Yessireebob, you read that right! More bloggage from the guy who makes up words like "bloggage" and may just be the instigator of the eventual downfall of the English language. See, the thing is that there's sort of a process going on here. If I can write---and I mean about anything---then maybe that'll get things moving in some sort of positive direction in my life. Who knows? I just might end up finding a position somewhere that'll actually pay me to write stuff. Probably not on Yahoo!, though. They already have enough yahoos writing for them, based on some of the articles I've read.
A couple of my Facebook friends have suggested that doing so could be one way back to Paycheck Land (thanks, Jenny and Toni), so I'll see what I can do. The only downside that I can see to this is that writing when one wants to write is a lot different than writing because one has to write in order to eat and put a roof over his head. I don't want to write a bunch of worthless fluff just to get paid. Better for it to be thought out first.
Today's entry is even shorter than the last one. All of you have a happy Thanksgiving, and who knows? I just might surprise you with a third entry this week!
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch...
We've all heard that phrase before: "Meanwhile, back at the ranch..." It's one that I've always liked just because to me it sounds kind of funny. This time, though, it's a bit more serious as I have not written an entry in my blog for over three months. My head is bursting with things to say, but there's something that gets in the way between "stored in my head" and "published." Most days I don't feel very well; that's likely due to the fact that gainful employment just doesn't seem to find me. Oh, I'm not just sitting around waiting for it to show up on my doorstep (or not making any effort to look, which certain adults in our household have accused me of doing, but won't mention names even though Lori doesn't read my blog). But you can look at online job boards and check back with recruiters just so many times. Even friends and former co-workers don't always have a lead in their companies, though, of course, they have your best interest at heart. Want to try and get into something totally different? No experience = no job, no chance. FedEx has positions driving trucks for the holidays, but since I haven't driven a big truck like theirs, I'm not qualified even though I've been driving for 37 years. CoachAmerica is hiring drivers---and say that no experience is necessary and they'll train you---but I looked into that and they said no to me because I've never driven a motor coach... [confused look].
Everyone in the universe knows about my issues with diabetes, so I'll be sweet and save that for another time.
Our house is coming apart at the seams. We have plumbing issues that I cannot fix or afford to get fixed. An electrical problem has developed with the outlets along one wall of the house. I don't mess with electricity; the results could be shocking. As for plumbing, I can plunge right into some of it (replace faucets, clear small clogs, etc.), but some of it is beyond my expertise and a professional would not only resolve it, but do so correctly.
Don't start me on our roof...
Nearly two years ago, I opened an account with Blogger so that I would have a place to share the gift (or curse depending on your point of view) of my writing. At the time, I figured I'd have so many blog entries that no one could possibly read them all in the course of, say, a lifetime. Sadly, I've only written about...ten? Well, maybe a few more than that, but I ran out of fingers counting. I do enjoy writing, and like last year will resolve to write more in 2012. And perhaps I'll include some more pictures, since they're worth a thousand words. CAUTION: To anyone in school, if your teacher says to write a 5000-word essay on something, don't get cute and turn in five pictures. That'll only get you a bad grade, and I'm sure it'll be somewhere in "F" territory...
I'll keep this short so you can read it while you wait in the drive-thru at In-N-Out, but I've been fairly down as of late, and think and wish and hope and pray that the light at the end of the tunnel is actually the end of the tunnel, and not a boat. Now I do want my ship to come in, but just not in that way. Trouble is, that light isn't getting any bigger (read: closer). Hopefully, that will change. And soon...
Everyone in the universe knows about my issues with diabetes, so I'll be sweet and save that for another time.
Our house is coming apart at the seams. We have plumbing issues that I cannot fix or afford to get fixed. An electrical problem has developed with the outlets along one wall of the house. I don't mess with electricity; the results could be shocking. As for plumbing, I can plunge right into some of it (replace faucets, clear small clogs, etc.), but some of it is beyond my expertise and a professional would not only resolve it, but do so correctly.
Don't start me on our roof...
