I'm 50. There's really no way around that. I ride my bike a lot and I do pretty well. I work hard. I do a lot of things that keep me from being the absolute best I can be on the bike. I drink too much beer, I eat the wrong foods (and too much), I don't get enough sleep. The list goes on and on.
But even if I did everything I possibly could to become the bestest fastest rider around, what would it be for? There are certain things I'm just not willing to sacrifice for the dream of being a kind of fast 50 year old guy on a bike (Family, friends, beer, food, being awake).
A proper perspective and ordering of priorities is the way to go. At least that's how I feel when I'm not sitting on the bike. When I'm on the bike, feeling the sluggish legs or having a hard time breathing because my gut is in the way, I'm making all kinds of promises to myself.
I make the best lifestyle choices possible. I decide to eat and drink right. To get enough sleep, etc.
I punish myself for all of my past transgressions. I ride as hard as I can to bring on the pain I deserve for my lack of discipline.
Then when the ride is done, I'm so spent from my effort I realize I deserve that beer/food/ice cream. I've earned it. So I indulge. Only to do it all over again the next day.
Unconventional training plan, I know. But it's my unconventional training plan.
So here's my race report for the WNW that took place on Aug 5, 2015.
First I'm going to say that I have heard that if you mention the name "Jordan Ross" in a blog post, your numbers will skyrocket.
Jordan is a local rider who is not only one of the very best in the area - he shares a trait that they all have. He's a really good guy.
There are a ton of guys who've been kind of shitty to me for one reason or another. Here's a short list of guys who never have:
Chris Spence
Jonathan Wait
Lee Bumgarner
Jordan Ross
Lucas Marshall
These guys are all among the very best in the area.
I'm pretty embarrassed about the thought process I'm about to describe. Remember, when I'm off the bike, I know who I am. I forget when I'm riding. Maybe that's why I like it so much.
Last night was fast and furious. I got dropped pretty early on the way to Ft Calhoun. I realized I was in trouble and tried to just sit in, but it was too late.
During my solo ride to the regroup at Ft Calhoun, I considered how much I hated myself and my life choices concerning food and drink. I pedaled along, making a bunch of promises.
Usually, the ride from Ft Calhoun starts off kind of mellow. The intensity picks up gradually. We were riding along and I was chatting with Brady when he looked ahead and said, "I'm about to get dropped"
I'm glad he saw it. Shim, Spence, Matt somebody, Jordan and maybe some others had a break going. The rest were chasing. Brady saw it and drilled it to catch up with the chase group. I sat on his wheel while he did that. He likes it when I just sit there. He gets a better workout that way. Far be it for me ...
Anywhos - we all got organized. about 8-10 of us were rotating to catch the break group. Paul Webb was doing some massive pulls.
We caught the last remnants of the break (Shim, Spence, and Jordan Ross) just a mile or so before that wicked surfside climb-false flat-climb thing.
Most everybody stopped working at that point. Not Rafal and me. We pulled as hard as ever. I don't know why Rafal did, but I know why I did. I was going to get dropped anyway. I might as well build an excuse (true story).
So about halfway up the first climb part, I shut it down and settled into a nice slow pace. I watched as several talented riders flew by me. I watched as Rafal went by me. Then I saw Dr Peter go by me in his arm warmer clad calves.
"Aw hell no," I whispered. I didn't want to, but I sped up to latch on to Dr Peter's wheel.
Once the climb flattened, I could turn on the speed. I passed Rafal and made sure he was on. We rotated a couple of times, but he didn't have it so I went on ahead.
I was feeling good. I had a nice rhythm going. Then the second climb part came as I passed a bunch of riders. I flew down the descent and onto the flat near Hummel park. I had a nice 27 MPH going when Jordan flew by me.
I struggled to get on his wheel, but I did it. I looked at my garmin. We were going 33 MPH. Jeez. There wasn't a tailwind.
I hung on for a while until I started to recover. Jordan was beginning to slow a little. Still way faster than I would ride, but in his draft, I could breathe again.
Once we got down to about 29 MPH I was thinking I should do some work. I don't really have the chops for that kind of speed, but the main group is just ahead and we're gaining on them. If I can maintain 29 for long enough, maybe Jordan can catch them.
I took a deep breath and went around Jordan. This is the embarrassing part. I have read numerous accounts of how the domestique will turn himself inside out for the leader. I am some 50 year old computer programmer from Omaha on a spirited club ride.
29 is extremely difficult for me to maintain. But I can see we are still gaining on the leaders. I want to quit really bad. But I keep going as hard as I can. I want Jordan to catch those guys so I can pretend it matters.
After about 2 minutes, I can no longer keep up the pace. I start to slow down. 28, 27 and so on. Jordan doesn't come around. I look back. He has sat up.
Crap.
I was chatting with some friends about this and they are pretty sure Jordan sat up because when I went around him, the shock caused him to give up cycling. You're welcome everybody else in the area.
So now I had a new mission which will explain how deep this sickness (pretending it matters) goes. I figured there were 7 or 8 guys ahead of me. I would not catch them, but I did not want anyone from behind to beat me to the sprint point. A yellow sign (actually, I don't know what it is because I've never arrived with the leaders). I assume the intermediate sprint points pay out 15 places so I could still get some of that. I figured 25 MPH would be good enough to keep them away so I did not allow myself to drop below that no matter how much it hurt because it's really important. Really.
So it ended up being a good ride. Oh yeah, and FTG.
Friday, August 07, 2015
Thursday, July 30, 2015
The Legend Of The U.P. Lunch Ride
One of the many great things about my new job is that it's close enough to the U.P. that I can easily scoot on down there on occasion and join some old friends for a nice little lunch ride. The U.P. ride.
After working at my new job for a few weeks and realizing how cool the scene was, I had no problem letting my boss know that I'd like to target Thursday as the day I take a 2 hour lunch and go ride with some friends and eat some tacos.
Today (Thursday) I had a clear afternoon (no meetings) so I joined the ride. Mark Savery was also there. There were a couple of new riders there. Liz and Mike.
As we rolled east toward the BK Bridge, I heard Leah telling Liz the genesis story of the U.P. ride. It goes like this:
"Fred started this ride."
I've heard that a few times. It's not true, but I have been thinking about where the idea may have come from and I might have an explanation.
I don't remember how I heard there was a group of people who rode every day at lunch but when I started working at The U.P. about 14 years ago, I was also riding my bike pretty regularly. Maybe after a couple of years working at the U.P. I was telling somebody - "So I was riding my bike and ..."
"Say - you know there's a bunch of guys that go out for a ride at lunch time ..." somebody told me.
I didn't know what time and neither did the guy who told me. Also, I have no recollection of whether or not this happened before the new building. I don't think it did. It's funny I can't remember if I rode down there before the new building or not.
Anyway, it was a little bit of trial and error. I went down to the bike rack a few different times on different days before I caught up with a regular. He told me everybody's welcome and they start the ride at 11:45 A.M.
In those days, Jack was a baby (he's 12 now - so I guess it was the new building) and I was looking to get a hard ride in. I would ride hard to work. Ride hard at lunch and ride hard home.
The U.P. Lunch ride was a nice friendly casual ride. Good guys, but I wanted to get a hard ride in. I would start the ride with them and then take off. I explained this to them and there were no hard feelings.
After a while, some of those guys decided they wanted to ride hard too. Then it really got fun. Pretty much every day, we'd beat the hell out of each other. There were still casual riders there, but it was all good. They knew we'd be playing our games.
Ed Brown was always up for the challenge. Well - except on Friday.
I don't know if they do it anymore, but Ed started what we called "Easy Friday"
Easy Friday meant at least one day a week, we would hearken back to a simpler time when the U.P. Lunch ride was not some horrible lunch race. We'd all play nice. We'd all ride together just like back in the old days.
Except no. We just couldn't help ourselves. Easy Friday became a joke that meant "Let's make Friday the hardest day ever." YPG.
When new people would come to the ride, we'd do the same games. The new people would get mercilessly dropped. It was similar to the current affair at WNW.
Right or wrong, I didn't care. I enjoyed the competition and felt I needed the workout. I didn't think I needed to wait for new people. I didn't want to exclude anyone, per se, but I saw lunch as the best time to get my ride in.
So did I start the ride? No. Did I have a part in what it became? Probably.
So I'll accept that. But honestly, up until about 20 minutes ago when I figured out what I was going to write about, I thought the idea that I started the U.P. lunch ride was beyond ridiculous. I didn't believe it at all.
I think I get it now but please understand that at 4:30 this afternoon, I was still of the opinion that I had nothing to do with the incarnation of the U.P. ride. All I knew that was there are a few people who would back me up on that if I made the claim (even if I myself didn't agree with it).
So I was leaving work (at not the U.P.) today. It was at about 4:30 in the afternoon or so. I was unlocking my bike when some guy walked by and said, "That's a really nice bag. You've got good taste."
It was a guy leaving the company who had a Banjo Brothers backpack exactly like mine.
If I'm just commuting, I don't use the bag, but if I do the U.P. ride, I take all my gear and stuff.
"Oh yeah, I really like it," I replied as I was getting ready to go.
But the guy wanted to talk about bikes and stuff for a while so we swapped stories for about 10 minutes.
At one point he said that his bike is just an old beater, not a premium race machine like mine. I explained that I normally ride a more utilitarian bike to work, but that I went for a lunch ride with my friends down at U.P., so I needed my good road bike.
The following is 100% true:
Mike (my Banjo Brothers bag buddy) said, "Oh shit, those guys are fast. The U.P. guys. They're not fucking around. Damn. You ride with them?"
I did not say, "Well actually, I started that ride."
I was tempted because I knew the lie could be verified. But I didn't say it. I promise.
I mentioned earlier that there were a couple of new people there today. I was totally ok with JRA. It's not like it's my ride or anything. But I will say this. If I go on the U.P. Lunch ride again and it's this 13 mph thing we were doing today, Ima ride up ahead a ways and recreate the U.P. lunch ride, because that shit was lame.
You're welcome, U.P. Lunch ride.
Thursday, July 23, 2015
I lied
Sort of.
Today I joined up with the U.P. Taco/Lunch Ride, now with Jim Maaaaske (not sure when to stop with the a's). I bet a lot of people think Jim's last name is pronounced "Masky" and a lot of people are wrong. Look at all of those a's. It's got to be drawn out for a while. Kind of like the castle Aaaaargh.
Anyway - after the ride, I told Brady - "Hey Brady. I'm not blogging about getting pulled over last night."
He said, "Neither am I."
Which is good because Travis already covered it here.
But alas, I am going to talk about it. Sigh. I changed my mind for 2 reasons. The first is that I want to post a photo of myself in the act of being casually deliberate. Brady took the photo and I asked if I could borrow the negative to get a couple dozen 8X10 glossies made.
He was so kind as to ... Hmm? What? Casually deliberate? Oh sorry. Yeah. The Velominati defines it:
Rule 80 // Always be Casually Deliberate - Waiting for others pre-ride or at the start line pre-race, you must be tranquilo, resting on your top tube thusly. This may be extended to any time one is aboard the bike, but not riding it, such as at stop lights.
They also have many great articles on the subject, but I want to talk about the photo. I didn't know it was being taken. I was quite proud of my obvious Casually Deliberate demeanor.
So here I am (bottom left), elbows on the bars, left thigh on the top tube, looking off to the left at nothing in particular. I'm just waiting for the cyclists ahead to stop arguing with the Sheriff's deputy so we can resume the ride.
Today I joined up with the U.P. Taco/Lunch Ride, now with Jim Maaaaske (not sure when to stop with the a's). I bet a lot of people think Jim's last name is pronounced "Masky" and a lot of people are wrong. Look at all of those a's. It's got to be drawn out for a while. Kind of like the castle Aaaaargh.
Anyway - after the ride, I told Brady - "Hey Brady. I'm not blogging about getting pulled over last night."
He said, "Neither am I."
Which is good because Travis already covered it here.
But alas, I am going to talk about it. Sigh. I changed my mind for 2 reasons. The first is that I want to post a photo of myself in the act of being casually deliberate. Brady took the photo and I asked if I could borrow the negative to get a couple dozen 8X10 glossies made.
He was so kind as to ... Hmm? What? Casually deliberate? Oh sorry. Yeah. The Velominati defines it:
Rule 80 // Always be Casually Deliberate - Waiting for others pre-ride or at the start line pre-race, you must be tranquilo, resting on your top tube thusly. This may be extended to any time one is aboard the bike, but not riding it, such as at stop lights.
They also have many great articles on the subject, but I want to talk about the photo. I didn't know it was being taken. I was quite proud of my obvious Casually Deliberate demeanor.
 |
| OMG, legal rights are soooo boring. |
So here I am (bottom left), elbows on the bars, left thigh on the top tube, looking off to the left at nothing in particular. I'm just waiting for the cyclists ahead to stop arguing with the Sheriff's deputy so we can resume the ride.
If you care what it was all about (I don't) you can read Travis's blog post (linked above). By the way, Travis is directly to my right in this photo.
There may have been others doing the "Casually Deliberate" thing, but you can't see them in this photo. Everyone else is all hands on hips or locked elbows. Well, Stu's taking a swig - so that's kinda cool. Newman!
When this photo was taken, I was actually bored and getting a little annoyed. Which brings me to reason 2 for changing my mind about talking about this. Reason 1 was to show the photo of me being Casually Deliberate.
The second reason has to do with my opinion on the whole matter. This extends to every time I find myself in a situation where I'm being scolded by a cop.
I would like to offer some advice to people who may not have had the good fortune to be raised by someone who had countless run ins with the law. Dad learned a set of "best practices" around the police that he shared with me and I have always applied. For dad, it took a few nightstick beatings when he truly had done "nothing wrong" to learn that you don't fight the battle out there on a lonely country road (or highway, if you prefer).
You say, "yes sir. I understand. Sorry" and so on.
