Today's blog is brought to you live, or as live as possible, from my shower.Don't worry, you can look:I'm wearing swim trunks.I'm not here to feel clean, I'm here to feel cool.No, not Fonzie cool, just "Not so freakin' hot"cool.Didn't you read?My air conditioner is broken!
Sorry, the heat makes me edgy.
So, I've moved the computer just outside the shower.I'm using a lufa string noose to suspend the monitor from the shower head, the keyboard is wedged into a caddy shelf, and the soapdish supports my mouse.I am having trouble with the ball finding traction in the soap scum.Maybe there's a back brush attachment.Somebody get me Belkin-they make everything...
What?
No!The computer's not in the shower!What do you think?I'm an idiot?It's on the other side of the curtain, sitting on the toilet seat.It's kind of like a voyeur Cylon watching me.Kinda spooky really.Web-cam eye roving back and forth.If the DVD drawer opens up with a big knife, I am so out of here.My computer has seen too many movies.
So this is my office today. The cell phone is on remote speaker, and I think this is about as "casual Friday" as I can get.I could get used to this.Hang on,I need to squeegee the monitor. Yeah,I keep a spare squeegee in the shower, why?
What?And you don't?
Then nevermind.
Don't worry about me.I'll do fine, it's just the last throws of summer.Next year, I'll get it fixed before the heat comes knockin'.I'm pretty sure the heater works though.I'm not going to test it just yet.
I do have a plan B—for today anyway.If I get too waterlogged I still have some shopping to do, and well….the AC in my car still works.I can do lots of community driving.And what proper shopping emporium doesn't offer refrigeration to keep their customers cool?Hell, that's like free drinks in a casino.
"What?Walmart's got free AC?Why didn't you say so!Let's go.Kids, grab your swim fins!"
Hey that's right, and now Walmart has grocery items.Hmmm…Why I bet I could skewer some shrimp and start up a grill.Do they sell beer or wine?No?Well I could survive on Kool-Aid if I had to.
It's all about adapting.I've had to do a lot of it lately.I'm Lutheran, we don't like change.We're pretty much heels-dug-in-the-dirt kinda folk.Now in the last few months I've gone through a water heater, a air conditioner, and fiery wife.God's trying to tell me something.I just hope that he'll wait until after my shower, or maybe thefall...
Sometimes it just isn't worth it to get up. This morning I got up because it was too warm to stay in bed. The AC was on, but it just wasn't cool. Well I think I know why. My AC is blowing "warm" air. Oh, it's cooler than what's outside, but that's only because the air outside isn't moving. It's still and dead.
This was an unseen turn of events. I can't afford it. I'm gonna have to swelter through the rest of summer, and pray I can save some cash before next year.
It's nice to be so poor you don't have to worry about choices. I just wish it was cool enough to enjoy that advantage.
Yup.That was the highlight.Want to hear about it?Ok.I grabbed the can from beneath the sink, pulled the bag out of the little white smelly can that needs a bath really bad.I mentioned smelly right?Me and my sack headed to the bathrooms where I emptied not one but two cans of trash! Uh-huh.Feel the thrill.That's right, then scampering to the front of the house (yeah, I scamper when I'm alone.I find I lack the balance for a trot or skip.), I placed the bag on my entry tile by the front door, then grabbed the recyclable can next to the back door.Taking that bag, I meandered around the house, gathering newspapers, shredded documents, and plastic sundries.
Meander...
Meander...
Meander...
Meander...
Ok, that's done.I grab the two bags in my right hand (cuz I've been working out. Rowr!) and carry them to the big plastic rolling cans that smell better than their indoor compatriots and toss each bag in the appropriate receptacle.
And my wedding ring dives in with the recyclables.
I'd like to tell you I made that last part up.Isn't that really cool and symbolic? I want to write like that some day. No, the best material takes place in real life.Fiction ain't half of what it's cracked up to be.My life sacrifices itself for art.I'm a martyr for myself.
