news are mostly in Spanish, so I cannot understand anything they say.
Come to think of it, listening to salsa music and incomprehensible spoken word is a huge improvement over hearing the constant namecalling and snide innuendo of political talk radio.
4/22/2007
4/21/2007
More Evidence
Today it is a balmy 70 degrees. The sun is bright and the sky is fair weather blue. I feel the need to get out into the garden and start raking, but recent events compel me to take notice of further evidence of the benefits of procrastination.
Napoleon (1) used to say, "It is an ill wind that blows nobody good." And the big Nor'easter storm that blew into New England last Monday, dumped half a foot of rain in some places, knocked down power lines, and created a storm surge that remanded 3 Nantucket beachfront homes to Davy Jones' locker. It was the same storm that had wended its way across America from the western plains, through Illinois, and into the Atlantic belt. Untold thousands were stranded in airports around the country. Thousands more had to leave their threatened homes and places of work. All in all, maybe a million people would say that the storm caused them to not have a nice day.
So, you are asking, where is the good news? Well, for those people who did not get their taxes done last Tuesday, the Mass Dept of Revenue and the IRS announced an extension for taxpayers who were affected by the storm. The extension was noted to be specifically for those who lost power or suffered a loss which would have legitimately prevented them from filing their returns at the last moment.
In typical bureaucratic toothlessness, Revenue officials stated that they would not require any proof of hardship from those claiming the extension. Thus, virtually anyone who did not get their taxes done by the deadline had a free no-fault bonus of 3-5 days. This regardless of the fact that they may have been toast warm, dry and fully powered.
It just showed that those of us Last-minute-tax-filers who complied with the rules (I took my returns to the Post office just after lunch on Tuesday - in the drenching rain!) missed an opportunity to put it off for up to another 5 days. As Napoleon often said, "The worst waste of time is to needlessly comply with a meaningless deadline."
(1) Fritz Napoleon - A homeless man who begs for spare change on a corner near the cafe where I often go for bagels and coffee. He was a former contestant on a TV reality show called "Trading hos, " which featured pimps from different 'hoods and the often hilarious entanglements when a righteous Dude is thrust into different locale and finds himself representing an unfamiliar stable of working ladies. The show was cancelled after the first week and replaced by the mesmerizing Anna Nicole Smith documentary.
Napoleon (1) used to say, "It is an ill wind that blows nobody good." And the big Nor'easter storm that blew into New England last Monday, dumped half a foot of rain in some places, knocked down power lines, and created a storm surge that remanded 3 Nantucket beachfront homes to Davy Jones' locker. It was the same storm that had wended its way across America from the western plains, through Illinois, and into the Atlantic belt. Untold thousands were stranded in airports around the country. Thousands more had to leave their threatened homes and places of work. All in all, maybe a million people would say that the storm caused them to not have a nice day.
So, you are asking, where is the good news? Well, for those people who did not get their taxes done last Tuesday, the Mass Dept of Revenue and the IRS announced an extension for taxpayers who were affected by the storm. The extension was noted to be specifically for those who lost power or suffered a loss which would have legitimately prevented them from filing their returns at the last moment.
In typical bureaucratic toothlessness, Revenue officials stated that they would not require any proof of hardship from those claiming the extension. Thus, virtually anyone who did not get their taxes done by the deadline had a free no-fault bonus of 3-5 days. This regardless of the fact that they may have been toast warm, dry and fully powered.
It just showed that those of us Last-minute-tax-filers who complied with the rules (I took my returns to the Post office just after lunch on Tuesday - in the drenching rain!) missed an opportunity to put it off for up to another 5 days. As Napoleon often said, "The worst waste of time is to needlessly comply with a meaningless deadline."
(1) Fritz Napoleon - A homeless man who begs for spare change on a corner near the cafe where I often go for bagels and coffee. He was a former contestant on a TV reality show called "Trading hos, " which featured pimps from different 'hoods and the often hilarious entanglements when a righteous Dude is thrust into different locale and finds himself representing an unfamiliar stable of working ladies. The show was cancelled after the first week and replaced by the mesmerizing Anna Nicole Smith documentary.
4/19/2007
April Showers
It has been unseasonably cold, wet and nasty for at least two weeks here in the western suburbs of Boston. My “daily” walks have been curtailed, and the yard/garden has been too wet for any of the normal springtime activities. My wife has remarked that my mood seems darker and my normal jovial personality has been drifting into negative territory.
The news has not been helpful. Last week, all anyone talked about was Imus’ botched joke getting him fired. This week, we have been besieged by 24 hour coverage of the terrible mass killings on the Virginia Tech campus.
For many years, we listened to the Imus-in-the-Morning program and enjoyed its irreverent over-the-edge humor, interesting guests and focus on the issues of the day. During the past year or so, we had been turning the program off, or switching to muzac instead of enduring the unfunny skits and lame attempts to be outrageous. Worse, Imus frequently devoted unseemly amounts of airtime (and the commercial breaks seemed like at least half of every hour of the show) to personal promotions of his ranch, his kid, his wife, his brother, his charities – all tedious and unfunny. His annoying and cynical use of this pulpit drove me to turn him off on a regular basis.
I will say that he often had good guests, and I would commonly switch to his station at least once during any given morning, hoping to hear an interview with someone who knew what was going on in the world. The format allowed the guest to have enough time to present information more completely than the typical sound-bite headline news or the smarmy morning TV shows. (For example, Joe Biden explained that the reason he chose to announce his candidacy for President on Imus’ show was that NBC would only give him 5 minutes and Imus gave him twenty. )
Imus greatest crime was not being funny. He got what he deserved, but not for the right reasons. The activities of the infamous Al (Tawana Brawley) Sharpton – a conked-out race whore – make him the least qualified to stand in judgment of anyone. He and his fellow partner in racism Jesse (hymietown) Jackson immediately make me want to side with anyone or any organization that they are against.
This week , the non-Imus news has been truly horrible. The unending coverage of the massacre at VPI has been unwatchable. The horror of another crazy guy with a gun running around shooting people at random is another one of the scary things we have to worry about these days. Add it to the list of Terrorist attacks, Tornadoes, Traffic accidents, Bird Flu, and a hundred other ways that “fate” can suddenly take away everything – not because you deserved it, but just because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.
It got me to thinking about my working days. Over the course of a long career we all bump into people who seemed, shall we say, “tightly wound”? It’s not PC to call people crazy – but they are/were definitely among us. People who you expected to lose it one day and come in to avenge the pain and suffering of their lives by murdering the nearest authority figure: The boss.
I have a draft version of a short story – based on true events – It began when a troubled hi tech office-mate told me about his plan to shoot our boss in reaction to the colleague’s recent demotion and humiliation. He told me in great detail how he was planning to wait in woods next to the parking lot, and when the boss arrived in his gray BMW, fix him in his scope and…bang. As he told me his plans, his voice was steady and evil and his eyes were unblinking, like a snake. I judged him to be insane, and serious. This created a dilemma for me which was both moral and practical. Should I report him? What if he decided I knew too much about his plans? I feared that he would kill the boss, then me -- not necessarily in that order. If you want to know how it ends, you will just have to wait until I finish writing the story.
I never personally considered killing the boss – but come to think of it, if I had killed that sonofabitch CFO who had me fired back in 1987 - I’d be getting out of prison about now. I don’t hold grudges. But, I will admit that I smiled a few years ago, when I heard that he had testicular cancer.
Now that I'm older and wiser, I have forgiven everyone and everything. Over and over is has been proven that life events that seemed like overwhelming crises at the time resolved themselves. Most of the time, we move on to better things.
Hey, the sun just came out. Time for a walk.
The news has not been helpful. Last week, all anyone talked about was Imus’ botched joke getting him fired. This week, we have been besieged by 24 hour coverage of the terrible mass killings on the Virginia Tech campus.
For many years, we listened to the Imus-in-the-Morning program and enjoyed its irreverent over-the-edge humor, interesting guests and focus on the issues of the day. During the past year or so, we had been turning the program off, or switching to muzac instead of enduring the unfunny skits and lame attempts to be outrageous. Worse, Imus frequently devoted unseemly amounts of airtime (and the commercial breaks seemed like at least half of every hour of the show) to personal promotions of his ranch, his kid, his wife, his brother, his charities – all tedious and unfunny. His annoying and cynical use of this pulpit drove me to turn him off on a regular basis.
I will say that he often had good guests, and I would commonly switch to his station at least once during any given morning, hoping to hear an interview with someone who knew what was going on in the world. The format allowed the guest to have enough time to present information more completely than the typical sound-bite headline news or the smarmy morning TV shows. (For example, Joe Biden explained that the reason he chose to announce his candidacy for President on Imus’ show was that NBC would only give him 5 minutes and Imus gave him twenty. )
Imus greatest crime was not being funny. He got what he deserved, but not for the right reasons. The activities of the infamous Al (Tawana Brawley) Sharpton – a conked-out race whore – make him the least qualified to stand in judgment of anyone. He and his fellow partner in racism Jesse (hymietown) Jackson immediately make me want to side with anyone or any organization that they are against.
This week , the non-Imus news has been truly horrible. The unending coverage of the massacre at VPI has been unwatchable. The horror of another crazy guy with a gun running around shooting people at random is another one of the scary things we have to worry about these days. Add it to the list of Terrorist attacks, Tornadoes, Traffic accidents, Bird Flu, and a hundred other ways that “fate” can suddenly take away everything – not because you deserved it, but just because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.
It got me to thinking about my working days. Over the course of a long career we all bump into people who seemed, shall we say, “tightly wound”? It’s not PC to call people crazy – but they are/were definitely among us. People who you expected to lose it one day and come in to avenge the pain and suffering of their lives by murdering the nearest authority figure: The boss.
I have a draft version of a short story – based on true events – It began when a troubled hi tech office-mate told me about his plan to shoot our boss in reaction to the colleague’s recent demotion and humiliation. He told me in great detail how he was planning to wait in woods next to the parking lot, and when the boss arrived in his gray BMW, fix him in his scope and…bang. As he told me his plans, his voice was steady and evil and his eyes were unblinking, like a snake. I judged him to be insane, and serious. This created a dilemma for me which was both moral and practical. Should I report him? What if he decided I knew too much about his plans? I feared that he would kill the boss, then me -- not necessarily in that order. If you want to know how it ends, you will just have to wait until I finish writing the story.
I never personally considered killing the boss – but come to think of it, if I had killed that sonofabitch CFO who had me fired back in 1987 - I’d be getting out of prison about now. I don’t hold grudges. But, I will admit that I smiled a few years ago, when I heard that he had testicular cancer.
Now that I'm older and wiser, I have forgiven everyone and everything. Over and over is has been proven that life events that seemed like overwhelming crises at the time resolved themselves. Most of the time, we move on to better things.
Hey, the sun just came out. Time for a walk.
4/02/2007
About Time (part 3)
I am working on an essay titled “Oops I Didn't do it, Again - (The Arguement in Favor of Procrastination).” In the essay I take hard issue with our overplanned and goal oriented society. The essay examines the deleterious effects of the crazy-busy lives of people – especially those who are working at a career and raising families –who never have time to “Stop and smell the roses”.
When finished the essay examines the positive side of procrastination, which is seen ( mainly by some anal retentive souls) as a chronic illness that some people may inherit. For example, successful procrastinators may put things off until the last minute but they tend to work exceedingly well under the pressure of an imminent deadline. (This is why I can start working on my tax returns on April 14 and finish under the deadline.
I have no scientific evidence that procrastination is inherited, but I believe it to be so after years of observing my siblings and myself. We are inveterate and practiced procrastinators. Yet, somehow, stuff gets done. Dinners get cooked, trips get planned, appointments are kept, lunches are scheduled, deadlines are met - most of the time.
Procrastination may be a personal attribute that drives other people crazy. But you organized people need to recognize that overplanning/overscheduling drives procrastinators crazy too. I think one of the traits that procrastinators have in common is the ability to discern real deadlines (eg April 15th last date for filing last years Income tax return)from fictitious deadlines (The boss wants your status report no later than noon on Friday - as if nothing was going to get done on Friday after lunch....)
One thing about procrastinators is that they seem to enjoy spur of the moment experiences, welcome surprise and are calm in the face of impending crises that send lesser souls into a state of virtual diarrhea.
I have a few paragraphs of the essay completed, but I doubt that I’ll get to finishing it in the foreseeable future. Lots of other stuff to do that seems more interesting right now.
When finished the essay examines the positive side of procrastination, which is seen ( mainly by some anal retentive souls) as a chronic illness that some people may inherit. For example, successful procrastinators may put things off until the last minute but they tend to work exceedingly well under the pressure of an imminent deadline. (This is why I can start working on my tax returns on April 14 and finish under the deadline.
I have no scientific evidence that procrastination is inherited, but I believe it to be so after years of observing my siblings and myself. We are inveterate and practiced procrastinators. Yet, somehow, stuff gets done. Dinners get cooked, trips get planned, appointments are kept, lunches are scheduled, deadlines are met - most of the time.
Procrastination may be a personal attribute that drives other people crazy. But you organized people need to recognize that overplanning/overscheduling drives procrastinators crazy too. I think one of the traits that procrastinators have in common is the ability to discern real deadlines (eg April 15th last date for filing last years Income tax return)from fictitious deadlines (The boss wants your status report no later than noon on Friday - as if nothing was going to get done on Friday after lunch....)
One thing about procrastinators is that they seem to enjoy spur of the moment experiences, welcome surprise and are calm in the face of impending crises that send lesser souls into a state of virtual diarrhea.
I have a few paragraphs of the essay completed, but I doubt that I’ll get to finishing it in the foreseeable future. Lots of other stuff to do that seems more interesting right now.
3/31/2007
ON TIME (part 2)
Second part of answer to Question 2
Things I did last week:
Tea with George (Earrrl Grrrey – we don’t drink beer anymore)
4 Bags of Lime from the hardware store
Library (pickup book i special ordered "A perfect Mess")
Watched Lila (2 days)
Fixed Snowblower Shear pin
Gas for lawn mower (who says I never plan ahead?)
Trash to dump (85% recycle)
Update blog
Played about 6 hrs on World of Warcraft
Daily Walks (well almost daily)
Got burning permit
Renew subscriptions (Penthouse, Martha Stewart Living)
Shopped for Tax software (decided to wait until last minute)
Replaced color Ink Cartridge (cripes $30!)
Shopping at the market – 2 or 3 visits (I only buy the freshest produce and meat)
Cook dinner (nightly)
Laundry (2 loads)
Breakfast with Maury
Bank (Check to make sure SS check was transferred)
Lottery tix (no winners yet)
Read “The God Delusion” and “Mere Christianity”
Viewed 2 movies "The Departed" *** and "The Prestige" *
Grill shopping (waiting for sale)
Limed lawn (deferred from last Fall)
=========
Who has time for a job?
