November 30th 6:26AM
Aftermath
The project spilled over into Monday, if you can believe it. But it finally got done. In the hustle and bustle, I lost my wedding ring, having removed it because it pinched when using the tools I used. I had hoped it would turn up, but no such luck.
I had also hoped all the activity and grunting labor would allow me to lose a few pounds, as it has in the past, but alas and again, no such luck. Holding steady at 205. It's my own fault, my diet has been fairly shameful.
November 27th 6:06AM
Not according to plan
Body... wracked with fatigue.
Sense of humor... nearly expended.
Project... woefully incomplete.
I am working with a group of people to whom the literal translation and spirit of the acronym "ETA" are either unknown or unimportant. The project is stunted and out of control, with the desired finish being wistfully imagined sometime this afternoon, rather than yesterday evening. I have considered quitting, but can't bring myself to do it.
Happy to be awake
In other news, I had a nightmare last night that I still worked for my most recent employer, and was still subjected to the asinine, unimaginative, bullshit management "style" of my direct supervisor. I haven't been this happy to be awake in a long time. Whew.
November 26th 6:06AM
Jogging is for sissies
That's right, I said it. For all the times I've huffed and puffed (and gagged and spit and feared my chest would implode) my way through a two mile run, it is nothing compared to the prison-camp labor of augmenting and reshaping the greater portion of my backyard.
I was suckered into it by both the shame of being unemployed (which softened me up to be summoned for the task) and by the promise of a finite project, that being building a horse shelter. Two holes, some concrete and banging some nails - poof, I'm a hero, and I retire for the weekend to drink beer and retell the tale of what a stud you had to be to dig two holes big enough for the railroad ties we planted in them.
Flimflammed, bamboozled, I didn't land on Plymouth Rock, Plymouth Rock landed on me
But I was had. Once I got out there, the only rain we've had in 6 months fell on me, and turned the land to a gooey red Fun House attraction. I slipped dozens of times, and fell about six. Each fall was alternately funny and frustrating. Once or twice, my feet shot out from under me like they were shot out of a cannon. I looked around for the unseen prankster, but found none. I am convinced it was God, entertaining himself before the Christmas rush and New Year's conversions and repentance. Good one Lord; yes, very funny.
But as I said, I was suckered like a gringo in a Tijuana back-alley.
I set out in the rain to dig what began to look more and more like my own grave in the rocky red clay and silt that passes for earth in this region. My wife told me I was fortunate to have encountered an entire half-inch of dirt before crashing haltingly and punishingly into the nearly-impenetrable sedimentary rock that composes about 80% of the ground around here. Ah, yes, lucky indeed was I - the thin layer of dust that settles over the solid granite in my backyard. Calaveras topsoil.
I used the dreaded trick pickaxe my Dad gave me several weeks ago, and was very lucky to have it, although as my daughter found out, if you absently hold it upright, the metal head of the thing slides down the handle and slams into your clasped hands like a dull guillotine. My daughter found this out before I remembered to warn her, and her mouth stretched open wide in surprise and pain, much like mine did when I learned of the pickaxe's terrible secret. Ah, we all live and learn. What's important is that we do it together. And that we get to watch each other suffer. That makes it fun, too.
Hey, don't look at me like that. Don't think she didn't giggle like an evil schoolgirl when Daddy went boom like a drunken clown on ice skates throughout the day. I know she did, and I don't hold it against her.
God bless family, and all the free labor they provide
I got about 70% through the first hole, and my Father-in-Law showed up with his rowdy, four-wheel drive tractor, which was advertisedly to be used to dig the hole I had nearly finished, and its little brother. But once he got there, there was too much rock to dig and too much mud to position the tractor, so it didn't dig an inch.
So as not to waste the appearance and use of the aforementioned Pops and his ecologically destructive machine, another plan was hatched, or breech-birthed, if you prefer. The hazy and partially formed desires of my wife for a flatter, more useful area to work with her horses and handle drainage came roaring to the forefront, and burst into my life like a high school football team crashes through that paper-covered hoop before the Big Game, loud and eager and barely prepared.