That's special.It still doesn't get my ring out of the trash.So spilling the can on it's side,I become a dumpster diver outside my own home.Yeah, my neighbors are staring at me.They've been staring since MyUnwife left—waiting for something cool to happen.When it happens, will the Home Owners Association approve?I'm sure I have neighbors ready with bylaw-bibles ready to quote chapter and verse if it doesn't.
"Mr. Blogwriter, gunfire is strictly prohibited after 10pm."
California neighbors never talk much, we're known for our cool fences.It's a nod to Robert Frost, who most Californians will never read. I've read him, but I don't count.I'm a transplant.I'm taking the road less traveled. I don't belong.
So I squat, sifting through the bags and boxes. Thank God it was the recycle bin.The ring isn't too tough to find;I'm just glad I noticed before the trash trucks.It fell off the other day while lifting weights (it got stuck in a glove); I didn't realize it until after drying from my shower.
I've lost so much weight since we were first married, but I just don't see the sense in having the ring resized.
So why do I still wear it?I'm still married.I know, I know. It's only matter of time and a state stamp, but still.I made a vow.When the state of California absolves it, I'll remove the token bond. Until then, I'm still married.
I know, it's stupid, but I'm stubborn that way.It also sucks.I can't even smile at a girl without looking like a creepy letch.
"Mommy that man's staring at me!"
Sorry wrong girl.
"Look somewhere else, you perv, before I gouge your eyes out!"
There,that's the girl.
No.It's like this weird limbo.It's worse than when I was married-married.At least then there were rules.Rules make things black, white, and easy.A female friend mentioned going out for beers once. I wasn't sure if she was suggesting we go, or if she was just lamenting the lonely California transplantation.I opted to interpret it as the latter, because there was nothing I could do about the former.My wife had strict rules about taking other women out for drinks.On the other hand, I felt bad.Here was a friend who needed help, I should have been able to do something more than, pat-pat, "Don't worry, It'll get better."
What the hell kind of cop-out crap is that?Now, the roles are reversed, sort of: I'm in need of a drink, and there's a Post-it onmy refrigerator saying "Don't worry, it'll get better."I know it's there.I wrote it.
Don't get me wrong.I'm actually doing ok, it's just that this awkward unmarried-married phase has me a little off kilter—sort of like pin the tail on the donkey for adults. You know where there's no donkey, no pinning,just some ass spun dizzy and left alone in a big room: empty except for the passel of railroad ties littering the floor.I'm looking for balance, and it's not there, just silent stumbling blocks and the smell of tar.No, I'll settle for busy: it slows the spinning.
Last night I made dinner.It was leftover night; too many half portions in the fridge; I ran out of Tupperware.So I'm standing in front of the nuker waiting for either the plastic wrap bubble to explode or the meal to finish (I've taken odds with myself as to which is going to happen).Ok, that's a lie.We all know the wrap shrinks around the plate.There was no bubble. I'm sorry, That story was easier than admitting the stupid stuff really running through my head:
Funny, I've used more ice cubes today in 106 degree weather than I did last week when it was 89 degrees…
If there are sixty seconds in a minute, does that mean there are 61 servings in a box of minute rice..?
Spido Cherokee?What kind of porn name is that?
Yeah, even the voices in my head got bored and went out to play with the dog.
"Here cosmo!"
"No here Cosmo!"
"Over here!"
He hates that game.
So what do I do? I do what I do.Now there's a cop-out, but yeah.I keep busy-esque and I wait.Wait for a call, a sign, a letter.Something to arrive and tell me it's time to go on.Until then, I wait.I wait and meander…meander…meander...
So I'm reading this book.I started it a while back, but I'm having trouble getting into it.It's called The Cult of the Amateur, by Andrew Keen.It's a short read, and the subject matter seemed interesting when I picked it up.Keen presents a premise that internet amateurs are eroding our culture.Music, video, and literature:all will vanish, because ofYouTube, Wikpedia, and yes, my dear readers, anonymous bloggers.
I'm part of cultural decimation.Kind of makes me feel warm and fuzzy, like a hot bath and my favorite toaster.