=========
Things I did last week:
Tea with George (Earrrl Grrrey – we don’t drink beer anymore)
4 Bags of Lime from the hardware store
Library (pickup book i special ordered "A perfect Mess")
Watched Lila (2 days)
Fixed Snowblower Shear pin
Gas for lawn mower (who says I never plan ahead?)
Trash to dump (85% recycle)
Update blog
Played about 6 hrs on World of Warcraft
Daily Walks (well almost daily)
Got burning permit
Renew subscriptions (Penthouse, Martha Stewart Living)
Shopped for Tax software (decided to wait until last minute)
Replaced color Ink Cartridge (cripes $30!)
Shopping at the market – 2 or 3 visits (I only buy the freshest produce and meat)
Cook dinner (nightly)
Laundry (2 loads)
Breakfast with Maury
Bank (Check to make sure SS check was transferred)
Lottery tix (no winners yet)
Read “The God Delusion” and “Mere Christianity”
Viewed 2 movies "The Departed" *** and "The Prestige" *
Grill shopping (waiting for sale)
Limed lawn (deferred from last Fall)
=========
Who has time for a job?
=========
3/27/2007
How I Spend My Time Part 1
Some of you have expressed feelings that range from mild annoyance to puzzled amusement that someone who is not-currently-employed (NCE) doesn’t seem to have the time to update his blog with more regularity.
If you were my “boss” who was paying for me be somewhere at a scheduled time and produce some “work” I might feel obligated to explain to you. But why should I account for my time to some internet freeloader – who is very likely sitting in an office pretending to be doing “work”?
Since I have been NCE for more than a year now, People often ask me “Are you retired?”
And,
“What do you do with all that free time?”
Answer number one:
I think so; I am not looking for a full-time job. I don’t think I could squeeze a full-time job into my schedule, right now. I am pretty busy. This is not to say that I would not pursue a great opportunity to make a lot of money and do something interesting at the same time. The truth is that the likelihood of such an opportunity materializing is remote. So, yes, I think I am retired,
Answer to the second question:
What free time? Most days, I spend several hours sitting at a desk*, surfing the internet or writing fabulous prose or playing World of Warcraft. I read – or at least glance through - two papers every morning, Several days a week are scheduled with social contacts with adult humans for lunch or afternoon coffee/tea. Since my wife is still working 4 days a week, I do the shopping and daily meal preparation. I also have an extensive list of things to do around the house – drilling holes, painting, re-staining the outdoor furniture, repairing the snow blower, etc. Then there are the increasingly frequent visits to healthcare providers for oil change and lubrication. Also the cars need maintenance**. On good weather days, I take a long walks; on nasty days I work out for two hours in the home gym***.
On Mondays, I am day care provider for my 5 month old grand daughter, so that the parents can keep working to pay their credit card interest charges. Twice a month on Tuesdays, I have a writing group that I attend. Thursdays, I have a standing lunch with Maury who is 83 and still in remarkably good health. Fridays, my wife stays home and watches the above referenced grand daughter, while managing my progress on her never-ending “Honey-do” list. I also have the same chores I have always had (going to the dump, yard work, straightening-up the mess so the cleaners can vacuum, that sort of thing).
Many of these activities are the same things working people do, except that I no longer need to cram them all into the weekend. I can do them at my own pace, often enjoying them much more than you workerbees, who see these mundane activities as a mere checklist item to be dispensed with as efficiently as possible.
The big difference is that I am in no hurry, I have plenty of time to dawdle and to consider universal and eternal verities. (he looks out the window and watches a squirrel digging furiously in the lawn. He wonders: is it burying something or digging something up? He certainly seems busy. Where does he go during blizzards? Effing rodents; Where the hell is my BB gun? The beastslayer jumps up from his computer to rummage through the garage looking for something...)
[Time passes]
OK let us return to the question about why I do not have time (or inclination) to update the blog with more frequency. (Phone rings.) Ah, gentle reader, you must excuse the interruption, I need to take this call.
And I need more time to ponder this question properly….come back tomorrow...
==========================================================
* Much like when I was working and getting paid for it.
** These were tasks that I would tend to do “on company time” when I was working.
*** this last part was a fib - I don't actually have any exercise equipment. I thought it sounded more noble than the inconvenient truth: taking a thoroughly undeserved nap on the sofa. (This I was unable to do during my working years).
If you were my “boss” who was paying for me be somewhere at a scheduled time and produce some “work” I might feel obligated to explain to you. But why should I account for my time to some internet freeloader – who is very likely sitting in an office pretending to be doing “work”?
Since I have been NCE for more than a year now, People often ask me “Are you retired?”
And,
“What do you do with all that free time?”
Answer number one:
I think so; I am not looking for a full-time job. I don’t think I could squeeze a full-time job into my schedule, right now. I am pretty busy. This is not to say that I would not pursue a great opportunity to make a lot of money and do something interesting at the same time. The truth is that the likelihood of such an opportunity materializing is remote. So, yes, I think I am retired,
Answer to the second question:
What free time? Most days, I spend several hours sitting at a desk*, surfing the internet or writing fabulous prose or playing World of Warcraft. I read – or at least glance through - two papers every morning, Several days a week are scheduled with social contacts with adult humans for lunch or afternoon coffee/tea. Since my wife is still working 4 days a week, I do the shopping and daily meal preparation. I also have an extensive list of things to do around the house – drilling holes, painting, re-staining the outdoor furniture, repairing the snow blower, etc. Then there are the increasingly frequent visits to healthcare providers for oil change and lubrication. Also the cars need maintenance**. On good weather days, I take a long walks; on nasty days I work out for two hours in the home gym***.
On Mondays, I am day care provider for my 5 month old grand daughter, so that the parents can keep working to pay their credit card interest charges. Twice a month on Tuesdays, I have a writing group that I attend. Thursdays, I have a standing lunch with Maury who is 83 and still in remarkably good health. Fridays, my wife stays home and watches the above referenced grand daughter, while managing my progress on her never-ending “Honey-do” list. I also have the same chores I have always had (going to the dump, yard work, straightening-up the mess so the cleaners can vacuum, that sort of thing).
Many of these activities are the same things working people do, except that I no longer need to cram them all into the weekend. I can do them at my own pace, often enjoying them much more than you workerbees, who see these mundane activities as a mere checklist item to be dispensed with as efficiently as possible.
The big difference is that I am in no hurry, I have plenty of time to dawdle and to consider universal and eternal verities. (he looks out the window and watches a squirrel digging furiously in the lawn. He wonders: is it burying something or digging something up? He certainly seems busy. Where does he go during blizzards? Effing rodents; Where the hell is my BB gun? The beastslayer jumps up from his computer to rummage through the garage looking for something...)
[Time passes]
OK let us return to the question about why I do not have time (or inclination) to update the blog with more frequency. (Phone rings.) Ah, gentle reader, you must excuse the interruption, I need to take this call.
And I need more time to ponder this question properly….come back tomorrow...
==========================================================
* Much like when I was working and getting paid for it.
** These were tasks that I would tend to do “on company time” when I was working.
*** this last part was a fib - I don't actually have any exercise equipment. I thought it sounded more noble than the inconvenient truth: taking a thoroughly undeserved nap on the sofa. (This I was unable to do during my working years).
3/01/2007
Unintended Truths
I did not stay up late enough last Sunday night to watch the Acadamy Awards (or was it the People's Choice?) I don't think I missed anything remotely entertaining or interesting. One missable moment was reported in the papers, where a heavy-set version of Al Gore accepted an award for the so-called documentary titled 'An Inconvenient Truth.'
It's on my Netflix list. By all accounts, he presents a totally one-sided version of politically-smirched scientific opinion, interspersed with some outlandish predictions of Oceans inundating occupied land.
If you were not up late watching South Park re-runs last night, you missed a classic episode, where former Vice President Al Gore shows up in Colorado to warn the South Park community about the dangers of some mythological beast that lives in a Rocky Mountain cave and was about to emerge and wreak unspeakable horrors on innocent civilians.
Of course, none of the adults in South Park will pay any attention to him, despite his arm-waving dire warnings. As they do often, the south park writers nailed it again.
It's on my Netflix list. By all accounts, he presents a totally one-sided version of politically-smirched scientific opinion, interspersed with some outlandish predictions of Oceans inundating occupied land.
If you were not up late watching South Park re-runs last night, you missed a classic episode, where former Vice President Al Gore shows up in Colorado to warn the South Park community about the dangers of some mythological beast that lives in a Rocky Mountain cave and was about to emerge and wreak unspeakable horrors on innocent civilians.
Of course, none of the adults in South Park will pay any attention to him, despite his arm-waving dire warnings. As they do often, the south park writers nailed it again.
2/19/2007
Gluteal Freezing
Nineteen degrees Fahrenheit at high noon today. It is amazing that human beings can even survive in this climate, let alone choose to live here during the Winter.
OK, maybe we are just a tad spoiled by the short 9 day Florida getaway. We have discussed our options for the future and have made a firm decision to extend our visit to the southern climes to a month or even six weeks next winter. By that time, neither of us expects to have the interference of full time jobs to encumber us.
Note to the kids: Don't worry. We are not on the verge of putting the family home up for sale, heading South to spend your inheritance on a lavish beachfront mansion with an expensive cabin cruiser moored at our private dock. We have not even entertained those thoughts - honestly!
Of course, no one would blame us if we were thinking about it - which I assure you we have not. At our age, Winter is no longer a friend. The days when we anticipated fluffy snow fallen slopes and frozen ponds upon which to glide and carve have given way to aches and pains, tender epidermis, sore backs and joints; and a deep loathing for the cold arid arctic blasts.
These days, we skip the daily walk and stay warmly inside the house when the weather turns nasty. On frigid days like this, we tremble at the thought of slipping on the ice and shattering our increasingly brittle bones*; we are haunted by visions of helpless hospitalization, followed by a long recuperation punctuated by innumerable visits to an overwhelming array of health care specialists - for xrays, physical therapy, counseling for depression, acupuncture, rabies shots (just in case...). Also there are the predictable and prolonged haggling with health care insurance providers over co-pays and the costs of approved tier medications.
Even worse, we dread the thought of having the mailman or some un-invited visitor slip and fall in our driveway and sue us for all we are worth. So, I find myself going out in the middle of winter blizzards, shoveling the wet snow, ignoring the shortness of breath, the numbing left arm and burning chest pains - because the driveway must be cleared before the storm turns to rain and freezes into a sheet of slick cement. Despite the symptoms of a possible heart attack, I risk frostbite and even death to avoid the possibility of being sued into poverty.
There are no longer any kids in the neighborhood who would even think of shoveling your walk for less than $50. (I do not have a line item on my budget for such extravagance. What do I look like, Governor De Ville?) Even if we were willing to deplete our lifetime savings for such labors, we could not find a willing worker. These days kids don't need to earn money. Many of them wear sneakers that cost more than the 1950 Chevy I bought back in 1960. In my day, we would shovel all day in our sneakers and tee shirt to earn $3). Kids are not allowed to go door to door soliciting anymore because - thanks to reality shows on TV - we now know that every household on your street contains at least one raving lunatic, drug addict, sex offender, witch or lawyer. Too dangerous for kids to approach without a parental overseer.
Given the life-threatening dangers of occupying a 3 bedroom house in suburban Boston during the Winter, it would perhaps not be un-thinkable for a couple who have worked hard all of their lives, stayed out of jail, and accumulated a small nest egg to support them in their elder years – might dream of finding a nice warm haven to rest their increasingly fragile bones* far away from the vile winds of winter.
But we are Yankees who were raised to believe in thrift and parsimony. Don’t worry, kids. Rather than spending your inheritance on lavish personal amenities, we will just persevere here in frigid New England, subsisting on cold cereal mixed with melted snow, spending our days watching Court TV and Jerry Springer. It could be worse: At least we don't live in Dayton, Ohio**.
What we should all be worried about is global freezing, and whether they will ever bury poor Anna Nicole Smith?
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
*This danger is highlighted by several advertisers of nightly news programs.
**Dayton, Ohio is alleged by my sister-in-law, who lived there for several years, to be the "least desirable place to live on this entire planet."
OK, maybe we are just a tad spoiled by the short 9 day Florida getaway. We have discussed our options for the future and have made a firm decision to extend our visit to the southern climes to a month or even six weeks next winter. By that time, neither of us expects to have the interference of full time jobs to encumber us.
Note to the kids: Don't worry. We are not on the verge of putting the family home up for sale, heading South to spend your inheritance on a lavish beachfront mansion with an expensive cabin cruiser moored at our private dock. We have not even entertained those thoughts - honestly!
Of course, no one would blame us if we were thinking about it - which I assure you we have not. At our age, Winter is no longer a friend. The days when we anticipated fluffy snow fallen slopes and frozen ponds upon which to glide and carve have given way to aches and pains, tender epidermis, sore backs and joints; and a deep loathing for the cold arid arctic blasts.
These days, we skip the daily walk and stay warmly inside the house when the weather turns nasty. On frigid days like this, we tremble at the thought of slipping on the ice and shattering our increasingly brittle bones*; we are haunted by visions of helpless hospitalization, followed by a long recuperation punctuated by innumerable visits to an overwhelming array of health care specialists - for xrays, physical therapy, counseling for depression, acupuncture, rabies shots (just in case...). Also there are the predictable and prolonged haggling with health care insurance providers over co-pays and the costs of approved tier medications.
Even worse, we dread the thought of having the mailman or some un-invited visitor slip and fall in our driveway and sue us for all we are worth. So, I find myself going out in the middle of winter blizzards, shoveling the wet snow, ignoring the shortness of breath, the numbing left arm and burning chest pains - because the driveway must be cleared before the storm turns to rain and freezes into a sheet of slick cement. Despite the symptoms of a possible heart attack, I risk frostbite and even death to avoid the possibility of being sued into poverty.
There are no longer any kids in the neighborhood who would even think of shoveling your walk for less than $50. (I do not have a line item on my budget for such extravagance. What do I look like, Governor De Ville?) Even if we were willing to deplete our lifetime savings for such labors, we could not find a willing worker. These days kids don't need to earn money. Many of them wear sneakers that cost more than the 1950 Chevy I bought back in 1960. In my day, we would shovel all day in our sneakers and tee shirt to earn $3). Kids are not allowed to go door to door soliciting anymore because - thanks to reality shows on TV - we now know that every household on your street contains at least one raving lunatic, drug addict, sex offender, witch or lawyer. Too dangerous for kids to approach without a parental overseer.
Given the life-threatening dangers of occupying a 3 bedroom house in suburban Boston during the Winter, it would perhaps not be un-thinkable for a couple who have worked hard all of their lives, stayed out of jail, and accumulated a small nest egg to support them in their elder years – might dream of finding a nice warm haven to rest their increasingly fragile bones* far away from the vile winds of winter.
But we are Yankees who were raised to believe in thrift and parsimony. Don’t worry, kids. Rather than spending your inheritance on lavish personal amenities, we will just persevere here in frigid New England, subsisting on cold cereal mixed with melted snow, spending our days watching Court TV and Jerry Springer. It could be worse: At least we don't live in Dayton, Ohio**.