And so we began, tearing down the animal pens that have been here since we moved in and for years before, pushing and scraping dirt and rock (and more rock) to mold the land into the shape envisioned by a retired construction man and his daughter.
We barely managed to keep our livestock contained. It was like a daring prison break during the confusion of new construction, where rival gangs all played their diabolical games and hoped Fate would favor their particular plan.
I was instrumental in frustrating an escape attempt by Johnny the Pony through a hole that opened up whilst the other guards were distracted. He's no mobster, but he is a troublemaking bully who made his break for it by coolly strolling through the breach past the tractor. I ran as fast as a weary biped could, and cut off his escape to the street, until backup (Ken) arrived, and we escorted him back to Population.
The chickens milled about freely, but they never go far. Being in minimum security, they know that freedom is just a state of mind, and they don't have it so bad anyway. They're like trustees. Just keep your nose clean and keep makin' with the eggs, and you can count on all the cable TV and Scratch and oyster shell you could want.
And the ducks were like a collection of prison bitches, impotently squeaking and whining in fear at the commotion, but never having the guts to make a break for it; staying in their cell, even though entirely half the perimeter was razed to the ground and security was lax. And tired. And apathetic.
I watch too much TV.
And so on it went, people digging and demolishing, slipping and falling, cursing and working, until we got halfway through everything, the sun went down, and we patched up the whole operation for the next day and hoped that my hole (the one I dug, smart guy) was covered well enough to prevent broken horse legs and that the temporary fences we put up keeps them on our proppity.
We trudged through hot showers and made time to gorge shamelessly at the Chinese buffet up the road, collected my son at his Grandmother's, and creaked home on sore limbs to rest for today.
Sun's coming up, baby's awake. Gotta get ready to do it again.
November 24th 7:21AM
Paris in the springtime
Expedia notes that a round-trip ticket from San Francisco to Paris can be had for as little as $427.54. Why, we'd be crazy NOT to go! I doubt it's possible short-term, but what's funny is that I can envision a time when it might be possible. That's something very different than I've envisioned for years, working for wages. Expanded possibilities.
November 22nd 5:06PM
5PM doesn't mean what it used to
Not too long ago, five 'clock would find me slidin' down the dinosaur's tail, off to face what should have been the leisure portion of my day. But overall that time was poorly handled by me, and ended up just being more pressure. These days there's still pressure but it's evening out, and as usual, I still do it to myself. I'm still working on a system, and I may have the tiger by the tail.
Big wheel, keep on turnin'
There's an article in today's Record, featuring John LaRue (a beautifully French name). Back where I used to work, he was a big wheel, and a fairly regular fixture in the show that went on behind the wizard's curtain; where the big deals and real business was conducted, and was protected from anyone who might actually want to learn anything from the way the Real World works.
Anyway, Mr. LaRue didn't work for my former employer; he worked for a company that amounted to what seemed to my ignorant eyes to be a hybrid between the Competition and a service vendor.
I'm not sure the point of this last entry, but there it is.
November 20th 2:50PM
Thursday sucked
Thursday started out all right, but took a serious and jerking detour straight to Shit City. I took my son to get immunizations in his legs, which he thoroughly enjoyed, I assure you. The fun began when my wife found out they didn't give him one of the shots he needed, and I had to return him to the House of Pain. In my haste to get him there on time, I zipped out of the driveway, and ran over one of our cats. I must have compressed his little head, and some very important innards breached his skull via his eye socket, projecting out his eye in a sac closely resembling uncooked sausage.
He leaped and writhed in a hideous effort to understand and alleviate the life-taking blow to his head. It was terrible watching this poor little bastard suffer. Fortunately, he didn't suffer long. What a shit day. Even worse, for him.
