Shim got me thinking today. That is 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.
Thursday, March 26, 2015
2 Broke Girls Fan Fiction
"So there's these 2 girls. They're broke. It might be because they are trying to do a sitcom. But anyway, the story as I understand it is that there's this one who is brunette and she has been brought up 'school of hard knocks' style. Then there's a blonde who grew up rich but her dad was a criminal or something.
"Then they had to both get jobs as waitresses with the MILF (but not anymore) and Garrett Morris," said some pitch man.
The rest is history. Or as they might say on the hit television series '2 Broke Girls,' "Herstory!"
So here's the rough draft of the fan fiction I'm going to send in to the producers of '2 broke girls.' I hope they use at least some of my ideas. because they are hilarious!
I don't know their names on the show, So I'm going to call the blonde one "Blondie" and the Brunette one "Shithead"
"Ok, it's coming," shouted Shithead to a griping customer. It was always the same with these extras. While she was busy trying to come up with snappy one-liners, her tables were bitching again.
"Dyn-o-mite!" said Garett Morris.
"Hnaw Hnaw" said the horny MILF (not so much anymore).
Then there was like this Russian cook or owner or something. He came out from the kitchen and said to the ex-MILF, "My love for you is ticking clock. Berserker!"
While all of the hilarity was ensuing, Travis Bickle walked in to the diner and sat at a booth in the back. He had the whole mohawk and army jacket thing going on.
"I call him," said shithead.
"You take him. He looks like a nutcase!" said Blondie.
Shithead couldn't believe her luck. Sure, he looked a little crazy, but she liked it that way. She knew she could charm this loser.
"Whadya have handsome?" she asked Bickle.
"You talkin' to me, shitheel?" DeNiro said.
"Shithead, actually," corrected Shithead.
"Well your dead now, bitch!"
Shithead turned to Blondie to deliver the hilarious line, "On second thought, he's all yours." She was walking back to the counter when Travis Bickle approached her from behind and a single shot rang out. The people at the counter watched in horror as the pool of crimson spread across the front of Shithead's golden nylon uniform.
Shithead dropped to the floor. Because she was dead.
There was a mass panic as extras took cover from the madman.
Travis Bickle calmly stepped over the body, walked to the front and slapped a quarter onto the counter.
"For the mess," he explained and walked out of the diner and into the street.
To anyone watching from outside, Travis looked just like a 1970's version of Robert DeNiro. He shot a wry smile at an aging Cybill Shepherd. She was wearing that same old red dress. "Hey Betsy," he said as he raised his hand and pressed a button on a handheld remote of some kind.
When the diner exploded into a million billion pieces killing not only everyone inside who remained alive, but also all of the cast and crew and writers and cameramen and people who called in sick that day, Travis couldn't have looked more pleased.
"My hero!" exclaimed Betsy, hair blown back from the blast. Travis took her in his arms and they lived happily ever after.
---
This Post FAQ
Q: So Cube - is this some sort of analogy or anagram or something for life?
A: No. It is not. It's really about starting a new job.
Q: We don't get it.
A: That's not a question.
Q: Did you really hate your old job that much?
A: Excellent frequently asked question. I hated it as much as anyone could ever hate a job. But no. Not as much as I hate the hit comedy TV series "2 Broke Girls"
Q: Aren't you being a little ...
A: No more questions.
"Then they had to both get jobs as waitresses with the MILF (but not anymore) and Garrett Morris," said some pitch man.
The rest is history. Or as they might say on the hit television series '2 Broke Girls,' "Herstory!"
So here's the rough draft of the fan fiction I'm going to send in to the producers of '2 broke girls.' I hope they use at least some of my ideas. because they are hilarious!
I don't know their names on the show, So I'm going to call the blonde one "Blondie" and the Brunette one "Shithead"
"Ok, it's coming," shouted Shithead to a griping customer. It was always the same with these extras. While she was busy trying to come up with snappy one-liners, her tables were bitching again.
"Dyn-o-mite!" said Garett Morris.
"Hnaw Hnaw" said the horny MILF (not so much anymore).
Then there was like this Russian cook or owner or something. He came out from the kitchen and said to the ex-MILF, "My love for you is ticking clock. Berserker!"
While all of the hilarity was ensuing, Travis Bickle walked in to the diner and sat at a booth in the back. He had the whole mohawk and army jacket thing going on.
"I call him," said shithead.
"You take him. He looks like a nutcase!" said Blondie.
Shithead couldn't believe her luck. Sure, he looked a little crazy, but she liked it that way. She knew she could charm this loser.