Nearly two years ago, I opened an account with Blogger so that I would have a place to share the gift (or curse depending on your point of view) of my writing. At the time, I figured I'd have so many blog entries that no one could possibly read them all in the course of, say, a lifetime. Sadly, I've only written about...ten? Well, maybe a few more than that, but I ran out of fingers counting. I do enjoy writing, and like last year will resolve to write more in 2012. And perhaps I'll include some more pictures, since they're worth a thousand words. CAUTION: To anyone in school, if your teacher says to write a 5000-word essay on something, don't get cute and turn in five pictures. That'll only get you a bad grade, and I'm sure it'll be somewhere in "F" territory...
I'll keep this short so you can read it while you wait in the drive-thru at In-N-Out, but I've been fairly down as of late, and think and wish and hope and pray that the light at the end of the tunnel is actually the end of the tunnel, and not a boat. Now I do want my ship to come in, but just not in that way. Trouble is, that light isn't getting any bigger (read: closer). Hopefully, that will change. And soon...
Friday, August 12, 2011
All Right, What's Next?
Longtime readers might notice that I've changed the formatting here a bit. The new font may have a bit of a Southern accent. It should; it's called "Georgia" and I happen to like it. Peachy, if you ask me. I also changed the margins to be flush left and right. That gives it a nice, neat look. No doubt these things will go over most people's heads and they won't care or notice. That's OK. What really matters anyway is the content of what I write. So why did I write all this nonsense to get started? Because I spilled something on my keyboard and wanted to make sure the keys were all unstuck after I cleaned it up. Exxxxxcept for the xxxxx key, all is good.
Today's episode may contain some scary things, like my opinions about a few things, along with a little advice. So before we get into the meat of it, please take note:
Listen to Chimichanga. He is smarter than you think he is. Those giant ears aren't just for looks, y'know. Chimi can hear a penny hit the ground a mile away—and he knows where, too. What is this "Chimichanga" creature? Your worst nightmare, that's what. He may look like a harmless, fluffy little critter from a National Geographic documentary, but Chimi is in fact a killer chinchilla with a bad attitude and an appetite for blood—yours. Among his peers, he's known as "Chinzilla." You can't see the tattoo because it's on his belly, but he'll gladly turn over and give you a close-up right in your face. Look at him carefully...would you dare to mess with anything like that? I didn't think so.
So, what's next, you ask? Good question. That's why we're here today. Let's take a look at a few things, shall we? You can stop reading any time you want, but just make sure it's OK with Chimi before you actually walk away. Or given Chimi's record, try to walk away is about as far as you'll get.
Firstly, I recently read that many companies will not hire a person who has been out of work for six months or longer. To me, that kind of thinking is a supersized order of McStupid, and here's why: while it is true that a person who hasn't worked for a long time may have skills that are a bit tarnished, with most people, it all comes back fairly quickly once the person is back behind a desk, machine, etc. Sort of like riding a bike—you never forget. To reject anyone like this is like passing up perfectly good food because it's not as warm as you'd like it to be. As the good Lord gave us microwave ovens to heat up food, He also gave us something called "patience," which too many upper management types seemed to have left in their other outfit. Surely they must know that it costs less in the long run to hire someone older with basic skills, a good work ethic, and the likelihood to stick to the job than it does to hire someone who just got out of college and will stay for a half hour before wanting to do something else. Young people these days tend to do just that. (I've seen it.) But management doesn't always "get it." In fact, I've long said that the higher you go, the less oxygen there is. Think about that. It's true that the college kid may have a fresh view on things, learn quickly, and an endless supply of energy, but he hasn't been put to the test. For whatever reason, many young people these days have the attention span of dust. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against young 'uns—I even have have one. But experience is invaluable, and I have a lot of experience. And despite being over 50, I do learn quickly. The whole rehiring/retraining process is incredibly expensive for a company. (By the way, regarding patience, I'm not including doctors—their patients are out in the waiting room reading the latest about Watergate in Life magazine.)