Sunday has been much better
Today, a whole different world. I had a golden hour this morning before anyone rose, to wrap up some loose ends. I was grateful for it and thought that would be all I would get. I pushed later for another 90 minutes, and made it over a hump on a client project that has been dogging me for weeks now. I felt so much better after that, and have for the rest of the day. Ach! So much better. The tension and pain in my back, which has been debilitating, is better today. Thank God.
Today, I'm watching my son, watching some TV, and minding the joint until my wife gets back from playing horsie with my daughter at some 4-H shindig somewhere. I am doing laundry, and might take in some French soccer on TV.
Today was a badly needed relief.
November 14th 6:20AM
Weight a minute
I weighed 204.5 this morning. Up a bit from recently. I've been lifting weights the past week, good. I've been enjoying beer regularly, bad. Moderation, what it's all about, eh?
November 13th 2:50PM
The ebb and the flow
My "vocational transition" has had its ups and downs, equal in portion and severity. I am working to remain open to both. It's nothing unbearable, and certainly not approaching the disquiet experienced in my most recent working arrangement. It's a great time to be alive.
On the ups, my French studies have begun trickling back into the fore. I barely have time for it, but I make time, and it still gives back to me what I put into it. The more time that goes by, the more I realize how unusual that is for an endeavor. It's a good thing, because I am dull and hard-headed, and need repetition to learn. I'll get the message I'm meant to get, eventually. It's funny - if there's a God, angels or little green men trying to get me a signal, the poor supernatural bastards must be cursing my ignorance for all the overtime I require to get the point. That's hilarious to me.
On the downs, I feel a strange and pervasive drain on my mood and energy. It is so ingrained, I have to wonder if it is nutritional, spiritual, or what. My weight's been under control. I try to eat right - I steer clear on junk food for the most part. Very little candy, no sugary cereals, mostly fresh foods. I try to be cognizant of over-eating, a past hazard. Vices include coffee with two sugars, but even a mother of a caffeine-and-sugar jones shouldn't run such a ruinous thread through my mind and body. I feel drained and way less positive than a guy in my position should be.
Spiritually, I got nothing. I mean, as far as information, a handle, a grasp of the basics. I've got a lot going for me, in very real ways, but I have trouble focusing on the positive and focusing in general. A wise and reliable person I speak with regularly says I do more to please others and less to enrich my self than I should. There may well be truth to that, but it doesn't go far enough to produce a tangible improvement in my day-to-day circumstances. I'm missing something from this puzzle. The sooner I find it, the better.
November 11th 6:24AM
Is Paris Burning?
Paris and France overall continue to suffer from outbreaks of violence and destruction from within. It is said that the unrest (what an understated word for it) is abating, but slowly. How disheartening and disappointing, from a city that gave me so much joy and inspiration. I can only hope they work it out.
November 10th 5:49PM
Ray Charles made me feel bad
I don't know much about art, admittedly. Less than I should, certainly. But I know this: art inspires. Art causes people, even those as ignorant as me, to feel.
I sat down to watch the movie "Ray" recently. I watched it alone, because our lives are too busy to share the experience of 90 - 120 minutes of a feature-length film, no matter how good it is. Normally, we watch movies as a couple, or as a family. Tough shit. I've had this thing sitting on the DVR hard drive for weeks, I figured; I'm starting it alone. If I wait, I'll wait forever.
Early in the movie, Ray Charles Robinson makes his way to to Seattle to play music in some club. The moment he sat down at the piano, he wasn't concerned about the boss, the lighting, his appearance; only one thing earned his attention: he wanted to make people shake their asses. What purity of intent! What a solemn goal! How can you beat that? When your chief concern is not to shamble through the night and collect your pay, but to motivate those around you strictly through your skill and experience as an entertainer...
Right then, and for the next 40 minutes, I considered and regretted every laziness, every cut corner I could recall. How many skills or artistic expressions have I thought about pursuing, only to let other responsibilities, time constraints, and shiftlessness stifle any excellence that might exist within me?