My mom always said I was special.Take that bully high school jocks!You gave me wedgies, I murder your culture.Well, actually no.You never made it past Dr. Seuss, and finger paints.You won't miss Van Gogh or Vonnegut.Your culture died before it even slimed the Petri dish.
See?This would be an interesting premise (and well, why I bought the book in the first place).I'm first in line to champion the library over the internet.I think they both have their place, but if you want reliable information, go to the library.If you need a quick fix, go to the internet. I wrote a college thesis on the mutating written language based on our dependence on oral and visual stimuli.OK, so it was about words disappearing because people's dependence on radio and television (wrought-iron becoming rod-iron, coleslaw, cold-slaw.You get the point).I like the first description better.So did my professor. I got an A.
Keen?I don't know if I can finish the book to give him a grade.I don't mind the Chicken Little approach so much as I hate the elitist sour grape whine.He seems to want to break the world into "You fools" and "Us literati" It was good of him to include himself in the "Us" don't you think?Maybe I'm just pissed cuz I'm a "You."Either way, his book paints a world where all the fecal flinging monkeys (yeah, "You"s) are storming the castle and burning everything in sight.Books, paintings, news, video, you name it we "You"s are ruining it.
In his world, only the "Us"s are creators, because they're the only one's intelligent enough to understand what's important.
"Let them eat cake."
Thanks Mr. Keen.
I was hoping he'd offer some solution, some alternative, some "Us"ian insight,but no, he's just running circles with his foot nailed to the floor.The book is a whimper from beneath the blankets.Making it even tougher to read, he seems to be more of a coat tails "Us" than a real "Us." He's upset because He's been sidekick to the schoolyard bully, and now there's a new badass on the asphalt.He's afraid people will discover a pseudo behind the intellectual.
I don't know if this is really the case, but this is how he paints himself.The brave new world he proposes uses the web to gather all information; accepting the voice of the net as gospel.
OK, that's just stupid.If you're reading my blog, thinking I'm the end all/be all on divorce advice,then please do me a favor: see the glowing button on the front of your computer?Press it and hold it for about 5 seconds.Now, never touch it again.Thank you.I'm an idiot trying to figure things out just like you are.I offer what I've found, if it works, great.If not, sorry 'bout that.
What's more, things aren't that different from the pre-web wide world.One of the first things they taught me in school was "check your source for relevance."If I'm writing a paper on subterranean marsupials, I'm probably not going to cite "High Times" as a reliable source.I think I can make that leap and say BustyGirlsLikeItUnderground.com isn't going to get me what I'm looking for either.At least not for my marsupial insight anyway.
Keen acts like we're all idiots. We'll believe anything so long as it's written on the bathroom walls.Look, the internet is like a town, we should look at the information in chat rooms and blogs the same way we look at facts thrown out by Floyd the barber.
Please.I know you know this.So why doesn't a self-proclaimed "Us?"
Like I said, I still haven't finished the book.It's too much.I wonder if he's divorced?If so I'll bet he wasn't a candidate for a "friendly divorce."You have to lay pride aside if you want to pull that off.
MyUnwife and I are doing pretty well.We're meeting up this weekend or next to get some documents signed.Then there's the filing and stuff.No, we still haven't filed.She's waiting until mid-month so she can pay for it.
So now you're saying "See?She's not sure.She's reconsidering filing!"
Ok, that is funny.You guys are great.That's like slathering yourself in honey and laying in front of a bear waiting for a bath.
No, this is a money thing.Trust me.On divorce, I may be Floyd the barber, but when it comes to MyUnwife, I am Robert The Rose Horse. Well sort of, more expert than hero..I guess I'm just one of "You" trying to get by.
It was perfect.I was gonna share it.You were gonna like it. Now it's gone, and you like nothing.Well I suppose you like somethings, but those are yours and private.They're not a shared moment.I tried to share a moment with Gumby, but even he was disappointed.That's ok, I'm fine.With the help of a setaline torch Gumby's returned to a little green slab of clay.