What we should all be worried about is global freezing, and whether they will ever bury poor Anna Nicole Smith?
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
*This danger is highlighted by several advertisers of nightly news programs.
**Dayton, Ohio is alleged by my sister-in-law, who lived there for several years, to be the "least desirable place to live on this entire planet."
2/17/2007
A Miserable Conspiracy
We were among the lucky Jet Blue passengers who were able to board our scheduled flights today - an hour late, but most of us were just happy that the flight wasn't cancelled altogether.
I noticed that the Jet Blue personnel were exceedingly communicative today. I think they are frightened by the prospect of a consumer revolt after the Valentine's Day strandings. The terminals were probably swarming with Lawyers looking to sign people up for class action suits.
The standard airline customer service normally consists of conscious and assertive with-holding any useful information. Hey why bother? As long as all the airlines do it they can force the customers to actually vie with one another for one of three hundred seats that are too small for anyone who is bigger than the average circus dwarf.
I'm surprised they haven't come up with a reality show pitting travelers against one another racing and physically attacking one another to win a cramped seat near one of the working toilets. No wonder there have not been any more terrorist attacks by plane. The Imams think it is cruel and unusual to force someone to travel by commercial air liner as a prerequisite to get to paradise and the 72 virgins.
Every time I travel I am reminded of how awful the system is. The Security checkpoints make you want to laugh or cry hysterically because they are a microcosm of our general attitude toward safety. One guy had a bomb in his shoe 5 years ago, and we still have to take off our sneakers to get through security. Little old lady nuns are being felt-up by high school drop outs and probable illegal immigrants (swarthy people of dubious citizenship with accents so heavy that you cannot understand their questions or instructions)who seem to be the only people who will work for TSA at $8.50 an hour. Thank you, Homeland security. Boy I feel safer, don't you?
The American attitude toward safety is hysterical. A small fraction of kids are seriously allergic to nuts; so all preschoolers in the building are forbidden to bring peanut butter sandwiches. Some klutz's bang their heads and now everyone is required to wear helmets. Next thing you will hear that a couple of birds got sick and we will shut down Canada to keep the geese out, declaring war if they try to invade. We are an insane society, driven by fear mongers, content-challenged news programs, and a poor understanding of risk.
I think the airline industry generally sells misery. I know this because they admit that the seats are not big enough, most of them enforce class discrimination which leads to envy and hatred, they lie about their on time performance, the food, if they have any, sucks and they force us all to get sick if anyone on the plane is sick. Check out the salaries of Airline Execs. They make more than the President of Scotland.
But in the Tampa airport today, the Jet Blue people today were all about setting expectations. They had actual people on the counter today instead of those self service check-in machines where the customer does the work and the counter people just check your id and slap bar coded stickers on your luggage. They kept us informed of the progress of the flight that was delayed in leaving NYC - the one that would take us to Boston. One we got on board, they kept interrupting the TV programs to tell us how glad they were that we chose to fly on Jet Blue.
I was surprised that no one has yet given one good reason why they kept all those people on the tarmac on Wednesday for 8 hours or more, with no fresh air, no food, 3 bathrooms for 300 people, etc.
Unconscionable. I think if I had been on one of those flights, I would surely be in jail tonight.
I noticed that the Jet Blue personnel were exceedingly communicative today. I think they are frightened by the prospect of a consumer revolt after the Valentine's Day strandings. The terminals were probably swarming with Lawyers looking to sign people up for class action suits.
The standard airline customer service normally consists of conscious and assertive with-holding any useful information. Hey why bother? As long as all the airlines do it they can force the customers to actually vie with one another for one of three hundred seats that are too small for anyone who is bigger than the average circus dwarf.
I'm surprised they haven't come up with a reality show pitting travelers against one another racing and physically attacking one another to win a cramped seat near one of the working toilets. No wonder there have not been any more terrorist attacks by plane. The Imams think it is cruel and unusual to force someone to travel by commercial air liner as a prerequisite to get to paradise and the 72 virgins.
Every time I travel I am reminded of how awful the system is. The Security checkpoints make you want to laugh or cry hysterically because they are a microcosm of our general attitude toward safety. One guy had a bomb in his shoe 5 years ago, and we still have to take off our sneakers to get through security. Little old lady nuns are being felt-up by high school drop outs and probable illegal immigrants (swarthy people of dubious citizenship with accents so heavy that you cannot understand their questions or instructions)who seem to be the only people who will work for TSA at $8.50 an hour. Thank you, Homeland security. Boy I feel safer, don't you?
The American attitude toward safety is hysterical. A small fraction of kids are seriously allergic to nuts; so all preschoolers in the building are forbidden to bring peanut butter sandwiches. Some klutz's bang their heads and now everyone is required to wear helmets. Next thing you will hear that a couple of birds got sick and we will shut down Canada to keep the geese out, declaring war if they try to invade. We are an insane society, driven by fear mongers, content-challenged news programs, and a poor understanding of risk.
I think the airline industry generally sells misery. I know this because they admit that the seats are not big enough, most of them enforce class discrimination which leads to envy and hatred, they lie about their on time performance, the food, if they have any, sucks and they force us all to get sick if anyone on the plane is sick. Check out the salaries of Airline Execs. They make more than the President of Scotland.
But in the Tampa airport today, the Jet Blue people today were all about setting expectations. They had actual people on the counter today instead of those self service check-in machines where the customer does the work and the counter people just check your id and slap bar coded stickers on your luggage. They kept us informed of the progress of the flight that was delayed in leaving NYC - the one that would take us to Boston. One we got on board, they kept interrupting the TV programs to tell us how glad they were that we chose to fly on Jet Blue.
I was surprised that no one has yet given one good reason why they kept all those people on the tarmac on Wednesday for 8 hours or more, with no fresh air, no food, 3 bathrooms for 300 people, etc.
Unconscionable. I think if I had been on one of those flights, I would surely be in jail tonight.
2/14/2007
More Beach Notes
Sarasota - Valentines Day
Fortunately, I was prepared for the day. I had bought a nice card and the traditional heart-shaped box of chocolates. Another potential Hallmark disaster averted.
Aol had featured the list of the 10 worst Valentine gifts - eg a close up photo of one's pride and joy, an ironing board, a coupon for $5 off an oil change. I was feeling pretty smug, I admit it. I am well past such ill-thought-out tokens of affection.
It was a beautiful day here at the beach, following last night's rain. I was up at 7:15, awakening from a realistic dream, where I was being hunted by gangsters who had mistaken me for some shmuck who owed them money. It was a case of mistaken identity, but there was a sense of terror when I realized that the fellows who had come to beat the snot out of me were totally uninterested in whether I was the perp or not. Some one needed to be beat-up, and the boss "did not like excuses." They got the same pay no matter who they beat-up. When I asserted that real bad guy would eventually have to be beat-up when the mistake was cleared up, and Mr. Big would be unhappy, they just laughed. Just as the big guy was putting on his enforcer gloves, I woke up with a bead of perspiration on my brow. I was relieved to see the beach our of the window, and the sun showing pink in the eastern sky.
Throughout my morning ablutions, I kept thinking about how bureaucratic the mob was. Inefficient too.
Later, I was able to get in a swim in the ocean. The water is about 62 degrees - kind of chilly but tolerable. The weather for the next two days is forecast to be colder, so that it most likely the end of swimming. Tonight I had to wear a long sleeved shirt. Brr. Tomorrow we will take the rental car and do some exploring. With the GPS system we can find anything.
Fortunately, I was prepared for the day. I had bought a nice card and the traditional heart-shaped box of chocolates. Another potential Hallmark disaster averted.
Aol had featured the list of the 10 worst Valentine gifts - eg a close up photo of one's pride and joy, an ironing board, a coupon for $5 off an oil change. I was feeling pretty smug, I admit it. I am well past such ill-thought-out tokens of affection.
It was a beautiful day here at the beach, following last night's rain. I was up at 7:15, awakening from a realistic dream, where I was being hunted by gangsters who had mistaken me for some shmuck who owed them money. It was a case of mistaken identity, but there was a sense of terror when I realized that the fellows who had come to beat the snot out of me were totally uninterested in whether I was the perp or not. Some one needed to be beat-up, and the boss "did not like excuses." They got the same pay no matter who they beat-up. When I asserted that real bad guy would eventually have to be beat-up when the mistake was cleared up, and Mr. Big would be unhappy, they just laughed. Just as the big guy was putting on his enforcer gloves, I woke up with a bead of perspiration on my brow. I was relieved to see the beach our of the window, and the sun showing pink in the eastern sky.
Throughout my morning ablutions, I kept thinking about how bureaucratic the mob was. Inefficient too.
Later, I was able to get in a swim in the ocean. The water is about 62 degrees - kind of chilly but tolerable. The weather for the next two days is forecast to be colder, so that it most likely the end of swimming. Tonight I had to wear a long sleeved shirt. Brr. Tomorrow we will take the rental car and do some exploring. With the GPS system we can find anything.
2/11/2007
Beach notes
Sarasota, Florida - Lido Key
We just came back from a leisurely dinner at Cafe Baci - a fabulous Italian Restaurant where they make their own pasta and the red sauce is the best I've ever tasted. The veal Parmigiana was excellent and I could barely finish the cheese cake with macadamia nuts and coconut. My wife could not finish her eggplant P. We has a delightful dinner and the bill was around $55. Not bad. Kind of makes you want to spend more time in places where you can have an excellent dining experience but not feel that you got rooked. A glass of nice red wine would have enhanced the meal, but we have resigned ourselves to sticking out the non drinking thing for another 6 months.
The rental car has one of those Magellan GPS navigation systems, which has been a great thing to have. Yesterday we drove up to St. Petersburg to visit a friend who had recently moved down here from Boston. The GPS got us to her parking lot without a hitch. Goodbye Mapquest hello GPS.
The weather has been great. Everyday has been sunny and warm. It is a bit chilly during our early morning beach stroll, so we are forced to wear our sweatshirts - at least on the way out. On the way back the warming sun invites us to shed a layer. By the time we emerge from late breakfast, it feels hot in a tee shirt. I slather myself with sp30 and sit on the balcony to read. An afternoon breeze kicks up, ruffling the ocean and bringing a nice cooling relief from the baking 74 degree sun.
After the afternoon nap, we emerge to forage for dinner. So far we have found willing purveyors of victuals and potable liquids, which they are willing to exchange for a piece of plastic.
We have been keeping up with the important news (eg, the Anna Nicole Smith story - another example how 24 hour news coverage can contain almost zero factual information.) We watch the weather forecast hoping to hear of a blizzard back home so we can enjoy our balmy slothfulness just a smidgen more.
OK I know, this blog is supposed to be about work issues... so here is my Zen observation of the day. As we walked the beach this morning, I noticed that there were impressions made by people who had also walked along the shore this morning.
It reminded me of the workplace. Where the marks that people make, last about as long as the next wave, or at best the next change of tide. All the time we spend, thinking our work is important - and maybe it is, for a moment, then, splash.
2/08/2007
Climactic Induced Journeys
This morning in Boston, it is colder than a witch's you-know-what. Twenty degrees with a brisk wind, with a wind chill factor of "Too Cold to Go Outside." I think it is worse in upstate New York and back in Chicago.
Today, we will venture forth, however, because we have airplane reservations and there is a rental car waiting for us in Tampa, Florida.
Please don't view this as gloating, but as a heartfelt expression of hope that those of you who are stuck going to the office will "Have a nice day, freeze-ass."
Actually, you frigid stay-at-homes can take comfort in the knowledge that the temps in Sarasota have dropped sharply. The 3 day forecast is for daytime temps that are barely over 70 degrees. This is only a 40 degree delta! So, we will probably have a lousy time, lazing on the warm balcony, gazing at the pristine beach, reading a leisurely novel or quaffing a refreshing iced tea. Should we venture to the beach, I am sure that the incessant squawking of sea fowl will disturb us, and those scantily clad young females that often infest the beach will serve-up their usual annoying distractions.
We sincerely hope the weather in the Northeast improves, since we have to keep the house heated (for the cats) and I could use a little break on heating costs, to help make up for the daily restaurant breakfasts, fried grouper sandwiches with lobster bisque at lunch and expensive fine dinners.
Oh and not to forget the fresh squeezed Florida orange juice - chilled, but not frozen.
:-)
Today, we will venture forth, however, because we have airplane reservations and there is a rental car waiting for us in Tampa, Florida.
Please don't view this as gloating, but as a heartfelt expression of hope that those of you who are stuck going to the office will "Have a nice day, freeze-ass."
Actually, you frigid stay-at-homes can take comfort in the knowledge that the temps in Sarasota have dropped sharply. The 3 day forecast is for daytime temps that are barely over 70 degrees. This is only a 40 degree delta! So, we will probably have a lousy time, lazing on the warm balcony, gazing at the pristine beach, reading a leisurely novel or quaffing a refreshing iced tea. Should we venture to the beach, I am sure that the incessant squawking of sea fowl will disturb us, and those scantily clad young females that often infest the beach will serve-up their usual annoying distractions.
We sincerely hope the weather in the Northeast improves, since we have to keep the house heated (for the cats) and I could use a little break on heating costs, to help make up for the daily restaurant breakfasts, fried grouper sandwiches with lobster bisque at lunch and expensive fine dinners.
Oh and not to forget the fresh squeezed Florida orange juice - chilled, but not frozen.
:-)
2/02/2007
Following Orders
In light of my recent brush with the Law, readers have been flooding my inbox, wondering if I am some sort of anti-American anarchist scofflaw. Let me set the record straight.
It is true that I'm not good at following orders that don't make sense to me. This trait has dogged me since I was in junior high school, when I decided that History and Algebra were areas of learning that were too boring to spend any unnecessary time on.
This unwillingness to accept unreasonable authority also got me in trouble when I was in the US Air Force, where I was almost busted for ignoring a stupid order of a (drunken) Master Sergent who thought it would be entertaining to have me shine his boots.
I suspect that most of my former managers would assert that my failure to internalize marching orders has been responsible for those not-so-scintillating performance reviews that I received as an employee. Most former bosses probably saw me as a prima donna who could not be counted-on to march to the beat of the bosses drum. I believe that even the most critical of them would (reluctantly) admit that I did good work, but it was only on projects that were my idea. My inability to meet arbitrary deadlines is well documented in the secret files of the Human Resources Departments of my ex-companies.
I wish this rebellious streak could be attributed to some inner courage, or artistic nature; but I sometimes think I am simply burdened with an overdeveloped sense of right and wrong. This, in addition to the Irish and Dutch genes that comprise the biggest part of my DNA, generates an eerie obstinacy that goes well beyond "just plain stubborn." In the right environment, stubborn righteousness might be viewed in a positive light, even seen as a wondrous gift, but alas, I have yet to find such an environment.
The truth is: I have no difficulty following rules that make sense. I believe in mandatory auto liability insurance, dog leash laws, and noise ordinances. In the workplace, I subscribe to rules that benefit the organization such as being on time for meetings and not stealing copier toner cartridges. I also believe that paying one's just share of taxes and not making loud noise are examples of laws that benefit the community - even though they might attenuate the personal pleasure of some individuals.