Now sure, I'm no Rembrandt, no Angus Young, no Ray Charles. But for my lack of direction and commitment, how much more successful, happy and effective could I have been? How much more could I be, starting even now? It's worth pondering.
November 9th 3:26PM
Mr. Mom from Hell
Hoo, man. I've never been so busy in all my life. For years, I've imagined and even fantasized being in the position I'm in now - no steady paycheck, each day promised to virtually no one, free to do as I will and to suffer the consequences. It's even better than I thought!
Just the other day, I was applying website updates for a client and applying half a glass of red wine and assorted French cheeses to my generous abdomen (in case it's not clear, I was eating the aforementioned consumables, not rubbing them on my gut), wondering how it could be better. Answer: It couldn't, at least not much.
Sure, there are concerns, but what life is perfect? Fortunately, the concerns that promised to be big and scary are either worked out, or are in the process of working out. Like it was meant to be. My only real problem is time management, a skill that gets better with practice and the proper attitude.
Gotta go - baby's cryin'.
November 7th 10:40AM
Meet my brother
My
brother went and did something odd and unnecessary yesterday, which gives
me hope for him yet. He took a plane ride up into the sky, and came back
down without it. At right, you'll see what it looks like to be marginally
insane, and lighter by about $200 and 6 ounces of urine. I'm kidding -
I cannot confirm that he pissed himself. I only imagine that he did. It's
funny what happens to your face when gravity and wind fight over it.
He invited me to go, but I didn't have the guts. Nice going, bro-man.
November 7th 10:25AM
BNI & comedy - not so far apart
I found out Friday that, as my Vice Presidency requires, I am going to have the opportunity to preside over my BNI chapter as President this Thursday. It comes as no surprise, as I have anticipated this eventuality, and accordingly, have done absolutely nothing to prepare. There's nothing to fear - it can be done well or poorly, and preparation is not always the deciding factor. Attitude certainly helps, and I think I have the inside track.
Ever since I spied the microphone at the Vet's Hall here in Valley Springs, I've entertained brief, poorly-formed fantasies of instigating an open mike comedy night. I have yet to investigate renting the hall, much less any further logistics; yet, it has put me in what may be the correct frame of mind. Open mike nights need an emcee, someone to keep the audience entertained and the acts moving along. BNI isn't so different; there is a (fairly rigorous) schedule to adhere to, and everybody gets their moment to shine. While some enthusiasm helps make the event, it's fairly paint-by-numbers. God knows, some pretty stiff stiffs have pulled it off ably in their day.
Incroyable
France continues to suffer in clashes injuring all types; from babies to old people. Its first fatality has been recorded in the Paris suburbs. Terrible. I'm glad I'm not there, but the rampaging mob should be glad, too. So much as someone taking a shortcut across my lawn would earn the errant pedestrian a perforated carcass. I hope peace can be restored, and any cultural unrest addressed.
November 4th 6:50AM
And just what in the bleeding Hell is going on in Paris?!
Paris, and now outlying areas as well, have erupted into chaos, going on eight days now. This is not entirely a surprise to me, but is still shocking.
November 4th 6:45AM
Note to self
Around Tuesday or so, I weighed in at 203 even. Not bad. 204 had become a number that mocked me for weeks.
November 3rd 10:26AM
John bizarre rocks, every time
I've found myself busy these last few days, no time to blog. I love being busy, but I miss blogging. And goddammit, the John Bizarre show was too good not to mention. So here goes:
We crossed the Sierra Nevada mountains to see John Bizarre for what I think is the third time so far. With beer and Scotch hammering on the inner walls of my bladder, I meekly sneaked out near the end of Matt Fulchiron's (very funny) set, and ran smack into The Man Himself, John Bizarre, talking with the door guy, and moments away from going onstage. Amazed at my good luck, I quickly introduced myself and professed my undying love for the work he has done, does, and will do in the future. If he had a flag, I would've sworn loyalty to it. I made it quick, as he had better shit to do than bother with me, and I really had a pressing need to sully some porcelain.