"I'll get you my Gumby, and your pony pal Pokey too!"
Last night, as I wrapped up my work, I watched the news.Some people find it disturbing to listen to music, and watch TV at thesame time.Normally I do, but when the music is work, sometimes I need the distraction.
One of the reporters came on talking about the total lunar eclipse,He said something about "red ring" and it sounded cool.SoAt 2:30 am I stopped work and went outside.The moon was dwindling, down to a gouda wedge.I grabbed my camera, took some pictures, and prayed for the best. The best wasn't good enough; the pictures didn't turn out.Small blurry white spec and darkness didn't begin to express the event in the sky. The moon glowing like a searing chestnut.That was not in my picture.My picture was nothing.
So many things aren't like what you see in the picture.Especially when dealing with an armature like myself.Real events unfold and all you get to see are foreheads and thumbprints, and shoe shots.It's up to you to take the images and turn them into memories you can see in your head.
My camera needed more light, a better zoom, a better handler to see the magic.
But I saw it.With my eyes I watched, and if I could relay it to you, I would.
As darkness overtook the moon, I wondered how I could relate that to my blog.I whine about everything being about my divorce; how was this about my divorce?It was time to turn on my inner Californian.
Ever notice that?Anytime something happens anywhere in the world, Californians make it all about themselves.
A train derailed in Scotland.
A local manufacturer made the batting in the seats.
A 12 year old in Brazil set a swimming record.
She flew over California on a plane once.
Everything's always about us.
Sometimes things happen. It's not about Californian, and Sometimes eclipses happen and it isn't about my divorce.
But it should be.It's my life, my moon, I need to own it.
Maybe I do, but maybe I should accept it for what it is:A beautiful wonder.I watched the moon change from a pristine white orb to a dark crimson corona. Not everything is a metaphor for my life.
I'd tell you MyUnwife and I used to watch that type of thing, but that's a lie.We didn't.I think we watched a meteor shower once.
It's not that she didn't like that type of stuff, in fact, if an eclipse happened 7pm, I wouldn't be surprised to hear she watched it. It's just not what WE did, and I can take comfort in that.
I now have a fiery chestnut all my own.Maybe there's somebody else out there who saw it.Maybe I can share it with them.Then again maybe not.What matters now is it's mine and nobody in California can take that from me.
Even if things aren't what they appear to be.An eclipse, is like a visual negative image. It looks like it's about one thing, but it's about something else. A metaphor.
Maybe someday I'll look back and see God's grand metaphor here, but right now, I'm outside, I'm too close, and I can't even share it with you.
Nobody's asked me to do this, but I think it's important to get the information out there.
Currently 2 of my readers are entered in a romance novel contest over at Gather.com. Having entered Gather contests before, I know how grueling they can be. Scouring for votes while anonymous voters sabotage you with low ratings. So, if you get a chance, go read the first chapters by these two ladies. If you feel comfortable, leave a vote and or comment. Anything you can do to help them with their work. Writing is a process, and we all need help along the way.
Oh, and while you're there, you can read an old piece I wrote. It's at least 10 years old. It has a weird foreshadowing when I read it now but what the heck. It's not part of a contest, it's just there, bored and alone.
Kind of a litmus test to see if I'd survive the budget or not. Ok, a little more than a litmus test I suppose, but still, they're related.
The outlook?
I'll be that guy drowning at the bottom of the ocean; his leg chained to a cement brick.
I'm way over budget for August.The good news?August was a horrible month.August was restocking month for all the stuff MyUnwife took with her.Little adventures like trying to make spaghetti without tomatoes.Those shouldn't happen in the future.
Shouldn't.My taste buds would agree, but they're still traumatized.
Little surprises like my "Welcome" bill from my new cell phone carrier. A bill and a half wrapped up in one nice payment. Things that made August like the month that I moved, not her.
On the other hand, some bills dropped drastically.My average grocery bill is now a quarter what it was, and my electricity and gas bills are about 2/3 less from where they were.