"Whadya have handsome?" she asked Bickle.
"You talkin' to me, shitheel?" DeNiro said.
"Shithead, actually," corrected Shithead.
"Well your dead now, bitch!"
Shithead turned to Blondie to deliver the hilarious line, "On second thought, he's all yours." She was walking back to the counter when Travis Bickle approached her from behind and a single shot rang out. The people at the counter watched in horror as the pool of crimson spread across the front of Shithead's golden nylon uniform.
Shithead dropped to the floor. Because she was dead.
There was a mass panic as extras took cover from the madman.
Travis Bickle calmly stepped over the body, walked to the front and slapped a quarter onto the counter.
"For the mess," he explained and walked out of the diner and into the street.
To anyone watching from outside, Travis looked just like a 1970's version of Robert DeNiro. He shot a wry smile at an aging Cybill Shepherd. She was wearing that same old red dress. "Hey Betsy," he said as he raised his hand and pressed a button on a handheld remote of some kind.
When the diner exploded into a million billion pieces killing not only everyone inside who remained alive, but also all of the cast and crew and writers and cameramen and people who called in sick that day, Travis couldn't have looked more pleased.
"My hero!" exclaimed Betsy, hair blown back from the blast. Travis took her in his arms and they lived happily ever after.
---
This Post FAQ
Q: So Cube - is this some sort of analogy or anagram or something for life?
A: No. It is not. It's really about starting a new job.
Q: We don't get it.
A: That's not a question.
Q: Did you really hate your old job that much?
A: Excellent frequently asked question. I hated it as much as anyone could ever hate a job. But no. Not as much as I hate the hit comedy TV series "2 Broke Girls"
Q: Aren't you being a little ...
A: No more questions.
Thursday, March 19, 2015
One minute of my afternoon
Today I went to an orientation for my new job that starts on Monday. I was meeting with the orientation folks at noon to go over a bunch of information about the company. This meeting went until about 1 PM or so.
After the meeting, I realized I needed to get some lunch. So I went to get some lunch. When I sat down to enjoy my tasty lunch I checked my email on my iPhone.
Tomorrow is my last day at the old company and we're trying to make sure that the people taking over my stuff know where to find it and how to use it and everything.
There was a question to me in the email about one of my services. I decided it would be best if I answered the question right then and there instead of waiting to get back from orientation/lunch. I had already been gone for about 2 hours at this point, so I crafted my reply.
Apple's iOS has this neat thing where when you start typing a word, it tries to guess what you're typing by context. It's pretty good at it too.
In this message, I typed "He" and the word I wanted "Hey" was there. After I selected it, three new words showed up for input( "I", "you", "I'm"). Siri is quite often correct about this. I've had times where it guessed three or four words in a row correctly before I even typed anything. The next word was "I" which Siri guessed.
So that's pretty cool. Another cool thing is that if you're texting a person who has an iPhone, iOS tries to use "iMessage." I don't really care if cellular or wi-fi is used, what I like is that the text balloons are a friendly blue color when you text an iPhoner. Otherwise, they're a stupid green. Jobs was quite the marketing genius.
But what's not cool is that Apple has iOS updates every few weeks. It seems like every time there's an update, the predictive texting feature and the iMessage (blue balloons, remember) gets shut off.
So since I updated my phone the other day, when I was responding to the work email, I noticed I didn't get all of the time saving guesses.
I went into the settings and it was on (it always is) but the marketing genius makes you turn it off and back on again.
Next, I wanted to test it. I had already sent the email, so I just went into "Messages" and began to compose a test message. I hit the name of a contact from my recent texts and typed "ddd"
I then accidentally sent it (corrected to "Did"): The rest happened in less than a minute total. Gosh, I love technology:
After the meeting, I realized I needed to get some lunch. So I went to get some lunch. When I sat down to enjoy my tasty lunch I checked my email on my iPhone.
Tomorrow is my last day at the old company and we're trying to make sure that the people taking over my stuff know where to find it and how to use it and everything.
There was a question to me in the email about one of my services. I decided it would be best if I answered the question right then and there instead of waiting to get back from orientation/lunch. I had already been gone for about 2 hours at this point, so I crafted my reply.
Apple's iOS has this neat thing where when you start typing a word, it tries to guess what you're typing by context. It's pretty good at it too.
In this message, I typed "He" and the word I wanted "Hey" was there. After I selected it, three new words showed up for input( "I", "you", "I'm"). Siri is quite often correct about this. I've had times where it guessed three or four words in a row correctly before I even typed anything. The next word was "I" which Siri guessed.
