Based on True Events

I See God

2009-06-15T22:33:00.004-05:00

"I See God" is a driving game we invented on our latest vacation. The rules are simple - if you are the first to spot a church, you state, loudly, clearly, and before anyone else, "I see God," and then you get a point. Each player accumulates points until someone who's not in the lead sees a cemetery, which, following a clearly stated, "I see dead people," resets the game. It's not the greatest driving game ever, but it works well on state highways and county roads, where we spent almost all of our driving time on this particular journey.

Our travels first took us to Iola, Kansas for my wife's cousin's wedding. From there it was on to Osage Beach, Missouri, smack in the middle of the Lake of the Ozarks. It was on the drive to Osage Beach where the game really took off. My wife at one point, from her front passenger seat (a situation so advantaged as to almost be cheating, by the way), accumulated 6 (6!) points before my youngest ended her run with a mercifully small (because my wife couldn't see it) cemetery hidden off the side of the road.

A couple of days into our stay in Osage Beach, we decided to head to the outlet mall for some after dinner shopping. By 'we' I mean me, my wife, my daughter, and my mother-in-law. I wanted to check out the Brooks Brothers store, and my m-i-l had some kind of secret mission that included my daughter.

It was cloudy when we set out for the mall. None of us was thinking about the weather. I had my mind on a shirt - a nice, plain, white dress shirt. A replacement shirt for the white shirts I've worn out over the years. A simple thing. My wife wanted sandals. M-i-l and my daughter had the aforementioned secret mission.

Steady, sometimes heavy rain fell on the way to the mall. M-i-l noted that, hey, those clouds over there look kind of ominous. We all concurred and continued to focus on our destination. Oh the wonderful things we'll buy!

As we pulled into the parking lot, the destination of the secret mission was revealed: Bath and Body Works. I scanned the collection of generic, strip-mall stores looking for the B&BW signage when I saw a young man staring vacantly into the sky and speaking into his cell phone. "That's weird," I said.

I dropped m-i-l and daughter at the B&BW and headed across the lot toward Brooks Brothers. "Let's check the radio," I said, hitting the AM button followed by 'seek'. The first 3 hits were music. The fourth yielded, "Tornado warning for Osage Beach."

"Aren't we in Osage Beach?" I asked my wife. She looked left. I looked right. "Where is it? I don't see it."

The radio repeated the warning. Take cover in blah blah blah. "Yeah, I know what to do, but I'm in a f--king outlet mall parking lot, 500 miles from home." The stores appeared to be mostly glass, and sans basements. Katie looks right. I look left. Nothing. In fact, the sky appears to be lightening up a bit.

I don't know why, but I looked straight up. For just a moment I was speechless. Breathless. "Katie," I croaked, "I can see God." I looked toward Katie. "Look up."

"What is that?" she said.

Quietly, as if not trying to wake it, I responded, "it's the tornado." For some reason I continued whispering. "It's right above us. Hold still and you can see the rotation."

Wife and I sat motionless, speechless, and without inhalation for moments. Several long moments. Awestruck, battling several thoughts at once. Is this where we die? It's beautiful. Look at the symmetry! It looks like cotton candy. If it drops right now, will it pick up the van? What does flying glass embedding in my skin feel like?

"What do we do? Go inside?" wife wondered, trance-like. It was like a dream.

"Not really sure. It hasn't dropped yet. It must be a 'Doppler-indicated' tornado." It's tail was a couple hundred feet straight above the minivan. Maybe not even that much. "If we can drive at a 90 degree angle from the direction it's travelling, we can outrun it. Which way is it going?" [A parallel track had started running in my mind. Holy f--king s--t! This could be it. This is not the way I wanted to go...]

We sat silently, not even breathing, waiting for the tornado to do something besides spin over our heads. "I think it's moving away from us," [Of course, I thought, if it touches down right now, we're f--ked.] "Wait...wait...yeah, I think it's moving away." And it was also moving away from B&BW.

We called m-i-l on her cell phone. No answer. She returned the call while we called her again. We traded voicemails. By this time the sirens finally erupted. "Is there a tornado warning?" she asked.

"It's right above us. We're watching it right now. I'm going to come pick you two up."

"We're just going to run down to the Maidenform shop - it's just a couple of doors down. Pick us up there."

What?! She wants to keep shopping?! Really?

"The tornado's right here in the parking lot. It's right above us." I was whipering again, trying again not to draw the tornado's attention.

"Is it moving away?"

"Yeah. Kind of." Still whispering. "I think so. Which way is west?" It was too dark to use daylight to determine direction. After a short discussion we concluded that the tornado was moving away from the mall.

I picket up m-i-l and daughter at the Maidenform shop and we headed back to Brooks Brothers. We received great service; I bought my white shirt, and we spent about 40 minutes in the shop. A second tornado was spotted in Osage Beach - m-i-l and I wandered into the parking lot to see it for ourselves. Then we called my father-in-law, who was watching the boys.

"How're the boys doing?" my wife asked. She listened to her father's response. She told him that the laundry room was probably the best place to go. And no, don't tell them about the tornado. Don't know what they'd do, but it's likely f-i-l couldn't handle it. "No, we'll stay here until the all clear," wife told her father.

One of the BB associates, on the phone, shared that the second tornado had been spotted on County Road Y. Since the condo containing f-i-l and the boys was located on County Road W, we all grew concerned. Attempts to hale f-i-l via cell phone were fruitless.

"Which 'Y'?" m-i-l asked the associate. "How many Y's could there be?" I wondered. In a local dialect understandable only to lifelong Missourians, m-i-l and the associate determined it was a different location miles away. Whew!

During the 40 minutes in the store we had an opportunity to discover other wonderfully-priced BB products. Fearing personal insolvency, I suggested we head home even though the rain was still quite heavy. M-i-l insisted on a last quick stop at the Coach store (they initially wouldn't let her in because they were in a lock-down and couldn't remove it until the "official" all-clear had been sounded, but as they debated the situation the all-clear did officially sound and m-i-l procured a new purse).

When we arrived back at the condo the boys were watching the National Geographic channel (no local weather crawls on the cable channels to scare my youngest) and f-i-l was watching the sky out on the porch. Wife and I shared a pitcher of Sangria and slumbered deeply.

I dreamt of the Wizard of Oz.

Court of Dreams

2009-03-30T21:25:00.003-05:00

Recently I had the opportunity to attend a Hopkins High School (HHS) basketball game at the Minnesota Boys State High School Basketball Tournament. Though I remember exactly who the opponent was, because of some unusual circumstances I won't be able to tell you the opponent. Let's just call them BHS. Hopkins (28-0, 4 players already signed to Division 1 universities, with their average margin of victory 32 points) against BHS (15-14, apparently slept with someone to get in the tourney). It wasn’t close – final 68-26, but loads of fun. Why?

1. A bit of hometown pride. Our guys looked like men against boys. I suspect there might be some Chemistry going on in the locker room instead of the classroom – Jesus these guys were big.

2. Finding the player who reminds me of me. BHS point guard, number 32, skinny, studious looking, good ball handler, textbook shooter. Scored 10 to lead his team. Also made good decisions, didn’t take a bad shot (though occasionally shot badly – more on that later). Solid, if unspectacular, defender – good positional defender.

3. The Hopkins fans. The Minnesota equivalent to the Cameron Crazies at Duke, complete with practiced chants. Some examples:

• The aforementioned BHS point guard shot an airball in the opening minutes. From that moment until the game became a joke just before halftime, the Hopkins fans taunted “Air-Ball!” every single time he touched the ball, which was often because he’s the point guard.

• When a HHS player shot an airball, the BHS crowd, of course, feebly retaliated with their own “Air-Ball!” chant. The Hopkins fans responded by chanting in unison, and much more loudly, [Clap. Clap. Clapclapclap…]“We… can’t… hear… you…”.

• Late in the game, with Hopkins emptying the bench, what I counted as the 3rd string Hopkins point guard stole the ball at mid-court and drove for an uncontested layup, the Hopkins fans chanted, [Clap. Clap. Clapclapclap…] “He’s… a… fresh-man…”. As if to say, "even our freshmen are kicking your ass."

• When a BHS player shot a free-throw, the HHS crowd, situated directly behind the shooter’s backboard, stood silent, facing away from the shooter. Yes, away from the shooter. And silent. This is in contrast to the typical opposing-free-thrower-distraction tactic of screaming and waving of hands. Again, the crowd is facing away from the shooter – and silent. Then, just as the shooter is going into his shooting motion, the crowd, in unison, spins around and yells, “Hey!” and waves, kind of like the flight attendants at the end of a flight.

4. Good basketball stuff. Like:

• Royce White – Hopkins stud #1, headed to the U of M in the fall, steals the ball, heads downcourt 1 on 3, stumbles, takes a fadeaway 12-footer, hits nothing but air, and gets pulled from the game immediately on the next whistle. White sits and listens as the head coach gives him what I consider to be very direct feedback on his decision making. No one is above sitting down after making a selfish play.

• Michael Broghammer – Hopkins stud #2, headed to Notre Dame in the fall, steals the ball and heads downcourt for a breakaway, 2-handed dunk and very obviously travels. The game is still relatively close at the time – Hopkins up 17-6. The BHS head coach explodes, gesturing very specifically that he believes that traveling should have been called. This being high school basketball, not the NBA, not only is there no make-up call forthcoming, the BHS coach gets called for a technical foul.

• The center from the Hopkins last string team (and by last string I mean that these 5 guys were literally sitting in the last seats on the bench, next to the 2 Rubenesque female team managers, and that these 5 look like the offspring of the starting 5), in the game all of 5 seconds, gets fouled on the defensive end while rebounding. Apparently not realizing that Blaine is in the penalty, he lingers on the defensive end of the court, and you can see the reluctance in his eyes as he heads down to take the foul shots. He makes the first shot by banking it in on the fly – a shot that in “H-O-R-S-E” doesn’t count unless you called “bank” before taking the short – and immediately smiles and relaxes while receiving a congratulatory fist bump from what I imagine to be his best basketball friend, the skinny last-string point guard. Now completely relaxed and composed, he hits nothing but net on the second shot.

• Five minutes into the game the score is Hopkins 4, BHS 0. On the surface this appears to be a close game. But if you were paying close attention you would have noticed that Hopkins had already missed 4 free throws and several make-able jump shots and layups and BHS had yet to draw iron. Literally. When Blaine gets the ball it takes their starting point guard 8 seconds to advance past midcourt – and that’s just being guarded man-to-man – Hopkins doesn’t begin employing a full-court press until 5 minutes left in the half.

• Hopkins top 9 players – any mix of them – will win the tournament. They are head and shoulders better than any other team. The drop-off to the next 5 guys on the Hopkins bench is pretty small. Hopkins players 9-13 outplayed BHS’s starters. Hopkins has a scary level of depth.

It was a great time for me. I actually had to blink back tears when I thought of how much my father-in-law would have enjoyed this outing. I guess that in the winter, my 'field of dreams' is a basketball court.

I'm Sorry, But I Don't Remember Who You Are

2009-03-19T16:39:00.003-05:00

I am new to the Facebook phenomenon, and need to share something with the many, many people for whom I’ve confirmed ‘friendship’ on my Facebook site:

For those of you I know through my high school connection, I probably don’t remember very much about you.

To be honest, the great majority of you (my high school ‘friends’) have not entered my thoughts in the 24+ years since we were in high school together. There’s also a really, really good chance you didn’t enter my thoughts while we were seniors together either – unless I had you in a class or you were a very, very pretty girl (and I think you know who you are, or were at the time -God knows what Father Time has done to that unblemished high school skin, taut high school bottom, or those blossoming high school breasts). So in that case, it’s been 25+ years since I even recognized your existence.

Here’s the other funny thing. When I joined Facebook, it wasn’t with the expressed purpose of finding all those chums from high school that I’d been missing for better than 2 decades. Not only was it not an expressed purpose, it was neither a secondary nor tertiary purpose. It was whimsical at best when I decided to look for old ALHS buddies. And with the exception of a very (very, very, very) small proportion of my confirmed ‘friends’, I wasn’t looking for you.

Wow, so now what? I’ve reacquainted myself with this group of people who I barely knew, if at all, in high school, and I’m struggling with some fundamental questions, like – if I didn’t hang out with you in high school, why would I want to hang out (virtually) with you now? Once we get past the re-introduction (which often includes a run through the yearbook looking for a face to match with the name), sharing of marital and reproductive status, and a sharing of educational and occupational histories, just how do we continue with an awkward electronic relationship? Or do we at all?

Please understand that I mean no malice by any of this. Had I written this in high school, from what I recall of myself, I likely would have intended much malice. Because one thing I’ve learned about myself is that my recollections from high school, and oddly, there are few, are mostly of all the truly crappy things I did to other people. Or of thought-crimes committed against other people. These actions, if perpetrated by my own offspring, would elicit scorn, scolding, ‘the eye’, demands for apologies and some sort of punishment. But I totally got away with all of these things in high school, though some might argue that I didn’t get away with anything, because I continue to burden myself with shame.

What have we established so far?
1. I wasn’t looking to find my high school classmates.
2. Now I’ve been re-connected with those classmates.
3. I am compelled to air quote our confirmed ‘friendship’, thus questioning its legitimacy.
4. I have a nonspecific, negative, almost aching recollection of my own behavior in high school.

Perhaps now would be the time to put forth a blanket apology for all the things I did in high school that offended you then or, in hindsight, offend you now. Please know that I apologize for:

• any actions, activities, or pranks that may have caused physical injury;
• any condescending remarks, sexist or lewd statements, unfiltered or insulting quips that may have caused you psychological suffering;
• though it really seems like a victimless crime, targeting you in my masterbatorial fantasies;
• adding you to my “if-I-were-Mr.-T-for-a-day,-I’d-kick-your-ass” list, though again, victimless crime;
• mocking you or humorously exposing any one of your physical limitations, including but not limited to your height, weight, speech impediments, inability to play team sports, etc.;
• any other offense I for which I have no specific recollection.

That said, one thing I’m unclear about is why all you people want to be my ‘friend’. For as much as I didn’t hang out with you in high school, you also did not hang out with me. I assume that was your choice. Perhaps you are playing the “collect-as-many-friends-as-possible-in-Facebook” game. I do not understand this game. I desire meaningful contact in my relationships, and the CAMFAPiF game does not achieve that end.

Perhaps you are just reaching out to be … I hate to use this word … friendly. Okay, I suppose there’s nothing wrong with that. But you should know, if that’s the case, I’m not going to be a very good friend. Chances are, unless you live fairly close to me, I’m going to perturb neither my schedule nor my expense budget and make a special, long-distance trip to see you. I probably (99% probability) won’t invite you to stay in my house when you’re travelling through my area. I probably (again, 99% probability) won’t send you anything more than a ‘wall-to-wall’ shout-out on your birthday, even though Facebook will give me ample notice of such events.

So what, then, are we achieving with this electronic relationship? Having written this much (me) and read this far (you), I believe we’re both feeling sort of hollow about the whole thing. I search for meaning in our electronic daliance and come up short. Here’s how my search always ends: I know what happened to you since high school and you me. Assuming our profiles are truthful, we’ve answered the long-standing question, “Whatever happened to XXX?”

“Wow,” I wonder, “is that it?”

I suggested on Facebook that now, because I’ve connected with all these high school classmates on Facebook, I won’t need to attend my 25th reunion this August. This was met with comments that I’ll be missing out on all the fun, etc. What fun? I ask. I submit that the primary reason for attending high school reunions is to find out “Whatever happened to XXX?” Secondarily, we all want to know who got fat? Who went bald? Who took care of themselves? Who succeeded wildly? Who failed miserably? Who married whom? And finally – who will scrape up the nerve to show up?

Disclaimer: I attended my 10 year HS reunion. I didn’t attend the 5 year, 15 year, or 20 year. I’m assuming similar behavior at the ones I didn’t attend and the ones I have yet to attend. At my 10 year I participated in many superficial ‘my-occupation-is-my-identity’ conversations followed closely by a resurrection of all the old HS cliques. Sure, it was nice chatting with the old clique again – what few of us there were in attendance. I’ve stayed connected with precisely 1 person from that reunion, and that only through the annual exchange of holiday cards.

Will my Facebook participation alter my HS reunion participation? Now that I’ve connected with you, read your profile, scanned your “25 random things about me” posting, will I make a more meaningful connection with you if we both attend our reunion? Hmm, let me envision the conversation…

Without Facebook
Me: So what do you do?
You: I sell Mary Kay products.
Me: [nodding] Cool.
You: And you?
Me: I’m in IT at Target.
You: [nodding] Cool.

With Facebook
Me: [having read your profile, I already know you sell Mary Kay products] So how’s that Mary Kay deal working out in the recession?
You: Really good. Beauty products sales traditionally spike during a recession. I think women find it an inexpensive way to improve themselves.
Me: [nodding thoughtfully] Cool.
You: [having read my profile, knowing already that I work for Target] Still hanging in there at Target?
Me: Yep. Times are tight, but we’re still profitable.
You: [nodding thoughtfully] Cool.

So you see how much less awkward and more meaningful this human interaction was, and all because of Facebook. Wow! Technology really does make life better.

One Last Thing
So far we know:
1. I wasn’t looking for you, and you weren’t looking for me, but we’ve connected anyway.
2. I’ve addressed my nonspecific negative feelings toward my behavior in high school by issuing a blanket apology.
3. I’ve figured out how to use Facebook to make our next face-to-face experience slightly less awkward.

I can’t believe it took me this long to figure out the last thing that needs to happen. You see, I frequently (usually) begin writing my posts not knowing how they’ll conclude. They usually begin as a nagging feeling that I’m only able to address through writing, and the act of writing helps me sort through the feeling toward some conclusion. I finally figured out the conclusion.

4. I need to issue blanket forgiveness to you for any slight you imparted on me.

That’s it. It’s that simple! We essentially agree to forgive each other our trespasses. We drop the petty, childish, sophomoric baggage from HS that we’ve dragged all through our adult years. You forgive mine; I forgive yours. If we can enter into this agreement, we can enjoy our company at the reunion this summer.

Now – who’s in?

"Good to See You" Takes on New Meaning

2009-01-28T19:35:00.006-06:00

The company that I work for laid off 9% of its staff from the corporate headquarters yesterday. As a veteran of many, many layoffs, I have to say that they did it in the most humane way possible - or, as one executive I used to work for would say, "If you have to eat a turd, do it fast."

We all received an email yesterday morning just after 8:30. Or at least it appeared we did. Little did we know there were 2 emails. One set of people got an email telling us to come to a meeting at 9:00am at an unspecified location on our floor. The other email (this one I did not receive) directed its recipients to a meeting room at 8:45am. The poor souls who received the 8:45am invitation were laid off.

When we congregated for the 9am meeting, we were told that our company was blah, blah, blah poor economy, and blah, blah, blah difficult decisions and that affected team members were notified at 8:45am. They read that part twice - about the affected team members were already notified at 8:45am. In other words, if you didn't already know, you were safe.

Whew!