It'd be great if my mortgage weren't still the same.Can I call the lender and explain I'm only one personand shouldn't need to pay the mortgage of two?
"Hi, yeah, this is Rob Blogwriter. I want to reduce my mortgage payment."
"We can't do that sir."
"But I'm only using half of the oxygen."
"Oxygen is free sir. Breathing oxygen in your home as a courtesy to all our customers.It's what sets us apart from other lenders."
"Well, I don't really use one of the rooms.Can I take that off?"
"What you do with the room is up to you, sir."
"and the payment?"
"Won't change."
Nope, useless.They'rehumorless too.
Just like my cable company. You'd think with the money they rake in, they'd have a great sense of humor.Nope. I've had to drop all of my Premium stations.Do you know how unfair it is that MyUnwife is, right now, flipping through 5 HBOs, and 7 Showtimes looking for nothing to watch?
Why should she be allowed to squander her life like that?
Not fair,I'm flipping between Fresh Prince and Captain Kangaroo reruns without the proper drugs to make sense of either.Oh yeah, I have2 channels of X Files Repeats.I admit, I liked the X Files the first time through.And felt nostalgic the second pass or so.Now, If I hear Mulder go into one more 15 minute whine-alogue about his sister and the hypocrisy of government, I'm gonna beat him silly with my Scully blow-up doll.
Oh, I wasn't supposed to mention that…Oh well, the truth is out there.
ANYWAY.
Speaking of cable, one of the things that bothers me is the advertising.Especially since all I get is commercial television.I get these ads late at night for every lawyer willing to take on my case involving bad weight loss drugs and exposure to asbestos, but I don't see any one offering a cure for divorced guys watching late-night TV alone, trying to fill their "quality" time.I think there's a big market for that!I'm here to tell you, if you offer the right products, this demographic will spend!
"Ordering Pizza again tonight?Why not make it at home with your new EZ Bake pizza oven and brewery. Have pizza and beer in the comfort of your own living room, anytime you want!Tired of sitting behind your wife's softball team every time you go out to eat?Use our patented 'halogen furnace' to create the perfect crust every time.You say you miss the beer?Not a problem!We've brought the beer to you!What Pizza Parlor boasts a micro-brewery?That's right, none of them—except the one in your home... "
Think of the sales on an item like that!Divorced men, Frat rats, face it:Guys!We're easy.Point us in a direction and we'll move.
"I must buy…"
Zombies.
Sheep.
Lemmings.
Oh my!
Show us an attachment for the Play-Doh barber shop that grinds sausage, and we are so buying one."Fun and economical?Oh Boy!"
We're there; it just takes some creativity.Hell I doubt we'd complain if you rehashed the old game ads from our youth.
"Pretty sneaky sis!"
That's right!Give us fun and games.Set us back on the path of normality.Help us make sense of our new world at a price we can afford.We're not as ingenious as Alice.Little girls are braver than we can ever hope to be.Our immortality is dwindling and our looking glass scares us.
Yeah, I know.I'm asking a lot of my cable company.But you can ask MyUnwife, I always set my expectations high.
Like next month, I'm expecting I'll make my budget.
Hey! I just finished dinner and I had to mention this. I know, most of you will read this around breakfast, and it ain't even gonna sound good but trust me. Reread it come dinner. Maybe it'll help you.
I grilled me a steak tonight, which isn't that original, but the flavor was really good. Why? because I marinaded the meat. I used one of those Lowery's 30 minute dealies (Caribbean Jerk), but then I added something a little extra. I added a few drops of Matouk's Calypso Sauce. It's kind of a mustardy-salsay hot sauce. Very good. VERY hot. I know, you're thinking "what does the little white boy know about hot sauce?"
Trust me, the little white boy was raised in the southwest with ancestry haling from creole country. White boy knows plenty. If only I could cook half as well as my Mom's family! But that's another story. I originally bought the Matouk's for my homemade BBQ sauce. It's one of the key ingredients. It's also good if you like to add stuff to your hamburger meat before cooking it up. If you're a purist, well then nevermind.