So, there you go: I do believe in laws and rules. They make civilization possible, after all. Without rules, you cannot play games, conduct business or fight battles.
Furthermore, I agree that the Boss has the power to create and enforce rules. When a rule or directive passes the sniff test of my infallible sense of right and wrong I agree to be subject to it. If not, I generally exempt myself from it.
If I cannot see the benefit or purpose in an order - or, worse - if I question the motives of the rule-giver, then my Dutch-Irish kicks-in with full throttle.
I have frequently observed that rules are often made by little tyrants - just because they have the power, and find entertainment in making subordinates run around - much the way a small boy enjoys disturbing an anthill.
John Kerry might still be a candidate for president if he had only told the students, "Study hard or you could end-up getting stuck wearing a Mickee Dees uniform taking orders for fries and burgers -- or worse, end-up brown-nosing some fat bastard ego-maniac."
I wish somebody had told me that back during the botched joke that was my high school study hall behavior - when I was not studying History and Algebra.
It is true that I'm not good at following orders that don't make sense to me. This trait has dogged me since I was in junior high school, when I decided that History and Algebra were areas of learning that were too boring to spend any unnecessary time on.
This unwillingness to accept unreasonable authority also got me in trouble when I was in the US Air Force, where I was almost busted for ignoring a stupid order of a (drunken) Master Sergent who thought it would be entertaining to have me shine his boots.
I suspect that most of my former managers would assert that my failure to internalize marching orders has been responsible for those not-so-scintillating performance reviews that I received as an employee. Most former bosses probably saw me as a prima donna who could not be counted-on to march to the beat of the bosses drum. I believe that even the most critical of them would (reluctantly) admit that I did good work, but it was only on projects that were my idea. My inability to meet arbitrary deadlines is well documented in the secret files of the Human Resources Departments of my ex-companies.
I wish this rebellious streak could be attributed to some inner courage, or artistic nature; but I sometimes think I am simply burdened with an overdeveloped sense of right and wrong. This, in addition to the Irish and Dutch genes that comprise the biggest part of my DNA, generates an eerie obstinacy that goes well beyond "just plain stubborn." In the right environment, stubborn righteousness might be viewed in a positive light, even seen as a wondrous gift, but alas, I have yet to find such an environment.
The truth is: I have no difficulty following rules that make sense. I believe in mandatory auto liability insurance, dog leash laws, and noise ordinances. In the workplace, I subscribe to rules that benefit the organization such as being on time for meetings and not stealing copier toner cartridges. I also believe that paying one's just share of taxes and not making loud noise are examples of laws that benefit the community - even though they might attenuate the personal pleasure of some individuals.
So, there you go: I do believe in laws and rules. They make civilization possible, after all. Without rules, you cannot play games, conduct business or fight battles.
Furthermore, I agree that the Boss has the power to create and enforce rules. When a rule or directive passes the sniff test of my infallible sense of right and wrong I agree to be subject to it. If not, I generally exempt myself from it.
If I cannot see the benefit or purpose in an order - or, worse - if I question the motives of the rule-giver, then my Dutch-Irish kicks-in with full throttle.
I have frequently observed that rules are often made by little tyrants - just because they have the power, and find entertainment in making subordinates run around - much the way a small boy enjoys disturbing an anthill.
John Kerry might still be a candidate for president if he had only told the students, "Study hard or you could end-up getting stuck wearing a Mickee Dees uniform taking orders for fries and burgers -- or worse, end-up brown-nosing some fat bastard ego-maniac."
I wish somebody had told me that back during the botched joke that was my high school study hall behavior - when I was not studying History and Algebra.
1/26/2007
Staying Out of Jail
Years ago, when I was a smart-assed teenager, barely getting passing grades in High School, smoking half a pack of Winstons a day and hanging out with what my parents thought was a "bad crowd", my father - during one of those vocational father and son chats - once articulated that he would be happy if I would just be able to stay out of prison. Now, I am well into my sixth decade, and I am pleased to report that Dad would be proud of me - on that score at least.
But, I have to report that staying out of jail is not as easy as it used to be. A few weeks ago, we got a notice from the local Animal Control Officer (ACO) notifying us of a fine for $50 for not getting our cat in on time for her annual rabies vaccination.
Now, I will admit that we are well aware of the local ordinance which compels all cat owners to keep their pets legally inoculated against rabies. I think it is a good idea, just as I believe that noise ordinances ought to be enforced to keep the racket of incessant building projects limited to daylight hours on weekdays. At the same time I accept that there are occasionally mitigating circumstances which may result in the occasional failure to obey such rules.
For example, we are very willing to bring this cat into the Animal Hospital to get shot up - even at the exorbitant cost of $85. We are committed to the health and welfare of all of our livestock (consisting presently of 2 Siamese cats). The problem here is the lack of cooperation by said cat, who I will call 'Madclaws' to protect her real identity - as she is still a minor having attained a mere 9 years of age*.
Madclaws hates to go to the Vet's. She is smart too, if she even suspects that you want to put her in a cage, she will run away and hide. She knows places in our house where we cannot find her. If you trap her in a small space, she will literally climb the walls to escape your grasp. Then if you should manage to grab her, she will attempt to claw and even bite you (I have a scar to prove it) in her frantic attempts to escape.
In the past, we have been quite traumatised by the experience, and perhaps it is not too inconceivable that we have a tendency to procrastinate when it comes to the annual rabies shot. Madclaws is an inside cat - and always has been inside. Even if offered an open door to go outside, she will run upstairs and hide.
Then a few days ago, an envelope arrived in the mail. Inside was a notice that a criminal complaint had been filed by the ACO for (I shit you not) "an unvaccinated cat." The hearing would be held next month as to why we should not be found guilty of a misdemeanor. Is this the same system that refuses to arrest illegal aliens who are stopped on the highway for driving infractions?
So, when we asked the Vet why the ACO is so anal about the annual inoculation, this is the rationale we were given: "A rabid bat might fly into the house either through an open door or window, or even down the chimney. Said bat might bite a cat, infecting it. In turn, the now rabid cat might bite a human in the house with fatal consequences."
I am not exaggerating. This is what I was told by the Vet with an absolutely straight face. I asked about the statistics on such an unlikely scenario.
I was told that there are approximately 70 human deaths per year in the USA attributed to being bitten by an animal infected with rabies. Unfortunately the stats do not break down to identify how many of the deaths occur ed in homes where the pet was bitten by an intruder bat. And besides, what would keep the rabid bat from biting the human directly rather than going through the cat as a middleman? My questions were viewed as smart-assed, I am sure.
"Why take chances?" I was admonished.
When I wondered aloud how many people were killed each year in auto accidents caused because the driver was distracted by the high decibel yowling of the uncooperative feline in the cage on the back seat, I got a look of disapproval for my dumb questions.
Anyhow, I managed to stay our of jail by pleading the case to my humorless Vet who reluctantly gave me some sedation pills for the cat. I ground the pill into a powder and fed it to the cat mixed in with the morning meal. It worked enough to slow the cat down. I got my heavy gloves out, sneaked up on her while she slept in sedated kitty dreamworld, grabbed her by the nape of the neck and wrestled her into the carrier. The rest was easy. Situation resolved. I made it back to the vet's without crashing the van, and the cat seems no worse for the experience.
So, Dad, wherever you are, you can still be proud. I'm not going to the hoosegow - this time. And we can breathe a sigh of relief that the only Rabies deaths that occure in our home will be from bat bites, not cat bites.
*I do not find it comforting to know that some Siamese cats can live for up to twenty human years.
But, I have to report that staying out of jail is not as easy as it used to be. A few weeks ago, we got a notice from the local Animal Control Officer (ACO) notifying us of a fine for $50 for not getting our cat in on time for her annual rabies vaccination.
Now, I will admit that we are well aware of the local ordinance which compels all cat owners to keep their pets legally inoculated against rabies. I think it is a good idea, just as I believe that noise ordinances ought to be enforced to keep the racket of incessant building projects limited to daylight hours on weekdays. At the same time I accept that there are occasionally mitigating circumstances which may result in the occasional failure to obey such rules.
For example, we are very willing to bring this cat into the Animal Hospital to get shot up - even at the exorbitant cost of $85. We are committed to the health and welfare of all of our livestock (consisting presently of 2 Siamese cats). The problem here is the lack of cooperation by said cat, who I will call 'Madclaws' to protect her real identity - as she is still a minor having attained a mere 9 years of age*.
Madclaws hates to go to the Vet's. She is smart too, if she even suspects that you want to put her in a cage, she will run away and hide. She knows places in our house where we cannot find her. If you trap her in a small space, she will literally climb the walls to escape your grasp. Then if you should manage to grab her, she will attempt to claw and even bite you (I have a scar to prove it) in her frantic attempts to escape.
In the past, we have been quite traumatised by the experience, and perhaps it is not too inconceivable that we have a tendency to procrastinate when it comes to the annual rabies shot. Madclaws is an inside cat - and always has been inside. Even if offered an open door to go outside, she will run upstairs and hide.
Then a few days ago, an envelope arrived in the mail. Inside was a notice that a criminal complaint had been filed by the ACO for (I shit you not) "an unvaccinated cat." The hearing would be held next month as to why we should not be found guilty of a misdemeanor. Is this the same system that refuses to arrest illegal aliens who are stopped on the highway for driving infractions?
So, when we asked the Vet why the ACO is so anal about the annual inoculation, this is the rationale we were given: "A rabid bat might fly into the house either through an open door or window, or even down the chimney. Said bat might bite a cat, infecting it. In turn, the now rabid cat might bite a human in the house with fatal consequences."
I am not exaggerating. This is what I was told by the Vet with an absolutely straight face. I asked about the statistics on such an unlikely scenario.
I was told that there are approximately 70 human deaths per year in the USA attributed to being bitten by an animal infected with rabies. Unfortunately the stats do not break down to identify how many of the deaths occur ed in homes where the pet was bitten by an intruder bat. And besides, what would keep the rabid bat from biting the human directly rather than going through the cat as a middleman? My questions were viewed as smart-assed, I am sure.
"Why take chances?" I was admonished.
When I wondered aloud how many people were killed each year in auto accidents caused because the driver was distracted by the high decibel yowling of the uncooperative feline in the cage on the back seat, I got a look of disapproval for my dumb questions.
Anyhow, I managed to stay our of jail by pleading the case to my humorless Vet who reluctantly gave me some sedation pills for the cat. I ground the pill into a powder and fed it to the cat mixed in with the morning meal. It worked enough to slow the cat down. I got my heavy gloves out, sneaked up on her while she slept in sedated kitty dreamworld, grabbed her by the nape of the neck and wrestled her into the carrier. The rest was easy. Situation resolved. I made it back to the vet's without crashing the van, and the cat seems no worse for the experience.
So, Dad, wherever you are, you can still be proud. I'm not going to the hoosegow - this time. And we can breathe a sigh of relief that the only Rabies deaths that occure in our home will be from bat bites, not cat bites.
*I do not find it comforting to know that some Siamese cats can live for up to twenty human years.
1/10/2007
Cranking it up
I was reading about a new search engine that is available as an alternative to Google and Yahoo. This one is aimed at the 50+ crowd. It's called cranky.com (go ahead and click on it for a sample view.)
Cranky bills itself as the "first age relevent search engine" but it seem more like a devious facade for boomer friendly marketing.
Of the 10 "Most popular" searches, I checked out the piece labeled "working after retirement" and got an article from a 1999 issue of Business Week. (Gee! That was valuable.) The "Work At Home" search was filled with offers to sell you advice about how to avoid scams. How cynical can you get?
One of the most common work-at-home schemes/scams is Envelope Stuffing.
These scams usually incorporate a "registration fee" which must be paid before work begins. Once this fee has been paid, the "employee" is asked to post an ad -- often the exact same ad that the "employee" responded to -- using his or her own contact info. Once the "employee" receives a response to their ad, he or she will stuff an envelope with information/instructions on how to get started and mail it to the new applicant. The victim is "paid" based on the number of responses/registration fees received from the ad she placed. It's just a variation of a chain-letter concept.
Anyway, I was not terribly impressed by Crankydotcom. But it gives me an idea for other audience-relevent search engines:
1) Catpoop.net - "An online meeting place where cat owners can gather to discuss litter box habits of their furry friends."
2) Ifwedidit.com - "Accused murderers and rapists need a community to share the pains and joys of indictment and possible incarceration."
3) Coloradoblizzard.org - "a blackberry network where stranded homeowners can exchange anguished thoughts with stranded travelers who are stuck at the local airport.
4)Dontmakemeshootyou.net - "a search engine that gives the home address and photo of anyone who sends you a pop-up ad, so you can hunt them down and slay them."
These are just a few that come to mind. I'm sure you can think of others.
Cranky bills itself as the "first age relevent search engine" but it seem more like a devious facade for boomer friendly marketing.
Of the 10 "Most popular" searches, I checked out the piece labeled "working after retirement" and got an article from a 1999 issue of Business Week. (Gee! That was valuable.) The "Work At Home" search was filled with offers to sell you advice about how to avoid scams. How cynical can you get?
One of the most common work-at-home schemes/scams is Envelope Stuffing.
These scams usually incorporate a "registration fee" which must be paid before work begins. Once this fee has been paid, the "employee" is asked to post an ad -- often the exact same ad that the "employee" responded to -- using his or her own contact info. Once the "employee" receives a response to their ad, he or she will stuff an envelope with information/instructions on how to get started and mail it to the new applicant. The victim is "paid" based on the number of responses/registration fees received from the ad she placed. It's just a variation of a chain-letter concept.
Anyway, I was not terribly impressed by Crankydotcom. But it gives me an idea for other audience-relevent search engines:
1) Catpoop.net - "An online meeting place where cat owners can gather to discuss litter box habits of their furry friends."
2) Ifwedidit.com - "Accused murderers and rapists need a community to share the pains and joys of indictment and possible incarceration."
3) Coloradoblizzard.org - "a blackberry network where stranded homeowners can exchange anguished thoughts with stranded travelers who are stuck at the local airport.
4)Dontmakemeshootyou.net - "a search engine that gives the home address and photo of anyone who sends you a pop-up ad, so you can hunt them down and slay them."
These are just a few that come to mind. I'm sure you can think of others.
1/09/2007
Not Finished Yet
Today, the Careerbuilder website cites a study that predicts the creation of 1.5 million new jobs in 2007.
You are probably thinking, "This is just blog fodder. Why do you give a crap? We thought you were retired, anyhow."
Well, faithful reader, I need to remind you that this forum has always interested itself in the world of employment and the meaning of work in our lives. So I do give a "crap" - as you put it so indelicately. Besides, I have never declared myself to be "retired". I just said I was "on a sabbatical" or "Not currently Employed" (NCE).