But no. We've got to argue with possibly the nicest sheriff's deputy on the planet. The guy was polite. He just wanted us to do something other than what we were doing.
As I was looking to the left, I was thinking, "Oh please, for the love of God, shut the fuck up Randleman and the rest of you. But mostly Randleman."
Don't they know they will get nowhere with this guy?
If I would have been forced to say anything, it wouldn't have been , "I know my rights. You're wrong. Blah blah blah"
I'd have said something like,"Oh jeez. We're sorry. We did not know that. We will not do it anymore. Promise. Thank you ever so much for pointing it out and shit." Then do as he said until he was out of sight. Everybody's happy.
But no. After several minutes of arguing, we finally got back to riding (the way the cop said until he was out of sight). We stopped at the Ft. Calhoun gas station (as always) and the cop showed up. Several of the guys then huddled around his window, chatting gaily about statute so-and-so and who gives a shit.
So I left the gas station. I was thinking I'd soft pedal until they bid their new boyfriend adieu. While riding along, I imagined the guys catching up after their group hug or whatever. I thought maybe they'd want to know why I didn't stick around and listen to the intellectual statute debate. I was reminded once again of the wise words of Samuel L Jackson who once said "I just don't dig on swine, that's all." Then a scene from Pulp Fiction played in my mind. It goes like this:
I will say that the cop that gave us a good talking to was approximately as charming as Arnold on Green Acres. Certainly not ten times as charming.
Thursday, July 16, 2015
Make up story
First of all. Yeah I didn't post last week. I've really been slipping lately. After the first time a few weeks back or whatever, I was all, "Oooh - Ima post on Wednesdays."
Then that didn't happen. Then I was out of town last Thursday so I didn't bother. I didn't even bother to do the post thing over the weekend. Which sucked for me because I have a strict rule not to read the other posts until I've posted.
Granted - I can be pretty sure (But not completely) that Brady will post about however his race went the previous weekend. But I don't know the details yet.
For this post I will tell 2 short stories.
Jack and Abe are 12 and 10 years old in that order. Abe turned 10 on his last birthday. Sorry, I couldn't resist. Abe turned 10 on June 28th. He only wanted one thing for his birthday. It was either a hamster or a gerbil. I'm not sure which. Whatever it was, that's what he got.
Cute little thing. It stays in the boys' bedroom in this aquarium deal.
After we put the boys to bed, we let them read for a while before lights out. The other night I went in the room to tell them lights out and a stench most foul hit me as I opened the door. I was gasping for air. It was a horrible reeking sin against humanity. My eyes immediately began to water. In desperation, I covered my face with the lapel of my bathrobe and said goodnight to the boys. They looked at me and laughed. They knew they were cursed with some sort of stomach ailment and they did not care.
I tried to figure out what they could have eaten to cause this sort of gastrointestinal uprising. I had no clue.
Looking to the corner, I was suddenly concerned about Bibbles. Bibbles is the name Abe gave to the Hamster or Gerbil or whatever it is. I ran to the aquarium to find Bibbles in the wheel obviously trying to run away from the noxious fumes.
"Don't you worry about Bibbles?" I asked Abe.
"Yeah. I mean Oh!" Then he laughed when he realized what I meant.
"If you had a pet parakeet, it would have died hours ago," I continued.
The only reason I tell this story is because of what happened next. I know there are proud parents all over the world. Everybody at work who has a kid has at one time or another boasted about Jr's great accomplishments. Whether it's baseball, basketball or some sort of academic achievement, I hear it all at work.
I like my kids ok, but they don't really necessarily stand out in any way that I feel like boasting about.
Unless it comes to comedy. That's where they really shine.
The other night they were saying "Give us a kiss and a hug."
That's the normal protocol, but on this night I categorically refused. No way I was staying in that room one second longer than necessary. Already, the robe defense was weakening. I found myself doubling up the lapel in an effort to reinforce the shield, but the smell was seeping into the fabric. I had to get out of there.
That's when Jack shouted "Release the Dutch Oven!" and threw off the blanket.
I simultaneously laughed, cried and fled the room screaming, slamming the door shut behind me.
So am I proud of my kids? I couldn't be prouder. No word on how Bibbles got through the night.
Story 2:
Back when I was working at the U.P., when I commuted by bike, I usually went up Cuming from 30th. This is not a horrible climb. Maybe 5 or 6 percent for about 2/3 of a mile.
At about 38th and Cuming, the police like to set up shop and radar traffic. The posted limit is 35, but 45 -50 MPH is common on that stretch. Easy picking for the cops.
One day, I was slogging along at about 12 MPH and they were there. There were 3 cops with their little radar guns, aiming down the hill. As I went by, I said, "I slowed down when I saw you guys." Big laughs all around.
When I was in High School, I thought I was going to grow up to be a comedian. I thought I was funny. I did a few stand up performance things at open mikes and thought it went pretty well. The main problem I had was that I couldn't bring myself to tell the same joke more than once. The other main problem is that I was a stupid teenager who wasn't funny. Although I recently watched a documentary about Bill Hicks and he was a stupid teenager when he started out too. But oh yeah - he was pretty funny, though. I guess that was the difference.
So the other day, I'm slogging away up that Cuming hill. I'm going about 13 mph.
I didn't see the cop and his radar gun. I only noticed when he stepped into the street and stopped 2 cars to pull them over. It was weird because he was directing them to pull over right into my path. The drivers were hesitating so I could pass by, but he was insistent that they go "Right fucking now."
I had to slow down or risk running into them. As I was waiting for the path to clear, some guy was leaning against a light pole. He said, "You was [sic] going 14 all the way up that hill."
I said real loud like "I was going 13. Somebody's radar gun needs to be calibrated."
I wanted the people getting pulled over to hear my Bill Hicks like joke. I think they did.
The cop certainly did. He looked at me and did not laugh. At all.
Fuck that guy.
One thing that was kind of interesting about that is that to the guy leaning against the pole, 14 MPH up that hill is impressive. There will always be lots of people around way faster than me, but sometimes it's nice to be reminded that not everybody can ride a bike even kind of fast.
The other thing I was surprised by was that the cop was bored enough to clock my speed and share it with the bystander guy.
Oh yeah and fuck that guy. The cop, not the bystander. He was cool.
Then that didn't happen. Then I was out of town last Thursday so I didn't bother. I didn't even bother to do the post thing over the weekend. Which sucked for me because I have a strict rule not to read the other posts until I've posted.
Granted - I can be pretty sure (But not completely) that Brady will post about however his race went the previous weekend. But I don't know the details yet.
For this post I will tell 2 short stories.
Jack and Abe are 12 and 10 years old in that order. Abe turned 10 on his last birthday. Sorry, I couldn't resist. Abe turned 10 on June 28th. He only wanted one thing for his birthday. It was either a hamster or a gerbil. I'm not sure which. Whatever it was, that's what he got.
Cute little thing. It stays in the boys' bedroom in this aquarium deal.
After we put the boys to bed, we let them read for a while before lights out. The other night I went in the room to tell them lights out and a stench most foul hit me as I opened the door. I was gasping for air. It was a horrible reeking sin against humanity. My eyes immediately began to water. In desperation, I covered my face with the lapel of my bathrobe and said goodnight to the boys. They looked at me and laughed. They knew they were cursed with some sort of stomach ailment and they did not care.
I tried to figure out what they could have eaten to cause this sort of gastrointestinal uprising. I had no clue.
Looking to the corner, I was suddenly concerned about Bibbles. Bibbles is the name Abe gave to the Hamster or Gerbil or whatever it is. I ran to the aquarium to find Bibbles in the wheel obviously trying to run away from the noxious fumes.
"Don't you worry about Bibbles?" I asked Abe.
"Yeah. I mean Oh!" Then he laughed when he realized what I meant.
"If you had a pet parakeet, it would have died hours ago," I continued.
The only reason I tell this story is because of what happened next. I know there are proud parents all over the world. Everybody at work who has a kid has at one time or another boasted about Jr's great accomplishments. Whether it's baseball, basketball or some sort of academic achievement, I hear it all at work.
I like my kids ok, but they don't really necessarily stand out in any way that I feel like boasting about.
Unless it comes to comedy. That's where they really shine.
The other night they were saying "Give us a kiss and a hug."
That's the normal protocol, but on this night I categorically refused. No way I was staying in that room one second longer than necessary. Already, the robe defense was weakening. I found myself doubling up the lapel in an effort to reinforce the shield, but the smell was seeping into the fabric. I had to get out of there.
That's when Jack shouted "Release the Dutch Oven!" and threw off the blanket.
I simultaneously laughed, cried and fled the room screaming, slamming the door shut behind me.
So am I proud of my kids? I couldn't be prouder. No word on how Bibbles got through the night.
Story 2:
Back when I was working at the U.P., when I commuted by bike, I usually went up Cuming from 30th. This is not a horrible climb. Maybe 5 or 6 percent for about 2/3 of a mile.
At about 38th and Cuming, the police like to set up shop and radar traffic. The posted limit is 35, but 45 -50 MPH is common on that stretch. Easy picking for the cops.
One day, I was slogging along at about 12 MPH and they were there. There were 3 cops with their little radar guns, aiming down the hill. As I went by, I said, "I slowed down when I saw you guys." Big laughs all around.
When I was in High School, I thought I was going to grow up to be a comedian. I thought I was funny. I did a few stand up performance things at open mikes and thought it went pretty well. The main problem I had was that I couldn't bring myself to tell the same joke more than once. The other main problem is that I was a stupid teenager who wasn't funny. Although I recently watched a documentary about Bill Hicks and he was a stupid teenager when he started out too. But oh yeah - he was pretty funny, though. I guess that was the difference.
So the other day, I'm slogging away up that Cuming hill. I'm going about 13 mph.
I didn't see the cop and his radar gun. I only noticed when he stepped into the street and stopped 2 cars to pull them over. It was weird because he was directing them to pull over right into my path. The drivers were hesitating so I could pass by, but he was insistent that they go "Right fucking now."
I had to slow down or risk running into them. As I was waiting for the path to clear, some guy was leaning against a light pole. He said, "You was [sic] going 14 all the way up that hill."
I said real loud like "I was going 13. Somebody's radar gun needs to be calibrated."
I wanted the people getting pulled over to hear my Bill Hicks like joke. I think they did.
The cop certainly did. He looked at me and did not laugh. At all.
Fuck that guy.
One thing that was kind of interesting about that is that to the guy leaning against the pole, 14 MPH up that hill is impressive. There will always be lots of people around way faster than me, but sometimes it's nice to be reminded that not everybody can ride a bike even kind of fast.
The other thing I was surprised by was that the cop was bored enough to clock my speed and share it with the bystander guy.
Oh yeah and fuck that guy. The cop, not the bystander. He was cool.
Sunday, July 05, 2015
Yawn
I have just written a blog post that I will not publish. I did not read it. I just typed it in. When I was finished, I was about to read it to kind of check for any errors but I realized that it might be the most self-absorbed, boring post I've ever written. As you know, that's saying something.
Maybe I will publish it as a sleep-aid.
Anyways, that leaves me with the problem of not having a post. I could just write about the thing that I intended to write about this week, but it's about a run in with a motorist a few days ago and even though it's not as boring as the ... What? Just tell that story? Oh alright.
Sometime in the last 2 weeks, I realized that I can commute to work by bike (bicycle). I could not really practically do that before. I can now. I live so close to work, that I can just wear my work clothes on the ride. That's real commuting.
When I'm "real commuting" I feel like a huge dork. I've got the strappy things that secure my pantlegs so they don't get into any fisticuffs with the drivetrain.
On the other hand, when I see other "real commuters" I feel like less of a dork than when I'm wearing my super cool cycling getup. Except I don't have a big old goofy-ass beard like all the other "real commuters."
Maybe I'll get a fake beard from Amazon or something. I bet that's what all of the other "real commuters" are doing anyway.
So anyways, I was on my way to work the other morning when I heard a honk from behind.
I was on 50th heading south toward Underwood. Currently, I turn left a block north of Underwood and go over to 49th because:
1) It is less hilly than going to Underwood ("real commuters" hate hills).
b) After I cross Dodge Street, I can take Douglas street east. If I stay on 50th, I have to take Farnam, which is heavy with hostile traffic.
So my route is a nice mix of convenience and safety. 50th from Underwood to Western is a nice, relatively quiet street. Especially at 6:30 in the morning.
So I was all "Arms of the Angel" down the street when I hear "HONK HONK!"
I looked back to see a shiny black BMW about two blocks away. I didn't think much of it. I was going to be turning off this road in about 30 seconds.
Then I heard the engine rev up as I signaled my turn. I looked back to see that even though I was on the very left side of the lane because I was turning, This stupid [redacted] was going to try to pass me on that side.
Then she slowed (still revving) to let me make my turn. Just when I got to the center line, she screeched by me on the right.
It was surprising, stupid, unnecessary, dangerous and uncalled for. I did nothing that day that had any impact on the time it took her to get anywhere.
I think maybe she just felt it was ok because I don't have a beard.
Well, I absolutely hate confrontations so I was trying to figure out what was the best way to let her know that her behavior was completely acceptable and that I hoped she had a nice day.
I thought about my good old friend Samuel L. Jackson and how he defused a tense situation by suggesting that everybody be cool.
But my problem was conveying the message in the split second that she zipped by me.
Then it hit me. If this hosebag knows her 70's television, I can just impersonate the Fonz and she'll know it's cool.
So I just pretended her car was a jukebox and casually pounded on her driver's side window with my fist.
Remember that episode of Happy Days where Samuel L. Jackson yells, "Fuck off you Fucking Fuck!"
Well, I'm sure Miss Black BMW, license plate #: [redacted] does now.
I'm sure we both laughed about it later and stuff.
Oh and speaking of later ... So later I was going over to Olympia to pick up a wheel. On the way I came upon an accident scene. Three cars had been smashed up pretty badly at the intersection of 50th and Hamilton. There was a police car there and everything! There was a woman lying on the road.