Secondly, while we're on the subject of patience, just what happens to some people when they get behind the wheel of their car? For instance, what makes people think they can drive their car by sitting in your back seat? When they tailgate, aren't they that close? I never understood the need to see what's in the guy's trunk ahead of me. As a driver, there is no need for me to be able to see the hair in your nose or count your freckles, either. Do you think I'm going to speed up when I'm at the limit already? No! I don't want a ticket. Y'think I'll move over to the side of the road just to let you by? Not likely. Then...BACK OFF! Patience, Grasshopper, or you'll get a complimentary brake check.
Thirdly, while we're on the subject of giving someone space, we have to remember that some people already have space—right between their ears! Those people have what I call "Wind Tunnel Syndrome." (After all, isn't everything outside of normal a "syndrome" these days?) Here, though, I'm talking about letting others have some time or distance to themselves if they need it. If you're married, let your husband go watch a football game with his buddies. Why drag him to go look at curtains at the mall? Let your wife go shopping with her pals and make your own damned sammich. Besides, since she's not home, put extra bacon on it. Your kid wants to sit over in the corner of the yard studying bugs by himself? Don't send his sister over and force him to share the experience with her. Such was my childhood, and look where it led—I've gone to the blogs.
Fourthly (and if I keep thinking of more things, I'm sure I'll get to "eleventhly" and sprain my tongue), who taught people how to spell? I already wrote about this (read it here), so I'll keep this short. Some people who call me a friend also call me a spelling and grammar Nazi because of my obsession with following the rules with regard to spelling and grammar, and how so many people fail to do so. Just click the link in pink and read what I wrote. See how short I made this?
Fifthly, if that's even a word, before you go out somewhere, kindly consult a mirror. There is nothing so threatening to the visual environment than having to look at someone who can't tell that the size S shirt doesn't fit over rolls and rolls of bodily acreage. Not even in Acreage, Alaska [rim shot]. Those size three jeans will not hold up (or stay up) on a body with a double-digit size beginning with a 2. And if this is the case, please consider doing a couple of things: wear appropriate sized clothing, and invest in a gym membership. Sorry to be nasty, but with some effort, you'll end up looking and feeling a lot better. And so will our eyes.
Sixthly—and finalthly, if you have children, please teach them some basic manners. No one wants to hear your little darlings scream in the library or in a store. No one wants to fall over them while they're running around playing because Mom and Dad are too busy doing other things. All children get tired or bored easily. Take them outside when they start acting up in a restaurant or church or an office. Even better still, teach them the appropriate behavior in the first place.
Before I sign off here, I just realized something—I never did answer the question, "What's Next?" Could that have been on purpose? After all, not answering it gives me an excuse for writing more stuff for you. ;)
Firstly, I recently read that many companies will not hire a person who has been out of work for six months or longer. To me, that kind of thinking is a supersized order of McStupid, and here's why: while it is true that a person who hasn't worked for a long time may have skills that are a bit tarnished, with most people, it all comes back fairly quickly once the person is back behind a desk, machine, etc. Sort of like riding a bike—you never forget. To reject anyone like this is like passing up perfectly good food because it's not as warm as you'd like it to be. As the good Lord gave us microwave ovens to heat up food, He also gave us something called "patience," which too many upper management types seemed to have left in their other outfit. Surely they must know that it costs less in the long run to hire someone older with basic skills, a good work ethic, and the likelihood to stick to the job than it does to hire someone who just got out of college and will stay for a half hour before wanting to do something else. Young people these days tend to do just that. (I've seen it.) But management doesn't always "get it." In fact, I've long said that the higher you go, the less oxygen there is. Think about that. It's true that the college kid may have a fresh view on things, learn quickly, and an endless supply of energy, but he hasn't been put to the test. For whatever reason, many young people these days have the attention span of dust. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against young 'uns—I even have have one. But experience is invaluable, and I have a lot of experience. And despite being over 50, I do learn quickly. The whole rehiring/retraining process is incredibly expensive for a company. (By the way, regarding patience, I'm not including doctors—their patients are out in the waiting room reading the latest about Watergate in Life magazine.)