I don't like the sound of the word "retired." It sounds so old-guyish, so end-of-the-line, so out-of-the-game. When you see an old guy walking down the steet during a weekday morning, you can usually tell the retired guys from the ones who are on vacation. Retired guys don't shower and shave every day. They tend to wear dark colors, old un-ironed sweatshirts, or gray chinos, and maybe a baseball cap. They probably need a haircut. They shamble grimly toward their destination (odds are, it's the Quickimart to buy a paper and a lottery scratch ticket.) They seldom make eye contact with others.
Old guys on vacation are usually clean shaven, appear to shower with regularity and are typically dressed in newer, brighter colored clothes. They are often smiling and appear to be interested in everything around them.
So, that is why the Careerbuilder piece caught my eye. I was interested to see that there will be more work opportunities. Granted, the chance that one of these new gigs might meet my stringent requirements is remote, but still, the odds have improved ever so slightly.
So, yes, I am still in the marketplace for a job. The other day in the paper there was an article about Sheraton's search for a National Beer Officer. The person would be responsible for tasting and ensuring quality at the bars in Sheraton hotels, and going to Octoberfest. Despite the fact that it was a nonpaying position they had about 5,000 applicants from thirteen countries. Including mine.
I can hear you thinking, "Wait, I thought that you were abstaining from alcoholic beverages." Ok, that is technically true. But I have continued to be a fan of beer. And I would consider an exception if selected for this position - a lifetime dream job if there ever was one.
More than likely, if I go back to work, it will be in one of those humdrum jobs doing database conversions and snoozing through monthly staff meetings.
A note on the blog: to those of you who still check it, I have resolved to be a better blogger this year. I plan to visit here regularly, you should too.
You are probably thinking, "This is just blog fodder. Why do you give a crap? We thought you were retired, anyhow."
Well, faithful reader, I need to remind you that this forum has always interested itself in the world of employment and the meaning of work in our lives. So I do give a "crap" - as you put it so indelicately. Besides, I have never declared myself to be "retired". I just said I was "on a sabbatical" or "Not currently Employed" (NCE).
I don't like the sound of the word "retired." It sounds so old-guyish, so end-of-the-line, so out-of-the-game. When you see an old guy walking down the steet during a weekday morning, you can usually tell the retired guys from the ones who are on vacation. Retired guys don't shower and shave every day. They tend to wear dark colors, old un-ironed sweatshirts, or gray chinos, and maybe a baseball cap. They probably need a haircut. They shamble grimly toward their destination (odds are, it's the Quickimart to buy a paper and a lottery scratch ticket.) They seldom make eye contact with others.
Old guys on vacation are usually clean shaven, appear to shower with regularity and are typically dressed in newer, brighter colored clothes. They are often smiling and appear to be interested in everything around them.
So, that is why the Careerbuilder piece caught my eye. I was interested to see that there will be more work opportunities. Granted, the chance that one of these new gigs might meet my stringent requirements is remote, but still, the odds have improved ever so slightly.
So, yes, I am still in the marketplace for a job. The other day in the paper there was an article about Sheraton's search for a National Beer Officer. The person would be responsible for tasting and ensuring quality at the bars in Sheraton hotels, and going to Octoberfest. Despite the fact that it was a nonpaying position they had about 5,000 applicants from thirteen countries. Including mine.
I can hear you thinking, "Wait, I thought that you were abstaining from alcoholic beverages." Ok, that is technically true. But I have continued to be a fan of beer. And I would consider an exception if selected for this position - a lifetime dream job if there ever was one.
More than likely, if I go back to work, it will be in one of those humdrum jobs doing database conversions and snoozing through monthly staff meetings.
A note on the blog: to those of you who still check it, I have resolved to be a better blogger this year. I plan to visit here regularly, you should too.
12/21/2006
Hype Fatigue
I don’t know about you, but I am getting real tired of being assailed by companies that seem to spare no expense when it comes to marketing. It isn’t enough that they insert themselves into nearly every page of every newspaper and magazine and web page. They harangue us for 20 minutes out of every hour on the radio and TV. They hire people to accost you in the mall. They incessantly deliver unwanted (and unread) sheaves if slick ad copy to your mailbox, or annoying automated calls to your voice mail.
You cannot even escape at the beach. Your placid moment on the sand will be disturbed by the droning of a single prop ww2 vintage fizzlewhacker with a banner trailing behind to announce the wet tee shirt contest and one dollar for frosty 12oz drafts at the local beer joint.
We are forced to pay extra for software to prevent pop-up ads from taking over our PC’s and even then you cannot view a blog or a searched page without some adware jiggling or twinkling to catch your eye. AOL makes a big thing out of preventing pop-ups, but allows insidious – and I reiterate UNWANTED - ads to appear in the middle of the screen and move through your field of vision, then disappear. If these are not pop-ups, what are they?
Even PBS programs – which are billed as “commercial free” give lengthy and blatent advertising plugs for high level donor companies. If these aren’t commercials what are they?
Apparently, the companies who spend all this money on advertising don’t care how effective it is. In fact, the jillion dollar “knock-off” industry sells products that are just as good as the “genuine article.” They let the big company spend all the money to hype the brand and then sell their look-a-like product cheaper and reap a high margin.
So my point is that I am annoyed. I decry the pollution of every media platform and venue with constant and repetitive advertising. I also object to the portion of each dollar spent that goes to pay for the promotion of the product.
There are many companies that would be on the list of blatant offenders – who spend an obscene amount of money on advertising and charge outlandishly for their products. Two are in my sights this morning: BOSE and OMAHA STEAKS.
BOSE: they make a fine product. But I see their full page ads in every paper nearly every day. They advertise on every radio station I know of. They are in magazines. They send expensive glossy direct mail pieces every couple of weeks. I would never buy the product because I don’t want to pay for the heavy advertising costs that drive their prices to premium level. There are high quality knock-offs (see Cambridge Soundworks) for half the price.
OMAHA STEAKS: They produce delicious looking pictures in their brochures. They package-up what looks like a real great deal. Then you get the shipment and are disappointed that the steaks are small and thin and not even close to the flavor and juiciness of a fresh steak purchase from the meat guy at the market. I was disappointed but wrote it off to experience. Yet they will not leave us alone. We get offers in the mail every week and constant calls from telemarketers in Nebraska. Their Hype is annoying. I will not buy their products again.
Ironically, the one product ad that has appealed to me lately is for the new High Definition radio sets which are hyped largely on the basis of being “commercial-free”.
Come to think of it, I am having second thoughts about the complaint about arial banners at the beach. How else would you know where to go for those one dollar frosty draft beers?
You cannot even escape at the beach. Your placid moment on the sand will be disturbed by the droning of a single prop ww2 vintage fizzlewhacker with a banner trailing behind to announce the wet tee shirt contest and one dollar for frosty 12oz drafts at the local beer joint.
We are forced to pay extra for software to prevent pop-up ads from taking over our PC’s and even then you cannot view a blog or a searched page without some adware jiggling or twinkling to catch your eye. AOL makes a big thing out of preventing pop-ups, but allows insidious – and I reiterate UNWANTED - ads to appear in the middle of the screen and move through your field of vision, then disappear. If these are not pop-ups, what are they?
Even PBS programs – which are billed as “commercial free” give lengthy and blatent advertising plugs for high level donor companies. If these aren’t commercials what are they?
Apparently, the companies who spend all this money on advertising don’t care how effective it is. In fact, the jillion dollar “knock-off” industry sells products that are just as good as the “genuine article.” They let the big company spend all the money to hype the brand and then sell their look-a-like product cheaper and reap a high margin.
So my point is that I am annoyed. I decry the pollution of every media platform and venue with constant and repetitive advertising. I also object to the portion of each dollar spent that goes to pay for the promotion of the product.
There are many companies that would be on the list of blatant offenders – who spend an obscene amount of money on advertising and charge outlandishly for their products. Two are in my sights this morning: BOSE and OMAHA STEAKS.
BOSE: they make a fine product. But I see their full page ads in every paper nearly every day. They advertise on every radio station I know of. They are in magazines. They send expensive glossy direct mail pieces every couple of weeks. I would never buy the product because I don’t want to pay for the heavy advertising costs that drive their prices to premium level. There are high quality knock-offs (see Cambridge Soundworks) for half the price.
OMAHA STEAKS: They produce delicious looking pictures in their brochures. They package-up what looks like a real great deal. Then you get the shipment and are disappointed that the steaks are small and thin and not even close to the flavor and juiciness of a fresh steak purchase from the meat guy at the market. I was disappointed but wrote it off to experience. Yet they will not leave us alone. We get offers in the mail every week and constant calls from telemarketers in Nebraska. Their Hype is annoying. I will not buy their products again.
Ironically, the one product ad that has appealed to me lately is for the new High Definition radio sets which are hyped largely on the basis of being “commercial-free”.
Come to think of it, I am having second thoughts about the complaint about arial banners at the beach. How else would you know where to go for those one dollar frosty draft beers?
12/19/2006
When Do I Start?
A few weeks ago I received an email which had been forwarded through several degrees of separation, from the original sender to one of the ladies in my wife's book group. Thence to me.
It was a announcement of a temporary, part-time job maintaining the membership database for a non-profit organization. "Maintaining" is just a high-falootin way of saying "mostly data entry." It sounded like your basic clerical type function entering data from new and returning member forms. Pretty mundane for a world class Systems Analyst, you say...but a real challenge for a recently retired fellow who types like a crow pecking at an ear of corn.
But, this is the difference between you and me. Where you see a boring, low level job, I see a portal of opportunity: an entree to an organization, where you get to do paid research, meet people, look for problems to solve....
Besides, the magic words were: temporary, part-time, local and $20/hr. (Higher wages than his last retail job, he thought to himself).
Anyhow, I responded to the mailing, and was rewarded with an in-person interview. After a few pointed remarks by the director it was pretty clear that she did not regard me as the best candidate, since they were really looking for a person who typed very quickly and was also not distracted by any real thoughts about what she was doing. I guess that should be perceived an implied compliment to my creative thought process. I hastened to assure her that I could be as vapid and thoughtless as the next guy, er girl, or whatever. Too late, the damage was apparently already done. As we exchanged pleasantries, I could sense that I had been figuratively crossed off the list.
Maybe they really thought I was "over-qualified" The Director seemed perplexed that someone of my qualifications was interested in doing clerical work. My response that all work is clerical, and I need some extra spending money to pay overdue library fines was not well received. Perhaps the Director needs to believe that some work is indeed more important than "menial" tasks. (I should have pointed-out that even the most gourmet meal needs to be served on clean plates.)
I waited in vain all all last week to hear from them. Today I got the idea to appeal to their sympathies. I decided that they probably would choose someone who really needed money. Here is the text of my letter:
Dear Emily,
Just wondering if you’ve made a decision yet on the enrollment data base job. It would really help me to know, as I am in the process of budgeting for the coming year.
1) Thanks to generous bribes offered to the parole board, mother will be getting out of prison in April ( for good behavior) and I was hoping to get her a new motorcycle. She so loves the fresh wind in her hair. But a new Harley can cost over $20K. Let’s hope she stays out, this time.
2) As one who loves fine cheese, I recently bought a goat on E-Bay. Now, the guy is asking for his money.
3) In a moment of utter optimism, I purchased charter tickets on a flight to Mars, which is scheduled to leave Cape Canaveral in the Spring of 2045. I also bought these tickets on the Internet (brooklynbridge.org) for a discount price. The bill is due in a few weeks.
So, you can see that I really could use a bit of extra spending cash. This is not to imply that my revenue needs should affect your hiring decision, mind you.
Unless you were thinking of hiring some other – less needy - person.
Please let me know soon if you have decided to hire a less gifted and needy individual, as I do have another offer pending. My brother-in-law needs a partner on a project that involves “soliciting funds at banks, gas stations and convenience stores in the Boston suburbs.” I really would prefer to work in an environment where I do not need to carry a mask and a weapon, so I am giving you folks first refusal.
Best wishes for the Holidays
It was a announcement of a temporary, part-time job maintaining the membership database for a non-profit organization. "Maintaining" is just a high-falootin way of saying "mostly data entry." It sounded like your basic clerical type function entering data from new and returning member forms. Pretty mundane for a world class Systems Analyst, you say...but a real challenge for a recently retired fellow who types like a crow pecking at an ear of corn.
But, this is the difference between you and me. Where you see a boring, low level job, I see a portal of opportunity: an entree to an organization, where you get to do paid research, meet people, look for problems to solve....
Besides, the magic words were: temporary, part-time, local and $20/hr. (Higher wages than his last retail job, he thought to himself).
Anyhow, I responded to the mailing, and was rewarded with an in-person interview. After a few pointed remarks by the director it was pretty clear that she did not regard me as the best candidate, since they were really looking for a person who typed very quickly and was also not distracted by any real thoughts about what she was doing. I guess that should be perceived an implied compliment to my creative thought process. I hastened to assure her that I could be as vapid and thoughtless as the next guy, er girl, or whatever. Too late, the damage was apparently already done. As we exchanged pleasantries, I could sense that I had been figuratively crossed off the list.
Maybe they really thought I was "over-qualified" The Director seemed perplexed that someone of my qualifications was interested in doing clerical work. My response that all work is clerical, and I need some extra spending money to pay overdue library fines was not well received. Perhaps the Director needs to believe that some work is indeed more important than "menial" tasks. (I should have pointed-out that even the most gourmet meal needs to be served on clean plates.)
I waited in vain all all last week to hear from them. Today I got the idea to appeal to their sympathies. I decided that they probably would choose someone who really needed money. Here is the text of my letter:
Dear Emily,
Just wondering if you’ve made a decision yet on the enrollment data base job. It would really help me to know, as I am in the process of budgeting for the coming year.
1) Thanks to generous bribes offered to the parole board, mother will be getting out of prison in April ( for good behavior) and I was hoping to get her a new motorcycle. She so loves the fresh wind in her hair. But a new Harley can cost over $20K. Let’s hope she stays out, this time.
2) As one who loves fine cheese, I recently bought a goat on E-Bay. Now, the guy is asking for his money.
3) In a moment of utter optimism, I purchased charter tickets on a flight to Mars, which is scheduled to leave Cape Canaveral in the Spring of 2045. I also bought these tickets on the Internet (brooklynbridge.org) for a discount price. The bill is due in a few weeks.
So, you can see that I really could use a bit of extra spending cash. This is not to imply that my revenue needs should affect your hiring decision, mind you.
Unless you were thinking of hiring some other – less needy - person.
Please let me know soon if you have decided to hire a less gifted and needy individual, as I do have another offer pending. My brother-in-law needs a partner on a project that involves “soliciting funds at banks, gas stations and convenience stores in the Boston suburbs.” I really would prefer to work in an environment where I do not need to carry a mask and a weapon, so I am giving you folks first refusal.