One of the cars had the driver's side door smashed completely in. It was shiny black BMW.
I hoped against hope that it was the car I'd seen in the morning. It wasn't. The license plate, though still redacted, was different.
Then I thought about just how horrible a person I am for wanting harm to come to someone who unnecessarily put my life in danger earlier that day.
Then I thought "fuck that gal" and drove my way around the carnage to go get my wheel from Olympia Cycle.
The End.
Maybe I will publish it as a sleep-aid.
Anyways, that leaves me with the problem of not having a post. I could just write about the thing that I intended to write about this week, but it's about a run in with a motorist a few days ago and even though it's not as boring as the ... What? Just tell that story? Oh alright.
Sometime in the last 2 weeks, I realized that I can commute to work by bike (bicycle). I could not really practically do that before. I can now. I live so close to work, that I can just wear my work clothes on the ride. That's real commuting.
When I'm "real commuting" I feel like a huge dork. I've got the strappy things that secure my pantlegs so they don't get into any fisticuffs with the drivetrain.
On the other hand, when I see other "real commuters" I feel like less of a dork than when I'm wearing my super cool cycling getup. Except I don't have a big old goofy-ass beard like all the other "real commuters."
 |
| Two "real commuters" and their stupid friend. |
Maybe I'll get a fake beard from Amazon or something. I bet that's what all of the other "real commuters" are doing anyway.
So anyways, I was on my way to work the other morning when I heard a honk from behind.
I was on 50th heading south toward Underwood. Currently, I turn left a block north of Underwood and go over to 49th because:
1) It is less hilly than going to Underwood ("real commuters" hate hills).
b) After I cross Dodge Street, I can take Douglas street east. If I stay on 50th, I have to take Farnam, which is heavy with hostile traffic.
So my route is a nice mix of convenience and safety. 50th from Underwood to Western is a nice, relatively quiet street. Especially at 6:30 in the morning.
So I was all "Arms of the Angel" down the street when I hear "HONK HONK!"
 |
| Pictured: Real Commuting |
I looked back to see a shiny black BMW about two blocks away. I didn't think much of it. I was going to be turning off this road in about 30 seconds.
Then I heard the engine rev up as I signaled my turn. I looked back to see that even though I was on the very left side of the lane because I was turning, This stupid [redacted] was going to try to pass me on that side.
Then she slowed (still revving) to let me make my turn. Just when I got to the center line, she screeched by me on the right.
It was surprising, stupid, unnecessary, dangerous and uncalled for. I did nothing that day that had any impact on the time it took her to get anywhere.
I think maybe she just felt it was ok because I don't have a beard.
Well, I absolutely hate confrontations so I was trying to figure out what was the best way to let her know that her behavior was completely acceptable and that I hoped she had a nice day.
I thought about my good old friend Samuel L. Jackson and how he defused a tense situation by suggesting that everybody be cool.
But my problem was conveying the message in the split second that she zipped by me.
Then it hit me. If this hosebag knows her 70's television, I can just impersonate the Fonz and she'll know it's cool.
So I just pretended her car was a jukebox and casually pounded on her driver's side window with my fist.
Remember that episode of Happy Days where Samuel L. Jackson yells, "Fuck off you Fucking Fuck!"
Well, I'm sure Miss Black BMW, license plate #: [redacted] does now.
I'm sure we both laughed about it later and stuff.
Oh and speaking of later ... So later I was going over to Olympia to pick up a wheel. On the way I came upon an accident scene. Three cars had been smashed up pretty badly at the intersection of 50th and Hamilton. There was a police car there and everything! There was a woman lying on the road.
One of the cars had the driver's side door smashed completely in. It was shiny black BMW.
I hoped against hope that it was the car I'd seen in the morning. It wasn't. The license plate, though still redacted, was different.
Then I thought about just how horrible a person I am for wanting harm to come to someone who unnecessarily put my life in danger earlier that day.
Then I thought "fuck that gal" and drove my way around the carnage to go get my wheel from Olympia Cycle.
The End.
Thursday, July 02, 2015
2 promises
So Jill and I are free of the kids tonight. I was diligently working away at my new novel. Working title: "Tonight's post" when Jill said, "Hey let's go see a movie."
I said, "But I'm diligently working away at my blogpost."
Then she said, "Blogpost schmogpost!"
So we went to see a movie. I'll tell you what. It was a damn fine movie.
Spoiler alert!
We went to see "Spy"
I recommend it.
I do have a post. I just haven't written it yet. I'll get it done before Monday. But here are some keywords by way of a teaser:
Bully
BMW
The Fonz
Karma
Dudes
I guarantee that all of these words will be in the upcoming post unless they get edited out.
Then they won't. At all.
I said, "But I'm diligently working away at my blogpost."
Then she said, "Blogpost schmogpost!"
So we went to see a movie. I'll tell you what. It was a damn fine movie.
Spoiler alert!
We went to see "Spy"
I recommend it.
I do have a post. I just haven't written it yet. I'll get it done before Monday. But here are some keywords by way of a teaser:
Bully
BMW
The Fonz
Karma
Dudes
I guarantee that all of these words will be in the upcoming post unless they get edited out.
Then they won't. At all.
Thursday, June 25, 2015
Wednesday, June 17, 2015
5 Minutes an Alley Cat
So there's this guy, Lucas Brunelle, who makes these films about people who ride their bikes around New York.
These are amazing films. Possibly some of the most irresponsible bike riding ever. The cyclists weave in and out of traffic. They run red lights without slowing down. They "calculate" the response of the motorists. Somehow these guys (according to themselves) can find the safe line in an instant. They can make impossible maneuvers and stay alive in thick, unpredictable traffic.
Even though I think it is one of the stupidest things I've ever seen, these guys do have talent. And luck. Definitely some luck.
They even have a bike messenger race. It involves a bunch of stupid dangerous riding through busy streets. These are called "Alley Cat" races.
When I ride around our small little town here, I avoid any heavy traffic areas. Even then, I obey all the traffic laws when it's convenient and safer than breaking them.
There are times when not obeying the rules of the road is better for a bike. I'm not going to go into it or argue about it. If you ride around for enough years and pay attention, you'll know when laws should be ignored.
But I don't run red lights unless nobody is around.
If nobody is around, you have to run red lights. Or just wait at the light for however many minutes it takes for a car to show up.
If all you do is drive a car, you probably don't realize that a red light at a minor street that crosses a busy one never changes unless there's a car there.
Yes - most lights have buttons you can push to get a "Walk" signal and cross. I have a problem with this in theory, but ...
Oh wait. I'm not going into this. Sorry.
Anyway - sometimes the laws are stupid.
When I was a teenage bike rider, I broke many traffic laws. I thought I was being safe. I wasn't. I shudder to think about the things I used to do.
I would blow through stop signs or red lights at full speed, but only at night when it was safe to do so.
We never had helmets or lights. If we were approaching an intersection and didn't see the side of a pole lit up (presumably by an oncoming headlight), we didn't hesitate.
As an older man, I think "What if the headlights are off? What if there's a bike coming from that way?"
So yeah, I ride much safer now.
Even if I wanted to ride like one of those idiots in Lucas Brunelle's videos, there's really not enough traffic here in Omaha to do a lot of that stuff.
Not normally.
To get the kind of traffic that jams up a few square miles of road in all directions, we'd have to have some kind of special event. Maybe a sporting event. Something like the College World Series. Even then, with it located in South Omaha at the Blatt, there's really only one busy street.
What's that? They moved the CWS to the downtown area?
Well, I guess I'd better avoid that area for a few days when the CWS comes to town.
What's that? It's in town right now?
So last night, I was headed back home after a brief little ride in Council Bluffs. I came up Abbott drive to Cuming. You know, the street where the CWS stadium is.
I ran into all the traffic deadlocked in every direction. I would either have to obey the laws and wait a long time, or pretend I was in a Lucas Brunelle movie.
Had it been a normal night, I had just enough time to get home to take Jack to his Parkour class. As it was, even if I played alley cat, I might not make it home on time.
So I made my decision. I really wasn't surprised by it. There was somewhere I had to be and I absolutely hate being late. I had made a promise.
But - I'm not a rule breaker. I decided to wait it out and be safe. Maybe I could call home and ask Jill to take Jack to his Parkour class.
But then I heard a voice. Not like the sort of inner voice that goads you on to do things you might not ever dare. This was a different kind of voice altogether. It was the voice of a cop leaning against a building. He had on the neon green vest of a traffic cop. I'm guessing he was assigned to direct traffic at the intersection I was at, but had given up. The middle of the intersection was packed with cars.
He said, "Go ahead Boss, I'm not going to stop you."
I looked up at the red light. I looked at the cop. I said "thanks" and took off.
I figured the cop just gave me permission to do whatever I wanted until I got clear of the jam.
So I rode on the extreme right of the cars as fast as I could. I was passing a car about every 2 seconds. People were screaming at me and calling me terrible names. But for once, I didn't care. I had cop endorsement.
One car must have seen my approach because the driver kind of veered right to block me. I hopped onto the sidewalk and rode through the throng of happy/angry cws pedestrians until I got clear of the car. I jumped back to the road and went over to the left where there was more room.
After a few blocks, I came to a traffic cop who hadn't yet given up. I considered slowing for him, but when he saw me coming, he changed his hand signals. He stopped the line of traffic and waved me and my newfound enemy motorist buddies through. As soon as I was past, he switched again. Maybe 3 cars and me got through that intersection. I was able to pass cars until the interstate entrance at Cuming. Then the traffic cleared up and normal speed was resumed. Everything was back to normal for me too. I hung up my Alley Cat ways, finished my ride and took Jack to Parkour with a good 2 minutes to spare.
While I was blatantly breaking the law, I realized why the cops were cool with it.
The cops and I would like the motorists to understand something.
The bike isn't in your way. The bike isn't slowing down traffic. It's you and all of your big car buddies.
It made me think back to every time I used to ride through UNO during rush hour. There was always a guard directing traffic at the entrance to the parking garage. Whenever I rode by, he'd say "Thanks for riding a bike."
After yesterday, I understand. Traffic cops hate cars. If it wasn't for cars, they could do more meaningful police work. When they see a bike, they think "Bless you, you sweet sweet gift from the precious lord above," or something like that.
Every time a bike slows you down and you get mad about the stupid bike in your stupid way, what you don't realize is that you could easily go around the bike if there weren't a bunch of stupid cars in your stupid way.
Oh yeah and you are stupid. Just like your car. Just ask me and the traffic cops. We're experts on the matter,
These are amazing films. Possibly some of the most irresponsible bike riding ever. The cyclists weave in and out of traffic. They run red lights without slowing down. They "calculate" the response of the motorists. Somehow these guys (according to themselves) can find the safe line in an instant. They can make impossible maneuvers and stay alive in thick, unpredictable traffic.
Even though I think it is one of the stupidest things I've ever seen, these guys do have talent. And luck. Definitely some luck.
They even have a bike messenger race. It involves a bunch of stupid dangerous riding through busy streets. These are called "Alley Cat" races.
When I ride around our small little town here, I avoid any heavy traffic areas. Even then, I obey all the traffic laws when it's convenient and safer than breaking them.
There are times when not obeying the rules of the road is better for a bike. I'm not going to go into it or argue about it. If you ride around for enough years and pay attention, you'll know when laws should be ignored.
But I don't run red lights unless nobody is around.
If nobody is around, you have to run red lights. Or just wait at the light for however many minutes it takes for a car to show up.
If all you do is drive a car, you probably don't realize that a red light at a minor street that crosses a busy one never changes unless there's a car there.
Yes - most lights have buttons you can push to get a "Walk" signal and cross. I have a problem with this in theory, but ...
Oh wait. I'm not going into this. Sorry.
Anyway - sometimes the laws are stupid.
When I was a teenage bike rider, I broke many traffic laws. I thought I was being safe. I wasn't. I shudder to think about the things I used to do.
I would blow through stop signs or red lights at full speed, but only at night when it was safe to do so.
We never had helmets or lights. If we were approaching an intersection and didn't see the side of a pole lit up (presumably by an oncoming headlight), we didn't hesitate.
As an older man, I think "What if the headlights are off? What if there's a bike coming from that way?"
So yeah, I ride much safer now.
Even if I wanted to ride like one of those idiots in Lucas Brunelle's videos, there's really not enough traffic here in Omaha to do a lot of that stuff.
Not normally.
To get the kind of traffic that jams up a few square miles of road in all directions, we'd have to have some kind of special event. Maybe a sporting event. Something like the College World Series. Even then, with it located in South Omaha at the Blatt, there's really only one busy street.
What's that? They moved the CWS to the downtown area?
Well, I guess I'd better avoid that area for a few days when the CWS comes to town.
What's that? It's in town right now?
So last night, I was headed back home after a brief little ride in Council Bluffs. I came up Abbott drive to Cuming. You know, the street where the CWS stadium is.
I ran into all the traffic deadlocked in every direction. I would either have to obey the laws and wait a long time, or pretend I was in a Lucas Brunelle movie.
Had it been a normal night, I had just enough time to get home to take Jack to his Parkour class. As it was, even if I played alley cat, I might not make it home on time.
So I made my decision. I really wasn't surprised by it. There was somewhere I had to be and I absolutely hate being late. I had made a promise.
But - I'm not a rule breaker. I decided to wait it out and be safe. Maybe I could call home and ask Jill to take Jack to his Parkour class.
But then I heard a voice. Not like the sort of inner voice that goads you on to do things you might not ever dare. This was a different kind of voice altogether. It was the voice of a cop leaning against a building. He had on the neon green vest of a traffic cop. I'm guessing he was assigned to direct traffic at the intersection I was at, but had given up. The middle of the intersection was packed with cars.
He said, "Go ahead Boss, I'm not going to stop you."
I looked up at the red light. I looked at the cop. I said "thanks" and took off.