What's that saying about the best laid plans? As I returned to my cube, still processing what I'd just heard, I noticed a figure pass my cube and head for the cube of a group manager (that's a manager's boss in our company's management food chain) across the aisle from me. From the corner of my eye (an aside: I think I was afraid to look - I guess I knew deep down inside what was about to happen) I noticed said group manager follow our department director (that's 2 levels up in the management food chain) down the aisle and into an unoccupied conference room.

Holy sh*t! They're still laying people off! I know they said they were done, but they're not! F*cketty, f*ck! Then I started cataloging all the reasons they could be coming for me - the executives don't know me, I'm expensive compared to all these young whippersnappers around me, I offended someone and I didn't realize it, etc. I felt trapped and helpless - I want to run, but it would be of no use.

Every pitter-patter of footsteps in my aisle caused my pulse to double. I began emailing everyone I knew to see if they'd survived. Literally the first person I contacted replied "...everyone's fine - except me". I wanted to scream.

Shortly thereafter, the aforementioned group manager returned, nearly teary eyed, and began the humbling process of boxing up his personal items. He later shook my hand and said goodbye. It was sad for both of us.

It wasn't until about 11am that I found my boss and confirmed that everyone had indeed been notified. None of the managers knew anything - the criteria for selection most notably. The management layer 3 slots above me were the only ones that knew Tuesday was an "event" day and who would be laid off. So it was a surprise to even the managers, which is actually kind of scary when everyone is panicking. (The managers tried to look calm, like parents in a thunderstorm, but most of us could see through the facade.)

Here's what really happened (at least in many cases): the emails were sent just after 8:30, and then for what I can only assume were security reasons, the user IDs of the "affected" employees were deactivated. Immediately. So they couldn't read the message telling them where to go for the 8:45 meeting. Many, my friend included, prairie-dogged out from their cubes and asked of cubemates, "Hey, did you guys get this meeting invite for 8:45? Where do we go?" I realized later that the group manager across the aisle was having the same problem, but just followed the rest of us to the 9am meeting.

I understand the strategy employed - the company wanted the affected employees to know first, even before their managers. But it wasn't executed as planned and caused extra dismay.

Today work resumed. Affected teams met to devise how to make up for the lost co-workers. We all quietly mourned those affected, vowed to help them any way we could, then moved on to the business at hand.

And in the elevators today, whenever you saw someone you hadn't seen in a while, you said, "Hey - good to see you." And we meant it.

So I'm Reading This Book, Part 2

2009-01-22T21:40:00.002-06:00

One more post, then I'm caught up.

Look Me in the Eye - My Life with Asperger's by John Elder Robison. Nonfiction.
About: The older brother of writer Augusten Burroughs (Running with Scissors), Robison describes life on the Autism spectrum.
My thoughts: Robison describes growing up unknowingly on the Autism spectrum. A fabulous book - one that I shared pieces of with my own little Aspy sons. Robison wasn't diagnosed until the age of 40, so he can share how he really felt as a child, especially with the benefit of hindsight.
I highly recommend this book to any parent of a child on the Autism spectrum. It is required reading!

So I'm Reading This Book...

2009-01-22T20:15:00.004-06:00

Earlier this year I tried (not-so-valiantly) to catalog the books I've read this year on this very blog. Of course I lost track. Now I'm trying to catch up in one long post. Keep in mind - this list is all I have record of - library books have long been checked back in and forgotten. In no particular order:

What is the What by Dave Eggers. Nonfiction-sort of.
About: the account of one of The Lost Boys of Sudan, or the story of a Darfur refugee, told in an autobiographical voice by an American author.
My thoughts: Wow, where to begin. Do I start with a gimmicky device where Mr. Eggers writes an "autobiography" for Sudanese refugee Achuk Deng? Eggers' distinctive style only broke through a few times.
No, I think I will always remember the incredible, unspeakable things Deng witnessed all before the age of 12. Village burned, separated from family, literally running for his life at the age of 10. Walking with 300 other boys across the desert to Ethiopia. Seeing friends die of exhaustion, dehydration, and starvation. Living among 40,000 others, unwelcome, in a refugee camp in Ethiopia. With 5 other same-age boys, burying the dead in the camp. Fleeing from the gunfire of Ethiopians into alligator infested waters of the Gilo river. Seeing fellow refugees become the center of said alligators in feeding frenzy. All this and not quite halfway through the book. Then it just gets worse. Friends captured and turned into slaves. Slaves! In the 1990s! I could go on but I won't.
A great, great book. I was spent when I finished it.

Eats, Shoots & Leaves by Lynn Truss. Nonfiction.
About: grammar.
My thoughts: Yep, a book about grammar. By a militant grammarian. She was utterly appalled by the title of the film Two Weeks Notice. "Where's the apostrophe?" It's a charming little book about proper punctuation. I really liked it.

The Road by Cormac McCarthy. Fiction.
About: A father-son journey through post-apocalyptic America
My thoughts: Another wow! Two wows! This is possible the most affecting book I've ever read. I changed my view of life after reading this book. Stylistically spartan - just like the surroundings described inside. A man and his 10 year old son journey to the sea during a nuclear winter following what was apparently the war to end all wars. No food, no animals to kill, vegetation dead, the surviving humans feed off each other. An amazing journey. Do not read this book if you are depressed.

Everyone is Entitled to My Opinion by David Brinkley. Nonfiction.
About: a collection of Brinkley's one minute signoffs from his Sunday morning TV show.
My thoughts: November 6, 1983 - two reports on greenhouse gases suggest that climate change is 100-200 years away. If only we knew then what we know now.
September 13, 1987 - Presidential candidate Joe Biden is accused of plagiarizing a speech from a British Labour Party candidate. However, Biden credited the author several times during the speech. So, contrary to popular belief, Biden is not a plagiarist.

The Dilbert Future by Scott Adams. Nonfiction.
About: the future, according to Dilbert.
My thoughts: A mostly uninteresting rehash of strips. Except...
In the last chapter, Adams shares what he really thinks. There is one theory of note. Gravity doesn't exist. We are just part of a universe in which every piece of matter is doubling in size every second. Wacky.

Cartoon History of the Modern World by Larry Gonick. Nonfiction.
About: a graphic novel history book.
My thoughts: I really enjoy the cartoon history series. A great way to bone up on history.

2009-01-03T18:44:00.001-06:00

Presenting the exciting year-end double issue of the 2008 Non-denominational, Holiday-type Newsletter of the Gonzalez Family

Lycra Shaped People

2009-01-02T17:22:00.004-06:00

I started working out a bit more this summer, adding some biking trips (rule: get bike to a path, ride in a single direction as hard as possible into the wind for 1 hour, then return) to my regimen. And I also started running 1 to 2 times a week, no more than 1 hour at a time. And I lost some weight (15-20 pounds depending how you account for it).

I decided that, because of my propensity for profuse sweat, I needed to start layering my workout uniform. Thus began the search for those spandex/lycra/nylon-lyra-spandex-mix shirts that those runners/cyclists wear. Folks wearing those clothes never look like sweaty pigs. Sweaty pigs like me.

I found and purchased a particular shirt that appeared to be my size. I didn't try it on in the store for a number of uninteresting reasons, but when I got home I threw it on just before dinner (and a later workout that night).

It's a tight shirt. It's tight enough that it cannot be removed without reversing it. It's not ridiculously tight - it doesn't leave marks on my skin or anything.

My appearance at the dinner table drew double-takes from both my wife and teenaged daughter. "Wow," my daughter gasped, "it's kinda wrong when your dad is chiseled." My wife scanned me like a construction worker scans a pretty office blond and added, "Wow, you are looking good."

Bolstered by this unsolicited praise, I checked myself in the mirror after my workout that night. With the shirt on - yeah, I'm kinda chiseled. Not quite ready for the Body Armour ad, but there's definitely a muscular, manly shape there.

Then I removed the shirt. "Hey, where'd it go?" Suddenly all the flabby parts covering my six-pack abs re-appeared. My chiseled-ness had vanished.

"Oh my God, I'm an idiot. It's the shirt." The shirt shapes my body, tightening in the right spots, nudging the malleable flesh into areas that then appear muscular. It's like a push-up bra for men!

Then I began noticing just how common this phenomenon is. Because of my wife I know that there are about 72 kinds of underwear for women that "shape" their bodies. Now there are for men too. And when I began to really look for the lycra-shaped people, there they were, all around me. I'd never noticed before.

We have become a society of lycra-shaped people, well on our way to becoming the morbidly obese, amorphous blobs featured in the Pixar film Wall-E.

Has it been 8 months already?

2008-12-01T22:56:00.002-06:00

Dear Weblog

Obviously it's been an embarrassingly long time since my last post. I contemplated starting a completely new blog in shame. Here are some of the things that have happened since we last spoke:

1. Went to a Packer game at Lambeau field in Janary. Gametime temp: -3 with -33 windchill. There's a whole post in there somewhere, maybe someday I'll get to it before I forget all the good details.
2. There was cancer in the family.
3. There was more cancer in the family.
4. There was a death in the family.
5. I started working out more often and lost some weight.
6. I read a whole bunch of good books, the best of which was What is the What by Dave Eggers, about a refugee from the Darfur region of Sudan.
7. I completed a thrilling treetops course at an environmental camp that I attended with my son.
8. I decided to dial back the amount of energy I expend at work.

I'm working on the family Christmas letter now, so hopefully that will spur on some other blogging.

Phil

Book Update

2008-03-18T18:50:00.002-05:00

Books I've read since the last book post:

A History of Pi by Petr Beckmann. Nonfiction.
About: the history of my favorite constant, pi.
My thoughts: Written in the 1970's, updated in the 1980's, a history from the beginning of time about who figured out how to calculate pi, and how accurate they were. This books combines 2 of my favorite subjects - history and math. As my friend Tim aptly observed, "Sticky pages - lots of sticky pages for Phil."
Lasting Image: The Romans were thugs. Sir Isaac Newton had a larger impact on the scientific world than Einstein. In fact, after centuries of inadequate definition by dozens of mathematicians, Newton mathematically described pi as an afterthought, needing it to prove one of his laws of physics. Think of that - after dozens of brilliant folks labored untold hours, Newton said "Oh, by the way, here's pi". And it sat in his desk for nearly a decade until a colleague convinced him it was worth publishing!

Holidays on Ice by David Sedaris. Nonfiction.
About: a collection of short stories themed around Christmas.
Lasting Image: 1. David working as an elf in Macy's Santaland. A group of severely retarded visitors came one day, and David realized afterward that he could no longer differentiate them from the "normal" visitors.
2. Perhaps the most wickedly funny holiday newsletter I've ever read.

Coming up for air

2008-03-18T18:48:00.001-05:00

The project that has been consuming all my resources (mindshare, time, energy, happy disposition, etc) went into production today. Thank bleepin' god that's over with. I hope to have time and energy to catch up on my posts.

Expect a flurry.

Book List

2008-01-13T22:36:00.000-06:00

Just for giggles I've decided to keep a list of books I've read. As you'll see, I'm not the world's fastest reader.

2008 (so far)
The Worst Hard Time - the Untold Story of Those Who Survived the Dust Bowl by Timothy Egan. Nonfiction.
About: people who didn't leave the Dust Bowl.
My thoughts: Wow! Books like this remind me to be grateful for all that I have. The Dust Bowl and Great Depression were events almost unimagineable to us younger generations. Also, an event almost completely human-made. A good read for those who don't have an understanding of man's effect on the environment.
Lasting Image: the "dusters" - incredible black storms caused by high sustained winds and loose topsoil. Sometimes achieved zero visibility. Also caused blindness and "dust pneumonia" - and death

Candy Girl - A Year in the Life of an Unlikely Stripper by Diablo Cody. Nonfiction.
About: an ordinary woman who decides to become a stripper - in Minneapolis!
My thoughts: I first saw this book reviewed in Entertainment Weekly magazine. It got high marks and sounded interesting. But I'd forgotten about it until I learned the author had also penned the screenplay to Juno, so I went back and got it. Diablo Cody is a fantastic, original, and very clever writer. She bares all in the book (and as a stripper). It was fascinating but at the same time, not at all surprising. A fun read. Short book.
Lasting Image: the clientele from her time working in "the box" at Sex World - especially a certain --- Licker, and her first foray into baring all at the Skyway during Amateur night, particularly the use of the word "staunch". Eww.

2007 (in reverse order as far back as I can remember)
A Death in Belmont by Sebastian Junger. Nonfiction.
About: Junger, author of A Perfect Storm, also a Belmont, Massachusetts native, coincidentally was a wee child when one of the contractors who built an addition on his house turned out to the Boston Strangler. Or not.
My thoughts: Junger reviews events surrounding the killings of the Boston Strangler, how the man who confessed to being the Boston Strangler may or may not be accountable for a murder that occurred in his neighborhood. It was a great premise but I found the book disappointing due to the complete lack of resolution. Sometimes you have to accept that you'll just never know.
Lasting Image: Just inside the front cover there is a family photo showing Junger as a child, in his mother's lap, and in the background are the contractors who'd just finished the addition on his parent's house. One of the contractors is the Boston Strangler.

Carnival Undercover by Bret Witter and Lorelei Sharkey. Nonfiction.
About: everything you wanted to know about amusement parks, travelling carnivals, etc.
My thoughts: it's pretty light fare, but hey, who doesn't want to know how to win those big stuffed animals at the State Fair?
Lasting Image: remembering to cut a hole in some plywood so I can practice the softball-in-the-milkcan game.

Thunderstruck by Erik Larsn. Nonfiction.
About: how the murder of a woman and low-speed getaway pushed the fledgling "wireless" radio into public consciousness.
My thoughts: if not for the Titanic, everyone would know this story. It rivals O.J. Simpson's low-speed getaway on that famous Friday night in 1994.
Lasting image: a doctor, who had murdered his pathetic faux-debutaunte wife, escaping across the Atlantic on a luxury liner with his mistress disguised as a young boy, is captured when recognized by a fellow passenger. Because of the new "wireless" radio communication, the ship's captain is aware of the impending capture, which is then leaked to the press, so that the whole world is left waiting for the ship to arrive in North America for the arrest.
Lasting Image: Marconi had no scientific training. He stole the idea, which was only theory at the time, and worked tirelessly using only trial-and-error to build the device. He was also part P.T. Barnum - quite the marketing guru.

Next Phase

2008-01-06T07:45:00.001-06:00

Katie and I reached a new phase in our lives Friday night. We probably reached it earlier but we didn't know until Friday night.

I'll set the scene - a darkened movie theater, credits rolling (for Fred Claus, a steaming pile of feces on the holiday movie list). Katie, the kids and I are donning our winter coats to head back out to the van.

Owen says, "What if there was a Santa Claus?"

I looked to Katie, who was deflating like a stuck balloon. No, it was more like her puppy had just been assassinated. She was the embodiment of disappointment.

When he saw his mother's disappointment, Owen tried earnestly to backtrack. But the damage was done. It was too late. We finally had the proof that our children no longer believe in Santa Claus.

We knew Megan no longer believed in Santa. I don't remember the exact age she stopped believing, but it's been a while (she's 14 now).

We also knew Jackson no longer believes. It's been well more than a year for him (he's within weeks of his 11th birthday). We did ask him not to tell Owen, who we thought still believed in Santa. He's 9 and probably should have figured it out long ago.

But in our naive desire to keep our kids young, Katie and I spent the entire season pretending that Owen still believed. We covertly carried "Santa's" gifts to a secret hiding spot after purchase. We spoke in hushed tones about which gifts were Santa's and which would be from us. We threw stern looks toward the older siblings every time they mentioned the myth of Santa.

All for naught.

I personally do not remember ever believing in Santa Claus (thank you very much, 10 older siblings, for ruining that for me!). Katie and her younger brother believed for quite some time - deep into elementary school. And even when they no longer believed, they hid that fact from their mother because, they reasoned, it might reduce their Christmas bounty.

Katie and I spent much of Saturday in a subdued state of mourning. After Santa evaporates, this becomes a pretty cruel world, doesn't it? What's next? I guess we won't be sneaking money into their tooth fairy pillows the nights after teeth fall out.

Ugh. They grow up so fast.

More Dead

2008-01-06T07:40:00.000-06:00

12-29-07 - 1 dead mouse found in basement, head crushed and stuck in Better Mousetrap brand mousetrap. Cause of death: sudden blunt trauma to head.

12-30-07 - 1 dead mouse found in basement, head crushed and stuck in Better Mousetrap brand mousetrap. Cause of death: sudden blunt trauma to head.

12-31-07 - 2 dead mice found in basement, heads crushed and stuck in Better Mousetrap brand mousetrap. Cause of death: sudden blunt trauma to head.

1-2-08 - 1 dead mouse found in basement, head crushed and stuck in Better Mousetrap brand mousetrap. Cause of death: sudden blunt trauma to head.

Death toll for the season: 12

Two items of note: 1) we've gone a few days in a row without a dead mouse; and 2) the squirrels are pulling the baggies of dead mice out of the garbage cans and leaving them in the driveway and yard.

Who knows what surprises are in store when the snow melts?

Infestation

2007-12-28T07:41:00.000-06:00

12-24-07 - 1 dead mouse found in basement, head crushed and stuck in Better Mousetrap brand mousetrap. Cause of death: sudden blunt trauma to head.

12-26-07 - 1 dead mouse found in basement, head crushed and stuck in Better Mousetrap brand mousetrap. Cause of death: sudden blunt trauma to head.

12-28-07 - 1 dead mouse found in basement, head crushed and stuck in Better Mousetrap brand mousetrap. Cause of death: sudden blunt trauma to head.

Death toll for the season: 10

Don't know the reason for the sudden string of killings - I guess a family of the little buggers must have moved in.

Unfortunately one of my Better Mousetrap brand mousetraps broke so I can only kill one at a time. Guess I better get to the hardware store.

Giving Blood Part 2 - Natalya Returns

2007-12-26T15:37:00.000-06:00

First, read this post from 2006. It describes a less than fulfilling attempted blood donation.

Guess who was there to take my blood today?

After filling out the forms and answering the not-so-discrete questions about my travel and sexual history, a lab-coated Memorial Blood Center technician led me to a table with a left-armed drawing position (I prefer the left arm, thank you very much). The technician manning this and an adjacent, right-arm drawing table, was Natalya - she of the "oops" incident from a year ago.

Yikes! Was I actually going to have to ask for a different phlebology technician? I debated mentally.

"Look," I'd say, "it's nothing professional, but I just can't have you 'oops-ing' me again."

Then I thought - if she was that bad, would she still be working for them? After all, she appeared to have properly handled the woman next to me. No oops-ing today. No blood on the floor and alarmed stares from other blood donors. So far.

Before I really had much more of a chance to think, a different, much more experienced looking phlebologist approached and took care of me.

A one word response to all of this - "Whew!"

All went well, and I'm currently running a pint low. And I'm happy that 3 people will receive parts of my blood and help them (hopefully) return to good health.

Death Toll update

2007-12-19T22:04:00.000-06:00

12-16-07 - 1 dead squirrel found in bottom of empty garbage can outside garage. No obvious external injuries. Cause of death: suicide.