Secondly, while we're on the subject of patience, just what happens to some people when they get behind the wheel of their car? For instance, what makes people think they can drive their car by sitting in your back seat? When they tailgate, aren't they that close? I never understood the need to see what's in the guy's trunk ahead of me. As a driver, there is no need for me to be able to see the hair in your nose or count your freckles, either. Do you think I'm going to speed up when I'm at the limit already? No! I don't want a ticket. Y'think I'll move over to the side of the road just to let you by? Not likely. Then...BACK OFF! Patience, Grasshopper, or you'll get a complimentary brake check.
Thirdly, while we're on the subject of giving someone space, we have to remember that some people already have space—right between their ears! Those people have what I call "Wind Tunnel Syndrome." (After all, isn't everything outside of normal a "syndrome" these days?) Here, though, I'm talking about letting others have some time or distance to themselves if they need it. If you're married, let your husband go watch a football game with his buddies. Why drag him to go look at curtains at the mall? Let your wife go shopping with her pals and make your own damned sammich. Besides, since she's not home, put extra bacon on it. Your kid wants to sit over in the corner of the yard studying bugs by himself? Don't send his sister over and force him to share the experience with her. Such was my childhood, and look where it led—I've gone to the blogs.
Fourthly (and if I keep thinking of more things, I'm sure I'll get to "eleventhly" and sprain my tongue), who taught people how to spell? I already wrote about this (read it here), so I'll keep this short. Some people who call me a friend also call me a spelling and grammar Nazi because of my obsession with following the rules with regard to spelling and grammar, and how so many people fail to do so. Just click the link in pink and read what I wrote. See how short I made this?
Fifthly, if that's even a word, before you go out somewhere, kindly consult a mirror. There is nothing so threatening to the visual environment than having to look at someone who can't tell that the size S shirt doesn't fit over rolls and rolls of bodily acreage. Not even in Acreage, Alaska [rim shot]. Those size three jeans will not hold up (or stay up) on a body with a double-digit size beginning with a 2. And if this is the case, please consider doing a couple of things: wear appropriate sized clothing, and invest in a gym membership. Sorry to be nasty, but with some effort, you'll end up looking and feeling a lot better. And so will our eyes.
Sixthly—and finalthly, if you have children, please teach them some basic manners. No one wants to hear your little darlings scream in the library or in a store. No one wants to fall over them while they're running around playing because Mom and Dad are too busy doing other things. All children get tired or bored easily. Take them outside when they start acting up in a restaurant or church or an office. Even better still, teach them the appropriate behavior in the first place.
Before I sign off here, I just realized something—I never did answer the question, "What's Next?" Could that have been on purpose? After all, not answering it gives me an excuse for writing more stuff for you. ;)
Thursday, August 4, 2011
What Are We Doing to Ourselves?
As I mentioned on Facebook, this entry will have no humor (well, some might sneak in, but that's par for the course when I come around). So if you came here today expecting a jokefest, then turn back now. And keep in mind that this is solely my opinion---venting, if you will. Word of warning: I'm going to do some rambling. Any of you who are still reading are more than welcome to provide input if you choose to do so. Here goes...
Many of you know that during the last five years or so I can't seem to keep a job longer than about 20 minutes. I haven't been let go because I am an abysmal failure, because I surf the web instead of doing my work, or because my co-workers loathe the very sight of me or anything like that. I lose jobs because the projects end, the contract is up, the work goes to someone else, another company buys the one I'm working for and reorganizes, etc., etc., etc. I've been through all of that, and I know I'm not alone.
What is it going to take to get this country back on track? How many people have to lose their homes, have their families broken up, and go through the miserable suffering that our sour economy has brought us the last few years?
Even worse is how the fatasses in the Elephant Party blame the jackasses in the Donkey Party for everything, and vice versa. It's not unlike watching a bunch of spoiled kids play---and they get big salaries to boot. How some of these people got into office in the first place astounds me.