Best wishes for the Holidays
12/07/2006
Day of Infamy
60 years before 9/11, there was the sneak attack by Japan on Pearl Harbor on this date in 1941. It was the event launched the US into the war that was already raging in Europe and Asia. The enemy powers were nation states with uniformed armies, territorial ambitions and nationalistic missions. It was the defining and unifying moment in the lives and minds of many Americans who were alive at the time. Every thing was suddenly changed, just as the attack on the World Trade Center in New York City has impacted the lives and thoughts of all of us who are alive today. That event forced us all to stop in our tracks, to realize that we had more to worry about than the rising costs of health care or how to maximise the return on our IRA accounts.
Yesterday, during our weekly Tea (these days we actually drink tea instead of beer), my friend George lamented that we are not unified as a nation the way we were in WW2. The topic under discussion was the announcement of the findngs by the Iraq Study group that we need to do something differently in Iraq. Even if you are a Bush hater, you cannot feel happy about the fact that we are in yet another nasty mess - one that we will always look back upon as a huge mistake.
Sixty five years ago we had a clear enemy. Every family in the USA was personally touched by the war because sons, fathers, brothers and uncles went off to fight. Today, hardly any of us know someone who is stationed in Iraq. Hardly any of our political leaders have a relative in harm's way.
As painful as it is for us to watch the casualty numbers of Americans on the evening news, we cannot help but compare the staggering cost of past wars compared to Iraq. Most of the current deaths are civilians, in a culture that does not seem to value human life.
I wish I could propose a solution to this mess. We cannot pull-out without leaving a power vacuum that would almost certainly make the situation and US security worse that when Saddam was in power. We cannot stay and remain the magnet for world acrimony.
I only hope future leaders will learn from this situation. Democracy cannot be imposed on people who do not value individual freedom and do not recognize the rights of people who believe differently.
Well, enough of this -- who has their Christmas shopping done?
Yesterday, during our weekly Tea (these days we actually drink tea instead of beer), my friend George lamented that we are not unified as a nation the way we were in WW2. The topic under discussion was the announcement of the findngs by the Iraq Study group that we need to do something differently in Iraq. Even if you are a Bush hater, you cannot feel happy about the fact that we are in yet another nasty mess - one that we will always look back upon as a huge mistake.
Sixty five years ago we had a clear enemy. Every family in the USA was personally touched by the war because sons, fathers, brothers and uncles went off to fight. Today, hardly any of us know someone who is stationed in Iraq. Hardly any of our political leaders have a relative in harm's way.
As painful as it is for us to watch the casualty numbers of Americans on the evening news, we cannot help but compare the staggering cost of past wars compared to Iraq. Most of the current deaths are civilians, in a culture that does not seem to value human life.
I wish I could propose a solution to this mess. We cannot pull-out without leaving a power vacuum that would almost certainly make the situation and US security worse that when Saddam was in power. We cannot stay and remain the magnet for world acrimony.
I only hope future leaders will learn from this situation. Democracy cannot be imposed on people who do not value individual freedom and do not recognize the rights of people who believe differently.
Well, enough of this -- who has their Christmas shopping done?
12/01/2006
Nostalgia and Tradition
'Tis the season, a time for memories. Around this time of year, we start hearing those old Christmas Carols and we remember those halcyon days when our parents and other adult relatives were still alive. Grandpapa strumming his old guitar and mother at the blonde mahogany spinet, singing Deck the Halls.
They were indeed wonderful times, and I am pleased to be able to recall those memories still. (Even the time when uncle Harry arrived drunk, and then and fell off the sofa on the floor where he lay unconscious - to the utter horror of mother as well as the new neighbors who had come over for a glass of cheer. All very entertaining for a young lad.)
But alas, (in the words of one of my favorite modern visionaries) Nostalgia isn't what it used to be.
A good friend of mine has recently taken to wallowing in the past on a public forum.
He laments the loss of decadent traditions that he and his Ivy League cronies had in their callow youth. He sees the relentless tide of progress as a bad thing. He wishes he could travel back to those prime times and relive the frivoloties of carefree college fraternal glee.
Most of us in the post war pre-boomer generation do not share those fond memories. We went into the service or to commuter colleges or joined a union and went to work after high school. We were definitely not the intellectual elites. Unless we had been star athletes in high school, we had not yet peaked. We were always looking to the future with optimism, because we believed that things would get better. (And they did.)
My friend notes that I am the founder (and still President) of the local Here and Now Society. We go around picketing historical sites. We proudly display plastic signs on our homes that show that they were built after 1960.
We accept, nay welcome, the tide of progress. We buy lottery tickets and go to casinos because we believe that luck can level the playing field that was unlevelled by fate. We don't spend time bitching about what's the matter with kids today. We look to the future with optimism and hope.
We love our fond memories, but do not wish to go back to the days of yore, before micro-brews and MP3, those black and white test pattern days when everyone smelled funny. We embrace reality with eyes wide open and welcome the adventure of each day.
That is here and now.
Who wants to join?
They were indeed wonderful times, and I am pleased to be able to recall those memories still. (Even the time when uncle Harry arrived drunk, and then and fell off the sofa on the floor where he lay unconscious - to the utter horror of mother as well as the new neighbors who had come over for a glass of cheer. All very entertaining for a young lad.)
But alas, (in the words of one of my favorite modern visionaries) Nostalgia isn't what it used to be.
A good friend of mine has recently taken to wallowing in the past on a public forum.
He laments the loss of decadent traditions that he and his Ivy League cronies had in their callow youth. He sees the relentless tide of progress as a bad thing. He wishes he could travel back to those prime times and relive the frivoloties of carefree college fraternal glee.
Most of us in the post war pre-boomer generation do not share those fond memories. We went into the service or to commuter colleges or joined a union and went to work after high school. We were definitely not the intellectual elites. Unless we had been star athletes in high school, we had not yet peaked. We were always looking to the future with optimism, because we believed that things would get better. (And they did.)
My friend notes that I am the founder (and still President) of the local Here and Now Society. We go around picketing historical sites. We proudly display plastic signs on our homes that show that they were built after 1960.
We accept, nay welcome, the tide of progress. We buy lottery tickets and go to casinos because we believe that luck can level the playing field that was unlevelled by fate. We don't spend time bitching about what's the matter with kids today. We look to the future with optimism and hope.
We love our fond memories, but do not wish to go back to the days of yore, before micro-brews and MP3, those black and white test pattern days when everyone smelled funny. We embrace reality with eyes wide open and welcome the adventure of each day.
That is here and now.
Who wants to join?
11/07/2006
Botched Joke - Inconvenient Truth
The other day, John Kerry showed again why he should not be his party's nominee for the office of President in 2008. Speaking to a group of college students, he made a lame comment about how you should stay in school and be smart or else "You get stuck in Iraq."
Opposition opinionaters went into a feeding frenzy declaring that Kerry had maligned the honor of the US military by insinuating that they were all dunderheads. Even President Bush declared that the Senator from Massachusetts should apologize to the brave troops. Kerry, of course, went to the media to explain that what he said was not what he meant. In a display of even more pretzel logic, Kerry said that his remark was just a botched joke that was aimed at the current administration's failed enterprise in Iraq. Nobody believed him.
What everyone took out of the comment was the underlying truth that the people who end up fighting in wars are not the "best and the brightest" minds in our society. Check out the number of sons and daughters of our political leaders who are over there laying their asses on the line. Not too many eh?
Never mind that, say those who want to skewer Kerry, and they trot out some statistics that show that our current military is smarter than the group who fought in Viet Nam. Apples and oranges. Remember that during the Vietnam conflict we had an involuntary draft system in this county. If you could get into college you could get a deferment and avoid the unpleasantness of getting shot at by jungle snipers or being shredded by mortar blasts. Drop-outs and the less academically inclined tended to be the ones on the line.
This ain't WW2 either. In today's Army and Marine corps, the enlistment rolls are chiefly made up of people without better prospects. Duh - Would you sign-up for a chance to become a casualty if you had the option of having a nice peaceful day working at a job where you don't need a gun, coming home to dinner with your nice family? Chances are, you would opt for the lesser risk. The fact is that many of the guys who are there were called up from reserve units. These folks did not join the reserves thinking that they would have to go into battle, and we all know that.
The uplifting fact is that most of these soldiers have accepted their duty and are serving their country honorably - even heroically. Along with an uncomfortable number of GI's who are not doing things that make us proud. If Rumsfeld ever lets the reservists get out, the pool of replacement recruits is embarrassingly uneducated and unskilled - people who have few other choices. This is just the truth, folks.
It is not un-American to recognize that smart people tend to avoid military service. And it does not malign all GI's to note that they might have preferred to go to college and study philosophy, but they couldn't get in. It does not say that they aren't salt of the earth guys you would want as your friends and neighbors. It is what it is.
The smartest guys are generally officer rank, and not the guy with the gun, looking for IED's and enemy troops. Most of us would not want our loved ones to be over there - no matter how honorable. "Stay in school," we warn them "or you might get sent to Iraq."
How much more we would have admired Kerry, if he had the ability to articulate his point of view. Bush, for all of his elocution faults, lets us know exactly where he stands.
Opposition opinionaters went into a feeding frenzy declaring that Kerry had maligned the honor of the US military by insinuating that they were all dunderheads. Even President Bush declared that the Senator from Massachusetts should apologize to the brave troops. Kerry, of course, went to the media to explain that what he said was not what he meant. In a display of even more pretzel logic, Kerry said that his remark was just a botched joke that was aimed at the current administration's failed enterprise in Iraq. Nobody believed him.
What everyone took out of the comment was the underlying truth that the people who end up fighting in wars are not the "best and the brightest" minds in our society. Check out the number of sons and daughters of our political leaders who are over there laying their asses on the line. Not too many eh?
Never mind that, say those who want to skewer Kerry, and they trot out some statistics that show that our current military is smarter than the group who fought in Viet Nam. Apples and oranges. Remember that during the Vietnam conflict we had an involuntary draft system in this county. If you could get into college you could get a deferment and avoid the unpleasantness of getting shot at by jungle snipers or being shredded by mortar blasts. Drop-outs and the less academically inclined tended to be the ones on the line.
This ain't WW2 either. In today's Army and Marine corps, the enlistment rolls are chiefly made up of people without better prospects. Duh - Would you sign-up for a chance to become a casualty if you had the option of having a nice peaceful day working at a job where you don't need a gun, coming home to dinner with your nice family? Chances are, you would opt for the lesser risk. The fact is that many of the guys who are there were called up from reserve units. These folks did not join the reserves thinking that they would have to go into battle, and we all know that.
The uplifting fact is that most of these soldiers have accepted their duty and are serving their country honorably - even heroically. Along with an uncomfortable number of GI's who are not doing things that make us proud. If Rumsfeld ever lets the reservists get out, the pool of replacement recruits is embarrassingly uneducated and unskilled - people who have few other choices. This is just the truth, folks.
It is not un-American to recognize that smart people tend to avoid military service. And it does not malign all GI's to note that they might have preferred to go to college and study philosophy, but they couldn't get in. It does not say that they aren't salt of the earth guys you would want as your friends and neighbors. It is what it is.
The smartest guys are generally officer rank, and not the guy with the gun, looking for IED's and enemy troops. Most of us would not want our loved ones to be over there - no matter how honorable. "Stay in school," we warn them "or you might get sent to Iraq."
How much more we would have admired Kerry, if he had the ability to articulate his point of view. Bush, for all of his elocution faults, lets us know exactly where he stands.
10/27/2006
The World She Will Grow up in
I was lamenting to one of my friends - who happens to be a NeoCon sympathizer - that I shuddered to think of the world that my new grand daughter would be growing up in. I was painting a fairly bleak picture of a nation overrun by illegal immigrants, subject to frequent bomb threats and actual random terrorist attacks, gasoline prices shooting above $5 per gallon, a populace whose freedoms would be tightly controlled by a totalitarian government that brooked no dissent. OK, I was admittedly playing the literary license card to advance my own personal agenda which is to throw the current rascals out of power.
I am mostly an independent - which annoys both sides. The cons call me a "flipflopper" and the libs call me a "tool." I subscribe to the political sentiments that I hear from a lot of Brits: "Governments are like a baby's nappys; they need to be changed frequently - and for the same reason."
So, this is why I am willing to help defeat the incumbent party in the next election. The Cons say that Bush administration has protected us. Well, I'm not seeing it. The borders are still as porous as a knitted doily. Nobody thinks the rail system or ports are safe from people of bad intent, with a decent plan and destructive means. Homeland security is a joke that has no one LoL-ing. Kim IL Jong thinks we are a pussycat. Chavez can come to the UN and act like an asshole and get a standing Ovation. (Maybe it doesn't matter if a bunch of boogerglob 4th world countries think he's funny, but I find it annoying - even Nixon was treated better in South America.)
The Republicans have simply failed on all the measures where they had previously claimed the high ground.
I am mostly an independent - which annoys both sides. The cons call me a "flipflopper" and the libs call me a "tool." I subscribe to the political sentiments that I hear from a lot of Brits: "Governments are like a baby's nappys; they need to be changed frequently - and for the same reason."
So, this is why I am willing to help defeat the incumbent party in the next election. The Cons say that Bush administration has protected us. Well, I'm not seeing it. The borders are still as porous as a knitted doily. Nobody thinks the rail system or ports are safe from people of bad intent, with a decent plan and destructive means. Homeland security is a joke that has no one LoL-ing. Kim IL Jong thinks we are a pussycat. Chavez can come to the UN and act like an asshole and get a standing Ovation. (Maybe it doesn't matter if a bunch of boogerglob 4th world countries think he's funny, but I find it annoying - even Nixon was treated better in South America.)
The Republicans have simply failed on all the measures where they had previously claimed the high ground.
- Fiscal Responsibility - check out the national debt; look at the earmarks; look at the Budget! We in the middle class are being crushed by the profligate spending of the current, irresponsible house and senate. What happened to 8 Billion cash "lost" in Iraq? They gotta go!
- Moral Superiority - : Mark Foley Scandal; lobbyist Scandal; Indictments; Earmarks for indefensible projects.
- We won't Cut and Run - The fact is, and everyone knows it - they are looking for a way to do just that - despite the contrary protestations of Mr. Bush. He can't commit us beyond 2008. Anyhow.
10/11/2006
The Sky is Falling Part 2
As if to make my point about the difficulty in getting the Truth on this data rich world of ours, I just had to shut off the TV in frustration because the BREAKING NEWS BULLETINS were interrupting all the other programs on all stations to show the same poor quality film clip of a building that was burning in New York City.
The reports had almost no real factual data except that "something" apparently had crashed into a high rise building near the river. The speculation was that it was a small plane or a helicopter. Astoundingly, in the city of 10 million people, a full hour after the incident not one eye witness could be found to say what he or she observed. There seems to be no debris from the crashed aircraft. One neighbor says she heard an explosion, but did not see any aircraft.
So I am frustrated that the news people are in such a hurry to bring us the non-news and to fill our heads with non information (speculation) that I had to shut the damn TV off. Why can't they wait to find out what happened? I am willing to wait for the facts, believe me.
It would be like me posting the news that my expectant daughter is at the hospital in labor. You don't really need that information until we know that the baby has been born and all the attendant facts. So I would never post that sort of information prematurely, even if it were true,
which it is.