12-19-07 - 1 dead mouse found in basement, head crushed and stuck in Better Mousetrap brand mousetrap. Cause of death: sudden blunt trauma to head.

Death toll for the season: 7

2007 Non-Demominational, Non-Personalized, Holiday-Type Newsletter

2007-12-18T13:55:00.001-06:00

Presenting the 2007 Non-denominational, Non-Personalized, Holiday-type Newsletter of the Gonzalez Family

I Spoke Too Soon

2007-12-14T08:43:00.000-06:00

12-13-07 - 1 dead mouse found in basement, head crushed and stuck in Better Mousetrap brand mousetrap. Cause of death: sudden blunt trauma to head.

Death toll for the season: 5

Wouldn't you know that as soon as I said "seems like it's going to be a pretty light year for dead mice" that I get another one.

Christmas Letter Update - I Got Nothin'

2007-12-12T21:51:00.001-06:00

Every year I seem to hit this roadblock, but I'm more stuck than I've ever been. I'm gonna go ahead and blame my job. It's 9:53pm and I'm ready to drop. The thing I need most for creativity is extra brain cycles. Spare mindshare. And I don't have any. I leave for work by 7am and arrive home after 6pm. I'm in meetings 7 hours a day, and now I've taken over responsibility for a project because someone else is out on medical leave. I literally eat my lunch in meetings and go to the bathroom walking from one meeting room to another.

So don't be shocked if the Annual Non-Denominational, Holiday-Type Newsletter is a bit late this year.

Dead Mouse Update

2007-12-12T21:45:00.000-06:00

11-30-07 - 1 dead mouse found in basement under ping pong table. Cause of death: toyed with to death by natural predators.

12-8-07 - 1 dead mouse found in basement, head crushed and stuck in Better Mousetrap brand mousetrap. Cause of death: sudden blunt trauma to head.

Death toll for the season: 4

It's been a light year for rodents and I'm not sure why. Don't really care, either. I'm just happy I haven't had to find one by smell. God, I hate that smell - the smell of rotting rodent. It's indescribable.

Complete This Sentence

2007-11-29T22:21:00.000-06:00

Here's a fun exercise that I'd really like a bunch of my friends/family to try. But first a little background.

I'm reading a book called Happier, which can be found at any book store with a self-help section. In the book there are a series of exercises intended to help you decide for yourself how to be happier. One exercise is to finish a series of sentences, like:

*Things that make me happy are ...
*To bring 5 percent more happiness to my life ...

I think you get the idea.

So, today, for the first day in a year of riding the bus to work, I had to run twice to make it to the bus; once in the morning and once at night. It occurred to me, while making my mild sprint this afternoon, that I believe every time I have to run/jog/increase-my-gait-even-a-smidgen to catch the bus that I lose a little bit of my soul.

You probably think I'm nuts. That's okay, I can live with that. But then I thought - I wonder how others would finish that sentence.

I'm asking that you all please complete the following sentence in the comments:

I lose a little bit of my soul every time ...

One Less Pristine Tooth

2007-10-08T20:50:00.000-05:00

A quick note - I had a cavity filled today. I'm not a huge fan of Novocain, that's for sure. I gave blood last Saturday. It took 8 minutes and 5 seconds (they time you now, for some reason). I swear that the Novocain needle was in my gum longer than than the bloodletting needle. [Insert bone rattling shiver here.]

You know what else I hate? My plaque-infested tooth didn't hurt when I woke up this morning. However, now that it contains a white, plastic filling, it's actually kind of sore. Pretty hard to explain to the kids why they should have their cavities filled if it only creates pain for them in a place there wasn't pain before.

Notes on a Youth

2007-10-06T06:09:00.000-05:00

Here I am - but I don't know the date. It's a school photo, but not from kindergarten, of that I am sure. So it's sometime after that.

I thought it might be fun to make fun of me, as if I was looking at the photo for the first time and I didn't know who it was. Here goes:

"What a cute little girl!"

"Note the narrow shoulders and vastly over-sized head."

"Looks like the nose is already full grown."

"Is that hair or is he wearing a helmet?"

"What pretty brown eyes! What's her name?"

Feel free to chime in.

The Killing Season

2007-10-06T05:58:00.000-05:00

It's not even cold yet for October and I've killed 2 mice so far this season. I'll keep track on this blog again this year.

Season count:2 - 1 by Better Mousetrap brand mousetrap, 1 by cats.

The Last Whimsy

2007-09-20T21:58:00.000-05:00

I am still alive, and working on several new pieces - including stories about public transportation and more tales of interest from CCRB (concentric-circled retail behemoth) like how to write "brand". (Oh. My. God! Our internal communications organization has actually published a memo on the proper way to exhibit CCRB "brand" while writing! Holy F**king S**t! Is this necessary? In this memo I learned, among many golden nuggets of great information, that it is "brand" to end an email with "Thanks!" and not "brand" to end with "Thank you." Like, you know, whatever. We're The Gap, not Brooks Brothers.)

For giggles I re-read several old posts and now am wondering where my whimsy has gone. For example, I went to the dentist Monday morning and learned that I've grown another cavity in one of my pristine teeth (that is, one of the few teeth in my mouth that doesn't already have a filling). In the past I could have written an entire post about the experience - expecting that my terrific storytelling could make something so mundane seem interesting - even funny.

Not anymore. Just a dull trip to the dentist. I need to find my whimsy. Need to do more solitary chores - more biking to work and clearing brush. That's it - my whimsy's out in the back yard.

Help me find my whimsy. Please.

Take care.

The Joy (and Horror) of Randomness

2007-08-05T20:55:00.000-05:00

In my estimation, people who listen to music (most everyone) tend to fall into one of two groups:

1. People who like to hear certain songs in a certain order. These people fill their iPods with playlists (they don't buy the Shuffle because it only takes 1 playlist) and seldom, if ever, use the "shuffle songs" function.
2. People who nearly always put their music on shuffle. These people revel in the surprise of their favorite songs mixed together in a different order. "Ooh!" they gasp at the start of each song, "I like this song, and I like it even better after ..."

I tend toward Group 1. The main reason for this is that I listen to fairly wide variety of rock and roll artists. I have a playlist, for example, consisting completely of The Fray and Coldplay because they have a similar sound. I've also found that The Beatles don't mix well with any other groups. Neither do They Might Be Giants. So it would be discombobulating to me if When I'm 64 by The Beatles was followed by Rock You Like a Hurricane by The Scorpions, which was then followed by Don't Panic by Coldplay. That's just an odd mix. Discombobulating.

That said, I go through phases where I tire of all my playlists and use the shuffle function just for giggles. For a few days I revel in the joy (or disappointment) of the randomness of the order of the songs. I do occasionally stumble across artist/song mixes that, had I not heard them randomly assembled, I would never have put together myself. Then I put a few new playlists together and move back to Group 1.

I began enjoying the randomness on Monday, July 30th. It was refreshing, revitalizing music that had become stale to me. I had extra bounce in my step as I strode down Nicollet Mall heading to work that Monday. I don't remember hitting skip (a practice I use to move on to the next song when the randomness gods don't offer me a nicely flowing music mix) for all of Monday, nor even Tuesday or Wednesday.

Wednesday, of course, is the day the randomness gods played with our great city, dropping a random collection of vehicles, commuters, construction workers, et al, 64 feet into the Mississippi River during the busiest moment of the day.

Just think of the crazy randomness of it all. The driver of the UPS truck, interviewed in his hospital bed, described honking at a school bus full of kids, waving, then looking over to his left and seeing a Tastee truck, and having been a former Tastee employee, actually recognizing the Tastee truck driver. "Hey, I know that guy," he said to himself.

Then the bridge collapsed. The UPS driver lived - obviously. As of this writing the bus driver remains in serious condition. That all the kids made it out of the school bus essentially unhurt is, well (I'm tearing up), proof that even the randomness gods follow Alfred Hitchcock's first rule of moviemaking: never kill the kid. The Tastee driver did not make it, his truck one of the vehicles engulfed in flame immediately after the collapse.

All that in about 2 seconds.

I've already heard stories from people who took a different route home that night - thus avoiding calamity. I don't know if we'll ever hear the stories of the ones who took the different route that night and didn't make it home.

But what to make of it all? God's will? Karma?

Life happens. Death happens. It's better to be lucky than good. There are many things in life over which we have no control. For these things we accept the results of our natural lottery ticket and help those who scored a worse fate than us. No regrets. No gloating. We just shake our collective heads, clean up, rebuild, and move on.

By the way, I'm still shuffling my songs and kind of digging it. Good and bad.

Back from the Edge

2007-07-06T17:12:00.000-05:00

Ah, the new job. I've noted in the past that I've taken a new job, and if I understand the company policy, I'm not allowed to say who I work for on this blog because I haven't run it by corporate communications and I might tarnish our "brand" - it's all about being "brand" where I work. I'll refer to my employer by the letters CCRB - an acronym for "concentric circled retail behemoth" - for short. Not to be confused with RBTSWW - "retail behemoth that starts with 'W'". We're definitely not RBTSWW. They're evil. We're good. Anyway...

I think there is no worse feeling for me than to have a feeling and not know why I have that feeling. So, right now, at this moment, I'm experiencing dissatisfaction with my new job. I'm finally writing about this because sometimes writing about it helps. Or at least it helps me figure out what's wrong.

So what's wrong? Oh my, I don't even know where to start...

1. This IT organization boasts more than 3,000 employees. Change is constant. This creates several problems for me, the foremost being that I don't relish meeting 3,000 people. Meeting people is awkward. There's not much I dislike more than awkward social situations. I find myself walking down 15 floors of stairs rather than take a long elevator ride with one of these new acquaintances.

Even worse, social networking is highly encouraged. It is even one of the tenets of the 4 pillars of employee development - the E's of excellence - namely "maximizing relationships". From what I've been able to figure out, "maximizing relationships" means getting people to do your work for you. That may be my cynicism breaking through. I would be more in line with something like "nurturing relationships" because the word maximizing implies use - as in, I'm going to use you for something I need, whereas nurturing implies some level of work on my part to make the whole grow. Which brings me to the next ... opportunity.

2. Language. CCRB has its own language. Most corporations do these days. It's the Stepfordian adherence that frightens me. The people who've been around for a long time, I believe, have actually eliminated the word "weakness" from their vocabularies, replacing it with the much friendlier "opportunity". In fact, "opportunity" means anything negative. The only thing it doesn't mean is ... well ... opportunity. Also, we don't "team up" with people, we "partner". What is this desire to turn nouns into verbs? We also "status" with people.

3. Feedback. What would happen if every time you opened your mouth everyone within earshot felt the need to provide feedback on your utterances? It would get really f**king annoying, wouldn't it? Welcome to CCRB - aka Feedback Central. Giving feedback is encouraged. Unfortunately, giving useful, insightful, constructive feedback isn't taught. Some people are good at it, but many aren't. Seeking feedback is also encouraged. As far as I can tell, I'll not be seeking much feedback. I'll be teaching people how to give constructive feedback.

4. My specific job - aka The Meeting. Before I jump into the aspects of my job that I dislike, please let me start by saying that I understand this will probably sound like so much whining. Ooh, my job is so tough, yada yada yada. About a billion people on this planet would give up one or both gonads to be in my position - happily! So that said, I embark...

As in any corporation, there are layers of management between any worker and the people who run the company - the Chief Something Officers. I report through the Chief Information Officer. Between me and the CIO, there is my boss, her boss, his boss, her boss, and then a Vice President, and then the CIO. How many is that? 5? 6? Depends how you count it. Anyway, in ascending order the titles go - expendable worker drone (me), manager, group manager, senior group manager, director, VP, CIO.

The 800 pound gorilla effect - defined as the point in which expendable worker drones become intimidated by management so much so that their speech becomes unsteady and their movements rigid - generally starts at the senior group manager level. So you can have a meeting with managers and group managers and the workers tend to behave as normal, but once the SGM enters the room, people sit straighter, strictly adhere to the language rules of #2, etc.

Okay, so that's the background you need to understand my job. I work in Problem Management. A somewhat meaningless term outside the inner circle of large Information Technology organizations. Our job, as a group, is to work with the rest of the organization to minimize the impact OR prevent problems. At CCRB, Problems are defined as, in simple terms, unplanned global outages.

Here's an example: for several hours 2 days before Christmas none of our cash registers were accepting debit cards. That's bad. Something obviously went wrong. My job (and there are 4 others in my group who do the same thing) is to work with the teams that support all the software that has to do with debit transactions and figure out why it happened and how to make it so it doesn't happen again.

By the time I get involved, the problem is already recovered - that is, the cash registers were again accepting debit cards as a valid form of payment before I even get involved. There are several other organizations whose purpose it is to get the problem recovered. I just work on resolution - ie, the stuff to make it never happen again.

(Small digression - is that a niche within a niche, tucked into a pigeon-hole, or what?)

This isn't the bad part of the job, by the way. This is the good part. You'll know when I get to the bad part. Trust me.

On average, we have about 15 of these "incidents" per week. You don't read about them in the newspaper (hopefully), but they happen. If that seems like a lot, consider this: we've had a 10% year-over-year drop for 3 consecutive years. So it used to be worse. (If you want to see an incident for yourself sometime, I suggest trying one of our store kiosks or shopping on our website. But you didn't hear that from me.)

Once my group has completed analysis, we assign actions that will prevent recurrence of this problem. And then we find a speaker for the incident. To speak at The Meeting.

Each Friday, all of the SGMs and above (including the CIO and all of her direct reports) meet for 45 minutes to review the previous week's problems. Each "owner" of the most egregious of these incidents - there are usually about 5 - is asked by my group to speak at this meeting, ostensibly to share "learnings" about the incident so that no one else suffers the same fate.

Let me put the meeting in my somewhat more pragmatic terms - each Friday, the 75 most powerful people in the organization meet and listen to the managers of the people whose groups caused the previous week's most egregious and impactful problems.

Needless to say, these managers do not relish this "opportunity". Why? Let me count the ways:

1. Public speaking - in front of the very people who will determine your future at CCRB. No pressure there.
2. Implied blame - "owning" an incident means, for all practical purposes, that it was your group's fault. And from experience I can tell you that about 60% of all problems could have been prevented with better planning and testing. So the message is typically about how their group f**ked up. Sweet!
3. Most managers aren't involved in the day to day operations of the group, so they end up spending a considerable amount of time trying to draw from their subordinates the information they need to convey at this meeting. These IT geeks don't communicate well to begin with, especially with the intricate technical details surrounding these complex applications or hardware. Sometimes it's like waiting for the proverbial room of monkeys with typewriters to accidentally type the complete works of Shakespeare.

Because of all this, many managers try to wriggle out of these speaking opportunities. Frankly, I'd be concerned about them if they didn't.

Here's my job - this meeting. Yep. Okay, it's half my job. I prepare the presentation, convince the speakers of the importance of having them speak, then prepare the executive that actually runs the meeting. He's a VP. Like all sycophants, I hang on his every word, jump with great vigor when he says jump, and never tell him how much work goes into this meeting. Bad news rarely makes it to him.

With any job there are rules. These are mine:

1. When "convincing" a manager of the importance of their speaking engagement, I am not allowed to invoke the name of the VP. He doesn't want you to speak. He with the power, who inspires fear. Nope. Me - I want them to speak. I envision most of these managers thinking, "And you are? Nobody? An expendable worker drone? Ri-ight." I am allowed to invoke the name of my group, but that really sounds like a copout. But it's all I have. These managers (frequently group managers and even some SGMs) outrank me and will likely determine my future with CCRB. No pressure there.
2. This particular VP is even a more finicky writer than I am. I am responsible for the content of a 20+ page presentation, that is really a compilation from about 5-10 sources. So I play editor to all the contributors. I am the nitpicker. "Could you change that word, please? It is the wrong 'too' - it should be two O's, not t-w-o." I can't believe I actually have to tell people this, but I do.
3. I'm copy machine guy. We hand out paper copies of the presentation, so on Thursday nights (or Friday mornings) you'll find me hogging the department printer. Making copies. That Electrical Engineering degree is really paying off!
4. I have butterflies every Friday because, if a speaker doesn't show up, it's my fault. It's not really my fault - it's a CLM (career limiting move) for the person who didn't show up - but everyone looks at me and mouths "did you talk to so-and-so?" while I file through my week's conversations to try to remember specifically that I had.
5. Hanging around for feedback. I find an excuse to hang out in the meeting room until the VP leaves to see if he has any feedback to take into next week's meeting. I always pre-arrange for someone to fake a conversation with me until he leaves. How's that for planning?

So that's it. That's my whining. It doesn't seem so bad now that I've written about it.

Because this post is so long, I've skipped some less important details. In fact, I've made some improvements to this whole process that has made The Meeting almost bearable. I'll write about that next time.

I hope you've enjoyed this ride, because it has been therapeutic for me. Thanks for your patience.

Didn't want to go to work today

2007-07-05T08:18:00.000-05:00

It's July 5th, I was up late watching fireworks. I'm tired and looking forward to a pressure filled day. Yippee-kie-yay!

Why didn't I take today off?

Career Crisis: Day 255

More later...

Coming up for air

2007-05-03T16:30:00.000-05:00

It's been a month and I can honestly say that I haven't had a single night with enough energy to post anything. The new job is terribly time and energy consuming and when blogging time rolls around, I got nothing.

Just let me leave you with this thought - life is all about minimizing and maximizing. Maximize things that bring you joy; minimize things that bring you suffering. Minimize the commute; maximize laughing out loud time. Minimize face time with people who cause you stress; maximize face time with people who bring you contentment and joy.

Pretty lame, huh?

Even a Ten Year Old

2007-04-02T22:33:00.000-05:00

[Dinner conversation from about a week ago.]

Jackson (my 10 year old): Why is there so much fighting in Iraq?
Me: Do you mean why is the US there or why is there fighting at all?
Jackson: Both, I guess.
Wife: [Rolls her eyes.]
Me: It's like this - imagine hundreds of years ago someone from Minnesota killed someone from Iowa. People in Iowa got mad and killed a Minnesotan. So the Minnesotans got mad and killed more Iowans. Then the Iowans killed some more Minnesotans. Do you follow?
Jackson: [nods]
Me: After a while all they remembered were that Minnesotans killed Iowans and Iowans killed Minnesotans. Then one day a very powerful and bad man killed a whole bunch of Iowans and Minnesotans - more Iowans than Minnesotans, but he killed both sides just the same. Then everyone was afraid of the man.
Jackson: [nods again]
Me: They were so afraid they stopped killing each other.
Jackson: Then what?
Me: Then someone else came in and got rid of the powerful and bad man. Do you know what happened then?
Jackson: The Minnesotans started killing Iowans again?
Me: Yep.
Wife: Why is it that our 10 year old can comprehend something our president couldn't?

Good and Evil

2007-03-20T23:00:00.000-05:00

I've written some unkind things about my father, most recently about how I think my father has always drawn power from, in Star Wars terminology, the Dark Side. Today, however, I'll share one of my few stories that just reminds me that people aren't all bad.

I've always known my father was a boxer when he was in the army in World War II - he told me as much on many, many occasions. One must know that he was 48 years old when I was born. My memories of him start when he was well into his fifties, his potbelly well evolved, so these stories of his glory days really didn't hold much weight with the boy who was hearing them.