What I found pathetic is how the previous governor of my home state ofCali Failifornia made state employees take unpaid furlough days because the elected officials couldn't reach an agreement on the state budget. Innocent people had to take days off without pay while the dolts in Sacramento were paid in full while they had their little slappy-fights with each other? I have never been a fan of Jerry Brown, but I have to admit that he's done some growing up since his Governor Moonbeam days of the mid- to late '70s and early '80s. Unlike Ah-nold, he docked the legislators' pay until they agreed on a budget---clearly the right thing to do.
On the national level, many are jumping all over President Obama because he didn't snap his fingers and make all of the problems go away. These problems have been long in coming---and will be long in resolving. The economy has its own cycle, and has ever since there's even been an economy.
Is anyone in particular even at fault? That's hard to say. Many banks took advantage of people who wanted to own homes back in the middle of the 2000s. People got suckered into mortgages that they really couldn't afford with "teaser" loans---easy to pay at first, but after five years were hit with payments that had doubled or worse. And while many of those poor folks had to dump their homes in short sales or lose them altogether to foreclosure, many of the banks got a nice bailout from the government, as did some big corporations---notably General Motors. The government seemed to forget that its job is to "govern," not run businesses. Who stepped in to help "the little guy?" Are those crickets I hear?
Now, is our present state of things a recession or a depression? It never seems to get better, whereas previous recessions caused a dip or a ripple, then went away so prosperity can return. But this one is so stubborn that many aren't so sure that it's "just a lil ol' recession." And I'm not so sure, either.
The question is what do we do to fix this? Many people make suggestions like "Bring manufacturing back to the U.S." "Make CEOs take major pay cuts." "Buy American, and only American." "Hire more people." All of those are very good ideas. But easier said than done. I will give my take on each of these thoughts, one at a time. And remember, it's just my opinion and not necessarily "right."
"Bring manufacturing back to the U.S." It would be wonderful to bring manufacturing back here to the U S of A. But labor is too expensive. Some people made incredible amounts of money doing jobs that required some training and not much more. I'll say it right in public---I'm not a union supporter. Never have been. Unions had their place and we have them to thank for getting laws into place to protect workers from the horrible abuses they suffered a century ago at the hands of unscrupulous employers. Today, however, some of their demands are just too much. There are situations where you just cannot get rid of a bad worker no matter how bad they are. Protecting a person who isn't doing their job is the wrong thing to do because there is no incentive for them to do what's right. Would unions make concessions? We can hope, but that will be a tough one.
"Make CEOs take major pay cuts." Trying to get CEOs to take cuts in their seven- and eight-digit salaries is sort of like trying to make a cat do...well, anything. It's unpossible. Just once I'd like to see some corporate executive have the balls to voluntarily lower his own salary to "poverty" level---you know, in the five-digit range---and put the extra back into the company to hire more people, develop new products, or make improvements to the company. Any of those things could generate the need for more people.
"Buy American, and only American." Buying American is not as easy as it sounds. I laugh at the e-mails going around encouraging people to refuse items made in other countries and only buy things made in America. When you need an item that is no longer made in the U.S., you have to take what they have, regardless of where it came from. But I will agree with one point of this: if you do have a choice, choose the American-made one even if it is a bit more expensive. Here's an example: As an insulin-dependent diabetic, I need alcohol swabs to clean insulin injection sites on my body, and the swabs do the job nicely. At one point, I was buying store brand swabs because they were less expensive. I thought it was just because they were thinner. No, it was because they were made in China. The BD brand ones are thicker---and made in the U.S. They're a bit more expensive, but I get them anyway. I like to think that I'm doing my part to help keep jobs here.