So that's pretty cool. Another cool thing is that if you're texting a person who has an iPhone, iOS tries to use "iMessage." I don't really care if cellular or wi-fi is used, what I like is that the text balloons are a friendly blue color when you text an iPhoner. Otherwise, they're a stupid green. Jobs was quite the marketing genius.
But what's not cool is that Apple has iOS updates every few weeks. It seems like every time there's an update, the predictive texting feature and the iMessage (blue balloons, remember) gets shut off.
So since I updated my phone the other day, when I was responding to the work email, I noticed I didn't get all of the time saving guesses.
I went into the settings and it was on (it always is) but the marketing genius makes you turn it off and back on again.
Next, I wanted to test it. I had already sent the email, so I just went into "Messages" and began to compose a test message. I hit the name of a contact from my recent texts and typed "ddd"
I then accidentally sent it (corrected to "Did"): The rest happened in less than a minute total. Gosh, I love technology:
Thursday, March 12, 2015
The Angriest
So after many (7) years of just the most fabulous work experience a guy could hope for, it's time for me to move on.
Don't get me wrong. I love my current job so much that I would never think of leaving under normal circumstances. Those guys at the company are a real stand up group. I've grown and learned so much about life and the world during my tenure that it makes me go all woozy just thinking about how much I love each and every one of them.
"If that's the case cube, why are you leaving?"
Exactly.
Actually, it's because of the one thing you can get free of charge just about every time you get a new job. Free Drug Test!
Many years ago, I bought a handgun. It was a real nice handgun. A Kimber TLE II. Real nice.
I had to go downtown to the police station to register the gun. That's the only time I have been in there. It was quite an experience. I was glad to have a handgun with me.
There were a lot of people there in addition to the people who worked there. They were either visiting a loser friend or relative or bailing out a loser friend or relative.
I was sitting there quietly waiting for my number to be called. The woman behind the glass would be talking to somebody and somebody else would walk in and interrupt, "Yeah I came here to bail out my cousin."
"Please take a number sir," the woman instructed.
"I got all the money. I can pay now."
"Sir, please just take a number."
"That's some bullshit."
And so on.
Finally my number was called and I then got to wait because their "Gun registration database" was down. Whatever. I was thinking they could just take the form I had filled out and then enter it when the "database" "comes back up"
They were thinking I could just go home and come back. I decided to wait.
While I waited, cousin dumbass was called to the window to pay bail for cousin loser.
The lady looked up the name and said, "Ok that's $750.00"
"Holy shit," I thought, "this kid had $750 dollars." I was surprised.
"$750.00!" He said, "When I called, they said it was going to be $685.00."
Now I have never worked in any sort of law enforcement so I am unaware of the crafty fibs people often tell. But I remember being certain the guy was lying about the $685 thing. Then he said he thought it was really supposed to be $685.00 and the woman behind the glass was going to pocket the rest. That didn't work out too well for him. Jesus, people are stupid.
So the next thing that happened was a mad scramble to scrape up the $65 dollars they were short for the bail. Cars were checked. Friends were called.
In the end, Dumbass came up with a final offer of $722.45 or something like that.
He argued that she should take that amount and release the cousin. She argued that "No."
So they eventually left incarcerated cousin in jail and the gun registration database "came back up" and I walked out of the police station carrying a .45 semi-automatic.
That ended up being more than I wanted to say. Basically, the police station was full of really really stupid people.
Just like the lab where people are getting drug tested.
My appointment was for yesterday at 12:15 PM. You can just walk in and wait if you'd like, but they "Strongly recommend" you schedule an appointment.
When I walked into the lobby of the drug test place there were 5 other people in there. There was Anthony, Tawny and three of Tawny's children under the age of 5. I don't know how many children Tawny has under the age of 5, but 3 of them were with her.
There was nobody at the desk/window. Just a big sign that said "Sign In" which I did.
Then a woman came to the window. It was not the same woman from the police station, but I'm guessing if you can do the one, you can do the other (job - not woman).
"Tawny!" called the no nonsense voice from the other side of the window. The voice that's heard it all.
Tawny went to the window. Tawny is one of those people that thinks she's funny. Like sassy/funny. Also, she thinks people are entertained by her sass/humor, so she's loud enough for all to hear even if they are sleeping or something.
Maybe people are endeared to this disgusting woman and her ridiculous manner (Case in point: at least 3 kids under age 5).