One day a couple of years ago, my daughter returned from a friends' house and said, "I think Molly's grandfather knew your dad." This wasn't a shock to me - this has happened to me my whole life. My father worked at the only open window in the Albert Lea post office for over 30 years. Anyone who used the post office for 3 decades in Albert Lea, or all of Freeborn county, knew my father.

A few weeks later I was sitting at a school event when Molly's father sidled up next to me. "Megan told me you're from Albert Lea. Are you related to Eli?" And he said it with reverence - almost as if he was going to ask for an autograph. I confirmed that I was and that he was my father. "Man, he was like a god in our house."

Whaaaa? My father? Revered in someone else's house? Huh?

"My father watched your dad box. He was a huge fan. We heard about him all the time." It seems there was some regional champion in my father's weight division who had nearly a perfect record - except against my father. He could not beat my father.

The story does not end here.

The next week I was delivering Girl Scout cookies to my aunt (my father's younger sister) and conveyed this story. She knew who Molly's grandfather was - he was one of a few doctors in Albert Lea. Then she added, "Your father was considered a defender to a lot of people. He was admired by a lot of people in Albert Lea."

I guess I had always thought that people knew him from the Post Office and liked him and that was the basis for the admiration. I never thought much past that. My aunt then shared the following, which I will paraphrase:

This was shortly after the end of WWII, in small town rural America. My father's family was a "first generation assimilation" family. That is, they moved to Minnesota from Mexico and were determined to shed old Mexican traditions and "blend" into the American lifestyle. They modified their names - Salvador became Sam, Pedro became Peter, etc. Despite all these efforts, they were still known as immigrants.

My aunt was sexually assaulted by one of the locals. Given their position in the community she didn't feel that she could do anything about it. However, the guy who did it was known throughout the town as a real SOB. So my father tracked him down and beat the hell out of him. To this day she still feels gratitude for that.

I later asked my father about the incident. Apparently, the guy he beat up was huge. My father is 5'4" and weighed, at the time, maybe 125 pounds. (We are not big people in my family.) There was a crowd surrounding them when they fought. No one stopped the fight. My dad commented - "I beat him for quite a while. He just kept taking it. I beat him until my hands hurt." And then the police showed up. According to my father, even the police knew how much of an SOB this guy was, so they watched until it looked like my dad was punched out, then said, "Eli - are you about done?" My dad said, "Yeah," and sighed. The police sent everyone home.

The police didn't do anything!? I asked my dad. "Nope. Just sent us all home. I think they gave the big guy a ride."

My dad later went on to say that this wasn't the only time he'd "had to set someone straight". In fact, when he said that it triggered a whole bunch of memories of stories where he'd had to "set someone straight" and I finally understood what that really meant.

My father has done some things in his life that are unforgivable. But these stories show me that no one, my father included, is all bad. There is good in us all. And that makes me feel better.

A Poorly Written Note on One Key to Effective Business Writing - Sounding British

2007-03-03T20:39:00.000-06:00

And I don't mean using "lorry" for truck, "lift" for elevator, and "wireless" for radio.

While I'm probably not the most authoritative figure in effective business writing, I have unwittingly adopted certain writing elements in my work environment. Only recently (a few days ago) did I realize that I've been aspiring to "sound British" when I write.

For example, let's examine the following sentence as it occurred to me a few days ago.

"I enjoy watching women with big breasts in tight shirts walk in the skyway in the morning."

This is the American version of this sentence. It's pretty clear where my mind is. But still, it has an ugly American feel to it.

How would a British person say this? I'll suggest the following:

"I fancy a woman with sizable bosoms straining a tight blouse during a morning skyway stroll."

This may not be exactly what a British person would say, but I think it's a good approximation. Let's examine the differences.

1. Use of the word "fancy" instead of the phrase "enjoy watching". It's more concise - a 1-for-2 tradeoff. Though one wouldn't normally use "fancy" as a verb in the United States.

2. Use of "tight blouse" instead of "tight shirt". "Blouse" is a more precise word than shirt.

3. Use of "bosom" instead of "breast". "Bosom" is a more maternal word for breasts. It sounds classier.

4. Use of "stroll" instead of "walk". Again, a more precise word.

5. The use of the word "straining". In fact, the phrase "women with big breasts in tight shirts" conjures a slightly different image than "woman with sizable bosoms straining a tight blouse". In the former, the breasts are merely laying there. In the latter, it's as if the bosoms are fighting for release from the shirt. The British version gives the bosoms life, while in the American version the breasts exist only to be observed.

[Author's note: I have long since forgotten how to diagram sentences. Perhaps I'll have my 8th grade daughter do this same analysis, since she's actually diagramming sentences in school this semester.]

What are my keys to effective business writing then? Adopt some of the principles that the Brits have been using for centuries.

1. Be concise. Blouse is a better word than shirt. Stroll is a better word than walk. There's almost always a better word than you first used.
2. Sound classy without tapping the boundaries of the thesaurus. Remember, Americans typically have small vocabularies, so while a very precise word may be great, if no one understands you then its the wrong word.
3. Minimize prepositional phrases. They only serve to redirect the reader from the actual subject. Instead, use adjectives. Notice how "walk in the skyway in the morning" turns into "a morning skyway stroll".
4. Think to yourself, "How would they have said that on Masterpiece Theatre?

Jackson Got a Haircut

2007-03-03T19:35:00.000-06:00

So what's the deal with Jackson's hair? I know other parents think this very thought when meeting us. Why do you let him have long hair?

Ah, welcome to the world of tradeoffs. Jackson has Asberger's syndrome, and has sensitivity issues. Katie and I learned long ago to pick our battles. At some point in the past - I'm not even sure when it happened, we stopped fighting the hair battle. We said, "If you keep it washed, combed and out of your eyes, you can have it whatever length you want. And if it's ever a safety issue in sports, it either goes in a pony tail or we cut it." And since then it's never been an issue.

It's been well more than a year since his last trim - I think we took off about 1-2 inches - and over 2 years that he's been able to sport a pony tail. Alas, it is finally "normal". Check it out.

How? Why? Don't really know for sure. Out of nowhere earlier this week Jackson said, "I think I should get a haircut." I checked again with him on Thursday and he was still ready for a haircut. He did mention that he was sick of kids staring at him. That sounded especially troubling to him. He also mentioned that he would no longer be mistaken for a girl. Anyway, when I got home from work last night I asked again, and when he agreed, I suggested we get it done tonight. We went to Perkins for dinner as a family, then went straight to the haircut place.

For the record, the pony tail was about 9 inches long, which qualifies for a Locks of Love donation. He's happy to be giving hair to a kid with cancer. So that's just another reaffirmation for me.

I have great kids.

Am I Wearing Pants?

2007-02-07T12:17:00.000-06:00

I started a new job about 3 months ago. Though the employer emphasizes flexible scheduling for their employees, the rule of thumb is more 8-4:30, with an emphasis on the 8am. This has been quite an adjustment for me for 2 reasons: 1) though I arise early every morning, I enjoy a morning workout before beginning my commute, which I've had to truncate each morning because 2) it takes longer for me to get to work now because I "park and ride".

When I get on the bus I am frequently not quite awake, even though I've driven about 3 miles to the park and ride site. One particularly bleary-eyed day, I was sitting in my usual spot (I suspect there will be a posting someday about the unwritten etiquette of public transportation) on a morning which I felt particularly chilly. A rather fetching young woman got on and, since the bus was full and chivalry is dead, she stood holding on to one of the handrails. I noticed that she was wearing a skirt - a knee-length straight skirt probably matching a blazer hidden underneath her winter coat. My thoughts, in the order they occurred:

1. Ooh, a skirt. It's pretty cold for that.
2. Oh my god, her legs are bare. No pantyhose? In this weather? That's got to be cold!
3. I wonder what this cold air (about 20 degrees that day) feels like on bare skin?
4. Does cold air go up the skirt? Of course not, you idiot! Cold air sinks. Warm air rises.
5. I don't feel my pants touching my legs.
6. Am I wearing pants?
7. [I rub my hand on my thigh to verify that I did, indeed, don pants this morning.]
8. These pants are too thin for this weather. I'm cold.
9. I should sort my pants in the closet so that all the thin ones are together, so I can remember not to wear them when it's cold.
10. I'm not wearing these pants again under 30 degrees!

Scary, eh? Later, as I was walking the 2 outdoor blocks from the bus stop to the door where I enter the skyway system, it occurred to me that, for the briefest moment, I found it plausible that I had gotten all the way to the bus without wearing pants. "How silly of me!" I thought.

I've had this story on my mind for a couple of months, only now am I writing it down. As I write I ponder why this story is sticking in my mind. What's the point? I need to sleep more? I'm exhausted? Is it the reason why I detest public transportation - for this never occurred while I was driving to work?

Why?!?

[An afterthought - this might be a fun party game. It's called "My thoughts, in the order that they happened". Probably best after a couple of mixed drinks. Everyone gets a turn.]

You Mean They Want to Get Rid of Autism!?

2007-02-07T11:51:00.000-06:00

A conversation with my boys driving home from a school event one evening:

Me: Now remember that we have the Steps of Hope walk on Sunday morning.
Jackson: [whining voice] Aaarrrgghh!
Owen: What's that?
Me: Jack, I just wanted you to know that we'd be going out again this weekend. [Side note #1: we have to give the boys plenty of warning with changes to their regular schedules. Jackson, if at all possible, will not even change out of his pajamas on Sundays.] Owen - Steps of Hope is a charity walk for Autism Research. Remember? It's the one where we walk around Ridgedale mall.
Jackson: Research for what?
Me: Autism. You know, Asperger's syndrome is a form of Autism. [Side note #2: Katie just purchased a picture book about how cats have Asperger's syndrome, just like the boys. They've each read it and are aware they are Aspy's and are proud of it.] They are doing research to try and stop people from getting it.
Owen: You mean they want to get rid of Autism!? [There is anger and fear in his voice.]
Me: That's not what I ... [Lost in the din.]
Jackson: Why would they do that? There's nothing wrong with us.
Owen: Yeah, my brain is just wired differently.
Jackson: Yeah, our brains just work differently.
Me: Okay, guys, hold up a second.
Owen: You mean they want to get rid of us?
Jackson: Is that why we're all going to the same place on Sunday?
Me: No - dear God no. That's not it at all. Look - you guys are just fine. There are other kids with Autism. [I pause for a few seconds, trying to think of an example they won't twist for their own purposes.] Jack - think of your worst day ever.
Jackson: Okay. I'm thinking of one.
Me: Now imagine that every day is like that. Because that's what it's like for a lot of kids with Autism. Every day.
Owen: Whoa! Every day?
Jackson: Really?
Me: Yes, every day. The research will teach us how to teach them to make every day better.
Owen: You mean we're doing the walk for them?
Me: Yes, Owen, we're doing the walk for them.
Jackson: I suppose that's okay then. Can I bring my Gameboy?

Xmas 2006 Newsletter

2006-12-17T07:41:00.000-06:00

Presenting the 2006 Non-denominational, Generic, Holiday-type Newsletter of the Gonzalez Family


2006

Didn't Make the Cut

2006-12-17T07:09:00.000-06:00

It's done, finally. I finished it last night. Of course I'm talking about the Christmas letter. Now all that's left is making copies, addressing the envelopes, etc. And posting it on the blog.

But before I do that I'm posting (below) the extra stories that ended up being cut. Once you read them you'll see why they didn't make it. Here goes:

Like Robot Wars, But For Kids
Parents, kids excited, exhausted after grueling tournament
Area First Lego Leaguer Jackson Gonzalez, 9, greatly enjoyed his first year in Lego League (a competition for 4th though 9th graders surprisingly not sponsored by the Lego Corporation).
“We’ve had him enrolled in the Lego Brickmaster program since he figured out not to eat them,” states proud mother Kathryn. “This was the next logical step.”
The competition consists of 2 parts: a research project and presentation based on a topic chosen by league representatives; and the design and construction of a robot to perform several tasks on a pre-built table.
The theme this year was nanotechnology. “Did you know that the frame of this year’s winning Tour de France bike weighed less than a kilogram of pasta, which happens to be my favorite food, because of advances in nanotechnology?” states the avid young builder.
Jackson’s team finished 5th out of 16 teams in the regional tournament, narrowly missing advancement to the state tournament.

Area Model Blurred, Removed from Advertisements
Hours of stop-motion posing result in blurry image
Local model Phil Gonzalez, 40, appeared in ads for medical equipment and buffalo wing sauce this year, but you won’t be able to recognize him.
“In the Olympus (a medical equipment manufacturer) ad I appear as a frenetic sales representative running from doctor to nurse to the nurse’s station. I’m completely blurred as if in constant motion.”
“We decided to blur him,” states photographer and Phil’s brother-in-law Joe Paczkowski, “as soon as the art director saw his face. Pretty easy decision, really.”
“In the other Olympus ad I play a nurse during an endoscopic procedure. I’m almost completely covered in that one too, with a mask, and hat and surgical scrubs.”
“Again we blurred him, even though you already couldn’t see his face,” states Paczkowski.
“The ad for Buffalo Wild Wings sauce I didn’t even pose for. They used an old family photo and had me digitally removed.”
“Again, it’s his face. We needed it to match someone else. No offense, but Phil’s just not going to get a lot of modeling work where his face is involved,” says Paczkowski.

Ghosts of Xmas Letters Past

2006-11-28T16:47:00.000-06:00

Well, here it is, the complete collection. Click on the thumbnail to read the letter. You'll need Acrobat Reader to read them.

1993	1994
1995	1996
1997	1998
1999	2000
2001	2002
2003	2004
2005

Generic, non-denominational, holiday-type newsletter update

2006-11-27T14:27:00.000-06:00

Those of you who receive my yearly newsletter know that I take more than just a few minutes creating my family's yearly news update. I thought this year it might be interesting to share my creative process in this blog. I guess I'm flattering myself to think anyone would care what this process is. So if you aren't interested please just skip these postings.

PROCESS
1. In 14 years of doing this I have never started writing until a day or two before Thanksgiving. That allows time for stuff to happen.

2. I usually start this process completely blocked and spend a few days worrying what I'll do when I run out of time. I almost always start with an article about how shitty this year's newsletter is. Then, as articles accumulate, I cut it. Perhaps some year I'll compile all the "shitty newsletter" articles into a newsletter of their own.

3. Katie and I review events of the last year and highlight one or two for each family member. I come up with headlines for the articles first, then let them stew for a while in my brain.

4. While stewing I go back and read all of the previous newsletters (I'll publish them on this blog shortly, when I get to that point), looking for year-to-year running jokes and trying desperately not to use the same joke twice. Some of my close friends will ping me if I use the same joke twice. During this period I will also page through other inspirational material, such as Created in Darkness by Troubled Americans (where you should definitely check out the stories entitled "On the Implausibility of the Death Star's Trash Compactor" and "Fire: Sharp Stick of Tomorrow?") or The Onion.

5. I write. I usually think of funny stuff during odd moments of the day or night - and try to remember it until I get to a computer. I will write during my lunch hour at work and email it to myself. Whatever it takes to get the story to my home computer. This process almost always calls for liberal use of a thesaurus, which I'm guessing most writers would feel guilty admitting. I, however, am not a writer.

6. I cut, and cut, until it fits onto 2 pages. Cutting is not as hard as writing.

That's pretty much it.

As of today, I have nothing. I started last night and I have only the headline for my shitty article story. I'll keep you updated as I progress.

Update on Dad

2006-11-27T13:53:00.000-06:00

As I get older I find myself referring to my father by his first name much more often. I wonder why that is?

Anyway, since the last post on my father's health, here's what's happened:

*Spent a few days recovering in the hospital, where it was learned that his right carotid artery was 90% blocked. According to the vascular doctor, this is a condition that accumulated over time, not a sudden onset. This blockage has been restricting blood flow to his brain for a period of time measured in years, not months or weeks. This doctor theorizes that a piece of that blockage broke off and caused the stroke. His recommendation: wait for his condition to stabilize for a couple of weeks, then bypass the blockage.

The cardiologist added that Eli's heart is doing fine and that from a cardiology perspective (anyway) Eli would survive the surgery.

The neurologist was concerned that the sudden increase in blood flow following the surgery could cause swelling in the brain, causing further damage. The neurologist also suggested that a piece of the blockage could come loose during the surgery and cause another stroke.

Eli's everyday doctor demurred to the specialists' contradicting opinions. No help there.

*Eli recovered to the point where he was released from the hospital to a nursing home - a pretty bad nursing home (the Edina Care Center on 62nd and Xerxes in Edina). Even though the orders were clear that he could not walk on his own and was to have a bed alarm should he decide to try and walk on his own, Eli got out of bed to run to the bathroom (even though he was catheterized) and fell, ripping out his catheter. Luckily he wasn't injured in any other way. As far as we could tell, Eli got very little of the care that was ordered.

*On the Wednesday before Thanksgiving Eli went in for surgery and it was a resounding success. By Thanksgiving day he was reading a newspaper in bed and had in general made a remarkable recovery.

*On Thanksgiving day Eli was released to the Masonic home in Bloomington - a much better care facility. He is convalescing there today.

No life lessons today - just an update.

Perhaps the last?

2006-11-27T13:51:00.000-06:00

11-19-06 - 1 dead mouse found in basement, head crushed and stuck in Better Mousetrap brand mousetrap. Cause of death: sudden blunt trauma to head.

Two weeks since the last fatality. I think dead mouse season is just about done. This season's death toll: 14.

My Dad is a Sith Lord

2006-11-06T22:35:00.000-06:00

An interesting premise, yes?

To begin, one must understand the Star Wars universe. Judging only by the 1977 film A New Hope, one would think Mr. Lucas sees the world as black (evil empire, Darth Vader) and white (Luke Skywalker, Jedi - aka the Fightin' Monks). It's really much more complex than that, though you don't necessarily see it in the movies. But you do in the novels. Anyway, the Jedi (the good guys) feed off the positive energy of the Force. The Sith (the bad guys) are fueled by power and feed off the negative energy of the Force. The Sith feed off anger and hatred.

Which brings me to my father.

My father is 88 years old. He has 12 children (10 still living). He lost his wife 9 years ago and lives with his youngest son, my little brother. A year and a half ago my father had a heart attack. He survived and until recently he continued to walk the neighborhood for exercise and read from alternative news sources (like the Weekly World News and the National Enquirer) because he didn't trust the mainstream media. He read all kinds of nutrition literature because he didn't trust the medical establishment. I repeat, my dad does not trust the medical establishment.

On Saturday my father had a "significant" stroke. (I quote the word "significant" now, because it's a few days later. At the time, we weren't sure what the heck was going on.) My little brother found him unresponsive in bed, called 911, and off to the hospital we went.

Eric (my brother) and I arrived at the emergency room and after a few minutes a nurse ushered us into a family room to wait for the ER doctor. We waited in awkward silence, broken only with Eric blaming himself for not noticing sooner and by my seemingly ineffective consolation. We were finally joined by a Dr. Schneider, who, after introducing himself, broke the news in most considerate way possible. "Your father has had a significant stroke. He has paralysis in both legs and his left arm..." His tone was similar to a parent telling his child that the dog just isn't going to make it. "The convalescence will be measured in weeks and months, not days and weeks."