We have to be willing to ignore the temptation to buy things at the lowest cost possible. That's what Walmart is doing wrong now. In order to cut prices the way they do, they have to sell things that are not made in America. Sam Walton didn't start the company doing that. To be fair, when he started Walmart, most things were made in America, but of course that has changed. People who don't have jobs buy things for as little as possible to save money, which means buying foreign made goods. More foreign made goods means fewer jobs in the U.S., which means more people out of work which means more people buying foreign goods. It's a vicious cycle indeed.
"Hire more people." Hiring more people would be wonderful, but as I've already pointed out, labor in America is expensive. In order for a company to make a profit, they have to make cuts somewhere, and in their view, labor is a good place to start given its cost.
For decades, each generation has fared better than their parents' generation for the most part. Sad to say, my generation is the first in decades that did not. Some of today's young people have been called lazy. Some are, of course, but most are more than happy to jump in and get the job done. Companies aren't paying as well. A lot of people my age have had to go back and live with Mom and Dad because they just can't make it on their own.
As long as foreign labor and materials are cheaper, it will be more profitable for most companies to manufacture goods elsewhere. However, I like to think that there is a big pendulum swinging back and forth. Right now, that pendulum is swung the other way, but it's on its way back. A slow swing, perhaps, but a swing nonetheless.
Many of you know that during the last five years or so I can't seem to keep a job longer than about 20 minutes. I haven't been let go because I am an abysmal failure, because I surf the web instead of doing my work, or because my co-workers loathe the very sight of me or anything like that. I lose jobs because the projects end, the contract is up, the work goes to someone else, another company buys the one I'm working for and reorganizes, etc., etc., etc. I've been through all of that, and I know I'm not alone.
What is it going to take to get this country back on track? How many people have to lose their homes, have their families broken up, and go through the miserable suffering that our sour economy has brought us the last few years?
Even worse is how the fatasses in the Elephant Party blame the jackasses in the Donkey Party for everything, and vice versa. It's not unlike watching a bunch of spoiled kids play---and they get big salaries to boot. How some of these people got into office in the first place astounds me.
What I found pathetic is how the previous governor of my home state of
On the national level, many are jumping all over President Obama because he didn't snap his fingers and make all of the problems go away. These problems have been long in coming---and will be long in resolving. The economy has its own cycle, and has ever since there's even been an economy.
Is anyone in particular even at fault? That's hard to say. Many banks took advantage of people who wanted to own homes back in the middle of the 2000s. People got suckered into mortgages that they really couldn't afford with "teaser" loans---easy to pay at first, but after five years were hit with payments that had doubled or worse. And while many of those poor folks had to dump their homes in short sales or lose them altogether to foreclosure, many of the banks got a nice bailout from the government, as did some big corporations---notably General Motors. The government seemed to forget that its job is to "govern," not run businesses. Who stepped in to help "the little guy?" Are those crickets I hear?
Now, is our present state of things a recession or a depression? It never seems to get better, whereas previous recessions caused a dip or a ripple, then went away so prosperity can return. But this one is so stubborn that many aren't so sure that it's "just a lil ol' recession." And I'm not so sure, either.
The question is what do we do to fix this? Many people make suggestions like "Bring manufacturing back to the U.S." "Make CEOs take major pay cuts." "Buy American, and only American." "Hire more people." All of those are very good ideas. But easier said than done. I will give my take on each of these thoughts, one at a time. And remember, it's just my opinion and not necessarily "right."
"Bring manufacturing back to the U.S." It would be wonderful to bring manufacturing back here to the U S of A. But labor is too expensive. Some people made incredible amounts of money doing jobs that required some training and not much more. I'll say it right in public---I'm not a union supporter. Never have been. Unions had their place and we have them to thank for getting laws into place to protect workers from the horrible abuses they suffered a century ago at the hands of unscrupulous employers. Today, however, some of their demands are just too much. There are situations where you just cannot get rid of a bad worker no matter how bad they are. Protecting a person who isn't doing their job is the wrong thing to do because there is no incentive for them to do what's right. Would unions make concessions? We can hope, but that will be a tough one.