I figured the cop just gave me permission to do whatever I wanted until I got clear of the jam.
So I rode on the extreme right of the cars as fast as I could. I was passing a car about every 2 seconds. People were screaming at me and calling me terrible names. But for once, I didn't care. I had cop endorsement.
One car must have seen my approach because the driver kind of veered right to block me. I hopped onto the sidewalk and rode through the throng of happy/angry cws pedestrians until I got clear of the car. I jumped back to the road and went over to the left where there was more room.
After a few blocks, I came to a traffic cop who hadn't yet given up. I considered slowing for him, but when he saw me coming, he changed his hand signals. He stopped the line of traffic and waved me and my newfound enemy motorist buddies through. As soon as I was past, he switched again. Maybe 3 cars and me got through that intersection. I was able to pass cars until the interstate entrance at Cuming. Then the traffic cleared up and normal speed was resumed. Everything was back to normal for me too. I hung up my Alley Cat ways, finished my ride and took Jack to Parkour with a good 2 minutes to spare.
While I was blatantly breaking the law, I realized why the cops were cool with it.
The cops and I would like the motorists to understand something.
The bike isn't in your way. The bike isn't slowing down traffic. It's you and all of your big car buddies.
It made me think back to every time I used to ride through UNO during rush hour. There was always a guard directing traffic at the entrance to the parking garage. Whenever I rode by, he'd say "Thanks for riding a bike."
After yesterday, I understand. Traffic cops hate cars. If it wasn't for cars, they could do more meaningful police work. When they see a bike, they think "Bless you, you sweet sweet gift from the precious lord above," or something like that.
Every time a bike slows you down and you get mad about the stupid bike in your stupid way, what you don't realize is that you could easily go around the bike if there weren't a bunch of stupid cars in your stupid way.
Oh yeah and you are stupid. Just like your car. Just ask me and the traffic cops. We're experts on the matter,
Thursday, June 11, 2015
So I'm the asshole?
When somebody asks "So I'm the asshole?", the answer is always "Yes." Well, maybe not "THE" asshole. But you're definitely "AN" asshole. Yeah, I like the sound of that.
The trick is to not say "So I'm the asshole?" Just think it.
I thought "So I'm the asshole?" last Sunday evening. I was driving to the Lewis and Clark Monument in Council Bluffs Iowa.
My wife and 2 sons were also in the car.
It turns out that my younger son Abe loves to hike in the woods. I found this out by accident a couple of weeks back when Jack had a Devo Dirt Militia practice at L & C but Jill was busy so Abe had to come with us.
Abe has no business riding a bike at L & C, so I told him we could hike around for a while.
We have struggled for years to find some form of activity that Abe really enjoys. I couldn't be happier. L & C is beautiful and he just gets a thrill out of tromping around out there.
We were hoping to get a hike in early Sunday afternoon, but it was pouring rain. That night Abe expressed sadness that we didn't get to go. It was about 6 PM and I said we still could. Everybody thought it sounded fun so we piled into the car and drove over to Council Bluffs.
When we got off the interstate at 25th Street and were heading toward Big Lake, I saw a big huge obese woman riding her motorize cart thing down the sidewalk. She was heading Northeast.
I said, "I bet she's going to Wal-Mart."
"Nice," said Jill.
"Dad, that's rude," said Jack.
"What?" said I.
"Making fun of that woman," said everyone. They didn't know there was a Wal-Mart right around the corner. Also, I was making fun of that woman.
But it seemed unpopular, so I just said, "No. I mean there's a Wal-Mart right here," as we rounded the curve revealing the big huge obese "Wal-Mart" sign, "That's all I meant," I said. "Oh you thought ..."
"Shame, Shame," I continued.
"Oh. Sorry Dad. We didn't know there was a Wal-Mart right there."
"Oh, I see. You saw a big fat obese woman carting her ass down the sidewalk and thought I was comparing her to your average Wal-Mart customer. But now that you know she's going to Wal-Mart, it's ok."
In conclusion, the only thing wrong with "So I'm the asshole?" is the question mark part.
Also - on Monday night, a few of us were sitting on my sister's porch. We heard some people talking from half a block away. Their voices projected very well.
I don't know if you've ever noticed that people with unbelievably loud voices are usually missing some teeth.
I wondered aloud if maybe teeth normally hinder sound's progress.
Most of the people on the porch thought I was being an asshole, but my Daughter put forward another fascinating hypothesis. She said maybe their loud voices have caused them to lose teeth.
Brilliant. The good news is I'm not "THE" asshole. Just "AN" asshole. But it is genetic.
The trick is to not say "So I'm the asshole?" Just think it.
I thought "So I'm the asshole?" last Sunday evening. I was driving to the Lewis and Clark Monument in Council Bluffs Iowa.
My wife and 2 sons were also in the car.
It turns out that my younger son Abe loves to hike in the woods. I found this out by accident a couple of weeks back when Jack had a Devo Dirt Militia practice at L & C but Jill was busy so Abe had to come with us.
Abe has no business riding a bike at L & C, so I told him we could hike around for a while.
We have struggled for years to find some form of activity that Abe really enjoys. I couldn't be happier. L & C is beautiful and he just gets a thrill out of tromping around out there.
We were hoping to get a hike in early Sunday afternoon, but it was pouring rain. That night Abe expressed sadness that we didn't get to go. It was about 6 PM and I said we still could. Everybody thought it sounded fun so we piled into the car and drove over to Council Bluffs.
When we got off the interstate at 25th Street and were heading toward Big Lake, I saw a big huge obese woman riding her motorize cart thing down the sidewalk. She was heading Northeast.
I said, "I bet she's going to Wal-Mart."
"Nice," said Jill.
"Dad, that's rude," said Jack.
"What?" said I.
"Making fun of that woman," said everyone. They didn't know there was a Wal-Mart right around the corner. Also, I was making fun of that woman.
But it seemed unpopular, so I just said, "No. I mean there's a Wal-Mart right here," as we rounded the curve revealing the big huge obese "Wal-Mart" sign, "That's all I meant," I said. "Oh you thought ..."
"Shame, Shame," I continued.
"Oh. Sorry Dad. We didn't know there was a Wal-Mart right there."
"Oh, I see. You saw a big fat obese woman carting her ass down the sidewalk and thought I was comparing her to your average Wal-Mart customer. But now that you know she's going to Wal-Mart, it's ok."
In conclusion, the only thing wrong with "So I'm the asshole?" is the question mark part.
Also - on Monday night, a few of us were sitting on my sister's porch. We heard some people talking from half a block away. Their voices projected very well.
I don't know if you've ever noticed that people with unbelievably loud voices are usually missing some teeth.
I wondered aloud if maybe teeth normally hinder sound's progress.
Most of the people on the porch thought I was being an asshole, but my Daughter put forward another fascinating hypothesis. She said maybe their loud voices have caused them to lose teeth.
Brilliant. The good news is I'm not "THE" asshole. Just "AN" asshole. But it is genetic.
Thursday, June 04, 2015
iDefine
You know, I never really wondered or cared about cave droppings. Or drippings.
A couple of weeks ago, I made a commitment to post on Wednesdays instead of Thursdays. Well, as far as I'm concerned, if I can squeeze it out on Thursday, no problem.
There was no Devo Dirt Militia practice tonight (rain), but there is a code promotion.
So while that's going on over there on the Bill Gates, I'm writing to you from the Steve Jobs (R.I.P.).
I did the WNW last night for the 4th or 5th time this year. Up until last night, I had never (this year) stayed in touch with the main group to the finish of the ride's first challenge. I would have last week, but I had a flat tire. Oh yeah and by the way: FTG.
Anywho's, there's been some serious racing and some high quality extra elite crashing going on for these guys. There's another big race weekend this week, so they're taking it easy.
This means I get to hang with them on WNW for the most part.
For me, it's still like the hardest ride ever, but at least I'm mostly with them.
Once the ride was coming to an end last night and we were cruising back to the shop, I got to ride with my good friend Brady for a while. Anymore, it's a rare treat because his riding is mostly dedicated to a specific purpose - and it's working. Good on ya' mate.
But we were on the trail chatting away about the god particle and stuff when we went under a bridge that has a slimy wet stream running across the path. Brady warned me that it might be slippery under there.
I said "Under where?"
Then he pointed at me and laughed. I have no idea why.
But then I said, "Yeah it's like stalactites are forming under there."
But he didn't bite. He just said, "Wait. I think that would be stalagmites."
I said, "You're probably right. I think stalactites are what german cyclists wear and stalagmites are what they get when they don't wash their stalactites between rides. Real itchy, those stalagmites. A scourge to be sure."
Stupid, I know. But way funnier after a long hard ride. Well, hard for me anyway.
Thanks guys for taking it easy on the beaver last night! Oh yeah, and screw you. Jerks.
A couple of weeks ago, I made a commitment to post on Wednesdays instead of Thursdays. Well, as far as I'm concerned, if I can squeeze it out on Thursday, no problem.
There was no Devo Dirt Militia practice tonight (rain), but there is a code promotion.
So while that's going on over there on the Bill Gates, I'm writing to you from the Steve Jobs (R.I.P.).
I did the WNW last night for the 4th or 5th time this year. Up until last night, I had never (this year) stayed in touch with the main group to the finish of the ride's first challenge. I would have last week, but I had a flat tire. Oh yeah and by the way: FTG.
Anywho's, there's been some serious racing and some high quality extra elite crashing going on for these guys. There's another big race weekend this week, so they're taking it easy.
This means I get to hang with them on WNW for the most part.
For me, it's still like the hardest ride ever, but at least I'm mostly with them.
Once the ride was coming to an end last night and we were cruising back to the shop, I got to ride with my good friend Brady for a while. Anymore, it's a rare treat because his riding is mostly dedicated to a specific purpose - and it's working. Good on ya' mate.
But we were on the trail chatting away about the god particle and stuff when we went under a bridge that has a slimy wet stream running across the path. Brady warned me that it might be slippery under there.
I said "Under where?"
Then he pointed at me and laughed. I have no idea why.
But then I said, "Yeah it's like stalactites are forming under there."
But he didn't bite. He just said, "Wait. I think that would be stalagmites."
I said, "You're probably right. I think stalactites are what german cyclists wear and stalagmites are what they get when they don't wash their stalactites between rides. Real itchy, those stalagmites. A scourge to be sure."
Stupid, I know. But way funnier after a long hard ride. Well, hard for me anyway.
Thanks guys for taking it easy on the beaver last night! Oh yeah, and screw you. Jerks.
Thursday, May 28, 2015
Pork Chop Sandwich
Up until last night, I was pretty sure I was going to write about how my dad used to torture us.
Well - I mean to say one of the ways he used to torture us.
It went something like this:
On a Saturday afternoon without much to do, I'd be sitting on the couch watching TV. I don't know what I'd be watching. Maybe it was an old movie or an episode of M*A*S*H or something. Nothing that interesting, but still, I was watching it.
Dad would walk into the room and sit down in his La-Z-Boy and switch the channel. He didn't say anything. He didn't look at me. Just switched the channel. If there was no sports on, he'd leave the room with the channel on a different station than the one I was watching.
We never said or did anything about it. At least not after the first time he did it.
The first time he did it probably went something like this:
Dad turns channel.
I say, "I was watching that."
Dad goes into a screaming fit about how everything in the house is his.
The second time (and every time after), I remained silent.
But the second time probably went something like this:
Dad turns channel.
I turn my head nearly imperceptibly in his direction. But there is no imperceptive to my dad. A master of the "bar fight."
"What?" He'd say.
"Nothing."
"Why'd you look at me?"
Ok, at this point I should mention that I realized on the second time that dad did not care if he watched TV or not. He was impossible. He wanted to pick a fight.
"I didn't look at you."
"Yeah - you gave me a dirty look."
"No, I didn't"
"Oh - now you're going to argue with me. I guess I'm just a fucking idiot who imagines shit!"
"Bingo," I would think.
Sometimes he would just go into an absolute rage and send me to my room. That's when I would give him a look.
But that was small potatoes. After a few times, there would be absolutely no reaction whatsoever when he came in and changed the channel.
If anything I became less animated than before he walked into the room.
Of course it didn't matter. It was always the same sequence.
He'd change the channel and pick a fight. I think I just figured out why this scene always reminded me of home:
I started asking him if I could just go to my room now and cut out the middle-man.
Nope. Not until he was done yelling at me for no reason whatsoever.
After a while, I was completely emotionless when this routine went on, so dad had to spice it up a little. Make it fresh again.
He would yell for a while and when he saw that he was not getting any crying or fear or anything, he'd say, "I WAS going to take you to the movies, but not now. Not after what you did."
By the way - as I write this, I realize it might seem absurd. It is 100% true and verifiable. There were witnesses and other victims, etc.
I'd say the first 4 or 5 times he pulled the "I was going to take you to the movies ..." bit, he really got what he was looking for.
I'd plead. Beg forgiveness. Promise to never do it again. If he'd just please please please take us to the movies.
After those first few times, I realized he had never intended to take us to any movie. He was just trying to get a rise out of us. It's funny - because I thought it would be fun to go see a movie even if I went with a raving lunatic.
I was thinking about all of this Monday. Monday was a holiday. I got up early in the morning and checked out the movie times for "Tomorrowland."
This is not a movie I particularly cared to see. I wanted to see Mad Max. But I thought the kids would really want to see Tomorrowland, so ...
Anyway - I looked at the times and went in to ask my kids if they wanted to go see a movie.
But when I went into the room, they were looking at me funny so I gave them a piece of my mind and stormed out.
Just kidding.
I said, "Hey. You guys want to go see a movie?"
When I was a kid, I would have said, "Heck Yes! Let's go!"
They said, "Which one."
I was thinking, "What difference does that make?" but I said "Tomorrowland"
Then Jack said, "Not really."
Wow. Impressive.
So that's the story that I thought I'd blog about. Up until last night. After last night, I decided to blog once again about the completely boring topic of the Wednesday night Trek Store ride.