So try the steak if you get a chance. It's got lots of flavor, even if your cut of beef isn't that good. It's got a sweet and spicy taste that you won't get in a regular grocery store marinade. Sure the Lawry's isn't a TRUE jerk, but it's not bad.
Sigh...I swear, this recipe swapping thing has got to stop. It does nothing for my macho image. Next thing you know I'll be writing a blog and whining about my divorce.
I believe that's what they call it.A strong dislike or fear?Phobia? Or is that Tom Cruise?
I can never tell the difference. Well then whatever.I'll work with phobia.I have one of those.Well, actually a few, but lets talk about one for the moment.
I'm afraid of flying bugs with stingers.Not mosquitoes.They don't have stingers, and no, not even horseflies.They bite.I know my fears intimately; it's just bees, hornets, and such.I currently have a problem with the "and such."I have wasps.No, not a collective of Caucasian protestants.There's only one of those living in this house, and he's not a problem.
The flying things?That's another issue.And yes, they are stinger endowed.Just look at my nests
I think I'm the wasp Howard Johnson's; I house all the neighborhoods wasps.This will not do, especially with my love of said creatures.Now, to help you understand my fear, let me tell you a little story.When MyUnwife and I started living together, we had a little apartment in the desert.One day the wasps showed up with their little furniture and suitcases and hung a small cottage from our porch light.We might not have minded, but it (being a porch and all) was next to our front door.
As the man of the house, I was elected wasp-slayer.I suggested sacrificing a few virgins instead (I thought I'd seen some down by the pool), but MyUnwife wouldn't have it.Handing me a can ofRaid, she patted me on the back, grabbed a Pepsi and some popcorn and prepared for a show.
The problem was, there was no way to spray the nest that wouldn't put the offended guests between me and the safety of my own home.I'd be trapped outside, with my stingered friends.Now look at my nest picture from this house.The porch nest was nothing like that.I think it may have housed 2 wasps--4 if they were real Bohemians.
But wasps don't lose their stinger, they just go and go until you kill them.I've seen the movies.The other thing is that I will have filled them with toxins which they will transfer into me with every puncture of my flesh.Once again, I've seen the movie; this is a recipe for death.
What could I do to keep from getting stung?Well, being related to Wiley Coyote, Supergenius,I formulated a plan.Our kitchen had a window that overlooked the porch.If I opened the window, I could spray the Raid through the screen and hit the nest.
Call me Lionheart.
It seemed to work.I mean I sprayed the can, it hit the nest.I saw one wasp, and he fell to the ground.The kitchen stank, but there appeared to be limited collateral dish-damage.The food did taste funny for a week, but my problem appeared to be solved.
I went outside to investigate.
Now this is MyUnwife's favorite part of the story.So you might listen up.She'll stop strangers in the street to tell them what happened next.
Surveying the battlefield, I smiled at the death and decay at my hands.That's whena survivor buzzed my head.It wasn't happy.
It's hard to explain what happened next, but I'll try:I ran for the door.It was an apartment, and as I remember it, it had a self-lockingdoor (or did we lock it? Those wasps are tricky you know. If one overpowered me, he could open the door and go after MyUnwife.I was the protector, I couldn't let that happen.)I'm trying to get in without getting stung.You remember the old Flintstone's close where the cat locks Fred outside and he's banging on the door?Well cross that with a frightened 8 year old girl, and you have me, banging on the door, screaming "he's got friends."MyUnwife finally let me in, after she stopped laughing from the kitchen window.
See?And that was only a small nest.This one (or 3) is huge!Luckily my can of Raid has a 20 ft nozzle, my door doesn't self-lock, and my neighbor always has screaming targets—uhm, kids in his pool.
I know that sounds harsh.I love kids, I really do, but there are these little girls visiting the neighbor little boys, and they're always screaming.I'm not sure if it's the girls or the boys, it's just this high pitched shrill thing.It's worse than my fire alarm, and since it's attached to a teen libido, it has an unlimited power source.I think vengeful wasps ought to even things out.