No Nonsense said to Tawny "Will you be able to give a sample today?"
"Oh man. Will I ever! I ain't pissed all day! My bladder is fin' to burst!" She said all loud and stuff.
"Just step over to the door and I will open it for you," Said the receptionist/lab tech.
"Mama, can I come with you please," said the sweet two year old with a very hard life ahead of her.
"No you ain't comin' with me you little shit! I'm going to pee! I don't need nobody holdin' my hand!"
"Nice," I muttered.
Two minutes later, Tawny came back out with a cup of water. I guess her bladder wasn't quite 'fin' to burst after all. I guess she did need to hold a hand, etc.
She drank the cup and asked for more claiming a desire to get "the show on the road."
That's when the lab tech made me want to switch jobs to lab tech. "No!" she shouted. "I told you, no more than 6 ounces every 30 minutes. Maybe next time you'll learn to manage your hydration!"
Some time between when Tawny went in and out of the lab, a couple of women entered, signed in and waited.
"Anthony!" the lab tech called.
When he got to the window, she said, "I'll need to see your I.D."
"Oh shit!" said one of the newcomers, "I didn't bring my I.D."
That's when I realized that there are plenty of reasons people get randomly drug tested. Maybe these people really are on drugs and that's why they seem like idiots. But I like to think they are idiots and their bosses are just hoping they are on drugs.
Now if you'll excuse me, my bladder is fin to burst.
Friday, March 06, 2015
The itch (or horrible rash)
Seven years ago tomorrow, I posted this.
It was a Friday. I turned in my 2 week notice on that day. I began at the company on March 24, 2008. I begin at my new company on March 23 2015.
If you'd have told me back then that I'd make it 7 years at the company, I would have never believed you. And I'd have been right. 6 years and 364 days. How sweet it is.
Last year, Jack and I did some cross races. Among our favorite was the MoO race. Well I'm proud to say I hope to represent next year in a big way.
It was a Friday. I turned in my 2 week notice on that day. I began at the company on March 24, 2008. I begin at my new company on March 23 2015.
If you'd have told me back then that I'd make it 7 years at the company, I would have never believed you. And I'd have been right. 6 years and 364 days. How sweet it is.
Last year, Jack and I did some cross races. Among our favorite was the MoO race. Well I'm proud to say I hope to represent next year in a big way.
Thursday, March 05, 2015
I o U
I know, I know. It's post night. I have started this a couple of times tonight and unfortunately, both attempts were excellent. I mean, that was really some top notch stuff there. So good, in fact, that I decided to hang on to them until I could do them justice.
Obviously, the stuff I normally spew out on these pages takes no more than an hour once I get going. And that's ok. But once in a while, the idea takes a good 65 or 70 minutes to get just right. I just don't have that kind of time right now (I'm sleepy).
So I'll tell you what I'll do. I'm going to go to bed. Then in the morning (or in a few weeks) I'll post something.
Most likely - I will go with one of the partially developed posts from tonight. I just need more time to make it bloody enough to be acceptable. Thank you for understanding.
Thursday, February 26, 2015
Oh, now I remember
A few years ago, my daughter would come home each Summer from college. On most nights she was busy with friends or work but sometimes she'd hang out with Jill and me and watch a movie. Throughout the movie, she did this annoying thing. About every 30 seconds or so her cell phone would buzz, indicating a new text message.
She would glance at the message and resume the movie watching while tapping away at her phone. It was pretty impressive. She didn't have a smart phone. She texted with the number pad (click '3' twice for 'e', etc).
I was amazed and annoyed. "You have a perfectly good phone in your hand. But you insist on using it as a newfangled telegraph machine."
It made no sense to me then, but lately I find myself texting more and more. A text message is generally more appropriate for most of the communicating I do. Phone courtesy is a bit of a chore when you just need to say, "Lunch. 12:30. Applebee's"
Granted, if you send me a text telling me you're having lunch at Applebee's, not only will I not join you, but I will have no choice but to assume your tongue has been in some horrible accident.
Then I can simply send a message back like, "Dammit. I'd love to, but my tongue still works."
The conversation is over. We didn't have to do all the "How's it going" crap. We can talk about that some time over a nice Velveeta and cardboard lunch.
So yeah - most of the time, I'd rather text than call. Yesterday, I realized why.
When old people think of phones, it is not cell phones. It's the kind that work right.
With a phone, both people can talk at the same time and hear each other. I did telemarketing for about 4 years or so. I was quite adept at phone conversation. When I first tried to use a cell phone it was so strange I couldn't believe it would catch on. You can't hear your own voice in the earpiece so if you get disconnected, you might just keep on talking. There's no clue the other person is gone.