This year has been particularly weird for me in terms of that ride. I have been going to the ride knowing full well that I cannot hang for even a little bit. I have told several people to please not wait for me. I'm too slow and I can find my way.
But I've gone 4 of the last 5 weeks and am in slightly better shape now.
Last night there were several people on the ride I could hang with.
Once we got to Highway 36 and the first or second climb, there were a few struggling to stay in contact. Strangely, I was not one of them. I felt fine at the pace we were going. It was considerably slower than previous weeks.
Then my rear wheel went flat and I stopped pedaling. I was near the back, but not at it.
A few people went around me as I slowed to stop and the whole group kept going.
I know that most of the people didn't see what happened. But some did.
Apparently nobody said anything or nobody cared. Also, I didn't say anything because, fuck those guys.
At the end of the season, I was thinking about taking them all to the movies, but not now.
So while I was standing beside the highway, fixing my flat, I remembered something I hadn't thought about for a long time.
The cars and trucks zipping by just a few feet away. My tire was slightly torn through on the side and I only had a $20. No way I was putting that in the tire. If I had another flat on the way home, I'd have to call somebody to come and get me. So it would be best to just go home. Yeah that's it. Ride on up to 72nd and head home. If another flat happens, I might have been close enough to walk the rest of the way.
But then my old friend I haven't talked to in a while stopped by. His name is "V" and he always says the same thing: "Harden The Fuck Up."
Thanks V, I needed that.
I made it my new mission to try to catch the group resting at Ft Calhoun.
I didn't catch them. When I headed east toward Boyer Chute, I could see them way up the road. I timed my distance from them when they made that first right turn. It was about 2 minutes. I knew I'd never catch the main group, but I was hoping to reach a straggler or two.
Nope. Well, I did catch Andrew Keffer near Dodge Park, but I knew nobody would wait for him (like they wouldn't wait for me - but I don't want them to - unless I had a flat or something).
I talked to Andrew for a bit, but he was in full on "Chill" mode. He wanted to go around the airport. I didn't. I went home and made a pork chop sandwich. I mixed a little mayo with some sriracha and spread it onto some toast. I put a thick juicy pork chop in the middle and ... yum.
In summary. Fuck those guys. But yeah - next Wednesday. Sounds good.
Well - I mean to say one of the ways he used to torture us.
It went something like this:
On a Saturday afternoon without much to do, I'd be sitting on the couch watching TV. I don't know what I'd be watching. Maybe it was an old movie or an episode of M*A*S*H or something. Nothing that interesting, but still, I was watching it.
Dad would walk into the room and sit down in his La-Z-Boy and switch the channel. He didn't say anything. He didn't look at me. Just switched the channel. If there was no sports on, he'd leave the room with the channel on a different station than the one I was watching.
We never said or did anything about it. At least not after the first time he did it.
The first time he did it probably went something like this:
Dad turns channel.
I say, "I was watching that."
Dad goes into a screaming fit about how everything in the house is his.
The second time (and every time after), I remained silent.
But the second time probably went something like this:
Dad turns channel.
I turn my head nearly imperceptibly in his direction. But there is no imperceptive to my dad. A master of the "bar fight."
"What?" He'd say.
"Nothing."
"Why'd you look at me?"
Ok, at this point I should mention that I realized on the second time that dad did not care if he watched TV or not. He was impossible. He wanted to pick a fight.
"I didn't look at you."
"Yeah - you gave me a dirty look."
"No, I didn't"
"Oh - now you're going to argue with me. I guess I'm just a fucking idiot who imagines shit!"
"Bingo," I would think.
Sometimes he would just go into an absolute rage and send me to my room. That's when I would give him a look.
But that was small potatoes. After a few times, there would be absolutely no reaction whatsoever when he came in and changed the channel.
If anything I became less animated than before he walked into the room.
Of course it didn't matter. It was always the same sequence.
He'd change the channel and pick a fight. I think I just figured out why this scene always reminded me of home:
I started asking him if I could just go to my room now and cut out the middle-man.
Nope. Not until he was done yelling at me for no reason whatsoever.
After a while, I was completely emotionless when this routine went on, so dad had to spice it up a little. Make it fresh again.
He would yell for a while and when he saw that he was not getting any crying or fear or anything, he'd say, "I WAS going to take you to the movies, but not now. Not after what you did."
By the way - as I write this, I realize it might seem absurd. It is 100% true and verifiable. There were witnesses and other victims, etc.
I'd say the first 4 or 5 times he pulled the "I was going to take you to the movies ..." bit, he really got what he was looking for.
I'd plead. Beg forgiveness. Promise to never do it again. If he'd just please please please take us to the movies.
After those first few times, I realized he had never intended to take us to any movie. He was just trying to get a rise out of us. It's funny - because I thought it would be fun to go see a movie even if I went with a raving lunatic.
I was thinking about all of this Monday. Monday was a holiday. I got up early in the morning and checked out the movie times for "Tomorrowland."
This is not a movie I particularly cared to see. I wanted to see Mad Max. But I thought the kids would really want to see Tomorrowland, so ...
Anyway - I looked at the times and went in to ask my kids if they wanted to go see a movie.
But when I went into the room, they were looking at me funny so I gave them a piece of my mind and stormed out.
Just kidding.
I said, "Hey. You guys want to go see a movie?"
When I was a kid, I would have said, "Heck Yes! Let's go!"
They said, "Which one."
I was thinking, "What difference does that make?" but I said "Tomorrowland"
Then Jack said, "Not really."
Wow. Impressive.
So that's the story that I thought I'd blog about. Up until last night. After last night, I decided to blog once again about the completely boring topic of the Wednesday night Trek Store ride.
This year has been particularly weird for me in terms of that ride. I have been going to the ride knowing full well that I cannot hang for even a little bit. I have told several people to please not wait for me. I'm too slow and I can find my way.
But I've gone 4 of the last 5 weeks and am in slightly better shape now.
Last night there were several people on the ride I could hang with.
Once we got to Highway 36 and the first or second climb, there were a few struggling to stay in contact. Strangely, I was not one of them. I felt fine at the pace we were going. It was considerably slower than previous weeks.
Then my rear wheel went flat and I stopped pedaling. I was near the back, but not at it.
A few people went around me as I slowed to stop and the whole group kept going.
I know that most of the people didn't see what happened. But some did.
Apparently nobody said anything or nobody cared. Also, I didn't say anything because, fuck those guys.
At the end of the season, I was thinking about taking them all to the movies, but not now.
So while I was standing beside the highway, fixing my flat, I remembered something I hadn't thought about for a long time.
The cars and trucks zipping by just a few feet away. My tire was slightly torn through on the side and I only had a $20. No way I was putting that in the tire. If I had another flat on the way home, I'd have to call somebody to come and get me. So it would be best to just go home. Yeah that's it. Ride on up to 72nd and head home. If another flat happens, I might have been close enough to walk the rest of the way.
But then my old friend I haven't talked to in a while stopped by. His name is "V" and he always says the same thing: "Harden The Fuck Up."
Thanks V, I needed that.
I made it my new mission to try to catch the group resting at Ft Calhoun.
I didn't catch them. When I headed east toward Boyer Chute, I could see them way up the road. I timed my distance from them when they made that first right turn. It was about 2 minutes. I knew I'd never catch the main group, but I was hoping to reach a straggler or two.
Nope. Well, I did catch Andrew Keffer near Dodge Park, but I knew nobody would wait for him (like they wouldn't wait for me - but I don't want them to - unless I had a flat or something).
I talked to Andrew for a bit, but he was in full on "Chill" mode. He wanted to go around the airport. I didn't. I went home and made a pork chop sandwich. I mixed a little mayo with some sriracha and spread it onto some toast. I put a thick juicy pork chop in the middle and ... yum.
In summary. Fuck those guys. But yeah - next Wednesday. Sounds good.
Friday, May 22, 2015
Fool me thrice, I may have a learning disability
If I'm out of my mind, it's alright with me, thought Moses Herzog.
I turned 50 last October. As a gift, my sister gave me a book from the year I was born. It was a fantastic read with a great opening line. It was called "Herzog"
I've never read "Moby-Dick" or "The Whale" for that matter. I'm not sure why. I've read the first few pages and it seems entertaining enough.
But that has nothing to do with anything I'm going to talk about. I'm just stalling. I thought about making "Call me Ishmael" somehow fit in with the beginning of this post, but It wasn't obvious. The only thing I came up with was this:
"Call Me Ishmael. Some years ago - never mind how long precisely - having little or no money in my purse. Yeah I carried a purse. What of it, Mister? Anyway, there was no money in it so I applied for a position at Petrow's ..."
So about a fortnight ago, I posted a blog about an experience I had at Petrow's Old People restaurant.
I won't bore you with the details again because I plan to bore you with all new details.
The day after I posted that, um post, I was talking to my dad. Since I had just written about it, I had my routine all worked out. I told my dad all about how stupid it was and that the food was sub par.
Then he said, "Petrow's has really good breckfusses."
You know how sometimes when you get really old and your hearing starts to go and then 10 years go by and your hearing gets worser and worser until you can't hear anything much at all, but you refuse to get any sort of aid?
"Dad - I'm saying I had a horrible experience at Petrow's. It really sucked."
"Yeah - we ought to go up there for breakfast some time. They have the best hash browns in town!"
"How did you hear the 'Petrow's' part, but none of the rest of what I said?"
"Hey! I know! How about next week - not tomorrow - but the following Saturday - we go up for some breakfast. You won't believe how good their hash browns are!"
Well - I didn't hate my experience at Petrow's. Strongly disliked, sure. I could go get some breakfast, I guess. No biggie.
"Sure Dad. I'll go next Saturday if you want. Also, Jimmy's Egg has excellent hash browns."
"Ok. I'll call you next week. This is gonna be great. Hash browns!"
So - over the course of the next week, my dad told lots of people he was going to Petrow's on Saturday. He invited them and said he was paying. He wanted everyone to go. We'd all have a great time. Spoiler alert: we all really did have a good time.
Several times that week, Dad called me to make sure I knew to bring the whole family. Well - only Abe was able to make it that day.
When we got there - My dad and family that showed up was around 15 people. My sister and her husband were there. But she did not want to hear about the onion rings (I mean TWO ONION RINGS?) again. That kind of pissed me off.
Once we had all arrived, our waitress Ahab came limping out for our drink order.
We pretty much all got coffee. I was asking Abe what he wanted, but he didn't know.
I suggested hot chocolate and he said "Yeah"
"Oooh - our hot chocolate machine is broken," said Ahab.
I looked at my sister and said, "It's everything with this place."
Now I just said it in a conversational voice. Not quiet or loud. But Ahab felt the need to defend her dear employer.
"No it's not!" she said.
"Well it's 2 things then. Broken hot chocolate machine and argumentative wait staff."
This did not make Ahab smile.
"How about chocolate milk, Abe? Do you have chocolate Milk?"
"Yes," said Ahab.
"Can you put it in a mug and nuke it?"
"I'm sorry, we're not allowed..."
"I'm sure you're not," I countered.
So this was starting off well.
When everyone was ordering coffee, Uncle Vic asked Ahab if she could just leave a pitcher of coffee at the table since there were so many people having coffee.
True story - she said "I'm sorry, we're not allowed" again.
After Ahab brought out the drinks and took our food order, we sat and had a nice chat and stuff.
After a while, my cup was empty. Ahab came to the table with a fresh pot and - no joke - filled everybody's cup but mine.
I told my dad about it. He didn't believe me. He said I was imagining it. I told him to watch, but not say anything.
She came out 3 more times and filled coffee cups at all tables and left mine empty.
Somewhere in here, my Dad and Uncle's friend, John, said to me, "I would tell you that maybe you'll learn to keep your mouth shut from now on, but I know your dad, so ..."
I love John. He's hilarious. Also, after breakfast, he asked if he could get one of the Petrow's world famous pecan rolls or something. He was told that the baker has fallen ill as of a month ago and so there are no pastries at Petrow's. It might be a good time to mention that Petrow's sucks.
Eventually, Ahab brought out a pot with less than a full cup left in it and poured the dregs into my cup and then without turning the pot up, walked away spilling coffee across the table and toward me. Active aggressive, much? I thought, all passive aggressive-like.
I used up a bunch of napkins sopping up the mess. I was Tebowing in my mind to the good lord above for providing me with so much blog fodder.
I was starting to get the feeling Ahab was trying to tell me something, but unfortunately, I already knew she was a stupid bitch, so the coffee spilling was a little redundant.
When the food came out, my dad insisted I try some of his hash browns.
They didn't look too good. They were more like "home fries" and looked to be undercooked. They were. Also, they weren't seasoned at all. They were just terrible. Jimmy's Egg has great hash browns, by the way.
Dad said, "You don't like this place, do you."
I said, "Only because it sucks ass."
Dad laughed.
"But thanks for paying," I said.
Full disclosure: I ordered some sort of a cholesterol nightmare biscuit/gravy/egg thing that was absolutely delicious.
Also - I'm never going back to Petrow's.
Now - it's personal.
Later that day, dad called me to say he was never going back to Petrow's. His hash browns were terrible and his eggs were cold.
"Maybe next time you'll listen to me," I said.
"There won't be a next time, cause I ain't going back," dad said.
"There's is one place I heard about that supposedly has pretty good hash browns. It's called "Get your ears checked"."
Disclaimer: Petrow's has not paid me for this advertisement.
Note: In Ahab's version of the story, my name is 'The Whale' or 'Moby-Dick' or just 'Dick.'
Sorry (Actually - Apology - they're different)
So here's the thing - poor planning has resulted in my recent lack of posts. I am going to have to change the due date. I will now publish on Wednesday nights. But I will post on Friday this week since Wednesday has already passed. Sometime after work tomorrow, I'll put words down. So look for it. It's gonna be great.
I'm not for sure what it's gonna be about. But I have already written the first sentence in my brain.