"You killed my father!Prepare to die!"
I have another Phobia.I recognized it last night while grocery shopping: repeating mistake, mine or anyone else's.There was this married couple wandering the vegetable aisle.Both of them talked and laughed, having a great time as they gathered lettuce and onions.Cell phone sealed to an ear, while their spouse, an invisible afterthought, following the other throughout the store.
I've seen these people in restaurants too.Enjoying the presence of whoever is on the opposite end of the phone line, while phoning-in their presence to the person at the opposite side of the table.Why did they bother coming together at all?Did they need a token presence to not feel alone?The could have stolen a cardboard cutout from the 7-11, it would haves served the same purpose.
I don't want to be that.I never was, but being out there again, I have to look out for thingsagain.I want to be part of a relationship where both partners are present.Both partners are in there for each other.I'm not looking to be a father, and I'm not looking for a mother.I want a-well, partner.And yes, one who spends more time with me, than the cell phone.
But I'm slowly learning, you don't know what you'll get until you're already in there.It's like ordering stuff from the back of cereal boxes as kids.It's never exactly what's pictured, but by the time you figure that out, you've already collected the box-tops, and spent the postage.It's too late.
Last time I thought I did alright, that was more of a time-bomb issue.
"Surprise!"
I don't want that again.I don't want the cyber-cell people either.
I suppose I should be happy so long as I don't walk into a wasp's nest of crazy.
Ok, you're right.When have I been that brief? When have I been brief at all?When have I written 2 necessary words when there's a bag of superfluous sidekicks to join in and bring mischief?
A word party!
I hate for my words to be lonely.
Right?
Right.So here we go.
I wanted to say "thanks" again to those of you who commented last weekend, and to those of you who know me personally and emailed.It meant a lot.Why do I feel like a supervisor trying to sound inspirational when I say that?"Thanks for really stepping up last weekend guys and hitting one out of the park for the company.You truly are the best…" Blah, blah, blah.It's always something they copied out of an "Inspire the Proles" handbook.
I had a boss tell me once "I walked on coals."
I was new, and didn't know him well enough to gauge if it was a metaphor or not, "Cool."
"No really!I walked on hot coals."
I'm guessing, not a metaphor."That's great."It didn't really change my response.Metaphoric coals work just as well with me.
He leans in, looks into my eyes and says, "I want you to do the same for me."
We better be talking metaphor now.Otherwise, I'm going to be the cold splash on your hot coals.The closest I get to hot coals is Arizona asphalt, and I haven't done that since I was a teenager.
That was the same job we used to do a "woah!" clap.It was one of those slow clap things.It started with a one "woah" one clap, then gradually increased in pace, pitch, and volume, until it turned it a veritable applause of screaming self gratification.Quite clapper had to clean the excess testosterone from the walls.
I was never quiet clapper.I was always part of the team. Sales teams are crazy, and managers will say and do anything to drive the frenzy.
"Here, have some chum!Now get out there!"
They never meant it.I mean, they meant the chum, but their "caring" wasn't sincere. As long as the sales figures came in, and they kept their job, that was their goal. Last weekend, I got to keep my sanity.You guys really are the best.
So how am I doing this weekend?Good.Thanks for asking.I'm doing much better.I called a friend of mine this week, it was her birthday.I've known her since we were 20, and we're like siblings without all the "Her cookie's bigger!"crap.She got mad on the phone, "And you didn't call me?"
"It was 4am."
"That doesn't matter."
"I'm not sure your husband would agree."
"If you need to talk, you call."
"Yes. Ma'am."
"Don't call me that!It's my birthday!"I will take this moment to point out she's older than I am."Love ya sis!"
Another friend wrote me yesterday saying, "Seems like you're doing pretty well. Any change requires a period of adjustment, even when there is not much change."
Ain't that the truth.I'm shuffling in stagnation.This must be how the tarred bound dinosaur felt.