If one of you is in a noisy or windy place, forget about it. Cell phones work like voice activated walkie-talkies. If you both start talking at the same time, you'll both stop and say "go ahead" at the same time. Then you'll both try to talk and so on.
Real phones were pretty cool about letting 2 people talk at the same time. Also, good old regular low tech phones could even do "party lines." A cell phone would start crying if you tried that.
Conference calls didn't used to always be a total nightmare. They are now. But most of that is completely unrelated to the phone.
Honestly though, I like my phone. The little idiosyncrasies of cell phones are far outweighed by their convenience. I like that I can always be in touch with everybody. I can always look up information or get an address. I often leave the house without knowing exactly where I'm going. I just ask my phone on the way. How cool is that?
So I can deal with the goofy voice interface of cell phones, but there's one thing we've lost that I fear we've lost for good.
The satisfying hang-up. God, I used to love those. You get mad at someone and you don't have to say anything at all. You just slam that receiver against the cradle as hard as you can. Now that's some non-verbal communication there, boy. Nothing sweeter.
Hang up on somebody like that with a cell phone. They'll just assume the call got dropped and call you right back. You have to somehow let them know the conversation is over. You have to say something like, "Well you could have mentioned it earlier! Bye!" and gently press the button to end the call so as not to crack the screen of your little pussy phone.
Just not the same.
I realized this when I was telling Jill about hanging up on somebody the other day. She said, "Did he even know you hung up on him?"
That's it. I think I'll write a "Hang-Up" app. Bye!
She would glance at the message and resume the movie watching while tapping away at her phone. It was pretty impressive. She didn't have a smart phone. She texted with the number pad (click '3' twice for 'e', etc).
I was amazed and annoyed. "You have a perfectly good phone in your hand. But you insist on using it as a newfangled telegraph machine."
It made no sense to me then, but lately I find myself texting more and more. A text message is generally more appropriate for most of the communicating I do. Phone courtesy is a bit of a chore when you just need to say, "Lunch. 12:30. Applebee's"
Granted, if you send me a text telling me you're having lunch at Applebee's, not only will I not join you, but I will have no choice but to assume your tongue has been in some horrible accident.
Then I can simply send a message back like, "Dammit. I'd love to, but my tongue still works."
The conversation is over. We didn't have to do all the "How's it going" crap. We can talk about that some time over a nice Velveeta and cardboard lunch.
So yeah - most of the time, I'd rather text than call. Yesterday, I realized why.
When old people think of phones, it is not cell phones. It's the kind that work right.
With a phone, both people can talk at the same time and hear each other. I did telemarketing for about 4 years or so. I was quite adept at phone conversation. When I first tried to use a cell phone it was so strange I couldn't believe it would catch on. You can't hear your own voice in the earpiece so if you get disconnected, you might just keep on talking. There's no clue the other person is gone.
If one of you is in a noisy or windy place, forget about it. Cell phones work like voice activated walkie-talkies. If you both start talking at the same time, you'll both stop and say "go ahead" at the same time. Then you'll both try to talk and so on.
Real phones were pretty cool about letting 2 people talk at the same time. Also, good old regular low tech phones could even do "party lines." A cell phone would start crying if you tried that.
Conference calls didn't used to always be a total nightmare. They are now. But most of that is completely unrelated to the phone.
Honestly though, I like my phone. The little idiosyncrasies of cell phones are far outweighed by their convenience. I like that I can always be in touch with everybody. I can always look up information or get an address. I often leave the house without knowing exactly where I'm going. I just ask my phone on the way. How cool is that?
So I can deal with the goofy voice interface of cell phones, but there's one thing we've lost that I fear we've lost for good.
The satisfying hang-up. God, I used to love those. You get mad at someone and you don't have to say anything at all. You just slam that receiver against the cradle as hard as you can. Now that's some non-verbal communication there, boy. Nothing sweeter.
Hang up on somebody like that with a cell phone. They'll just assume the call got dropped and call you right back. You have to somehow let them know the conversation is over. You have to say something like, "Well you could have mentioned it earlier! Bye!" and gently press the button to end the call so as not to crack the screen of your little pussy phone.
Just not the same.
I realized this when I was telling Jill about hanging up on somebody the other day. She said, "Did he even know you hung up on him?"
That's it. I think I'll write a "Hang-Up" app. Bye!
Thursday, February 19, 2015
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