So there's that.
Here's what happened. On Thursdays, I go to Devo practice with Jack. After that, I tend to have to work if there's a deployment of new software.
Neither of these things happened last Thursday when I didn't post or even talk about not posting.
Last Thursday, it was too wet to ride off road around here. Last Thursday, there was no code deployment for me to put into place.
But I won a bunch of money in a golf pool the previous weekend and my brother-in-law stopped by to pay me.
Well after about a thousand beers, I started writing. I was going strong too. But my wife said, "You're not really going to try to write tonight are you?"
I was all, "Yeah. Why? Narf!"
She was all, "Cause you got your drunk on."
That was all I needed. I got up from the keyboard and watched TV. I also played some John Mellencamp song on my guitar. It sounded pretty good too. Although, it might not have been "My" guitar. There's a good chance I was actually playing it on my radio.
Geez, this apology is almost long enough to qualify as a post. But no. A promise is ...
So I'll get back to you tomorrow. Because this Thursday had the Devo and the Code Deployment (which I just finished at about 11:30). And a thousand beers, but anywho's. Have a nice day. I'll chat with you tomorrow. Good night.
Hmm? What? Oh, the sentence? Sure, I guess.
The first sentence from tomorrow's make up entry:
It's going to be a really really long blog post.
And one more thing. Here's a really old photo of my dad:
And what the hell. Here's last week's drunken beginning of a post ...
One time I was reading this book. It was a book called "American Psycho." Yeah, they made a movie out of it.
Anyway, there were some parts in it that were so gross that I thought there was actually something wrong with the guy who had written the story. I wondered if maybe a guy who writes that sort of thing has ...
1) actually done that disgusting stuff or otherwise how would he dream it up
or
2) is living out his sick fantasies through his writing,
I was reading this book I mentioned above when I got all freaked out by a certain passage about meat grinders or heads in the fridge or whatever, when Jill asked me if I needed to put the book in the freezer.
This was a reference to "Friends."
I didn't know the reference, but it turns out that Joey (from friends) would put a book in the freezer when something in it bothered him.
It's been many years since I've had a gross thought. I used to have them all the time. I would be in a group of people and think, "What's the most inappropriate I could say right now?"
It's a fantastic exercise. Free entertainment.
I haven't thought about it in years, but it started happening about 3 or 4 weeks ago.
I have realized that it is because I am now in a job I love. I have no idea what the correlation is between peace and the most vile thoughts ever, but
... It's at this point that I was so wisely interrupted by Jill saying something like "You're not really going to write ..." or whatever.
I'm not for sure what it's gonna be about. But I have already written the first sentence in my brain.
So there's that.
Here's what happened. On Thursdays, I go to Devo practice with Jack. After that, I tend to have to work if there's a deployment of new software.
Neither of these things happened last Thursday when I didn't post or even talk about not posting.
Last Thursday, it was too wet to ride off road around here. Last Thursday, there was no code deployment for me to put into place.
But I won a bunch of money in a golf pool the previous weekend and my brother-in-law stopped by to pay me.
Well after about a thousand beers, I started writing. I was going strong too. But my wife said, "You're not really going to try to write tonight are you?"
I was all, "Yeah. Why? Narf!"
She was all, "Cause you got your drunk on."
That was all I needed. I got up from the keyboard and watched TV. I also played some John Mellencamp song on my guitar. It sounded pretty good too. Although, it might not have been "My" guitar. There's a good chance I was actually playing it on my radio.
Geez, this apology is almost long enough to qualify as a post. But no. A promise is ...
So I'll get back to you tomorrow. Because this Thursday had the Devo and the Code Deployment (which I just finished at about 11:30). And a thousand beers, but anywho's. Have a nice day. I'll chat with you tomorrow. Good night.
Hmm? What? Oh, the sentence? Sure, I guess.
The first sentence from tomorrow's make up entry:
Call me Ishmael ...
It's going to be a really really long blog post.
And one more thing. Here's a really old photo of my dad:
 |
| It's a clip-on |
One time I was reading this book. It was a book called "American Psycho." Yeah, they made a movie out of it.
Anyway, there were some parts in it that were so gross that I thought there was actually something wrong with the guy who had written the story. I wondered if maybe a guy who writes that sort of thing has ...
1) actually done that disgusting stuff or otherwise how would he dream it up
or
2) is living out his sick fantasies through his writing,
I was reading this book I mentioned above when I got all freaked out by a certain passage about meat grinders or heads in the fridge or whatever, when Jill asked me if I needed to put the book in the freezer.
This was a reference to "Friends."
I didn't know the reference, but it turns out that Joey (from friends) would put a book in the freezer when something in it bothered him.
It's been many years since I've had a gross thought. I used to have them all the time. I would be in a group of people and think, "What's the most inappropriate I could say right now?"
It's a fantastic exercise. Free entertainment.
I haven't thought about it in years, but it started happening about 3 or 4 weeks ago.
I have realized that it is because I am now in a job I love. I have no idea what the correlation is between peace and the most vile thoughts ever, but
... It's at this point that I was so wisely interrupted by Jill saying something like "You're not really going to write ..." or whatever.
Thursday, May 07, 2015
No cheese at all
70 years ago today, Nazi Germany surrendered to the allies effectively ending Wednesday Night World War II (in Europe). The day was given a name. "Victory in Europe Day." But because people were every bit as lazy then as they are now, It was shortened to "V.E. Day."
My uncle was 3 days old on V.E. Day. His name is Victor. His middle initial is 'E.' Yeah, he was named for the end of World War II in Europe.
Had he been born later that year in say, August, he probably would have been named "Kaboom!" after V.J. Day.
I don't know if he had a temporary name before he was 3 days old. I don't know what he'd have been named if Nazi Germany had won. Maybe Vicklgruber?
What I do know is this. We celebrated uncle Vic's 70th birthday last Monday at Petrow's restaurant.
Petrow's opened up in Omaha to celebrate the beginning of the Korean War.
Petrow's is a good place to eat if you're old and your tongue doesn't work so well anymore.
It used to be a small place where you went to get ice cream or a sandwich or something.
Now it's a monstrosity that's always crowded, so you'd think it would be awesome to eat there.
The food I ate was pretty awful. I ordered one of the specials. It was called something like bacon cheddar pork tenderloin sandwich with your choice of fries or onion rings.
I just need to stop right here and apologize. This whole thing. From the history lesson, to what you're about to read (or quit reading) is yet another post about how much better my new job is than my last one was.
I should probably just go for it. Blast away with the truth about how horrible my experience was at the other place. Get it over with. I just can't seem to find the courage to put that kind of horror story to print though. So it comes out in hints and pieces. Hey - it's a process. I guess I'm just using this as therapy - while realizing that it is public and that prudence is most likely my best play in this situation.
While discussing my role at the new place with my manager, I am remembering what it is like to work at a sane, professional place.
The last place was so bizarre. If you asked for help or direction, you were told that you were a senior level person and you should just know what you're supposed to do.
We all knew that this was total bullshit and that the manager was only making excuses for his complete incompetence. But there was nowhere to go with it because his boss was behind him 100 percent. It was impossible.
The side effect of enduring this behavior for so many years is that now I'm a bit paranoid. The insane treatment is what I've come to accept as normal.
I have explained to my new boss that I'm reading into things she says too much and to be patient while I learn to take her words at face value.
She just laughs. It's the best medicine. It really is.
So I ordered mine with the onion rings. My brother-in-law Dave also ordered the special with the onion rings.
When the food came out, there were 2 onion rings on my plate. Dave's plate had 2 onion rings on it too. But his onion rings were on top of a pile of french fries.
Then the waiter "Tyler" realized he had made a mistake. He said to Dave, "Oh you wanted the onion rings, didn't you"
"Yes," Dave said.
"Um," I said.
Tyler looked at me with an innocent little question in his eyes.
"I also ordered onion rings," I said.
"Yes that comes with 2 onion rings."
"Or a pile of fries?" I asked.
"And two onion rings," corrected Tyler.
"I'm confused," I confessed.
Tyler stared at me, unsure of what was confusing.
"The special comes with fries or rings. The fries includes 2 rings. If you just order the rings, you don't get the fries."
"That's the stupidest thing I have ever heard," I said. "Does everybody who orders rings understand that? Because this is the only place in the world where what you just said is true."
At this point I knew I was completely correct but it didn't matter. There's simply no way to argue with a waiter without looking like a dick. I also realized that Tyler was in an abusive relationship with the cooks. He thought this onion ring insanity was completely normal.
Finally he said, "Would you like an order of onion rings in addition to the 2 that come with your sandwich?"
"Would that be like two more rings?" I asked.
This next part is true: Tyler said, "Yeah, probably." He was crying out for help. I am now kicking myself for not seeing it. All I could see was two onion rings on my plate. Selfish.
"No. I'll just take the pile of fries with the onion rings on top then."
After Tyler went away to fetch me a pile of fries, my mother, bless her dear heart, shouted from the other end of the table, "Fred - would you like the rest of my onion rings?"
Mom spent years in a certain kind of relationship, too.
When she offered the rings to me, my thought had a British accent. I was thinking, "That's what I'm on about."
"No mom. I don't want your rings. I want my rings."
"Just take them. They gave me way too many."
"Just rub it in, mom."
Then my brother Steve whispered in my ear, "What an enabler."
He was joking of course. As was I with the whole refusal of my mom's onion rings. I mean, no way in hell was I going to eat them and let Petrow's win. But I was still joking.
There was only one possible solution. Steve ate mom's "extra" rings.
We're a really deep 12 step family.
In the end, my tenderloin was too dry. The fries were too greasy. The rings were too few. The food was too suck.
Petrow's is stupid and when all of their customers die of old age in 30 minutes or so, Petrows' will be no more. So sad.
The only good thing is that Tyler will then be forced to take a job at another restaurant. For him, it will be just like my job change (Glorious). Especially if he gets a job at Mama's Pizza or something. That's how you pile on some onion rings.
Good on ya, Tyler.
My uncle was 3 days old on V.E. Day. His name is Victor. His middle initial is 'E.' Yeah, he was named for the end of World War II in Europe.
Had he been born later that year in say, August, he probably would have been named "Kaboom!" after V.J. Day.
I don't know if he had a temporary name before he was 3 days old. I don't know what he'd have been named if Nazi Germany had won. Maybe Vicklgruber?
What I do know is this. We celebrated uncle Vic's 70th birthday last Monday at Petrow's restaurant.
Petrow's opened up in Omaha to celebrate the beginning of the Korean War.
Petrow's is a good place to eat if you're old and your tongue doesn't work so well anymore.
It used to be a small place where you went to get ice cream or a sandwich or something.
Now it's a monstrosity that's always crowded, so you'd think it would be awesome to eat there.
The food I ate was pretty awful. I ordered one of the specials. It was called something like bacon cheddar pork tenderloin sandwich with your choice of fries or onion rings.
I just need to stop right here and apologize. This whole thing. From the history lesson, to what you're about to read (or quit reading) is yet another post about how much better my new job is than my last one was.
I should probably just go for it. Blast away with the truth about how horrible my experience was at the other place. Get it over with. I just can't seem to find the courage to put that kind of horror story to print though. So it comes out in hints and pieces. Hey - it's a process. I guess I'm just using this as therapy - while realizing that it is public and that prudence is most likely my best play in this situation.
While discussing my role at the new place with my manager, I am remembering what it is like to work at a sane, professional place.
The last place was so bizarre. If you asked for help or direction, you were told that you were a senior level person and you should just know what you're supposed to do.
We all knew that this was total bullshit and that the manager was only making excuses for his complete incompetence. But there was nowhere to go with it because his boss was behind him 100 percent. It was impossible.
The side effect of enduring this behavior for so many years is that now I'm a bit paranoid. The insane treatment is what I've come to accept as normal.
I have explained to my new boss that I'm reading into things she says too much and to be patient while I learn to take her words at face value.
She just laughs. It's the best medicine. It really is.
So I ordered mine with the onion rings. My brother-in-law Dave also ordered the special with the onion rings.
When the food came out, there were 2 onion rings on my plate. Dave's plate had 2 onion rings on it too. But his onion rings were on top of a pile of french fries.
Then the waiter "Tyler" realized he had made a mistake. He said to Dave, "Oh you wanted the onion rings, didn't you"
"Yes," Dave said.
"Um," I said.
Tyler looked at me with an innocent little question in his eyes.
"I also ordered onion rings," I said.
"Yes that comes with 2 onion rings."
"Or a pile of fries?" I asked.
"And two onion rings," corrected Tyler.
"I'm confused," I confessed.
Tyler stared at me, unsure of what was confusing.
"The special comes with fries or rings. The fries includes 2 rings. If you just order the rings, you don't get the fries."
"That's the stupidest thing I have ever heard," I said. "Does everybody who orders rings understand that? Because this is the only place in the world where what you just said is true."
At this point I knew I was completely correct but it didn't matter. There's simply no way to argue with a waiter without looking like a dick. I also realized that Tyler was in an abusive relationship with the cooks. He thought this onion ring insanity was completely normal.
Finally he said, "Would you like an order of onion rings in addition to the 2 that come with your sandwich?"
"Would that be like two more rings?" I asked.
This next part is true: Tyler said, "Yeah, probably." He was crying out for help. I am now kicking myself for not seeing it. All I could see was two onion rings on my plate. Selfish.
"No. I'll just take the pile of fries with the onion rings on top then."
After Tyler went away to fetch me a pile of fries, my mother, bless her dear heart, shouted from the other end of the table, "Fred - would you like the rest of my onion rings?"
Mom spent years in a certain kind of relationship, too.
When she offered the rings to me, my thought had a British accent. I was thinking, "That's what I'm on about."
"No mom. I don't want your rings. I want my rings."
"Just take them. They gave me way too many."
"Just rub it in, mom."
Then my brother Steve whispered in my ear, "What an enabler."