I was hugely flattered that he remembered me from the last time I'd slobbered all over him, and from a few emails we'd sent back 'n' forth. He's a fucking great guy. After making my enthusiasm for his work known, I sprinted to the can and made room for the remaining Heineken and Glenlivet, so as not to miss John's show.
I made it back to my seat just in time - John packed the house! We've been to the Catch before, and attendance was spotty at best. John had the place bursting at the seams. We arrived very early to a small crowd, and not long after, I turned around to face wall-to-wall comedy-goers. Amazing!
Fulchiron had a good set, interesting, clever stuff, but contrast was starkly provided when John took the stage, and took it to a whole other level! Immediately, John brought this energy, with timing, tone and material, and gathered the whole joint up in his hands, and rocked the place until the very end.
Mixing classic material from the past with the fresh and new, John entertained thoroughly throughout. The whole place was rocking and rolling with laughter until the very end; What a completely entertaining show.
After the show, John was kind enough to spend some time before the next show talking with me and my wife about past events, current projects, and the future. That'll hafta wait for another blog entry.
Thanks, John; you fuckin' rock.
November 3rd 10:26AM
What a weekend
I am just now settling in from our trip to Reno to see the mighty John Bizarre in person. More about that later...
"...In the Ghetto"
As you may recall, my Dad and his li'l woman hooked us up with a room and tickets to the stand-up event. The room was great, the show was great, but the Golden Phoenix hotel itself where we stayed... not so great.
Now, don't get me wrong - I am supremely grateful to my Dad and his lady for setting us up for the night. I only rag on the hotel because it is begging for it, not because we didn't have a good time or are ungrateful. Our room was quiet, comfortable and spacious. With that said, on to the jeering criticism.
Must be on the "death" portion of that whole phoenix/death/rebirth cycle thing
Our check-in at the Golden Phoenix was telling - the counter wench had the countenance of a high-functioning meth-freak on her way down from a high. She unkindly informed us that our reservation for a King bed in a no-smoking room had been sacrificed to The Fates, and that we could choose either a King bed, or non-smoking, but not both. My wife intelligently asked what the purpose of a reservation was, and the callous inmate that handled our particular customer service transaction indicate with her words that it kept us a room but didn't dictate its condition, and with her body language that she didn't give a squirt of infected urine whether we liked it or not and that she clearly didn't have time for the two smiling jackasses on the other side of the counter.
At least it wasn't personal.
We opted to sleep in twin beds, and not smell like campfires and ashtrays in the morning.
In our room, which again, offered nothing to complain about in itself, there was a bound hotel menu, a list of services and features of the hotel. High on the list was room service, that overpriced, long distance restaurant, where the waiter uses and elevator and you dine in the nude watching pornographic movies and eat chocolates off each other's sweaty bodies. That's how I always imagine it, anyway.
My wife is a big fan of room service, so she scanned the thing with high resolution eyeballs. We thought it odd that our menu included only drinks ("Hey, a bottle of The Glenlivet, only seventy bucks"), so I called down to see if they offered food, too. The voice on the other end eventually picked up (I suspect it was the same off-season carnie I spoke with before) and notified me that "oh, we don't do that anymore." Yikes. They've really gotta swap out those menus; it just ain't right getting my woman's hopes up like that. And just what the fuck is wrong with you anyway, when you can't make a twelve-dollar plate of eggs profitable, and have to admit defeat by shutting down that whole sweet, food-based extortion racket? What kind of manager are you?
None of this impacted our ability to have fun - we did take it as an omen that we should be certain to spend our gambling and dining dollars elsewhere.
We had a fantastic time seeing the show at the Catch A Rising Star in the Silver Legacy, and we even made a few bucks on blackjack and dollar slots. Not a bad night's work. I think I've stumbled onto a new investment plan. Double down, and kiss the dice. Baby needs a new pair of shoes.