I guess what I'm saying in my less than direct way, is that we all interact and play roles in each others lives.We're all like a gears of a machine.Each one of us touching an other driving it on to do it's purpose.Some gears are bigger, they do more to push, others are small, and only shift a little, but all are important for the mechanism.
I know, that's somewhere between an Orwellian nightmare and a cheesy Lifetime network special, but it's what I got today.Would you like some Whine with that cheese?The part of Big Brother will be played by Meredith Baxter Birney.
Despite the schmaltz, try to remember the gear thing, because before it was some crappy motivator tool, grinding things into pap, It was somebody's shiny prototype:new, fresh,original.Depending on how we look at it, and how we interact, is what type of gears we are.We stay sharp and link-up and we help others lock down and roll on.Sometimes it's nothing more than a "how are you doing."It matters, if it's sincere.That's better than spinning in place, afraid of saying anything, doing nothing.
MyUnwife and I?We fell out of sync, spun unequally until we spent the last years grinding our teeth.I'd give her her teeth back if I could, but I'm fresh out, and we're way past a "woah" clap patch.
I think we have to do our own driving as well though.Sometimes we have to get out there and do, just to help ourselves.I was reading another blog this week and the author mentioned meetup.com.I'd never heard of it.In fact, at first I thought it was a dating site.It's not though, it's for finding other people who are interested in what you are.Sure, I guess you could argue that's dating, but it doesn't have to be.I didn't look up things like bondage to see if that was right or not.I did find a local pole dancing club, and I am so joining.But purely as a professional spectator.I mean who pole dances without an audience?I think that's the least I could do, to be the gear for somebody else!
Yup.It's walk day.So here's your quickie blog.Enjoy.
Don't I sound like one of those TV Diner waitresses.
"Here's your eggs. Want something else?"Before you can speak, she's gone.I've actually had that waitress before.Although my favorite was probably the one who took my drinking glass and never returned after I asked for a refill.
"Oh the nerve of some customers!See that guy at table 4?He asked for a refill."
"What did you do?"
"I took his glass and never went back.I'll sweep past that table when he looks away, and leave his ticket."
And that's why I ran barbed wire about ankle height between two tables.
Coincidentally that's also why I'm no longer welcome at Denny's.
That's ok, they like me at Coco's just fine.I'm a good tipper.
But anyway, my walk.Sorry, I was almost going to entertain you.I promise, it won't happen again.
I thought today, I'd give you my top 3 divorce songs.You know how hard it is to find divorce songs?Oh there's 5 billion Kleenex boxes full of "Breakup songs"but not many divorce songs.Then you find most of them are Country, and it's like "Who wants to listen to that?" Those don't quallify as music.I sorted through what was left, eliminated the ones I've already played, and voila!My top Three.
So in no particular order of importance:
Liz Phair-The divorce song. Ok any questions?I think it's pretty cut and dried.Liz has an interesting way of expressing herself, but she always comes around to the truth.Especially in her earlier stuff.
Marrillion-Sugar Mice Ok, this one's kind of dated, but I saw these guys on tour, and I used to really like them.This song is about whining through divorce aftermath, so it makes the list.Besides There are 2 lines that are really good in this one."Sunday in Milwaukee in the rain."I've spent several of those.And yeah.They're kind of depressing.It's funny I've spent rainy Sunday's in Arizona and California, and they weren't that bad.Milwaukee…not a happy rainy city.The sun is nice there…Anyway.I also like the line "If you want my address it's number 1 at the end of the bar."Yeah, We all like being number one somewhere…
Stephen Lynch-Lullaby. Sometimes I wonder if I've stepped over the line.Then I throw on a Stephen Lynch Song and everything is fine;He shows me where the line really is.So enjoy his take on divorce...
Ok, I hope you enjoy.I'm gonna go walk. The only person who made any photo suggestions was Azhira.She wants to see Leprechauns, I think she's taken 1 too many hits from a shillelagh, but we'll see.That's the last time I offer you guys any say in what I write...