He was joking of course. As was I with the whole refusal of my mom's onion rings. I mean, no way in hell was I going to eat them and let Petrow's win. But I was still joking.
There was only one possible solution. Steve ate mom's "extra" rings.
We're a really deep 12 step family.
In the end, my tenderloin was too dry. The fries were too greasy. The rings were too few. The food was too suck.
Petrow's is stupid and when all of their customers die of old age in 30 minutes or so, Petrows' will be no more. So sad.
The only good thing is that Tyler will then be forced to take a job at another restaurant. For him, it will be just like my job change (Glorious). Especially if he gets a job at Mama's Pizza or something. That's how you pile on some onion rings.
Good on ya, Tyler.
Thursday, April 30, 2015
Well. Here we go again.
I've had this running joke that isn't funny or anything. It's a joke though. A real joke. As in "What a joke."
I won't go through the whole boring history, but I will summarize.
The joke is the headline of a blog post that reads "I'm back." Then the first line of the body usually says something like "But this time ... It's personal hygiene."
In the eighties, there was an awful Tom Cruise movie.
I should be more specific. In 1986, there was an awful Tom Cruise movie.
Damn. Still ambiguous. In 1986, there was an awful Tom Cruise movie about a young hothead pool hustler getting tutored by a character from a great Paul Newman movie from the 1960's.
The other 1986 Tom Cruise movie was called "Hot Shots!" or something.
But that's not important right now. What is important is that Paul Newman's character has been in forced retirement since the 1960's, but decides to train this incredibly talented young man.
Yeah - the same general plot can be seen in "Happy Gilmore" which is an infinitely superior film. So the main takeaway is this: Don't see "The Color of Money." See "Happy Gilmore."
Where was I? Oh yeah, I remember. At or near the end of the movie, Paul Newman kind of chalks his cue, smirky smiles, and says "I'm back!" as he strikes a rack of balls really really hard. I don't really know, but I wouldn't be surprised if the frame freezes just after the break begins and the credits roll. There's probably some shitty 80's sounding song from a band you've never heard of going on about "You can pick it up after you give it up," or some horrible thing like that. I can hear a tune in my head right now that is a pretty good representation of the ending song of just about every 80's movie. I can say for certain the song sucks and I'll never watch "The Color of Money" again. At least not with the sound on.
All of the times in the past when I've said "I'm back" - I was coming back from a voluntary layoff. Each time, I was sure I'd never quit again. But I have. Many times. Hence the "What a joke" joke
This time, I've been plagued with a sequence of injuries, mostly involving my back. But Paul Newman didn't say "My Back!"
So for the last several months, I've been forced to do fewer, shorter, easier rides. I've never quit altogether. I've maintained a level of fitness that - though relatively low - It's not like completely starting over.
I've got a pretty busy week these days, but have figured out a reasonable way to get the WNWs in. I went last night and it was actually surprisingly easy. Once I got dropped.
I had already told a couple of guys it was inevitable that I'd get dropped and to please, please not wait for me. I was just out for a ride.
I've probably talked about this before, so I'll try to keep it short here. It's amazing to me that when you're out of shape, you can't get as tired as you can when you're fit.
You don't have the fitness to go hard enough for long enough to get truly wiped out. I went as hard as I could for as long as I could to keep up. But when I was done, I was done. I pedalled home at a nice 20-23 (tail breeze) and enjoyed the beautiful spring evening.
I will go to WNW next week. Maybe I will hang on longer. Maybe I'll get dropped sooner. The great thing is I don't really care.
I first did Wednesday night rides um, like 15 years ago or so after a fairly successful RAGBRAI campaign. I went to either the High Gear Store in LaVista or Bike Masters in West Omaha.
Either way, I would get mercilessly dropped. Then I would get mad. Really mad. I would think things like "What a bunch of assholes. If I wanted to do this, I could just ride alone."
Then I'd be depressed for about 3 days and try to prepare for the following week. And over and over again.
I now see how ridiculous it is to get mad (at other people) about being dropped on a ride like that. But in the past, including the last couple of years, it's always bugged me at least a little bit.
Not anymore. It was a good ride. I can't wait until I'm good enough to tear myself inside out again trying to hang with those jerks (assholes).
I won't go through the whole boring history, but I will summarize.
The joke is the headline of a blog post that reads "I'm back." Then the first line of the body usually says something like "But this time ... It's personal hygiene."
In the eighties, there was an awful Tom Cruise movie.
I should be more specific. In 1986, there was an awful Tom Cruise movie.
Damn. Still ambiguous. In 1986, there was an awful Tom Cruise movie about a young hothead pool hustler getting tutored by a character from a great Paul Newman movie from the 1960's.
The other 1986 Tom Cruise movie was called "Hot Shots!" or something.
But that's not important right now. What is important is that Paul Newman's character has been in forced retirement since the 1960's, but decides to train this incredibly talented young man.
Yeah - the same general plot can be seen in "Happy Gilmore" which is an infinitely superior film. So the main takeaway is this: Don't see "The Color of Money." See "Happy Gilmore."
Where was I? Oh yeah, I remember. At or near the end of the movie, Paul Newman kind of chalks his cue, smirky smiles, and says "I'm back!" as he strikes a rack of balls really really hard. I don't really know, but I wouldn't be surprised if the frame freezes just after the break begins and the credits roll. There's probably some shitty 80's sounding song from a band you've never heard of going on about "You can pick it up after you give it up," or some horrible thing like that. I can hear a tune in my head right now that is a pretty good representation of the ending song of just about every 80's movie. I can say for certain the song sucks and I'll never watch "The Color of Money" again. At least not with the sound on.
All of the times in the past when I've said "I'm back" - I was coming back from a voluntary layoff. Each time, I was sure I'd never quit again. But I have. Many times. Hence the "What a joke" joke
This time, I've been plagued with a sequence of injuries, mostly involving my back. But Paul Newman didn't say "My Back!"
So for the last several months, I've been forced to do fewer, shorter, easier rides. I've never quit altogether. I've maintained a level of fitness that - though relatively low - It's not like completely starting over.
I've got a pretty busy week these days, but have figured out a reasonable way to get the WNWs in. I went last night and it was actually surprisingly easy. Once I got dropped.
I had already told a couple of guys it was inevitable that I'd get dropped and to please, please not wait for me. I was just out for a ride.
I've probably talked about this before, so I'll try to keep it short here. It's amazing to me that when you're out of shape, you can't get as tired as you can when you're fit.
You don't have the fitness to go hard enough for long enough to get truly wiped out. I went as hard as I could for as long as I could to keep up. But when I was done, I was done. I pedalled home at a nice 20-23 (tail breeze) and enjoyed the beautiful spring evening.
I will go to WNW next week. Maybe I will hang on longer. Maybe I'll get dropped sooner. The great thing is I don't really care.
I first did Wednesday night rides um, like 15 years ago or so after a fairly successful RAGBRAI campaign. I went to either the High Gear Store in LaVista or Bike Masters in West Omaha.
Either way, I would get mercilessly dropped. Then I would get mad. Really mad. I would think things like "What a bunch of assholes. If I wanted to do this, I could just ride alone."
Then I'd be depressed for about 3 days and try to prepare for the following week. And over and over again.
I now see how ridiculous it is to get mad (at other people) about being dropped on a ride like that. But in the past, including the last couple of years, it's always bugged me at least a little bit.
Not anymore. It was a good ride. I can't wait until I'm good enough to tear myself inside out again trying to hang with those jerks (assholes).
Thursday, April 23, 2015
Oh boy
So last night I knew I would be extremely tight on time for posting some crap tonight. I did the smart thing and sat down to write the blog on Wednesday night rather than the traditional Thursday night.
Well, after about 90 minutes of alternating between web/facebook surfing and staring at a blank page, I decided to call it quits and watch a couple of gruesome episodes of Daredevil.
[Maybe] I'm just getting old, but I enjoy the series. I could go with a lot less graphic violence though.
Anyway, yeah I drew a complete blank last night and still don't have anything. The difference is that tonight, I also don't have any time.
Rather than just ramble on about nothing, I will leave you with this small unsatisfying note and a promise.
Maybe I will write something this weekend. I promise that maybe I will. Maybe I will just wait until next week. But in the meantime, I will mention a couple of things about the Television shows that I watch regularly.
I watch Vikings. I like this one quite a bit.
Justified is done now. It was perhaps one of the most satisfying series finales I've ever seen. Breaking Bad was probably a better ending - but Justified was a much better show overall.
Dexter was a great show that went 2 seasons too long and its ending was just the worst.
I think that's ALL i WATCH RIGHT NOW! Sorry for yelling. I accidentally nabbed the CAPS LOCK.
So Daredevil and Vikings. I also watch "Orange is the new Black," and "Game of Thrones" but they're not on right now. Well, Game of Thrones might be, but don't have HBO. I just watch it when the VHS tapes of it come out.
So there you have it. I promise to maybe write something someday.
Also, Munson got his dumb ass hit by a car. Get well soon, buddy. We must go riding again. Good Job!
Well, after about 90 minutes of alternating between web/facebook surfing and staring at a blank page, I decided to call it quits and watch a couple of gruesome episodes of Daredevil.
[Maybe] I'm just getting old, but I enjoy the series. I could go with a lot less graphic violence though.
Anyway, yeah I drew a complete blank last night and still don't have anything. The difference is that tonight, I also don't have any time.
Rather than just ramble on about nothing, I will leave you with this small unsatisfying note and a promise.
Maybe I will write something this weekend. I promise that maybe I will. Maybe I will just wait until next week. But in the meantime, I will mention a couple of things about the Television shows that I watch regularly.
I watch Vikings. I like this one quite a bit.
Justified is done now. It was perhaps one of the most satisfying series finales I've ever seen. Breaking Bad was probably a better ending - but Justified was a much better show overall.
Dexter was a great show that went 2 seasons too long and its ending was just the worst.
I think that's ALL i WATCH RIGHT NOW! Sorry for yelling. I accidentally nabbed the CAPS LOCK.
So Daredevil and Vikings. I also watch "Orange is the new Black," and "Game of Thrones" but they're not on right now. Well, Game of Thrones might be, but don't have HBO. I just watch it when the VHS tapes of it come out.
So there you have it. I promise to maybe write something someday.
Also, Munson got his dumb ass hit by a car. Get well soon, buddy. We must go riding again. Good Job!
Thursday, April 16, 2015
I Got Nothing
To say "I've got nothing" just doesn't sound right. I mean, it sounds right as far as English goes, but if you're saying "I give up," It feels more colloquially appropriate to say "I got nothing."
The first thing you might think when you see that title is "Oh crap, It's another one of these where he got nothing." (See what I did there?)
But no. I have something. Its just that I have no good answer to what possible circumstances led to the fragment of conversation I heard Tuesday morning. I've been stewing over it for a couple of days and I still have no idea what situation could have logically led to the words I heard.
I will start with the conversation.
Underneath the Mutual, there's this network of tunnels. One of these tunnels goes on for about 2 city blocks and leads to The Dome.
Tuesday morning, I was walking toward The Dome via this tunnel. Walking toward me were a man and a woman dressed in custodial attire. They were talking.
"So, she's charging full price for beer that's a year old," said the woman.
Since it was Tuesday morning, my knee jerk thought was "Mmm, beer."
"Yeah, I know. And she has no problem with it," said the dude.
"Well I guess."
"Actually, she's getting paid twice for it."
And that was all I heard.
I got a little dizzy walking on to the dome. I was trying to think of what was the most likely scenario where these words would make sense. I was reminded of Lewis Black. He once talked about this phenomena of overhearing something that you cannot reconcile without proper context.
Something to do with a horse and college.
Actually, I just listened to this. It is much funnier than anything I could come up with, but what he talks about here is what I've been going through. I've been trying to figure out the meaning. It's been stuck in my head since I heard it.
Admittedly, the horse/college thing makes even less sense than the full price/paid twice beer thing - but here's what I figure happened Tuesday morning before I came along ...
By the way, I'm making all the names and stuff up (except where I'm not).
Cast:
Scoot, A Custodian
Tabitha, A Custodian
Skudlarek's, A package liquor store
Lady Skudlarek, Sole proprietress of Skudlarek's, a liquor store
"Rough night Scoot?"
"You know it."
"Hey - you wanna help me get some dome cleaning supplies and stuff? It's Tuesday."
"Ah shit Tabby, I got a real bangaroo. I don't know if I can ..."
"C'mon buddy. The exercise'll do you good."
"But it's clear down at the other end of the tunnel. Plus it's like 6:30. All those corporate S.O.B.s will be skipping their dumb lunchbox carrying asses toward us. We'll be like Salmon in a sea of assholes."
"You crack me up Scoot. C'mon."
"Fine. I gotta tell you about Bitch Skudlarek anyway."
"Uh Oh, what'd she do now."
"Ok, so I went in to grab a case of Natty, right? Anyways, I'm standing in line to pay and she's giving some kids crap about how they ain't old enough for the discount price. You know Lady S. Always shaking down the minors. I've seen it a million times."
"Yep."
"So, I'm standing there bored. I'm waiting for these kids to get a clue. Pay Lady Skudlarek enough, and she'll sell hooch to a baby. Shit. She oughta put a sign up. A mission statement of sorts. Anyways - while I'm waiting, I start reading the case of beer I'm holding like it's a box of cereal on Saturday morning. That when I notice it's got a "Born On" date.
"On Natty Light?!?"
"That's what I thought. But yeah. Well not a "Born On" date, per se. It says, and I quote, Best if enjoyed by March 1, 2014.
"Now I always buy my beer from there, so maybe it's always this old expired stuff and I never noticed. But I figure since Lady Skudlarek makes most of her profit from underage alkies, she can cut me a deal on this old-ass beer."
"It's the least she could do for a loyal customer like you, Scoot."
"Right?"
"So what happened?"