The reports had almost no real factual data except that "something" apparently had crashed into a high rise building near the river. The speculation was that it was a small plane or a helicopter. Astoundingly, in the city of 10 million people, a full hour after the incident not one eye witness could be found to say what he or she observed. There seems to be no debris from the crashed aircraft. One neighbor says she heard an explosion, but did not see any aircraft.
So I am frustrated that the news people are in such a hurry to bring us the non-news and to fill our heads with non information (speculation) that I had to shut the damn TV off. Why can't they wait to find out what happened? I am willing to wait for the facts, believe me.
It would be like me posting the news that my expectant daughter is at the hospital in labor. You don't really need that information until we know that the baby has been born and all the attendant facts. So I would never post that sort of information prematurely, even if it were true,
which it is.
10/04/2006
The Sky is Falling
It is difficult to sort through the welter of information that is drifting around the cyberverse these days, especially if one is seeking to know the Truth.
There was a report of a study the other day that purported to make some useful conclusions about the personal hygiene of our fellow Americans.
Although 92% of the people polled said that they always washed their hands after using the bathroom, The Soap and Detergent Association reports that a 2005 study it commissioned shows that only 83% of people washed their hands after using a public restroom.
How is the discerning reader to make any sense of this type of sloppy research and reporting. In the first case the question is about all bathroom usage. One can assume that the respondants were thinking about the primary site of bathroom use - the home. In the second case, the observation is specifically about public bathroom usage. Cripes, at least a third of the public facilities in the USA do not have fully functional sinks or towel dispensors. And for guys, if there is any sort of a line, well....
If you asked me if I always washed my hands after using the rest room, I would say yes 100% of the time. Yet, I have noticed that a lot of my fellow males skip this importance phase of the rest room visit. This has created a certain amount of anguish for me.
What is the point of me gallantly washing the germs off my hands if I am going to have to open the door using the door handle that is clearly infested and probably infected with the teeming bacteria of the non-handwashers?
People look at you like you are a wierdo if you just stand around in the men's room waiting for someone else to open the door. Until someone invents the self sanitizing door handle I shall be forced to use the paper towel to open the door.
Some of my friends - especially the dog owners* - think I am a bit too obsessive about germs. But, once the bird flu gets to be a pandemic, the non handwashers will be sneezing their eyeballs into the sink; clean people like me will be the survivors.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*If you want and education, google this phrase: "Dogs like to eat and roll in feces"
There was a report of a study the other day that purported to make some useful conclusions about the personal hygiene of our fellow Americans.
Although 92% of the people polled said that they always washed their hands after using the bathroom, The Soap and Detergent Association reports that a 2005 study it commissioned shows that only 83% of people washed their hands after using a public restroom.
How is the discerning reader to make any sense of this type of sloppy research and reporting. In the first case the question is about all bathroom usage. One can assume that the respondants were thinking about the primary site of bathroom use - the home. In the second case, the observation is specifically about public bathroom usage. Cripes, at least a third of the public facilities in the USA do not have fully functional sinks or towel dispensors. And for guys, if there is any sort of a line, well....
If you asked me if I always washed my hands after using the rest room, I would say yes 100% of the time. Yet, I have noticed that a lot of my fellow males skip this importance phase of the rest room visit. This has created a certain amount of anguish for me.
What is the point of me gallantly washing the germs off my hands if I am going to have to open the door using the door handle that is clearly infested and probably infected with the teeming bacteria of the non-handwashers?
People look at you like you are a wierdo if you just stand around in the men's room waiting for someone else to open the door. Until someone invents the self sanitizing door handle I shall be forced to use the paper towel to open the door.
Some of my friends - especially the dog owners* - think I am a bit too obsessive about germs. But, once the bird flu gets to be a pandemic, the non handwashers will be sneezing their eyeballs into the sink; clean people like me will be the survivors.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*If you want and education, google this phrase: "Dogs like to eat and roll in feces"
9/21/2006
Being Nice
I saw a piece in the paper this week about a book that was just published entitled "The Power of Nice." The authors are advertising execs who claim to have become successful by being nice instead of being cut-throat, backstabbing sharks.
This Being Nice philosophy is somewhat counter to the popular culture of competitveness, being the best, doing what Machievelli would do. I like the sound of it, but I am a bit skeptical. If I had to compile a ranked list of factors for success, "niceness" would appear very near the bottom, if at all.
In my experience I have noticed that not many nice people get put in charge of things. The rewards system of most organizations favors the individual who can concentrate on a single-minded organizational goal without sentimental regard to personal/human considerations. Like a good chess player, the future leader must sacrifice some pawns to capture a knight. And so on.
I am not saying I like it. I am just saying that's how it is.
This Being Nice philosophy is somewhat counter to the popular culture of competitveness, being the best, doing what Machievelli would do. I like the sound of it, but I am a bit skeptical. If I had to compile a ranked list of factors for success, "niceness" would appear very near the bottom, if at all.
In my experience I have noticed that not many nice people get put in charge of things. The rewards system of most organizations favors the individual who can concentrate on a single-minded organizational goal without sentimental regard to personal/human considerations. Like a good chess player, the future leader must sacrifice some pawns to capture a knight. And so on.
I am not saying I like it. I am just saying that's how it is.
9/16/2006
And Your Hat looks Funny Too!
News Report: Gunmen firebombed five churches in the Palestinian territories Saturday over remarks by Pope Benedict XVI this week that outraged Muslims around the world who interpreted the Pope's words as criticism that Islam endorses violence.
Why would Anyone think that Muslims endorse violence?
Why would Anyone think that Muslims endorse violence?
8/29/2006
Off to Bonny Scotland
I'll be taking the high road for the next few weeks and will not have time for blogeries, so get your fix somewhere else for a change. See you back here sometime around the ides of Sept.
8/23/2006
Confessions
I have never disclosed this before to anyone, but since one can get a lot of unwarranted attention, free food and air travel by admitting to old unsolved crimes, I want to be the first to admit that I was the real Boston Strangler. BTW, I thought Tony Curtis did a great job in the role, although I am much better looking. Of course I am long since retired from such shenanigans.
My last slaying was a fat chipmunk about two weeks ago who went for my tomato-baited rat trap. I was hoping to exterminate the marauding squirrels but they are too quick for the traps. I felt bad about the chipmunk, so I put the traps away.
I may have found a new solution: at the take-and-leave section of the dump I found a discarded (never opened) motion sensor alarm. It was one of those electronic gimmicks from Sharper Image that plays the sound of a dog barking and growling when it senses movement nearby.
I'm sure there is an interesting story behind it: eg, Somebody probably bought it for their poor widowed mother to make her feel safe living alone in that run-down apartment in a bad section of the city, rather than having her moving-in with the family in the toney suburbs, like she's been begging to. But, before she could get out to the drugstore to buy the 4 "D" cell batteries (not included) she was probably strangled by some pervert.
I loaded it up with fresh Duracells and it worked fine. The contraption seems to keep the squirrels away from the tomatoes - for now. Funny how one person's loss can be another's gain.
As I look out on the garden this morning, I realize that we are less than two weeks from Labor Day, which is considered the potential First Frost Date here in new England. And I am just now picking the Early Girls. The Jet Stars are still the size of eggs and green. Naturally, we will be in Europe when the Jet Stars ripen. Feel free to come over and pick some for your dinner salad.
The old e-mailbag has been overflowing with at least one inquiry about my health.
Thanks - you know who you are. I hope the rest of you do not feel guilty. My courageous battle against ulcers has been tough and lonely, but it has been a journey of hope and inspiration.
Ok. That was a lie. I never knew I had ulcers. I have been taking 2 Aleve on a daily basis for jillions of years (at least 5), for my arthritic and old age pains. I just noticed that there is a warning on the label on a bottle of ALEVE in the smallest typefont known to modern man, it warns that if you drink 3 or more beers a day it could result in stomach bleeding. Which leads to "pernicious anemia."
Perhaps the Aleve (Naproxen) served to dampen any ulcer pain. It should also be noted that I have a cast iron stomach and have only been sick enough to regurgitate twice in the past 40 years. Once in 1972 when I ate too many hot dogs for dinner the night before passing papers on our first house (nervous, no doubt, at the burden of amassing a staggering debt of $22,000). The other time was in 1999 when I got food poisoning. I have always associated ulcers with stress.
In recent years, I have often boasted that I had all but eliminated stress from my life - mainly by reducing my commute time and also being more proactive in avoiding toxic work venues and the assholes who dominated them. So the ulcers are a puzzle to me.
Not so much of a puzzle to my doctor who blames alcohol all of my health problems, including the psoriasis. Fuck him, what does he know?
Anyhow - just to keep the peace around here, I am not drinking (nor taking Aleve) for the foreseeable future. They consider me in a detoxification stage, and are prescribing me a nice cocktail of tranquilizers and nap-inducers. I wait until late in the day to take these; otherwise, my thought processes are like sausage.
My wife and I have discussed the very real possibility that it may be too dangerous for me to continue in retirement. Left to my own devices, I tend to thrash. I am prone to getting into trouble, hanging around bars, going to casinos and racetracks. Running with a disreputable crowd. Having impure thoughts. Lunches, beers with the gang, fishing and not catching. Not that these things are morally bad, but they seem to be bad for my health.
It seems that I need external structure, agenda and a place to go. In other words, I need a job. This is a profoundly disappointing thing to discover about oneself. But, what is one to do, but face up to the truth?
My last slaying was a fat chipmunk about two weeks ago who went for my tomato-baited rat trap. I was hoping to exterminate the marauding squirrels but they are too quick for the traps. I felt bad about the chipmunk, so I put the traps away.
I may have found a new solution: at the take-and-leave section of the dump I found a discarded (never opened) motion sensor alarm. It was one of those electronic gimmicks from Sharper Image that plays the sound of a dog barking and growling when it senses movement nearby.
I'm sure there is an interesting story behind it: eg, Somebody probably bought it for their poor widowed mother to make her feel safe living alone in that run-down apartment in a bad section of the city, rather than having her moving-in with the family in the toney suburbs, like she's been begging to. But, before she could get out to the drugstore to buy the 4 "D" cell batteries (not included) she was probably strangled by some pervert.
I loaded it up with fresh Duracells and it worked fine. The contraption seems to keep the squirrels away from the tomatoes - for now. Funny how one person's loss can be another's gain.
As I look out on the garden this morning, I realize that we are less than two weeks from Labor Day, which is considered the potential First Frost Date here in new England. And I am just now picking the Early Girls. The Jet Stars are still the size of eggs and green. Naturally, we will be in Europe when the Jet Stars ripen. Feel free to come over and pick some for your dinner salad.
The old e-mailbag has been overflowing with at least one inquiry about my health.
Thanks - you know who you are. I hope the rest of you do not feel guilty. My courageous battle against ulcers has been tough and lonely, but it has been a journey of hope and inspiration.
Ok. That was a lie. I never knew I had ulcers. I have been taking 2 Aleve on a daily basis for jillions of years (at least 5), for my arthritic and old age pains. I just noticed that there is a warning on the label on a bottle of ALEVE in the smallest typefont known to modern man, it warns that if you drink 3 or more beers a day it could result in stomach bleeding. Which leads to "pernicious anemia."
Perhaps the Aleve (Naproxen) served to dampen any ulcer pain. It should also be noted that I have a cast iron stomach and have only been sick enough to regurgitate twice in the past 40 years. Once in 1972 when I ate too many hot dogs for dinner the night before passing papers on our first house (nervous, no doubt, at the burden of amassing a staggering debt of $22,000). The other time was in 1999 when I got food poisoning. I have always associated ulcers with stress.
In recent years, I have often boasted that I had all but eliminated stress from my life - mainly by reducing my commute time and also being more proactive in avoiding toxic work venues and the assholes who dominated them. So the ulcers are a puzzle to me.
Not so much of a puzzle to my doctor who blames alcohol all of my health problems, including the psoriasis. Fuck him, what does he know?
Anyhow - just to keep the peace around here, I am not drinking (nor taking Aleve) for the foreseeable future. They consider me in a detoxification stage, and are prescribing me a nice cocktail of tranquilizers and nap-inducers. I wait until late in the day to take these; otherwise, my thought processes are like sausage.
My wife and I have discussed the very real possibility that it may be too dangerous for me to continue in retirement. Left to my own devices, I tend to thrash. I am prone to getting into trouble, hanging around bars, going to casinos and racetracks. Running with a disreputable crowd. Having impure thoughts. Lunches, beers with the gang, fishing and not catching. Not that these things are morally bad, but they seem to be bad for my health.
It seems that I need external structure, agenda and a place to go. In other words, I need a job. This is a profoundly disappointing thing to discover about oneself. But, what is one to do, but face up to the truth?
8/20/2006
Blackout
The sound of the fan stopping woke me up this morning. The swishing blades were still barely moving when I looked at my bedside clock and saw that the power had gone off. How magnified are my senses these days with the boutique chemicals rambling around my medula oblongata. Sounds do not awaken me. The silence is what lassoed my attention.
I sit on the edge of the bed and look out the open window. It is raining. The Sunday paper is lying in the driveway, too close to the gutter. It is double wrapped in plastic, but history has proven that it will get soaked if left to sit as the water rises. I hate trying to read a wet newspaper, so I put my pants and socks on and pad downstairs in the semi darkness. My wife is still asleep, but the cats - who have been waiting impatiently for someone to arise and feed them - follow me down the stairs. The battery-powered clock in the kitchen says that it is 7:53.
I retrieve the paper and then divide a jar of the expensive strained turkey baby food that the cats have come to expect for breakfast. We pamper them and in return they do not puke on the rug.
Everything we have is electric, so I cannot make coffee or read the paper inside. I take my morning mix of pills with cranberry juice and take the paper out to the porch where the light is better. I turn the overhead fan switch on, so I will know when the power comes back on.
We live in perilous times. Any moment, life as we know it may suddenly change because of terrorists or exploding volcanoes or raging atmospheric storms. We are on high alert. The brain is beginning to plan for an extended power outage: This time, I will eat all the Edie's lime-flavored fruit bars before they melt!
Shortly, the fan starts up. Crisis averted. I trundle around, resetting the digital timepieces on the microwave, oven and radio. Then, Coffee!
What caused the blackout? Probably we shall never know. I like to think it was Homer Simpson getting donut jelly stuck in one of the keys at the municipal light plant, but more than likely it was a burnt-out transformer. Somebody got some extra OT pay, the Edie's Fruit bars are intact and our cease-fire with disaster seems to be holding.
I sit on the edge of the bed and look out the open window. It is raining. The Sunday paper is lying in the driveway, too close to the gutter. It is double wrapped in plastic, but history has proven that it will get soaked if left to sit as the water rises. I hate trying to read a wet newspaper, so I put my pants and socks on and pad downstairs in the semi darkness. My wife is still asleep, but the cats - who have been waiting impatiently for someone to arise and feed them - follow me down the stairs. The battery-powered clock in the kitchen says that it is 7:53.