Shortly thereafter, Eric and I were led into my father's ER space. A bearded male nurse was shouting commands at him (shouting because my father is pretty much deaf and at the time not wearing his hearing aids) - raise his hand, wiggle his toes, etc, none of which my father could perform. The nurse introduced himself to us and continued with his neurological assessment. Eric and I watched silently.

Nothing. Well, not much. That's what my dad could do. He had quite a grip with his right hand. We watched as both the nurse and the ER doctor tested his grip strength - each man had to forcibly remove their fingers from my father's right hand. My father's left hand literally dropped lifelessly.

Soon Eric and I began to see a twitch here, a twitch there. I asked the nurse, whose back was turned to the twitching, if the movement in my dad's left knee was some sort of spasm, and was that why he was disregarding it.

"What twitching?" he asked, shocked. But my father never twitched when the nurse was watching and barking for him to move something. "Mr. Gonzalez, raise your left leg," he'd shout. Nothing. But the second he'd turn around Dad would start twitching again. It sort of became a joke with Eric and I. We'd giggle whenever he twitched because, invariably, the nurse's back would be turned.

Later, by only a few minutes, my father began to respond orally, a single syllable at a time - yes's and no's only. By this time a room had been located for Dad and the ER nurse was prepping him for admission. Soon after, a woman who I assume is some sort of administrator stopped in the room to fill out some admission forms. Does he have dentures? Glasses? Hearing aids? That type of stuff. We spoke in normal tones - we definitely weren't yelling, shouting, or even speaking loudly. In fact, since it was somewhat personal information about my father I was trying to keep my voice down because this was such a public area.

"Has your father had a flu shot?" she asked. I looked to Eric. I shrugged. Knowing my father, abso-f*cking-lutely not. I think he believed that inoculations were some sort of government plot to keep the masses in line. But who knows? Eric also shrugged.

"Eric," I said, "you take him to the doctor. Did he get a flu shot?"

The best Eric could remember was no, he hadn't. The administrator asked us if he wanted one. Being the medical power of attorney on site (I'm actually the backup - another of my brothers in Madison is the primary), I had full authority to answer for my father given his incapacitation. "We don't have to decide that now, do we?" I asked. The administrator agreed that we didn't, so we moved on.

Meanwhile, the bearded male nurse was converting all the tubes and monitors hanging off my dad to a battery powered portable unit for transport, signaling we were ready to go up to his room in Neuro Special Services. Suddenly my father became agitated and started stringing words together. The bearded nurse looked startled, as if maybe he had accidentally unplugged a vital machine. He couldn't understand my father's words, so he hurriedly asked Eric to come listen. Eric told Dad to repeat and listened closely.

"No flu shot". I think he said, "No flu shot." Once Eric said those words, my father settled back down.

I looked to the administrator and said, "I guess he doesn't want a flu shot."

This is when I realized my father is a Sith lord. He's laying in the emergency room, unable to speak more than a single syllable per breath. His only working limb is stuck in "kung fu grip" mode. He's 88 years old, frail, mostly blind, mostly deaf, completely immobile, and only chooses to muster the strength to communicate with us by summoning his rage at the medical establishment by refusing a flu shot. This is a man definitely powered by the dark side of the Force. Definitely a Sith.

Lest you think I may have misinterpreted my father's "no flu shot" request - after all, it occurred to me later that he may have just been indicating that, no, he hadn't already had a flu shot - on Sunday my father was much more lucid and I asked him. He said, "I don't like the preservatives they use in vaccine." Not a bad sentence for a man less than 24 hours after a "significant" stroke, eh?

I must again assert - this man is a Sith lord. He is primarily fueled by negative energy, usually his own rage. He is practically on his deathbed refusing a flu shot. I still can't get over that.

The moral of the story? Don't be a Sith lord. Or remember this story the next time you find yourself using negative energy to motivate yourself. Find passion through joy and happiness, not anger.

Another One

2006-11-06T20:25:00.000-06:00

11-5-06 - 1 dead mouse found in basement, head crushed and stuck in Better Mousetrap brand mousetrap. Cause of death: sudden blunt trauma to head.

That's the first dead mouse in quite some time. It brings the seasonal death toll, for those of you keeping score at home, to 13.

Part 2 - Phil's Catalog of Metaphors, Similes, Analogies, and Stupid Sayings

2006-10-24T21:26:00.000-05:00

Of course I missed some of my "phil-isms" in my previous post, so here I will add to the list. Again, please add ones I've missed in the comments.

1. Polishing the turd. I first heard this in a software development context. At a previous employer (whose acronym might stand for Amalgamated Diversified Corporation) there was a group of rogue software developers who were considered by the IT group to be a bunch of hacks. This rogue group had developed a relatively simple document management system which they themselves considered technology similar to the 1969 moon landing in complexity and scope. And they kept adding goofy little features to it. So the IT group referred to this incessant need to accessorize their system as "polishing the turd".

I've extended - er, generalized - the term in many ways. For example, when you have a task that you are 90% finished with, that last 10% can be a real pain in the ass to finish. So I refer to the last 10% of a long, tedious task as "polishing the turd". Or if you're in a team environment, and you start a task then hand it off to someone else to complete, they are "polishing your turd". If you're creative you can work it in to many situations.

2. If you have to eat a turd, don't dawdle. Replaces "let's get this over with" in a much more colorful way.

3. Drinking from a firehose. Pretty commonly used these days, though I don't believe it used to be. Just another term for being overwhelmed. I have also heard the variant, "I'm drinking from a firehose - not getting much and what I do get hurts".

4. You ask him what time it is and he tells you how to build a watch. Also heard this one first at good old Amalgamated Diversified Corporation. This is a typical response you get when you ask an Engineer a question about something in their field of expertise - especially if you show even a hint of interest. I guess they (we?) just can't help themselves (ourselves). Yes, I'm an Engineer. Many Engineers suffer from Aspberger's Syndrome, so they won't notice the glazed eyes of their poor listener. I guess you have to sacrifice something to withstand 3 years of calculus and physics.

5. I'd rather slide naked down a 50-foot razorblade - or I'd rather stick an icepick in my forehead The former is from a Matt Groening book; the latter I made up (I think). Expressions used when wanting to escape from a bad situation - usually group meeting related.

Death Toll Update

2006-10-24T20:25:00.000-05:00

10-21-06 - 1 dead mouse found in basement, head crushed and stuck in Better Mousetrap brand mousetrap. Cause of death: sudden blunt trauma to head.

10-23-06 - 1 dead mouse found in basement, head crushed and stuck in Better Mousetrap brand mousetrap. Cause of death: sudden blunt trauma to head.

Well, the pace is slowing a bit. I'm down to 1 dead mouse every other day. That brings this season's total to 12. Last year I killed about twice that.

Phil's Catalog of Metaphors, Similes, Analogies, and Stupid Sayings

2006-10-20T08:49:00.000-05:00

In my job I am frequently called upon to explain fairly complex technology to laypeople. It is because of this that I share with Ross Perot the penchant for reliance on metaphors, similes, analogies, and frankly, silly sayings. It is my intention to try and capture these sayings in this post. So what follows, in no particular order, are as many of these "Phil-isms" as I can think of. If I've missed some, please add them in the comments.

1. If the only tool you have is a hammer, every problem looks like a nail. This one has many uses. If you find someone stuck in a creative rut, it may help them to break free from it. As often happens in the technology world, developers find what they think is the niftiest tool ever and use it for everything, even when it is clearly not warranted.

2. Sometimes you're the bug and sometimes you're the windshield. Used as a bring-down for someone who needs to be reminded about humility. Conversely can be used to cheer someone up when they're down.

3. Sometimes you need to burn the ships. A reference to 16th century Spanish conqueror Cortez, who found that his men fought harder if the ships they'd sailed to Mexico in had been burned, thus cutting off any possible retreat. This is frequently used with bravado during organizational process change, to communicate that there is no going back so don't fight us on this one.

4. That's a solution in search of a problem. Technology is frequently developed without a business problem in mind, so a problem is invented to sell the technology. Best example - digital cameras in phone. Customer: "Wow, I didn't even know I wanted a camera in my phone." Designer: "You don't, but it fit and marketing thought they could sell it."

5. Boiled frogs Ah, the parable of the boiled frog (perhaps a French proverb?). Maybe this is from the bible. I don't know, frankly, where this came from. I found the most succinct description on allaboutfrogs.org. If you put a frog into a pot of boiling water, it will leap out right away to escape the danger. But if you put a frog in a kettle filled with cool pleasant water, then gradually heat the kettle, the frog will not be aware of the threat until it is too late. Al Gore uses this story in An Inconvenient Truth.

The point? One must be aware of gradual dangers just as one must be aware of sudden dangers. It depends on how big you want to go with it. It could be the gradual erosion of worker's rights and benefits. Damn those giant corporate monoliths! It could also explain the catatonic expressions of workers in America's cubicle farms. It's enough to make you grab any random rush hour driver and scream "Jump out of the pot! Before it's too late!" Thinking of the boiled frog makes me want to kill myself. Or change jobs.

6. Bucket of crabs I just recently learned this one and have just begun working it into my repertoire. This story is this: you have a bucket of crabs, and one of the crabs on top tries to crawl out of the bucket, the others below it will pull it back down. I heard this one in a class purportedly on how to implement organizational change. The message? If you want to implement change, people will try to drag you down? I thought that was pretty dumb. I see this as more of a "watch your back" kind of thing. Success breeds jealousy. In many cases, it holds leaders back. They don't want to be the crab dragged back to the pack. That's why it's hard to be a leader. If it was easy to be a leader, everyone would do it. And there'd be no one to lead.

7. Shut off the water. This is a story I heard while working at a previous employer. An executive, we'll call him Dave, inherited a group of managers whose previous boss, beloved by all, had been "downsized". We'll call the downsized executive Jerry. Jerry was a tyrannical micromanager - so much so, that none of his direct reports - all managers themselves - was capable of making a decision without Jerry's input. In other words, Jerry was making all the decisions.

These managers were responsible for a continuing operations process that was in disarray. And every minute it continued to be in disarray, it caused the company to lose even more money. While Dave explained the gravity of the situation to these managers - layoffs, plant closings, etc - they didn't seem to understand. So he said, "Look, it's like you come home from work and there's water all over the kitchen floor. The kitchen sink is clogged and the faucet is running. What should you do first?"

After a short silence, one of the managers quipped, "Get a mop," which elicited laughter from the rest of the managers. But not Dave. Dave said, "No. You shut off the g***amn water."

So what's this one good for? I'm not really sure, I guess. I guess this is one that may mean more to me than anyone else. To me it means that bad business processes need to be stopped ASAP. Cleaning up while the mess is still being made is a waste of energy.

8. If you want to run with the dogs, you can't play with the puppies. This sounds like it came right from the mouth of Ross Perot. It didn't - well, I didn't hear it from him. I heard it from one of my older brothers - though he doesn't remember saying it. So maybe I made it up. Who knows?

To me it means - "if you want to be considered an adult, you have to act like one." Or, if you want to be a leader in your industry, don't act like one of the little competitors.

9. The one-eyed man in the kingdom of the blind. Reference to a short story I read in 8th grade by H.G. Wells entitled The Country of the Blind. Usually when I refer to it I mean it to be having a partial skill that no one else around you has. However, in the story, a perfectly sighted man arrives in a place where everyone is blind. Only the concept of sight has no meaning to the people, so they think he's nuts. While he works to show them his "better way", they only become more resolute. It's probably a topic for an entire blog posting.

10. My pants are tenting! An obviously vulgar expression of excitement over an idea or situation. Used entirely in social situations. Not useful in a work setting. And only useful for men, until the running joke is established with a group of women. Once in on the joke, it's very funny coming from a woman.

Death Toll Jumps to 10

2006-10-20T07:59:00.000-05:00

10-18-06 - 2 dead mice found in basement, heads crushed and stuck in Better Mousetrap brand mousetraps. Cause of death: sudden blunt trauma to head.

10-19-06 - 2 dead mice found in basement, heads crushed and stuck in Better Mousetrap brand mousetraps. Cause of death: sudden blunt trauma to head.

When will it stop?

Death Toll Rises to 6

2006-10-18T21:00:00.000-05:00

10-17-06 - 2 dead mice found in basement, heads crushed and stuck in Better Mousetrap brand mousetraps. Cause of death: sudden blunt trauma to head.

There seems to be no end to these little b*stards. More later.

Missing Trap Update

2006-10-17T23:11:00.000-05:00

Found it. No super mice. Cats must have toyed with carcass after death. Rotting corpse still not stinky.

10-15-06 - dead mouse found under ping pong table, head crushed and stuck in Better Mousetrap brand mousetrap. Cause of death: sudden blunt trauma to head.

The Missing Trap

2006-10-13T19:44:00.000-05:00

10-13-06 - dead mouse found in hallway to bedrooms, head crushed and stuck in Better Mousetrap brand mousetrap. Cause of death: sudden blunt trauma to head.

But even more problematic, one of my Better Mousetrap brand mousetraps is missing.

Some background: I have 2 traps that I set out, about 12 inches from each other, in the basement. I will frequently arrive to find 2 dead mice, one in each trap. Which makes me wonder about the intellect of the 2nd mouse. The loud crack, followed by the motionlessness of his buddy, wasn't that a good indication that these darn traps may just be lethal, or at least injurious? Like they say, mice just cannot resist peanut butter. But who can? Really.

This morning one or both of the cats had dragged one of last night's kills to the hallway. But what of the other trap? Three thoughts come to mind:

1. The cats dragged it somewhere I haven't found yet. This might be okay, because eventually the smell of the rotting carcas will reveal its location. I just hope it's easy to reach.

OR

2. The trap snapped on the mouse's tail or other extremity. Then the mouse limped off somewhere and escaped the trap. If this is the case, I'll find the trap eventually, probably in 30 years when we finally move out of the house.

OR

3. We are breeding some kind of super-mice, capable of surviving a sudden blunt head trauma. Not only surviving, but perhaps even thriving, wearing the trap as a hat, or in mouse civilization, an alpha-male symbol of dominance. It is as if this mouse is saying "I'm immortal. Nothing can hurt me. See - I'm so tough I'm wearing a mouse trap as head accessory! Take that, man!"

I suspect it was #1, but I'm not going to rule out #3 until I find the trap.

Death Toll Update from Murder-tonka

2006-10-12T07:00:00.000-05:00

10-11-06 - 1 dead mousefound in basement. Cause of death: sudden blunt trauma to head. Victim found face down in Better Mousetrap brand mouse traps. Status: closed.

Death Toll

2006-10-09T23:24:00.000-05:00

Tis the season. Now that it has begun to get cold at night, I have visitors in my basement again. So I thought I'd use the blog to publish my seasonal death toll. Sort of the same way the media tracks murders in the cities. So here goes.

10-3-06 - dead mouse found in hallway to bedrooms. Cause of death: predator, probably house cat. Victim found face up - likely posed by murderer to look like a break-in gone awry. Status: under investigation, low likelihood of being solved due to apathy.

10-8-06 - 2 dead mice found in basement. Cause of death: sudden blunt trauma to heads. Victims found with heads crushed and stuck in Better Mousetrap brand mouse traps. Status: closed.

Keep watching for further updates.

I am the Fat Lady - part 2

2006-09-24T23:28:00.000-05:00

I've ridden my bike to work 4 times this summer. It's about a 50 minute long ride. Now that I'm more familiar with this ride my body has adjusted. I'm less tired when I get to work and less tired when I get home at night. My conclusion: I'm getting in better shape.

My last ride was memorable for the sheer speed. I took a slightly longer but flatter route to get to the bike path that heads downtown. And I was cruising, blowing by the older morning walkers and even a few of the morning bikers. I also took full advantage of my mountain bike on each slight curve and bump, standing and absorbing the bumps and curves with my knees and elbows.

I looked cool and was riding fast. Even passing people.

There is a spot where the bike path takes a turn and runs parallel to train tracks that lead directly downtown. When you make the turn you can see the buildings and everything, even though they are still miles away. That is also the spot where the path turns straight and flat. It's all paved so you can make great time.

I decided to see if I could shave a few minutes off the ride. There was no one in front of me (an no need to look behind - I was flying!) so I switched gears for maximum speed. With each change of gears I could feel the acceleration - the added wind in my face and the slight decrease in control.

"Two to go," I thought - meaning only 2 gears left until, well, there weren't any more gears to change to. I was breathing hard but it felt good.

"One more." I'm mouth-breathing now, but still feeling strong. The sun's out and there's an autumnal bite to the air.

"There." The last gear. I am blazing down this trail. No one in sight. I physically CANNOT go faster. My feet are spinning so fast I can barely keep them on the pedals, and I'm in the highest gear that exists on my bike. I enjoy the moment - feel the speed - enjoy the fusion of man and mechanics. What a beautiful feeling.

I momentarily think of Leo DeCaprio in Titanic, standing with arms in the air yelling "I'm king of the world!". I contemplate how difficult, but not impossible, this feat would be to achieve at this moment, at this speed, on this bike path. Of course I'd have to compensate for my bulky backpack, and move to the middle of the path (I usually stay to the right because I'm usually the slower traffic). Plus this mountain bike is much harder to ride "no hands" than my old French 10-speed I had in high school.

I maintain my maximum pace. "I can do this," I think. I am so caught in the moment - the beauty of the morning and of me going fast. This is the best feeling ever!

Vroom.

That was the sound of a guy passing me on the left. He was polite about it - quietly chirping "On the left" as he blew by. He had a nice racing bike, a backpack, and a tennis racquet. A f--king tennis racquet. As if to say "Not only am I kicking your ass on this bike path, but I'm in such good shape that whenever I get where I'm going, I'm going to park my bike and play an exhausting sport. Then I'll do whatever it is that I do all day, probably better than what you do all day, and ride my bike home tonight. And I may even play some more tennis after that."

I still rode fast, and did shave about 5 minutes off my best time. I suppose if I bought a cool racing bike I could do that too. Oh well.

I am the Fat Lady

2006-08-17T22:18:00.000-05:00

About 7 years ago I hurt my back. In retrospect, it wasn't really that bad. I went to a chiropractor, and over the course of 6 months he adjusted me and taught me how to take care of it myself. (I was not going to be one of those people who is addicted to his chiropractor, by god!)

I soon began a morning stretching and light workout regimen that I continue to follow 7 days a week to this day. I spend 45 minutes to an hour doing this every day. It is to the point that I miss it if I don't do it. (I also floss religiously, but that's another story.)

During that same time my wife and I joined Weight Watchers. Well, she joined WW and I participated vicariously through her. In the program I dropped about 20 pounds, most of which is still off.

Of all this I am proud. This pride gets me out of bed an hour earlier than I need to be each morning. And it is with this pride - this hubris, if you will - that I must now introduce the Fat Lady.