"So I finally get up there and set the case down. She says, 'Hey Scoot,' that'll be $8.74"
"'Funny,' I say, 'Seein's how this brew passed away a year ago.' Then I pointed out the expire date. She said, 'So what Scooter, you want the beer or doncha?'"
"I think you could give me a break on the price. I mean I know that once it's expired, the brewery pays you back for it."
Cube Note: I think there might be some truth to this if it were bread. I don't think it works with beer, though. Even if it did, I bet the distributor would take the product back. But what do I know? Now, back to Scoot and Tabitha ...
"Hey, check out this douche with his lunchbox," Tabitha said, pointing me out.
"Yeah," said scooter out of the side of his mouth, "Is that banana in your outer lunchbox pocket or are you just happy to see me?"
"Hardy har har," both said.
"Anyway ..." said Scoot.
"So, she's charging full price for beer that's a year old," said Tabitha.
"Yeah, I know. And she has no problem with it," said Scoot.
"Well I guess," submitted Tabitha
"Actually, she's getting paid twice for it," Scoot said.
"Well, here's the dome cleaning supply closet. Give me the key."
"I thought you had the key ..."
and sceeeeeeene!
Thursday, April 09, 2015
Routine
As of yesterday, I realized my new routine is set. Tomorrow ends three weeks of going to work at the new place but the finishing touches of the routine were just added after the Tuesday lunch incident.
The routine involves all of the things you do every work day that are not actually work, but are because of work.
By Wednesday of the first week, I had worked out the best route to and from the office.
On Thursday of the second week, I figured out the optimal place to park. Oh it's a good one, too.
But there was still the lunch problem. I have a lunch routine.
For lunch, I usually have a sandwich (on Rotella's bread) with either chicken, turkey or ham and swiss cheese, spicy mustard and horseradish sauce. I have an apple. I have a bowl of cherries and a bag of Sun chips. Sometimes, I have a banana.
I do not eat at my desk. I like to read whatever book I'm reading (currently "The Strangled Queen") while I eat my lunch, so a nice table some place I won't be disturbed is ideal.
At the old place, I always went into a break room that was farthest from my work area. The one right next to my desk had too many people I knew coming in and talking to me. I didn't want to talk to them. I was on lunch break. As far as I was concerned, talking to them was just like working.
So I went to the break room far away.
Sometimes people I knew would go into that break room and say, "Why are you clear down here?"
I'd say, "I was hoping to read for a few minutes without running into your dumb ass."
Now there's nobody at the new place that I dislike yet, but I'll be ready when there is, because I have my routine worked out.
For 2 weeks and 2 days, I had been unhappy with the lunch situation. I would go down to the big dome area. Almost all of the tables down there are designed for about 10 people. Finding a small table is next to impossible and sitting alone at a huge empty table feels awkward, but that's mostly what I've been doing.
On Tuesday, I was sitting alone at a huge table reading a book called "The Strangled Queen" when a woman (girl) sat down on the other side. No problem, I thought. I don't mind.
I had just opened up my lunch box and taken a bite from my ham and swiss on Rotella's with horseradish and spicy mustard, when the woman said at a near shout, "Ok, you want to do this right now?!? Because, I can be a bitch if that's how you want to play it."
Umm. What? I looked up mid-chew without moving my head. Oh - she was on the phone.
Ok, I can ignore this. With the slightest, almost imperceptible twitch of my head, I returned to my reading in a fascinating display of expert passive/agressiveness. I may have sighed a little, but I don't want to boast.
"So, then I told 'em, You know that Dr gave me them medications that make me go pee all the time."
Oh shit. I thought there's no way she doesn't know how annoying she is. I briefly considered if there was even anybody on the other end of the line.
Basically, she was complaining about some supervisor giving her crap for never being at her desk and how she doesn't need that shit and disrespect and yada yada yada. Ahh kids. They want respect. That's cute. Old people sold out years ago. We just want pay.
I knew I had to move. This conversation was not going to end. I had an idea for a book. "The Strangled Lazy Employee."
But I had a stupid problem. I was actually concerned about what it would look like when I packed up and moved to another table. I envisioned something like, "Hold on, baby. Hey! Where the hell are you going? Is my talking "bothering" you. Sit your ass back down."
Even though that scenario seemed a very real possibility, I steeled myself and gently, quietly, put my sandwich back in its bag. I put the sandwich, container of cherries, the apple and the unopened bag of Sun Chips back in my lunch box and slinked away from the table in shame.
But Cube, I hear you ask, what about the banana?
Valid question. First of all, there is not always a banana. Even though it's a routine, I do mix it up from time to time. But secondly if I put the banana inside with all the other stuff, it makes the bread taste like banana.
My lunch box has outer pockets on 2 sides (the front and back). Mr "Make your bread taste funny" gets relegated to one of those since he can't play nice.
So when I was packing up to move away from Princess Pees-Alot, the banana was still in the lunch box pocket dealy.
After lunch each day, I take the undergound passageway across Farnam street to get me a nice delicious double shot of espresso from the Starbuck's. I say, "Double Shot of espresso, please"
And they always cheerfully reply "Dope, yo!"
Even though I'm not into the kids' lingo, I'm happy that they are comfortable enough to address me as "Yo" and obviously approve of my excellent coffee choice as being "Dope."
Behind the Starbuck's is a Chik-Fil-A Express and a small quiet area with lots of empty small tables.
Cha-ching!
So starting yesterday, I sit there for lunch. When I'm finished reading, I walk up to the Starbuck's counter and order the espresso.
True story - Today, when I walked up to the counter and before I said anything, the kid greeted me with a hearty "Dope, Yo!"
"Hodor!" I replied.
I'm finally home.
The routine involves all of the things you do every work day that are not actually work, but are because of work.
By Wednesday of the first week, I had worked out the best route to and from the office.
On Thursday of the second week, I figured out the optimal place to park. Oh it's a good one, too.
But there was still the lunch problem. I have a lunch routine.
For lunch, I usually have a sandwich (on Rotella's bread) with either chicken, turkey or ham and swiss cheese, spicy mustard and horseradish sauce. I have an apple. I have a bowl of cherries and a bag of Sun chips. Sometimes, I have a banana.
I do not eat at my desk. I like to read whatever book I'm reading (currently "The Strangled Queen") while I eat my lunch, so a nice table some place I won't be disturbed is ideal.
At the old place, I always went into a break room that was farthest from my work area. The one right next to my desk had too many people I knew coming in and talking to me. I didn't want to talk to them. I was on lunch break. As far as I was concerned, talking to them was just like working.
So I went to the break room far away.
Sometimes people I knew would go into that break room and say, "Why are you clear down here?"
I'd say, "I was hoping to read for a few minutes without running into your dumb ass."
Now there's nobody at the new place that I dislike yet, but I'll be ready when there is, because I have my routine worked out.
For 2 weeks and 2 days, I had been unhappy with the lunch situation. I would go down to the big dome area. Almost all of the tables down there are designed for about 10 people. Finding a small table is next to impossible and sitting alone at a huge empty table feels awkward, but that's mostly what I've been doing.
On Tuesday, I was sitting alone at a huge table reading a book called "The Strangled Queen" when a woman (girl) sat down on the other side. No problem, I thought. I don't mind.
I had just opened up my lunch box and taken a bite from my ham and swiss on Rotella's with horseradish and spicy mustard, when the woman said at a near shout, "Ok, you want to do this right now?!? Because, I can be a bitch if that's how you want to play it."
Umm. What? I looked up mid-chew without moving my head. Oh - she was on the phone.
Ok, I can ignore this. With the slightest, almost imperceptible twitch of my head, I returned to my reading in a fascinating display of expert passive/agressiveness. I may have sighed a little, but I don't want to boast.
"So, then I told 'em, You know that Dr gave me them medications that make me go pee all the time."
Oh shit. I thought there's no way she doesn't know how annoying she is. I briefly considered if there was even anybody on the other end of the line.
Basically, she was complaining about some supervisor giving her crap for never being at her desk and how she doesn't need that shit and disrespect and yada yada yada. Ahh kids. They want respect. That's cute. Old people sold out years ago. We just want pay.
I knew I had to move. This conversation was not going to end. I had an idea for a book. "The Strangled Lazy Employee."
But I had a stupid problem. I was actually concerned about what it would look like when I packed up and moved to another table. I envisioned something like, "Hold on, baby. Hey! Where the hell are you going? Is my talking "bothering" you. Sit your ass back down."
Even though that scenario seemed a very real possibility, I steeled myself and gently, quietly, put my sandwich back in its bag. I put the sandwich, container of cherries, the apple and the unopened bag of Sun Chips back in my lunch box and slinked away from the table in shame.
But Cube, I hear you ask, what about the banana?
Valid question. First of all, there is not always a banana. Even though it's a routine, I do mix it up from time to time. But secondly if I put the banana inside with all the other stuff, it makes the bread taste like banana.
My lunch box has outer pockets on 2 sides (the front and back). Mr "Make your bread taste funny" gets relegated to one of those since he can't play nice.
So when I was packing up to move away from Princess Pees-Alot, the banana was still in the lunch box pocket dealy.
After lunch each day, I take the undergound passageway across Farnam street to get me a nice delicious double shot of espresso from the Starbuck's. I say, "Double Shot of espresso, please"
And they always cheerfully reply "Dope, yo!"
Even though I'm not into the kids' lingo, I'm happy that they are comfortable enough to address me as "Yo" and obviously approve of my excellent coffee choice as being "Dope."
Behind the Starbuck's is a Chik-Fil-A Express and a small quiet area with lots of empty small tables.
Cha-ching!
So starting yesterday, I sit there for lunch. When I'm finished reading, I walk up to the Starbuck's counter and order the espresso.
True story - Today, when I walked up to the counter and before I said anything, the kid greeted me with a hearty "Dope, Yo!"
"Hodor!" I replied.
I'm finally home.
Thursday, April 02, 2015
I need to get me 29 of them big huge foam hands with its big huge index finger extended.
Due to certain ideas of propriety and caution, I haven't talked nearly as much about my recent job change as I would have liked. Certainly, I've mentioned it much more than most people would care for, but I've wanted to really cut loose with some good old fashioned vitriol.
But I'm a professional.
After I put in my notice at the other place, I spent my last 2 weeks working there as hard as I ever had. I finished as much as I could, and I left on as good of terms as possible with the boneheads I reported to.
The day I received an offer from the new company was a Friday. I immediately sent a gracious notice to all who needed to know. My closest work colleague, the administrative assistant, my boss and his boss.
On Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, even though I had been in several meetings, nobody (except my colleague) had said anything to me at all about it.
Eventually, word got around and people started asking me where I was going.
One guy said, "Wow. Really? That place is worse than here. I guess you like people with their heads up their asses."
I'm not kidding. He really said that. Not "Good luck." or "congratulations."
My boss never said anything at all to me about it. He still hasn't. He just sort of ignored me until I wasn't there anymore.
I am telling you, this is a bizarre place.
Eventually, my boss's boss got around to acknowledging I was leaving. It was about Thursday of that first week. He asked me where I was going. When I told him he gave me a strange look. A look that was trying to tell me I was making a mistake, but only confirmed I needed to get the hell out of that horrible place.
"You seem surprised," I prodded.
"I am. I've just heard so many horror stories. I've gotten lots of calls from people who worked there and wanted to come here."
Ok.
I've been at the new place for 2 weeks tomorrow and I couldn't be happier. It is going well and I'm finally back in a professional place. We have a plan and stuff. I'm a part of that.
That was the main problem with where I was. They had their heads so far up ... Never mind.
When I started this job search about 6 months ago, I was mainly focused on 2 places. Both of them are in the list somebody sent me today. It is Forbes list of the top 500 Employers in the country.
The old company wasn't on the list. To be fair, this was only companies with 2500 or more employees. I don't know how many people work for the place I left, but I can't imagine 2500 people are stupid enough to work there. Except when I am riding my bike around and encounter aggressive motorists. Then I can imagine plenty of people stupid enough to work there.
Anyway, the list. I filtered the results to see which companies based in Omaha made the cut.
But I'm a professional.
After I put in my notice at the other place, I spent my last 2 weeks working there as hard as I ever had. I finished as much as I could, and I left on as good of terms as possible with the boneheads I reported to.
The day I received an offer from the new company was a Friday. I immediately sent a gracious notice to all who needed to know. My closest work colleague, the administrative assistant, my boss and his boss.
On Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, even though I had been in several meetings, nobody (except my colleague) had said anything to me at all about it.
Eventually, word got around and people started asking me where I was going.
One guy said, "Wow. Really? That place is worse than here. I guess you like people with their heads up their asses."
I'm not kidding. He really said that. Not "Good luck." or "congratulations."
My boss never said anything at all to me about it. He still hasn't. He just sort of ignored me until I wasn't there anymore.
I am telling you, this is a bizarre place.
Eventually, my boss's boss got around to acknowledging I was leaving. It was about Thursday of that first week. He asked me where I was going. When I told him he gave me a strange look. A look that was trying to tell me I was making a mistake, but only confirmed I needed to get the hell out of that horrible place.
"You seem surprised," I prodded.
"I am. I've just heard so many horror stories. I've gotten lots of calls from people who worked there and wanted to come here."
Ok.
I've been at the new place for 2 weeks tomorrow and I couldn't be happier. It is going well and I'm finally back in a professional place. We have a plan and stuff. I'm a part of that.
That was the main problem with where I was. They had their heads so far up ... Never mind.
When I started this job search about 6 months ago, I was mainly focused on 2 places. Both of them are in the list somebody sent me today. It is Forbes list of the top 500 Employers in the country.
The old company wasn't on the list. To be fair, this was only companies with 2500 or more employees. I don't know how many people work for the place I left, but I can't imagine 2500 people are stupid enough to work there. Except when I am riding my bike around and encounter aggressive motorists. Then I can imagine plenty of people stupid enough to work there.
Anyway, the list. I filtered the results to see which companies based in Omaha made the cut.
YPG.
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