I retrieve the paper and then divide a jar of the expensive strained turkey baby food that the cats have come to expect for breakfast. We pamper them and in return they do not puke on the rug.
Everything we have is electric, so I cannot make coffee or read the paper inside. I take my morning mix of pills with cranberry juice and take the paper out to the porch where the light is better. I turn the overhead fan switch on, so I will know when the power comes back on.
We live in perilous times. Any moment, life as we know it may suddenly change because of terrorists or exploding volcanoes or raging atmospheric storms. We are on high alert. The brain is beginning to plan for an extended power outage: This time, I will eat all the Edie's lime-flavored fruit bars before they melt!
Shortly, the fan starts up. Crisis averted. I trundle around, resetting the digital timepieces on the microwave, oven and radio. Then, Coffee!
What caused the blackout? Probably we shall never know. I like to think it was Homer Simpson getting donut jelly stuck in one of the keys at the municipal light plant, but more than likely it was a burnt-out transformer. Somebody got some extra OT pay, the Edie's Fruit bars are intact and our cease-fire with disaster seems to be holding.
8/17/2006
The Healing Process
Day by day we heal ever so gradually, even as we acknowledge the road to dusty death lies visible before us. And we must steel ourselves to pack-up and set-out to begin again on tomorrow's long journey into night.
Entropy, thou witch, has cursed our bones and flesh. We crawl to the edge of the oasis of good feeling and then the mecacah toss us rudely back on the stinging sand, laughing at our pitious moans. They tell me it's the drugs; but I know evil spirits when I feel them gnawing on my soul! The real question; Were they really Doctors or intergalactic Aliens intent upon harvesting my essences?
I lie in bed with my eyes shut against the pain, wondering when the rude experiments they are performing will end. The probes, the tubes, the suction machines and I open my eyes to recognize that it is our Brazilian cleaning ladies who are violating me as I lay helpless. They seem to be talking to each other in a language I cannot understand. They are giving me a sponge bath. The young one with long dark eyelashes is unsure how to procede. They point at my privates and tell her "pretend he is your boyfriend." She completes the hygiene in a most satisfying way. I want her for my nurse.
But once again, it is likely just one of the thousands of daily drug-induced screenplays that occupy my mental viewing screen. Don't get me wrong, it beats working, but I am not sure it beats drinking.
Entropy, thou witch, has cursed our bones and flesh. We crawl to the edge of the oasis of good feeling and then the mecacah toss us rudely back on the stinging sand, laughing at our pitious moans. They tell me it's the drugs; but I know evil spirits when I feel them gnawing on my soul! The real question; Were they really Doctors or intergalactic Aliens intent upon harvesting my essences?
I lie in bed with my eyes shut against the pain, wondering when the rude experiments they are performing will end. The probes, the tubes, the suction machines and I open my eyes to recognize that it is our Brazilian cleaning ladies who are violating me as I lay helpless. They seem to be talking to each other in a language I cannot understand. They are giving me a sponge bath. The young one with long dark eyelashes is unsure how to procede. They point at my privates and tell her "pretend he is your boyfriend." She completes the hygiene in a most satisfying way. I want her for my nurse.
But once again, it is likely just one of the thousands of daily drug-induced screenplays that occupy my mental viewing screen. Don't get me wrong, it beats working, but I am not sure it beats drinking.
8/16/2006
A True Story, Honest
The other day I got an email from the library telling me that I had two books that were seriously overdue and generating fines. If I did not return the books I would be remanded to a maximum security prison where the guards are hired because they score above the 98th percentile of the DeSade profile. (Many of them had been rejected by administrators Abu Grhaib because they were too violent). The notice assured me that no one had ever escaped and no one was ever released. There were no visitors except for mean little children who came to throw rotten eggs and bags of dog feces at the inmates as they whooped down the halls.
The note told me that I could avoid this hassle by simply bringing the books back and paying the fine. I decided upon this course of action and presented myself at the "Miscreant Borrower" desk at the main branch. A stern uniformed woman looked me over, as if wondering what size orange jumpsuit I would be wearing when I was convicted. "Double XXL, I should imagine."
"What?" I asked.
"Pay no mind, patron, I was just thinking out loud. Now, then. What are we trying to pull?"
"Pull?"
"Yes, PULL! Keeping these books overdue! Certainly you are aware that we have RULES..."
"Well, actually, it was an error." She rolled her eyes dramatically as if to say I've never heard this one before... "I was actually in the hospital for a few days and..."
"In the Hospital for a few days, were you?" she clarified
"Yes, Mam, and the meds they sort of got me confused about the days..."
"These books are six days overdue!" She glared at me like where the fuck have I been? Didn't I understand priorities? How can we run an efficient library if people are going to keep books out overdue?
I felt pretty bad about it all. Inconsiderate. Bad citizen.
Then her face seemed to melt into a friendly, forgiving, almost motherly smile.
"Drugs, did you say? They have you on meds?"
"Yeah, I'm in a fog half the day with this Ativan." A barely perceptible brightening of the smile. "Yah, 2mg 3 times a day - I'm like a zombie."
"Oh poor dear. Sometimes they over prescribe those tranqs. We have a program where we distribute them to needy nervous people you know." I noticed a mild tremor in her hand which she disguised by tapping her pencil on the counter.
"Ok, let's deal." I said.
I walked out of the library with a clean record and a receipt for fine paid. The librarian was probably in the back room popping at least one of the half dozen pills of Ativan. Good, she needed to chill out a bit.
The note told me that I could avoid this hassle by simply bringing the books back and paying the fine. I decided upon this course of action and presented myself at the "Miscreant Borrower" desk at the main branch. A stern uniformed woman looked me over, as if wondering what size orange jumpsuit I would be wearing when I was convicted. "Double XXL, I should imagine."
"What?" I asked.
"Pay no mind, patron, I was just thinking out loud. Now, then. What are we trying to pull?"
"Pull?"
"Yes, PULL! Keeping these books overdue! Certainly you are aware that we have RULES..."
"Well, actually, it was an error." She rolled her eyes dramatically as if to say I've never heard this one before... "I was actually in the hospital for a few days and..."
"In the Hospital for a few days, were you?" she clarified
"Yes, Mam, and the meds they sort of got me confused about the days..."
"These books are six days overdue!" She glared at me like where the fuck have I been? Didn't I understand priorities? How can we run an efficient library if people are going to keep books out overdue?
I felt pretty bad about it all. Inconsiderate. Bad citizen.
Then her face seemed to melt into a friendly, forgiving, almost motherly smile.
"Drugs, did you say? They have you on meds?"
"Yeah, I'm in a fog half the day with this Ativan." A barely perceptible brightening of the smile. "Yah, 2mg 3 times a day - I'm like a zombie."
"Oh poor dear. Sometimes they over prescribe those tranqs. We have a program where we distribute them to needy nervous people you know." I noticed a mild tremor in her hand which she disguised by tapping her pencil on the counter.
"Ok, let's deal." I said.
I walked out of the library with a clean record and a receipt for fine paid. The librarian was probably in the back room popping at least one of the half dozen pills of Ativan. Good, she needed to chill out a bit.
8/06/2006
Two versions of last week
Version 1 : I have a great excuse for not getting the blog updated.
On Tuesday I was forced by my wife to get checked-out for some minor health issues.
The Local Animal Dr/HMO surgeon recomended that we go to the ER for faster test results. Obediently, we go to the hospital but before I can explain that this is no big deal, I feel fine, this is just a test. . I am wearing one of those assless pajama tops with tubes and wires up into everything. People sticking things everywhere, intimately, and without so much as an introduction.
You start to worry when you look down at the foot of your gurney to see a youngish looking black Doctor - i swear the kid looked younger than Doogy Hauser - and he is looking at my chart through thick plastic rimmed glasses and yelling "Holy shit! Code Blue! Sombody get the difribbukator! Where are my paddles?"
I'm panicked by then - just as one zaftic black lady appears and grabs him by
the arm and says, "Com'on, Leroy! You not sposed to be bodderin' the sick
mens..." She smiles at me like 'he was just funnun ya'.
Fucking hospitals. Then another kid in a green doctor suit wants to
stick his purple gloved finger up my ass ostensibly to check my prostate.
"You won't like this" he says. But the drugs are dulling my rapier wit.
"How can you tell I might be gay?" I smile agreeably. He grimmaces at my bad sense of humor.
He says that my prostate isn't "all that big", Then confirms the worst diagnosis:
most definitely "blood in stool". Enough discussion on how this is determined. eh? I cannot think of a worse sounding symptom.
>
So internal bleeding. The best case is bleeding ulcers; the worst case is bullet to the abdomen, middle case is colon cancer. With no reason to suspect bullet holes we have a tossup which I am rooting for theulcer. A literal army of people come in and out of my "room" in the ER. Some are just looking for supplies which are stored on the shelves. The pull back the curtain look at me, look around and close the curtain. i am like a Panda in the zoo, viewing is available for all who pay the price of a ticket,
Apparently, I am being examined in a part time storage room. Still it looks a lot like the exam room on the TV set. I am wired to a heart machine that beeps encouragingly and displays my life line om a small monitor; my temp and pulse rate are being tracked by a wired clothespin on my index finger. An automatic blood pressure cuff is attached to my upper arm. Periodically it inflates and deflates to record the vital measures of my blood pressure - which is probably hitting the roof because I am convinced this is the Hotel California (You can check out but you can never leave...) , and I am most certainly doomed.
As I try to write this I am under the influence of too many drugs to recall what has transpired in detail since Tuesday. Spent two nights being monitored and getting (probably contaminated) several blood transfusions. I was released on Thursday and when I saw my doc on Friday he said I was going to be fine, but that I should never to take Aleve or - drink anything alcoholic again (ever) - he has me on an alcohol withdrawal drug - probably the same one they are giving to Mel Gibson. I hope he doesn't have as much tyops as I do.
Version two - cleaned up
Anyhow, it's been a hard week. On monday, I was not feeling so good. Not to be indiscrete but my bowels were not behaving "normally"; I was feeling lightheaded as I worked around the yard. it was hot, so I attrinuted the lightheadedness to heat exhaustuion.
On Tuesday, My wife pursueded me to call our HMO for a looksee. They thought I sounded anemic and that I needed a test that could best be done as an outpatient, so I endup at Brigham and womens ER. Long story short: I am bleeding from ulcers. The give me two units of blood to raise my blood count. I stayed there tues and wed night (this was the first time I had been in the hospital overnight since my birth.)
I am now on a coctail of drugs that makes typing werds almost impossible. One of the drugs is attipan which seems to simulate the effects of drinking a qt of vodka. They (The young fellows dressed in green clothese who call themselvbes DR seem to think that my bleeding ulers are caused by a combination of too mucn naproxin (ALEVE) too mutch scotch and Gin. Maybe caused by bargain priced no name tonic water.
Today - Saturday (what happened to Friday?) I am feeling fine and beck to my normal routine - except for the Alevel and alcohol both of which I am on an indefinit prohibition from. This thursday I am checking my self into the mel gibson rehab clinic, sounds like fun.
more news when i can tyoe bettr
On Tuesday I was forced by my wife to get checked-out for some minor health issues.
The Local Animal Dr/HMO surgeon recomended that we go to the ER for faster test results. Obediently, we go to the hospital but before I can explain that this is no big deal, I feel fine, this is just a test. . I am wearing one of those assless pajama tops with tubes and wires up into everything. People sticking things everywhere, intimately, and without so much as an introduction.
You start to worry when you look down at the foot of your gurney to see a youngish looking black Doctor - i swear the kid looked younger than Doogy Hauser - and he is looking at my chart through thick plastic rimmed glasses and yelling "Holy shit! Code Blue! Sombody get the difribbukator! Where are my paddles?"
I'm panicked by then - just as one zaftic black lady appears and grabs him by
the arm and says, "Com'on, Leroy! You not sposed to be bodderin' the sick
mens..." She smiles at me like 'he was just funnun ya'.
Fucking hospitals. Then another kid in a green doctor suit wants to
stick his purple gloved finger up my ass ostensibly to check my prostate.
"You won't like this" he says. But the drugs are dulling my rapier wit.
"How can you tell I might be gay?" I smile agreeably. He grimmaces at my bad sense of humor.
He says that my prostate isn't "all that big", Then confirms the worst diagnosis:
most definitely "blood in stool". Enough discussion on how this is determined. eh? I cannot think of a worse sounding symptom.
>
So internal bleeding. The best case is bleeding ulcers; the worst case is bullet to the abdomen, middle case is colon cancer. With no reason to suspect bullet holes we have a tossup which I am rooting for theulcer. A literal army of people come in and out of my "room" in the ER. Some are just looking for supplies which are stored on the shelves. The pull back the curtain look at me, look around and close the curtain. i am like a Panda in the zoo, viewing is available for all who pay the price of a ticket,
Apparently, I am being examined in a part time storage room. Still it looks a lot like the exam room on the TV set. I am wired to a heart machine that beeps encouragingly and displays my life line om a small monitor; my temp and pulse rate are being tracked by a wired clothespin on my index finger. An automatic blood pressure cuff is attached to my upper arm. Periodically it inflates and deflates to record the vital measures of my blood pressure - which is probably hitting the roof because I am convinced this is the Hotel California (You can check out but you can never leave...) , and I am most certainly doomed.
As I try to write this I am under the influence of too many drugs to recall what has transpired in detail since Tuesday. Spent two nights being monitored and getting (probably contaminated) several blood transfusions. I was released on Thursday and when I saw my doc on Friday he said I was going to be fine, but that I should never to take Aleve or - drink anything alcoholic again (ever) - he has me on an alcohol withdrawal drug - probably the same one they are giving to Mel Gibson. I hope he doesn't have as much tyops as I do.
Version two - cleaned up
Anyhow, it's been a hard week. On monday, I was not feeling so good. Not to be indiscrete but my bowels were not behaving "normally"; I was feeling lightheaded as I worked around the yard. it was hot, so I attrinuted the lightheadedness to heat exhaustuion.
On Tuesday, My wife pursueded me to call our HMO for a looksee. They thought I sounded anemic and that I needed a test that could best be done as an outpatient, so I endup at Brigham and womens ER. Long story short: I am bleeding from ulcers. The give me two units of blood to raise my blood count. I stayed there tues and wed night (this was the first time I had been in the hospital overnight since my birth.)
I am now on a coctail of drugs that makes typing werds almost impossible. One of the drugs is attipan which seems to simulate the effects of drinking a qt of vodka. They (The young fellows dressed in green clothese who call themselvbes DR seem to think that my bleeding ulers are caused by a combination of too mucn naproxin (ALEVE) too mutch scotch and Gin. Maybe caused by bargain priced no name tonic water.
Today - Saturday (what happened to Friday?) I am feeling fine and beck to my normal routine - except for the Alevel and alcohol both of which I am on an indefinit prohibition from. This thursday I am checking my self into the mel gibson rehab clinic, sounds like fun.
more news when i can tyoe bettr
7/25/2006
NCE* Update
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.
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.
7/17/2006
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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