Being a creature of habit, I drive nearly the same route to work each day, on a county road through a couple of suburbs before entering the highway and becoming one of the faceless thousands idling life away, alone in our cars heading to work, on our state and federal highway system.

Ah, the priceless solitude of the commute!

Most days I half listen to talk radio while trying to remember which meetings I haven't prepared for. Some days I opt for music on one of the many, many Clear Channel stations - homogeneous pop/rock for the mindless and intelligence challenged.

But some days - rare ones - I provide a color commentary to my drive. On these days I'm in an inadvertant good mood, giddy with the realization that I've survived another day, another night, another layoff at work, another whatever. It was on one of these rare days that I encountered the Fat Lady.

It was about 8:15am on a crisp sunny morning. I don't remember the date or even the season, but I remember seeing first the silhouette then the detail of a clearly overweight woman, perhaps in her mid-50's, walking vigorously along the sidewalk. She was wearing generic gray sweatpants and matching sweatshirt. Neither fit well. In fact, they appeared to have been purchased in another fashion era, probably before she'd gained all the weight that was now straining most of the elastic in this outfit.

My running commentary noted all of these facts.

"You go, girl!" I said clearly to myself and the Fat Lady as I passed her. I don't think she knew I was talking to her - seeing as my windows were rolled up and she was on the opposite side of the street. But her puffy red face nodded an expression to me that said, "I need to be doing this. I don't care what you think."

Quick digression: What is the best kind of exercise? The kind that you'll do.

The Fat Lady disappeared from my thoughts until the next morning's commute. At about the same time and place we encountered each other again. She was, if anything, walking even more vigorously than the day before, arms flailing at her sides in an odd, uncoordinated, not-syncopated-with-her-gait way. Her face was red and beads of sweat were visible on her temple.

So surprised, was I, that I broke from my talk radio induced coma to comment, "Good for you, Fat Lady!"

The Fat Lady and I continued our weekday encounters for months. Each day I commented, "Good for you, Fat Lady!" even though, after some time, the "Fat Lady" part didn't apply as much. In fact, I came to enjoy her success at sticking with her regimen as much as I enjoyed sticking with mine. I felt pride for her.

I have since changed my route to work and don't see the Fat Lady anymore. This, however, is not the end of my story.

Last Friday I decided that, what with gas being 3 dollars a gallon and all, and that I live so close to a bikepath that runs practically straight to my office, and that the office has a locker room with a shower, that all of these reasons make it clear that I need to ride my bike to work. All 10 or so miles of it. Good for the planet. Good for my health.

I have a decent mountain bike - it's not great, but it works for me. I ride with the kids frequently in the summer. And with my morning stretch and workout regimen, I feel that I'm in pretty darn good shape, by golly! Further, I've made the ride before, just to see if I could, and I reached the office in a bit under an hour. On a sultry 90 degree day, no less. This, by comparison, would be a cakewalk. Perhaps I'll go shopping for my fulti-colored, skintight Discovery Channel nylon biking shirt.

As I rode last Friday I was trying to think: this is good for my health; and this is good for the planet. What I really concluded was: this damn path is so flat that I never get to coast; and this backpack is heavier than I thought. And I wish all these Lance Armstrong wannabes would stop whizzing by me.

I made it to work in 50 minutes. I showered and was at my desk a good half hour earlier than usual. My legs were a bit tired, but not any worse than when I used to play basketball. All in all a positive experience.

At the end of the day I braced for the ride home. My legs hadn't quite recovered, and it appeared to be much warmer outside than in the morning (of course). So out I went.

I was doing fine until the old lady passed me. She wasn't really that old, I suppose, maybe 60, tops. But she blew by me with relative ease, and kind of gave me a look from the corner of her eye - a look that said, "You go, Fat Guy!"

Bitch! I busted my ass to catch her. But I didn't. I still had several miles to go and decided that it was more important to pace myself and make it home than to suffer the indignity of calling my wife for a ride. So I'm telling you now (and told myself then) - I could have passed her if I'd wanted. Really.

I'm riding again tomorrow (weather permitting). And I vow that old lady will not pass me again. I am not the Fat Lady.

Garbage Everywhere

2006-08-01T23:01:00.000-05:00

As you read in a previous post, I recently had some problems with water in my basement. Consequently, I had to toss out a bunch of stuff that was destroyed by the water - a bunch of boxes, board games, and an old area rug (5' x 8'). None of these items was cherished, but it did get me to thinking.

In the city where I live, residents are responsible for contracting for their own garbage removal. We have 3 services from which to choose, and not surprisingly, they compete vigorously for our business. Last year we switched services and, in the process, added a second garbage can for an extra $7/month. I don't know exactly how large the cans are, but suffice it to say that they are the largest ones we could get. Collectively they are somewhat smaller than a small dumpster, but not by much.

"Phil," you say, "why do you need so much trash capacity?"

When we did the deal, we still had the greenhouse. (My property, at time of purchase, contained a house, a shed, and a greenhouse.) The greenhouse was rickety, contained broken glass, and was a haven for hornets and wasps nests (and I think the little bastards had a meth lab in there!). I had debated with my wife about how to dispose of the greenhouse - she preferred getting a dumpster while I preferred a cheaper option, any cheaper option. The dumpster would cost in excess of $400. Once I found out about the second garbage can option (cost $84/year), I had my cheaper option. So I systematically dismembered the greenhouse and over the course of several weeks last summer disposed of it through the trash.

I am just now beginning to feel the guilt over this move. Read this article about landfills. I found it very eye-opening. The bottom line is this: Landfills are never usable land once they've been landfills.

Think about this - how close would you want to live to one of these? And this - what if you had to properly dispose of all of your own garbage on your own property? It would certainly make you think twice about all the stuff you buy. Do you really want Happy Meals for the kids? Will the toys ever decompose?

I'm sure any public health official will tell you that public landfills, compared with citizen-based garbage disposal, have been a huge advancement in waste disposal. However, if you project humanity out another 10,000 years, all humans will be living on landfill. We'll probably also have our 3rd cancerous arms removed at birth.

Here's my challenge: I will start making purchasing decisions based on recyclablility and minimal packaging and reduce my "garbage footprint". Will you?

Stealing from Myspace

2006-07-17T12:57:00.000-05:00

I have a myspace account. I don't use it - I use this blog instead. But I do liberally "borrow" material from Myspace, if only because I think some of it is fun. Below please find 50 (or so) questions and my answers.

1. Have you had sex in the last week?
Yep.

2. Have you kissed someone in the last week?
Yep.

3. If yes, did you like it?
Yep.

5. What is the last thing that you drank?
Diet A&W

6. Who is the last person you think about at night?
??? Depends on the night.

7. Elvis or James Dean?
Neither.

8. Who is one person you can't stand from high school?
Myself.

9. What grade did you make in college algebra?
An "A" - when I took it in high school.

10. If you could have sex w/ one person right now who would it be and why?
My wife. Because we fit.

11. Are you still in love w/ any of your ex's?
Can't even remember ex's.

12. Do you like someone right now?
Yep. My wife - if that's what you're getting at.

13. Who is your freebie?
And a freebie would be?

14. Do you think lesbians are hot?
Dumb question. People are hot or not hot based on their looks and personality, not their sexuality.

16. What is your fav alcoholic drink?
Fuzzy Navel.

17. Fav non alcoholic?
Mountain Dew.

18. If you could have one wish what would it be?
That all the bombs and guns would just stop working. And for people to learn to disagree and walk away.

20. Do you know what tofu is?
A soylent-based product. I mean soy-based product.

21. Have you ever eaten it?
Not on purpose.

22. Do you know what a colonoscopy is?
Unfortunately.

23. Have you ever had one?
Yep.

24. Do you know who plays at least a small part in every Adam Sandler movie?
Other than Adam Sandler, no.

25. Do you want to go back to high school?
Never. Not even briefly, to right wrongs. Nope.

26. Who is your arch enemy?
Lex Luthor. Motherf*cker!

27. If you could go back to one time in your life and change something, would you?
Maybe. Depends on the rules. If madcap hilarity ensues, then yes.

28. This is for guys and girls - Do you or have you ever read Cosmo?
It's a viable and inexpensive source of softcore porn for teenage boys with teenage sisters, with built-in plausible deniability. But no, I haven't and don't.

29. Have you ever watched the Britney Spears movie?
Britney Spears made a movie?

30. Do you listen to Lindsay Lohan?
Only when she's saying lines in a movie.

31. Your favorite color?
Blue.

32. Paul Walker or Ryan Phillippe?
And these guys are famous people?

33. Britney Spears or Christina Aguilera?
Musically - neither. Sexually - I'll pass on both.

34. Smurfs or Carebears?
As targets in a firing range, either will do. Quick dirty joke: What's blue and Sticky? Smurf cum.

35. Favorite ex?
Nope.

36. Do you want platinum or gold for your wedding band?
Gold.

37. Have you ever paid to have your eyebrows waxed?
Sounds harrowing. No.

38. Do you shave your back?
Sounds harrowing. No.

39. Have you ever watched porn and thought it was funny?
Yes. But not on purpose.

40. Have you ever flashed someone?
Just what would I be flashing? Genitalia? Cash?

41. Who is your best friend?
My wife.

42. How many children do you want to have?
3

43. Are you pro-choice or pro-life?
Pro-choice.

44. Republican or Democrat?
Neither, but I vote against the Republicans.

45. What religion (if any) are you?
None.

47.Do you think that the tobacco companies should pay for people's medical bills?
No, but we should tax the living sh*t out of them to pay for smokers who can't afford insurance.

48. What scares you
Darth Cheney. My kids in the military. Ignorant leadership. Fundamentalist Christianity. Fundamentaism [any religion].

49. What makes you happy?
Laughter. Piles of money. Spare time.

50. If you could have one person in your bed tonight who would it be?
My wife. (Am I boring yet?) And she's not even looking over my shoulder.

Trip to Albert Lea

2006-07-09T19:42:00.000-05:00

For reasons I won't go into here (because they are mired in the everyday minutiae of life), I had a chance to bring my family to Albert Lea. Of course Katie's been there several times, but the boys haven't been in a couple of years, and, frankly, they slept through the trip last time. Megan remembered some of it, but not much.

We started our trip south of town at Halverson Elementary School.

This is the door I remember going in every day after the bus dropped us off.

This is the door the teachers came in. It looks like this is the main entrance now.

Then we went to the farm. The new owner appears to be doing some major renovation.

Notice the power line has been moved, as has the front door. Hmm, good for him/her.

Here's Southwest "Middle" School, in my day known as Southwest Junior High. Not much seems to have changed, except it's a middle school now.

And finally, to finish the school pictures, we went to the High School. Here is where the high school used to be. It almost brought a tear to my eye. Photo is taken from the parking lot. It's going to be an auxiliary lot for the Albert Lea Medical Center.

Here is the Post Office. Nothing different here.

Just check out the state of disrepair the Broadway is in. Think of all the movies you saw there! What a damn shame! I waited in line to see Star Wars there. And Mandingo! And Popeye. Broadway sucks now. Most of the shops have something in them, but it's easy to see that it's not the city center anymore. Hasn't been for 20 years I imagine.

I'd love to hear from some of you native Albert Leans on this. Has anyone else been there lately? Oh my god, it's really sad. My kids do have a better appreciation about where I grew up, but wow, what a difference.

Inside the Actors Studio with Me

2006-06-30T23:43:00.000-05:00

Here are the questions that James Lipton asks each guest at the end of the show (Inside the Actors Studio) and my answers:

1. What is your favorite word?
Glazed breasts and sticky buns. So many, many connotations.

2. What is your least favorite word?
Shizzle. What the f**k is that derived from?

3. What turns you on?
Glazed breasts and sticky buns.

4. What turns you off?
Seeing mediocrity awarded with acclaim.

5. What sound or noise do you love?
My wife and kids laughing. Anyone laughing.

6. What sound or noise do you hate?
The sound of anything that comes in contact with styrofoam raises the hairs on my neck.

7. What is your favorite curse word?
Are you kidding? Are you f**king kidding?

8. What profession other than yours would you like to attempt?
Celebrity writer - a writer who IS a celebrity, not a writer who writes about celebrities.

9. What profession would you not like to participate in?
Pediatric Oncology.

10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the pearly gates? To me: "Ha, you were wrong. And don't worry. Jim Bakker, Jerry Falwell, and Pat Robertson will never be here.

You'll be staying in the 'Glazed Breasts and Sticky Buns' wing. Enjoy!"

Things You Don't Want a Co-Worker to Say to You

2006-06-30T23:24:00.000-05:00

1. I think I saw someone run into your car.
2. Someone in HR accidentally emailed your salary to everyone in the company.
3. I'd like you to be in charge while everyone else in the department is on vacation.
4. You left your magazine in the first stall.
5. Did you hear? They've laid off X people today. And, on a completely unrelated topic - your boss is looking for you.
6. I'd like you to speak at the all-hands meeting.
7. I think I saw the CEO run into your car.
8. I'm pretty sure I ate your lunch from the fridge. You can have mine. Oh wait, I forgot mine.
9. So you're wearing red underwear today?
10. When I masturbate, I think about you.

Funniest Joke Ever

2006-06-25T21:22:00.000-05:00

Those who know me know that I have a different sense of humor. I prefer to think of it as a highly evolved sense of humor. Having grown up in something of an angry household, I remember thinking as a child, "I just want to make people laugh." I've been a student of the game ever since.

I remember staying awake to see the first airing of Saturday Night Live. My siblings roared with laughter. I didn't get it (I was 9), but I did take note of what made them laugh. Imagine a 9 year old trying to understand why "Generalisimo Francisco Franco is still dead," is funny. Talk about lost in the woods.

Just how does one study humor? It's not as hard as one might think. Just follow the laughter and work backwards.

So I followed stand-up comedians, watching very closely. "Hmm," I observed, "they don't really tell jokes as much as they tell stories. Really funny stories." Of course I practiced on my own. But here's the thing - in most normal conversations people don't grant the attention they grant to a stand-up comedian. In other words, people don't listen unless you tell them you are about to tell a joke. But the heightened expectation usually is impossible to meet.

I also watched lots of TV and movies - just the funny ones to start. Those expressions of comedy usually fall into 2 forms - physical (Pink Panther or almost any Jim Carrey movie) and situational or "sitcom", which usually takes form in the 30 minute television show.

One of my favorite forms of humor is the comeback. Here's an example: a politician named Al Smith is giving a long winded campaign speech when, during a pause in the address, a heckler shouts, "Why don't you just tell us everything you know? That shouldn't take very long." Smith replies, "Why don't I just tell you everything we both know and it won't take any longer."

That's got to be one of the all-time best comebacks ever. I've used a variation. When living in the dorm in college, I got down to cafeteria for mealtime late and was sitting alone. Some smart-ass, walking with his entourage, says, "Hey Phil, I see you're sitting with all your friends." And I said, "Nah, I'm sitting with all of yours."

My favorite form of humor is what I call the misdirection. I'm sure some academic somewhere has made a broad study of humor throughout mankind and probably calls it something else, but I call it misdirection. This is the type of joke where you are led in one direction and then the punchline hits you from out in left field. And, by the way, the following is the funniest joke ever. Note the clever misdirection.

===FUNNIEST JOKE EVER STARTS HERE ===============

Two friends were camping in the mountains. They'd been friends for a long time and this was their annual camping trip. On this occasion, however, they were not getting along and decided to split for a day. They would meet that night and compare notes.

The first man headed up higher into the mountains, while the second headed down. They met again at night.

Said the first man, "I was hiking and I came upon what had to be the single most serene and perfect mountain lake. The water was amazingly clear and wildlife was abundant. I saw a doe and 2 fawns drink the water. I stripped down and went for a swim myself. The water was cold and perfect. What a day!"

He paused for a moment, re-living his day. After a refreshing breath, he asked "How was your day?"

Said the second man, "I hiked for a while and found a railroad track. I walked along it for a short while and to my amazement found a woman tied to the tracks. She was beautiful - and very appreciative to be untied." He winked toward the first man. "We made love in every position imaginable all afternoon."

"Wow," said the first man, "it sounds like you clearly had a better day than me. Tell me," he leaned toward his friend, "did you get a blowjob?"

"Nah, I couldn't find her head."

===FUNNIEST JOKE EVER ENDS HERE =================

Almost every single person I share this joke with says "Ewwww!" It's almost as if it is a story meant to elicit an "Ewwww!" I completely understand the reaction. But my reaction was to laugh out loud (which I don't really do all that often - that's another comedian thing - most comedians don't laugh out loud very often. They just nonchalantly say, "That's funny"). So I laughed out loud - heartily.

It's funny (to me) for so many reasons. The misdirection is perfect. I had no bleepin' clue the punchline was even coming, and when it came, it was so very far from any expectation I formed during the joke. I mean, these guys are old friends. Who would expect someone who appreciates the serenity and beauty of the mountain lake to be good friends with a necrophiliac?

Or how about the necrophiliac? To imagine this headless torso is "appreciative" of being untied from the tracks - that's psycho. Just psycho.

And how does this camping trip end? I bet the first guy doesn't sleep again.

Anyway, all this goes through my head as I'm laughing at this joke. All of it, which leads to more laughter. This joke is so funny I laughed while I typed it.

Like I said, I have a different sense of humor.

Watching Time Go By

2006-06-18T21:36:00.000-05:00

Date: Memorial Day 2006
Time: 9:11am
Setting: my bedroom, curtains drawn

This isn't going where you think. A few months ago, I bought Katie a new alarm clock. More convenient than the famed "Clapper", this alarm clock projects the time onto the ceiling directly above the bed. So, to see the time, you must only lay on your back and stare at the ceiling. (Which has led us to timing activities that really shouldn't be timed - nudge, nudge, wink, wink. But that topic is for a different time...)

Being a non-working day, Katie slept in, as she is want to do. I was already up with the kids, but came back in to dress for the day. For some reason, I jumped back into bed with Katie.

"What are we doing today?" she asked.

"I don't know." I lay next to her, staring at - you guessed it - the time projected on the ceiling. The digital readout said 9:11.

Owen popped into the room. "What sleeves should I wear today?" Which is his way of asking if he should wear long or short sleeves. Katie motioned for him to join us on the bed, which he did. He too stared at the ceiling time.

"What do you want to do today?" Katie asked Owen. Then the clock "flicked" to 9:12, which we all acknowledged with a brief pause in our conversation. Just a slight hesitation, not a conscious pause.

He told us (I don't even remember now weeks later) and Katie told him to go get Jackson and have him come to our room, which he did. But not before more brief pauses at 9:13, 9:14 and 9:15.

Jackson entered and Katie motioned for him to join us on the bed. 9:16. "What do you want to do today, Jackson?"

"Cool," he stared up at the time on the ceiling. "How does that work?" Katie pointed to her nightstand, then ran her hand through the projection to show him how it worked. 9:17. He giggled when it switched.

The 3 of us stared for a few more minutes, blurting "there" or "oh" when the clock changed. We couldn't take our eyes off the clock.

Finally we asked Jackson to go get Megan so we could see what she wanted to do. Owen rejoined us, this time under the sheets, followed in short order by Jackson (also under the covers). Then Megan entered, staring incredulously at her 2 brothers and her parents, laying abreast and tucked snugly into our bed, staring rather intently at the ceiling in a semi-darkened room.

"What are you guys doing?"

"Staring at the clock," I said. "There it goes," we all said as it jumped to 9:20 the second I finished saying the word "clock".

Megan laughed at us, not with us.

"What do you want to do today?" Katie asked Megan.

Megan smushed her way onto the bed with us. We now lay 5 abreast in our queen sized bed. 9:21. We all grunt acknowledgement of the time change.

For the next few minutes we chat about the day - we decide on Over the Hedge and a bike ride. Each minute we stop and acknowledge the time change, either with a surprised giggle or a new convention, first put forward by Jackson, where the first one to say the new time got to ... well, say the new time. It was its own reward.

9:32

"Okay, everyone be quiet until 9:33," I say, mostly because I like to make rules. The room goes silent. You can feel the anticipation. Waiting. Waiting.

Owen can't handle it and giggles. Jackson shushes him.

More waiting. "Wow, long minute," I think.

9:33. The room erupts with laughter. Belly laughs. No, hernia-inducing laughs. We laugh to release the pent up anticipation. We laugh at ourselves. I mean, how silly is this?

After a few more minutes, Megan departs. She's finally decided she's too cool for this - she's almost a teenager now, you know.

At 9:50 we are ready to leave. "We can't go until 10:00" I declare. "Just think of all those digits changing all at once."

"Cooooool." I had Jackson convinced.

"Ten more minutes in bed. I'm in." Katie was onboard.

"9:51" Owen won that minute - and he was in too.

Did you know that 9:56 - if you disregard the colon - is the same rightside up or upside down? We discovered this.

The time change to 10:00 came quickly, it seemed. We all enjoyed it, and shouted with glee. I imagined Megan shaking her head in disbelief in her bedroom. But we'd been watching the clock for nearly an hour, and saw the ten o'clock hour be delivered and projected on the ceiling. Nothing beats that.

Yeah, we liked the movie and the bike ride. But I will always remember that, on Memorial Day 2006, we all sat in bed and watched the time go by for almost an hour. Does life get any better than that?

Why I don't write for a living

2006-05-17T22:46:00.000-05:00

I'm not sure what's gotten into me this evening. Nostalgia, perhaps. I dug out my writing folder from college. It contains my collected works, at least the ones that I have on paper. I have more on my hard drive, and on floppy, each backed up and stored in random (and unknown to me at this moment) locations throughout my house.

I don't think I'm the typical writer type. I don't read much - relatively speaking. My wife and daughter read constantly - annoyingly so on occasion. I listened to Stephen King's On Writing on CD (his autobiography, not one of his horror stories) and he recommends that any aspiring writer read constantly. If you have 15 spare minutes, he suggests, you should fill it by reading. That doesn't work for me.

What really inspired me to even begin writing was the promise of a high school course taught by one of the most revered teachers at Albert Lea High School (Mr. Cooper) called "Humor and Satire". My older siblings raved about it. I've never heard such hearty laughs. "That's for me," I thought.

Sadly, mine being the era of declining enrollment, that course was no longer offered by the time I could take it. But Mr. Cooper did teach a creative writing course, so I snagged it instead. He remembered my siblings being a creative bunch but did not burden me with their baggage (I remember meeting my 6th grade teacher and he told a friend of mine that his brother had been in his class a couple of years before and that my friend had "big shoes to fill". It deflated my friend, always having to hear about his wonderful older brother. Since that day I've always really appreciated teachers who treat each sibling independently.)

I wrote 2 stories that I remember for that class. I have since lost the paper versions and all that remains are the summaries, but I think it'll give you an idea of my work.

The first story was about a night lotman at a drive in theater. I literally plagiarized the first 2 or 3 paragraphs from a story my brother Ted left in his old bedroom (my bedroom my senior year of high school). Ted had been a night lotman at the drive in theater in Albert Lea and had a great start for the story. I asked him later where the rest of the story was and he said he'd never finished it, so I don't feel bad having stolen the first couple of paragraphs. Anyway, in the story, this night lotman is summoned to retrieve something from a storage room and while there he finds a peephole into the ladies' bathroom. He spies a gorgeous woman - I remember a line like "her breasts bounced to and fro like jello when one jiggles its bowl". He follows her back to her boyfriend's Trans Am, then pouts about his lot in life. After his shift, so late as to be near sunrise, the lotman arrives home to see the local news, where that same Trans Am has been destroyed in an accident. "Both passengers were killed" says the anchorman.

I think there was a word limit to the assignment so I killed her off. I do remember Mr. Cooper pinged me because she was the passenger and her boyfriend was the driver, so the correct line should have been "Both occupants were killed."

I thought I was being pretty risque for a small-town high school senior. I don't know what anyone else wrote, but I'm sure mine was pretty different.

The second story (made up completely on my own this time) was about an aging football player. He was an offensive lineman - a thankless position usually filled with relatively anonymous men. His assignment was to block the nearly unblockable man in the biggest game of the year. I remember setting the unblockable man up as a near mythical creature by having the anonymous o-lineman see him a crowded restaurant the night before the game. Our aging hero watched this nearly 300 pound man (that was a HUGE lineman for the 1980's) chase down and catch a fly using chopsticks while nimbly negotiating a crowded Chinese restaurant.

Our hero performed admirably on game day until a pileup late in the 4th quarter of a close game. Crazy things happen in those pileups on the goalline, you see. In this pileup, our hero's hand somehow ended up in the pants of the unblockable man. The unblockable man ejaculated on the hero's hand, right there in the pileup. I believe there was some kind of terrible pun in there:
Aging Hero, challenging Unblockable Man to a fight in the pileup: "Come on, man!"
In the words of our hero, "and he came, right there, on my hand."

Eww. Isn't that awful? In my defense, I was only 17.

Anyway, I've linked a story I wrote my senior year of college at the bottom of this post. My very last quarter in college I had 3 night classes - Computer Science 3400 - theory of algorithms, Art History - the films of Alfred Hitchcock, and Intro to Fiction Writing. An easy quarter by any measure. The story linked below was an afterthought I threw together 2 days before it was due. The class had only 2 writing assignments - a long short story and a short short story. Below is the short short story.

It's kind of a stretch for me. I'm definitely from the "write what you know" school of writing, so writing a story from a woman's perspective was a challenge. The professor, who was a woman, absolutely loved this story, much moreso than my long short story. I thought just the opposite. Anyway, if I get around to retyping the long short story I'll post that too.

Anyway, I really like the opening paragraph of this one. Click the link and enjoy. I had fun retyping it. I probably haven't read it for 15 years.

The Reunion by Phil Gonzalez, 1989

Giving Blood

2006-05-09T20:10:00.000-05:00

The following story is not meant to deter anyone from giving blood. Giving blood is an important service to the community and society. I've given blood on many, many occasions and the following story is an anomaly.

I've given blood "at the office" for years, since my brother's car accident (another story for another day). I mean, they come to my workplace and everything, how can you deny them? So this is the story of how I didn't give blood today - at least any blood they could use. I'll use actual names because, well, I don't know these people and I would testify in court (if I had to) that this is what really happened.

I showed up on time for my appointment and read the requisite warning message about giving blood (you can't give if you're HIV positive, for example. Duh!). Next, I made the short trek out to the "blood bus", a former school bus that the blood bank people converted into a "blood-mobile". Once inside, I met Natalya, a young (early 20s?) nurse? and endured many questions about my travels, my sex life, and several other personal choices. The questions border on the ridiculous. Consider:

-Between the years 1980 and 1996, did you collectively spend more that 3 months in any of the following countries: Britain, Germany, the Ivory Coast, Uganda, Madagascar, etc, etc, etc.
-Have you had sex with a man since 1977? (I presume they don't ask women this question.)
-Have you taken IV drugs not prescribed by a doctor?
-Have you had sex with someone who has taken IV drugs not prescribed by a doctor?
-Have you ever paid for sex?
-Have you ever paid for sex with someone who took IV drugs not prescribed by a doctor?
-Have you ever paid for sex with a doctor who prescribed IV drugs?

Okay, maybe that last one wasn't actually one of the questions, but it very well may have been. It's basically an exercise in a)Reading fast (Natalya's part); and b)Saying, "No" (my part). I'm not sure either of us was paying full attention. Anyway, once Natalya had checked my iron (43 - an acceptable score) and my blood pressure (124/88), I was ready to go.

I prefer the left arm for this procedure for no particular reason. So I settled in and let the process begin. Natalya and I continue our Question - "No" exercise. "Are you allergic to iodine or betadyne?" I'm asked. "No" So she wrapped a velcro belt around my upper arm and began the vein-finding process, which for me has always been easy. She marked spots around the vein with a Sharpie-brand permanent marker, then started swabbing the area with the io- and beta- dines.

Finally, the needle prick. I hate the thought or sight of any foreign object entering my body. I always look away for the needle part. So I ask Natalya to tell me when the needle's about to go in so I can look away, and she complies. I stare out the bus window. It's sunny. Oh look, there's so and so going off to lunch. Hey, that's a nice c.....

PRICK!

There, that's not so bad. A little pinch, then I can start...

"Oops"

I hear Natalya mutter something under her breath. It couldn't have been "Oops," could it? Naah, I'll just keep looking out the window, then she'll tell me to squeeze my hand every few seconds and I'll be out of here in 10 minutes.

"Um..." Natalya is trying to get my attention. What was that I felt? Did she accidentally pull the needle out?!?

"Can you hold this?" Natalya is pressing a bloody gauze pad on my needle site. "The needle came out," she says sheepishly.

When I muster the courage to look, I notice there is blood covering the armrest where my arm rests and is dripping on the floor. My blood. Definitely not going into that plastic bag. Nope. It's right there on the floor.

A more senior nurse looks over and gives Natalya a "your patient is dripping blood on the floor" look, which Natalya responds with a "I think I fucked up" look. "Would you like some help?" asks the senior nurse.

The two nurses hurriedly cleaned up my bloody mess, while other donors watched helplessly, gently squeezing their blood neatly into their plastic bags. They hid their fear well. On more than one occasion both Natalya and the senior nurse asked me, with actual nurse-like concern, "Are you okay?" Each time I nodded vacantly.

I wish the story ended here. In retrospect, I should have stopped it right here. Karma, the gods, whoever, would be preventing me from giving blood on this day. But I persisted. I've seen the patients who use the blood at the hospital, and they are much worse off than I, so I should quit whining and switch arms.

"So, shall we give it another shot?" I ask the senior nurse. This induces a double-take. "You really wanna do that?" she asks. Buoyed by my visits to my brother's hospital room, I bravely declare, "yeah, sure."

So I switch arms and begin the process again. I try to make small talk with Natalya, whose confidence has noticeably sagged. Since she had to throw away the first plastic blood bag, she also now has to relabel all those little vials and get a new bag. It's awkward enough, so I say something about re-sticking the barcode labels onto the vials, and she grunts an unintelligible answer.

"Are you okay with me doing this again?" Natalya asks as we get to the needle part again. This is a moral dilemma, really. What I'd really like to say - what I would have said without inhibition - was "Um...NO BLEEPIN' WAY!" However, given her sagging confidence, I thought it might be bad for future donors if I said that. Plus, what a great guy I'd be for giving Natalya the confidence she needs to finish her assignments for the rest of the day.

"Yeah, sure," I blare confidently. I give her my "Go get 'em" look. Rah Rah. Phil, you're a great guy.

PRICK!

"Ow," I say involuntarily. "It burns."

Natalya persists. I can feel her feeling around for the vein with the needle. "Is that better?"

"Yeah, a little, I guess..." But Natalya never leaves my side. Now she's watching the bag. It's still empty. I can see some blood in the tube, but it's not making it to the bag. I check the armrest. So does Natalya, which is disconcerting. So much so she asks, with serious concern, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, sure," I mutter.

Natalya calls the senior nurse over again. Senior nurse proceeds to move the needle around in my arm and they watch the bag intently.

"Is something wrong?" I ask.

"You're not filling up the bag fast enough," senior nurse tells me. "We'll give it another minute."

Another minute goes by, with senior nurse and Natalya watching the bag. Senior nurse says to Natalya, "It's too slow, let's just stop." Then she looks to me and says, "I guess it's just not your day," and walked away.

Natalya took what seemed like forever getting the needle out of my arm. She mentioned that it was likely that this site would bruise and swell, and if it does I should ice it. Then she said, "Sorry."

So, to sum up, I got stuck with needles twice, bled quite a bit, but gave no blood today. I'll give blood the next time they visit my employer, but I can honestly tell you that I'm not brave enough to endure another blood letting at Natalya's hands.

Cool Web Sites - First Edition

2006-05-07T22:54:00.000-05:00

In what I believe will be the first in a series...

Who doesn't have a bevy of cool sites? Here are some odd ones that I've collected over time:

1. Animated Knots by Grog - nifty animation showing how to tie any knot imaginable.
2. Google Voyeur Heaven - this is not what you think it is. Put another way, it's a great tool if used for good purposes. I use it to find music. Really. It really allows you to prey on the weaker-minded webmasters out there. (There's a long and technical explanation that I won't bore you with.)
3. J-Walk Blog - my favorite blog. "Stuff that may or may not interest you."
4. Bandwidth Meter - tells you what speed you're really getting from your ISP. A handy tool when things slow down for no apparent reason.
5. A Handbook of Rhetorical Devices - something anyone who writes should know.
6. Perfect Pizza Recipe I've eaten and made lots of pizza. This site is the recipe I've stuck with.

That'll have to do for tonight. Feel free to share some of yours as well.

Phil

Garbage Everywhere

2006-05-04T21:35:00.000-05:00

As you read in my last post, I've recently had some problems with water in my basement. Consequently, I've had to toss out a bunch of stuff that was destroyed by the water - a bunch of boxes, board games, and an old area rug (5' x 8'). None of these items was cherished, but it did get me to thinking.

In the city where I live, residents are responsible for contracting for their own garbage removal. We have 3 services from which to choose, and not surprisingly, they compete vigorously for our business. Last year we switched services and, in the process, added a second garbage can for an extra $7/month. I don't know exactly how large the cans are, but suffice it to say that they are the largest ones we could get. Collectively they are somewhat smaller than a small dumpster, but not by much.

"Phil," you say, "why do you need so much trash capacity?"

When we did the deal, we still had the greenhouse. (My property, at time of purchase, contained a house, a shed, and a greenhouse.) The greenhouse was rickety, contained broken glass, and was a haven for hornets and wasps nests (and I think the little bastards had a meth lab in there!). I had debated with my wife about how to dispose of the greenhouse - she preferred getting a dumpster while I preferred a cheaper option, any cheaper option. The dumpster would cost in excess of $400. Once I found out about the second garbage can option (cost $84/year), I had my cheaper option. So I systematically dismembered the greenhouse and over the course of several weeks last summer disposed of it through the trash.

I am just now beginning to feel the guilt over this move. Read this article about landfills. I found it very eye-opening. The bottom line is this: Landfills are never usable land once they've been landfills.

Think about this - how close would you want to live to one of these? And this - what if you had to properly dispose of all of your own garbage on your own property? It would certainly make you think twice about all the stuff you buy. Do you really want Happy Meals for the kids? Will the toys ever decompose?

I'm sure any public health official will tell you that public landfills, compared with citizen-based garbage disposal, have been a huge advancement in waste disposal. However, if you project humanity out another 10,000 years, all humans will be living on landfill. We'll probably also have our 3rd cancerous arms removed at birth.

Here's my challenge: I will start making purchasing decisions based on recyclablility and minimal packaging and reduce my "garbage footprint". Will you?

Water Everywhere

2006-05-04T12:26:00.000-05:00

Okay, so I apparently attract water into the basement of any home I own. That's where my energy has been this week. We had 4 straight days of rain - accumulating about 3 inches. It was a slow, steady rain - not a huge thunderstorm-link 3 inches in 45 minutes kind of thing. The rain started Friday and ended Monday.

Anyway, when I woke up Monday morning and went to the basement - there it was. Not 4 inches deep throughout the entire basement - that happened in my last house (a completely different story) - but wet in 2 different rooms. The carpet was saturated and where there was no carpet, standing water that the cats were afraid to jump in.

So I retrieved the "suk-o-lux" (aka the wet-vac) from the garage and got to work. To make a long story short, after drying out the basement I embarked on an impromptu landscaping project near one wall of the basement. I did this on Monday. It's now Thursday and I'm still tired. Ug.

So I'm taking the rest of this week off from blogging.

PBIS

2006-04-26T17:17:00.000-05:00

For those of you that don't know, I have 3 children, a girl and 2 boys (born chronologically in that order). Both boys are autistic. (I'm gonna let that sink in for a second.) Both of them. Now, I'm not going to write about autism, or the autism spectrum, or any of the events surrounding our discovery of their "gifts", or my speculation on the wild increase in autism spectrum disorder diagnoses over the last 15 years (something like 80% higher than in the previous decade).

Nope. I'm going to write about serving on committees. Community service in its most primal form. You see, my wife is both by nature and by education (and soon vocation) a teacher. She's very social in that setting and recognized within her field as smart and the kind of person who should either: a)be in charge or b)serve on that committee. Those in the education profession are frequently asked to serve on committees.

Several years back she was asked to serve on a committee in the role of a parent - specifically the parent of a "Special Ed" child. As she became "committeed out", she decided to quit the committee. At the same time, I was lamenting my existence, something I try to do periodically to keep my life in balance. The thought of that day was - am I being a good role model for my children? From their perspective, I get up in the morning, make their lunches (which they probably didn't know), go to work, come home, and put them to bed while Mom was at some meeting or other. Then repeat. Pretty much the role of secondary caregiver.

While most fathers (because expectations for fatherhood are significantly lower than those for motherhood - for many fathers it is perfectly acceptable to send child support and be able to pick out their children in a police lineup) would consider this perfectly acceptable, I did not. Any idiot can do that (side note: for those idiots out there doing just that - no offense intended.) But I always wanted to be more than that.

"Honey," I said, "what if I join the committee in your place? We could tag team this committee." Then the kids would see their Dad giving something back to the community. That's just what I was looking for.

So what I'm going to write about today is my experience on said committee. The purpose of the committee is to act a parent advisors to the [School District] Director of Special Services. We meet for 2 hours once per month. You have to have a child in Special Services to be invited to participate. All schools and all ages are represented.

So I am just completing my second year on this committee, which I believe will be my last year on this committee. I may go into that later - if I remember and the posting doesn't get extremely long (too late for that). Let me summarize some of the more interesting ... things I've learned:

1. Our educational system is more rife with acronyms and buzzwords than corporate America. I didn't think it was possible, but it is. For example, who can guess what PBIS stands for? Anyone? Positive Behavioral Intervention Systems. It turns out (in Minnesota, anyway) that PBIS is a "best practice" for behavior issues. In layman's terms, rewarding good behavior is more effective than punishing bad behavior. Only in our meeting it took about 20 minutes of discussion to make sure everyone understood that.

I won't bother you with some of the others - NCLB, IDEAIA, IEP, EBD, ASD, LAC, ESAC, PACER, etc. It's just too much.

2. Studying the dynamics of a meeting is fascinating. Our fearless chairman is from corporate America and runs the meeting like I would run it. (For those of you who don't know - I run a lot of meetings, and, if I must say so, am pretty darn good at it.)

The dynamics of a meeting and the amount that the team can accomplish depend quite a bit on how well the team is acquainted. Unlike a work environment where people spend 40+ hours a week with each other and develop familial relationships, this group only meets monthly. I've bumped into some of these people at the grocery store and didn't remember them, for example. The result is that the "talkers talk and the quite folk listen to them talk", and it is the job of the chairman to solicit input from the listeners and to limit the talkers so someone else has a turn. At least that's what I think. Perhaps that's a style thing, but it seems to me that if the purpose of the committee is for parents to give feedback to the Director, than the Director would want to hear as many voices as possible.

Last night, outside of the chairman, 2 people dominated the conversation. Absolutely dominated. Like they've been doing for the 2 years I've been participating. (side note: my wife tends to be one of these talkers, so I bet when she served on the committee 3 people dominated the conversation). Anyway, I went the entire duration of the meeting without speaking. So did at least 4 other people by my count. So, there were 15 people in the room - a chairman, the Director, and 13 parents. Five of us did not speak. Two people said 90% of the rest. The other 6 contributed 10%. So essentially the Director heard 2 opinions last night. I don't believe that is the point of the committee.

3. I just have to share this one sentence for you to understand the difficulty of working with, and providing "advice" or opinions to, the Director. A direct quote:

"We need to look at some best practices methodologies systemically."

What does that mean? Is the Director paid syllablocally? I just made that word up. Hehehe. Though it does seem fitting for the occasion.

Perhaps in my next post I'll write about what I think can be done better - to "get on the solution side", as we say in corporate America. But for now, I'm done.

The Smartest Guys in the Room

2006-04-19T12:25:00.000-05:00

I have been eating up coverage of the trial of former Enron executives Jeff Skilling and Kenneth "Kenny-Boy" Lay. I happen to think it will be a travesty of justice if these guys aren't found guilty.

Enron is fascinating to me (and maybe just me) because of the sheer complexity of its business. I highly recommend reading Smartest Guys in the Room: The Amazing Rise and Scandalous Fall of Enron. It is a long and detailed account of the company. From it I glean the following:

1. Enron promoted an environment of hostile internal competition, which created some of the biggest assholes on the planet.
2. Enron was the epitome of the arrogant corporation.
3. Jeff Skilling is/was the embodiment of the arrogant corporation. (Read any of the excerpts of his testimony - he's argumentative and combative with the prosecuting attorney, for crying out loud. Show some damn respect for the court, Jeff!) He always thought he was smarter that anyone else in the room.
4. Enron's business model was, perhaps purposely so, extremely complex, so much so that many of the so-called neutral analysts could not comprehend what was really going on. Of course none of the analysts would admit this, so instead they touted Enron's business model as a model of the future corporation.
5. Enron had extremely cozy relationships with investment banks, who both funded Enron investments and provided "independent" analysis to the market. Legislation has since remedied these arrangements, but...
6. Enron acted unethically whenever it wasn't completely obvious that said act was not illegal. In other words, where other companies would avoid something because that act was a "gray area" legally, Enron would do it just because it was a gray area.

I guess it's too late to make this a short posting, so I'll just stop here with this conclusion of mine: Skilling and Lay are either incompetent or lying. They contend that CFO Andrew Fastow pulled all the financial shenanigans right under their nose without their consent. If that's true, they are guilty of incompetence (gross negligence, really) and guilty as charged. If they were complicit in the shenanigans, they are guilty as charged. I don't know why they're even fighting it. Those two guys should be forced to hunt down each investor and do a My Name is Earl good deed to make up for this mess. Whoa! What a great idea for a reality TV show. Watch Skilling and Lay make it up to each former Enron investor. And if the ratings suck, we can still throw them in jail.

Laughter Pills

2006-04-18T21:49:00.000-05:00

Things occur to me when I write (or when I clear brush). Or sometimes while I'm talking I come up with stuff. Gems, really.

Tonight's Gem: People don't laugh out loud enough. My son Jackson has been tense recently - what with the pneumonia, the persistent cough, the bleepin' plantar's wart that WILL NOT GO AWAY, and this god-forsaken No-Child-Tested-Enough testing that's going on in his school right now. Anyway, to cheer him up tonight I put in one of our favorite episodes of The Simpsons - Cape Feare - also known as the 3rd Sideshow Bob episode. It is the one surefire way to make Jackson laugh out loud, no matter what the mood or state of health.

It's like a laughter pill for him. I think we adults need our own laughter pills. What's your laughter pill?

Naming the Bowling Team

2006-04-18T21:08:00.000-05:00

Katie and I joined a summer bowling league with a friend of ours. Our first match? game? competition? was last night. It was good fun (except that, unknown to us when we signed up, the bowling alley allows smoking after 9pm) and I didn't manage to injure myself. I'm not really sure how we compete, exactly. I think the first night you just bowl to set an average or something. I'll pass on more as I learn the details.

Being the creative one in the group, I was charged (weeks ago when we initially signed up) with naming the team. My first instinct was Master Bowlers (in college my intramural baseball team was called the Master Batters), which my 2 female teammates nixed immediately. I didn't really give it much thought. Then, while clearing brush (a clear reference to the Profound Idea Night posting) it just came to me.

We are the Pit of De-spare.

Pretty good, eh? What can I say? It's a gift.

Profound Idea Night

2006-04-13T22:33:00.000-05:00

I own 3/4 of an acre. My house sits on much of it. Trees cover virtually the rest. The previous owner pretty much let the non-house part of the property go wild. Oh sure, they blew the leaves off the most of the grass, but they never cut down a single "volunteer" elm tree, for example.

So I spend lots of time clearing brush - the one thing that I have in common with George "Dubya" Bush. (The similarities end there, trust me.) And I do so listening to the soundtrack of my life in my iPod. The music I chose today was familiar but forgettable, so much so that my thoughts began to wander. I had these profound thoughts during these episodes of mind-wandering:

(Note: Similar to ideas you have while tripping on psychodelic mushrooms, I'm sure these thoughts won't seem nearly as profound once the music is off. Not that I am admitting or endorsing or condoning for that matter the ingestion of psychodelic mushrooms. I've never done that. I only know about it from ... a friend.)

Profound idea #1: Hope is just prayer without a deity. I do lots of hoping, but no praying, being an atheist/agnostic. (Perhaps someone can clear this up for me - if I am pretty darn sure there is no god does that make me an atheist or agnostic? What I'm positive about is that no one can prove to me that there is a god -which I believe is virtually the definition of agnostic - and I'm also positive that I cannot prove ther isn't a god.

Profound idea #2: George Bush isn't evil - just incompetent. Dick Cheney is evil. I accept that I will never know the facts, so I must form my opinions based on data I gather from various news sources and my own intuition. And I believe that Dubya approved the "outing" of a covert CIA operative via leak to the press because "Uncle Dick" convinced him to. I have no proof - it's just a hunch.

Profound idea #3: It would be really cool to have a bunch of family over for a bonfire in the firepit in my back yard. I even have a fire permit!

Profound idea #4: Water flows downhill unless pumped. And this damn tree root is going to create a puddle when it rains because of that fact. Damn! I hate puddles.

Of all that, I guess I need to do something about #3. Later...

Jackson's Fever

2006-04-12T11:44:00.000-05:00

My son Jackson has been running a fever since my brother Jim died 2 weeks ago - which is an awful long time for a kid to be running a fever. Let's see if I can accurately account for my own (and my wife's) level of stress during that time (using the Department of Homeland Security threat level values):

3/28 - my brother passes away (stress level - elevated)
3/29 - we notice at dinner Jackson's cheeks flushed, running 102.4 fever (stress level - guarded)
3/30 - fever continues, but generally low grade (stress level - guarded)
3/31 - fever breaks briefly midday, but returns to 100.4 by bedtime (stress level - elevated)
4/1-4/4 - fever breaks only with aid on Tylenol, also Jackson has developed a dry cough - (stress level - guarded because at this point it's probably not a virus anymore, it's probably a sinus infection or strep)
4/4 - 1st trip to family doctor. Jackson hates visiting the doctor (to put it mildly) - he really hates having his throat swabbed and having blood taken. The doctor orders a throat swab and a chest x-ray. Both, according to our family doctor, who we've been seeing since 1990, are negative. Must just be a virus. Come back, he says, if the fever hasn't broken in 3 days. (stress level - elevated/guarded - an experienced healthcare professional, one we trust, has told us it's a virus. However, Jackson's dislike of office visits had made the day a stressful one.)
4/4-4/7 - fever persists, as does what sounds to me like a 'productive' cough (productive cough in that it is no longer a dry, wheezy cough, but instead what sounds like mucus inducing cough). (stress level - elevated - it must be something other than a virus now, right? A kid can't have a fever for 10 days without some type of infection...right?)
4/7 - Jackson returns to the doctor, this time with both parents in tow. My presence alone raises the stress level. Both the doctor and Jackson realize this is much more serious than before if only because I took time off from work to attend. The doctor orders a sinus x-ray, a urine test, and the drawing of blood. Jackson really hates the drawing of blood, even if it's only from his thumb one drop at a time. The doctor has a physicians assistant student along. Together they analyze the tests, and conclude that even though the x-ray doesn't show anything conclusive, the presence of an elevated white blood cell count must show a hidden sinus infection. Treatment: amoxicyllin. (stress level - low. Yay! We've finally found something that sounds like a treatable malady - and a valid explanation for the fever.
4/8-4/10 - Fever persists even though the antibiotic is well into his system. (stess level - elevated)
4/11 AM - Fever has broken in the morning, but for how long no one knows. Even Jackson expects it to return. My wife and I worry that this is something much more serious than a sinus infection. After all, the x-ray was inconclusive at best. The only fact we have is an elevated white blood cell count. Which scares us, because the only thing we can think of is ... leukemia. (It's in my nature to jump to the worst conclusion possible.) (stress level - severe)
4/11 PM - Family doctor of 16+ years calls our home. Is that ever good news? Apparently it is standard practice to send all x-rays to a radiologist for further interrogation. The radiologist (meaning: the one who actually knows how to read x-rays) has detected a small occlusion in one of Jackson's lungs. Diagnosis: pneumonia. Time to start him on a new antibiotic. (stress level - guarded)
4/12 - Jackson has been fever-free since yesterday morning. Cough hasn't diminished much, but Jackson's demeanor is much improved. So far so good. I will keep watch until his cough is gone, which could take who knows how long? (stress level - guarded)

Book Lists - a Mandatory Blog Posting

2006-04-06T21:23:00.000-05:00

This seems to be an obligatory topic in any blog, so here goes - these are the last 5 books I've read, blah, blah blah.

1. In Cold Blood - by Truman Capote. Frankly, I saw the movie and had to read the book. I'm a student of the creative process, and the movie is about how Capote insinuated himself into a small Kansas town and into the story. The book is the product of the movie and taken together with the movie is a fascinating study of Holcombe, Kansas and Capote himself.
2. The Commitment - by Dan Savage. Savage is the author of Savage Love, as graphic and honest a sex column as there is. It is published nationally in "alternative" newspapers like The Onion. He is gay but that is not the limit of his sexual expertise. Anyway, this book is about the process he and his partner (and their son) went through in deciding whether they should "marry". I have to put "marry" in quotes because same sex partners aren't allowed to "marry" in their state of residence. Long story short (too late for that now, eh?) this book will make you think not only about same-sex partnerships/marriage, but also opposite sex partnerships/marriage. A great book. I highly recommend it.
3. Freakonomics - by Steven Levitt and Stephen Dubner. And I thought a degree in Economics would be worthless. Boy was I wrong. It does help that Levitt (the economist) is one of the 10 smartest people in the U.S. (my opinion), and that Dubner (the New Yorker writer) is a brilliant storyteller. In this book you'll learn how a group of Chicago teachers cheated on No Child Left Behind tests, why swimming pools are more dangerous than guns, the history of the KKK, and how come, if drug dealers make all that money, why they still live in their mothers' basements. I guarantee you won't want to put it down. It is the only book I've ever read that I didn't want to end.
4. Lamb (the Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal) - by Christopher Moore. How can you not love a fictional account, told from the point of view of Christ's childhood buddy, of Christ's "missing" years from age 13 to 32? I laughed out loud, which is saying a lot because I'm not a big laugh-out-loud person. This is fun fiction that won't fill you up.
5. The Tipping Point - by Malcolm Gladwell. I heard a podcast of Gladwell speaking at a geek's convention and thought he had some interesting points. There is much in this book that is interesting, but I didn't find it nearly as compelling a read as Freakonomics. Good, but not great.

What might be more interesting, I suppose, is the books I'm about to read, or am currently reading. My list includes:

1. Wish List - by Eoin Colfer. Too early to judge - I'm about 12 pages into it (and yet I'm still not hooked). Technically it's children's literature. Katie recommended it - she reads voraciously but rarely recommends books for me, and when she does it's always worth my time.
2. The World is Flat - by Thomas Friedman. Received it as a present, not sure what it's about, but it's #2 on the NY Times Nonfiction best seller list, so there must be something good in there.
3. A Dirty Job - by Christopher Moore. What can I say? I like the author.

The last list is my all time favorite book list. These are books that are my all time favorites and reading them, I believe, provides a little insight into me. They are not necessarily in any particular order - the first one isn't better than the next one, it's just the one I thought of first.

* The Catcher in the Rye - by J.D. Salinger. I am Holden Caulfield (or at least I was when I was 17), and that's all I have to say on that subject.
* A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius - by Dave Eggers. I laughed out loud and cried, and that was before I finished the first chapter. Stylistically challenging, difficult to read at times (he warns you in the preface) not because of how it's written but because of what's written. I read everything Dave Eggers writes. If he scribbled a sentence on a sheet of toilet paper then wiped and flushed, I'd try to catch it before it spiraled into oblivion. That's how much I recommend this author and in particular this book.
* The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - by Mark Haddon. The story of a 15 year old autistic boy's investigation of the murder of the neighbor's dog. Written in first person from the boy's perspective. Having 2 boys "on the spectrum" it helped me better understand them. I wanted to cry a lot when I read this. Our lives are so easy, we have nothing to complain about. If you know someone who's "on the spectrum" (and you probably do) you should read this book.
* The Princess Bride - by William Goldman. Yes, the book the movie is based on. As wonderful as that movie is, the book is better.
* Road Swing - by Steve Rushin. Columnist for Sports Illustrated drives around the country in search of interesting sports stories. Another laugh out loud book. He is almost exactly the same age as me, and I live vicariously through him. I still religiously read his column weekly in SI.
* Isaac's Storm and The Devil in the White City by Erik Larson. There is nothing more interesting that American history, and these two stories are fascinating because they are true.

There you have it. Me, and the books I love.

My Youngest Memory

2006-04-05T20:57:00.000-05:00

At my job, among my many duties, I am the webmaster of our Intranet site, niftily branded by my predecessor as "HIP". So one of the goals of HIP is to connect people, since our firm is spread across 6 locations in 3 states. On a lark I created "Question of the Week". QOTW is a web bulletin board where anyone in the firm can post an answer to such queries as "Describe a brush with celebrity" or "Tell us about your first car". It's been a pretty big success, at least as measured by participation and the amount of chatter I hear in the hallway ("Did you see that so-and-so used to arrange funerals for famous people in Hollywood?")

This week's question is "Share your youngest memory". I wrote:

"Pain. One of my siblings dropping some sharp-edged metal object on my bare foot. Lots of blood and tears. I think I was 3."

Not Pulitzer material, but hey, I'm limited to 255 characters. Anyway, I've been thinking about this memory (I'm not sure why) and, well, I think I may have it wrong. Here goes.

I remember a bunch of us kids in the basement - the basement on the farm. At least that's what I think. I also remember a bunch of gray metal shelves (which I have no recollection of in the basement except for this particular memory). And, for some odd reason, I remember an anvil - like cartoon characters drop on the heads of other cartoon characters. "Did we ever own an anvil?" I think. That thing must have weighed 20 or 30 pounds.

For some reason my brain is telling me that someone dropped the anvil on my foot. In my brain I have this image of my foot similar to this (though not exactly this picture - I downloaded this picture from the Internet.) This picture most closely represents the image of my foot that I hold as a memory. Except in my memory my foot is covered with blood.

So here's where I think my memory - this memory - is wrong. First, this image of my bleeding foot cannot be an image of my foot. If it was my foot, it would be a top view - like this. This is the view of your own feet. My memory is a view of other people's feet.

Second, if I was about 3, I would be, according to family legend, about 20 pounds. After all, like my Mom used to love to tell me, I was only 27 pounds when I started kindergarten. If that's true, I was probably under 20 pounds at the age of 3. So if that anvil had been dropped on my foot, it would likely have broken several bones - on top of the whole bleeding thing. And it's highly likely that I would remember several weeks in a cast at the age of 3. And I don't remember ever being in a cast.

So far I must conclude that a)someone else's foot was injured and b)it definitely wasn't an anvil that landed on my foot.

What really happened? I now think that I there are a bunch of disjointed memories that my mind has forged into a single coherent memory. Except it's just not possible. What probably happened is that I dropped the anvil on someone else's foot. And the pain that I associate with the memory is the pain of guilt, remorse, and punishment that I don't understand (because I'm 3).

Why did I write this post? To be honest, I didn't really piece together the part about me dropping the anvil on someone else's foot until I typed it. But now I feel better.

If anyone remembers this event, please help me out. And if it was your foot that absorbed that anvil - I'm really sorry. I'm pretty sure I didn't do it on purpose, if that makes you feel any better.

Something Fun When You're Bored at Work

2006-04-03T22:33:00.000-05:00

Every once in a while, perhaps as some kind of subversive challenge to myself, I will pick some obscure word and set a goal to use that word at work that day.

"Gosh," I think to myself, "I haven't heard the word 'excrement' used in a work environment in I don't remember how long. As God or some other higher being is my witness, I WILL use the word 'excrement' today. At work."

Later I'll find myself in a meeting saying something like, "If we don't do this in increments, it'll end up excrement", and everyone laughs.

So, would someone please suggest a word...

Reunions and Cashducks

2006-04-03T21:54:00.000-05:00

The 10 surviving Gonzalez kids assembled last Friday to pay our respects to our oldest brother Jim. Here are the 9 that made it to the reception after. Ted left early to take care of Terri, otherwise we'd all have been in this photo.

It was a sad day. And a happy one, for my memories of Jim are of his laughter. His roaring laughter. His contagious, roaring laughter.

His son Chris told a great story, which I won't attempt to capture here. I will, however, remind you of the punchline - "Don't bite a cashduck in the butt."

Sadly, my family only gets together for funerals and weddings; funerals moreso. Perhaps this blog can get us talking again.

Post a comment (share a memory) and sign your name to it.

Scary Halloween Photos

2005-12-19T16:28:00.000-06:00

Here are Gandalf the Grey and Frodo Baggins.

Here is Farrah Fawcet-Minor.