"Make CEOs take major pay cuts." Trying to get CEOs to take cuts in their seven- and eight-digit salaries is sort of like trying to make a cat do...well, anything. It's unpossible. Just once I'd like to see some corporate executive have the balls to voluntarily lower his own salary to "poverty" level---you know, in the five-digit range---and put the extra back into the company to hire more people, develop new products, or make improvements to the company. Any of those things could generate the need for more people.
"Buy American, and only American." Buying American is not as easy as it sounds. I laugh at the e-mails going around encouraging people to refuse items made in other countries and only buy things made in America. When you need an item that is no longer made in the U.S., you have to take what they have, regardless of where it came from. But I will agree with one point of this: if you do have a choice, choose the American-made one even if it is a bit more expensive. Here's an example: As an insulin-dependent diabetic, I need alcohol swabs to clean insulin injection sites on my body, and the swabs do the job nicely. At one point, I was buying store brand swabs because they were less expensive. I thought it was just because they were thinner. No, it was because they were made in China. The BD brand ones are thicker---and made in the U.S. They're a bit more expensive, but I get them anyway. I like to think that I'm doing my part to help keep jobs here.
We have to be willing to ignore the temptation to buy things at the lowest cost possible. That's what Walmart is doing wrong now. In order to cut prices the way they do, they have to sell things that are not made in America. Sam Walton didn't start the company doing that. To be fair, when he started Walmart, most things were made in America, but of course that has changed. People who don't have jobs buy things for as little as possible to save money, which means buying foreign made goods. More foreign made goods means fewer jobs in the U.S., which means more people out of work which means more people buying foreign goods. It's a vicious cycle indeed.
"Hire more people." Hiring more people would be wonderful, but as I've already pointed out, labor in America is expensive. In order for a company to make a profit, they have to make cuts somewhere, and in their view, labor is a good place to start given its cost.
For decades, each generation has fared better than their parents' generation for the most part. Sad to say, my generation is the first in decades that did not. Some of today's young people have been called lazy. Some are, of course, but most are more than happy to jump in and get the job done. Companies aren't paying as well. A lot of people my age have had to go back and live with Mom and Dad because they just can't make it on their own.
As long as foreign labor and materials are cheaper, it will be more profitable for most companies to manufacture goods elsewhere. However, I like to think that there is a big pendulum swinging back and forth. Right now, that pendulum is swung the other way, but it's on its way back. A slow swing, perhaps, but a swing nonetheless.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
How I Met My Maker...Almost
After writing a blog for almost two years now, I'm still baffled as to how I have not yet chronicled the chain of events that led to my hospitalization in December 2006. Most everyone who knows me is quite aware of my day to day battle with Type 2 diabetes, as well as my experience at that time. For some of you, this entry will be old news. If that's the case, you have my permission to skip class and go to the beach. It's actually rather nice out there now. For those of you who are new to the party, read on. But get some popcorn and a cold drink because it's a long read. In fact, you may wear out the scroll wheel on your mouse to get to the bottom of it.
Toward the end of the '90s, I had gained a lot of weight, so much so that one time I thought I heard a faint voice coming from the bathroom scale: "Oh no...it's...it's him again." But I got on anyway and noticed that after going around six or eight times, the numbers finally stopped with a figure in the little window—and it began with a "2." I realized that I was buying pants with a 40" (!) waist size. This was ultimate suckage.
Mysteriously, just after turning 40 in 1999, I noticed that my weight began to drop. I hadn't been walking much, nor had I cut back on how much or what I ate. The number went down, down, down. I also noticed that I was drinking some three to five gallons of fluids a day, and seemed to never quite satisfy my thirst. Regular Coke. Super-sized fries. Double cheeseburgers. All were on the menu. And the weight kept dropping. It was kind of nice because I could fit back into my size 38 Levi's 501s again. Then my 36s. Then my 34s...
I also noticed that I was falling asleep easily in the afternoon. One time in particular, a guy at work was showing me how to do a task that I was taking over for him, and after a blank moment, Bill said something like, "Hey, are you OK? You kinda dozed off there..."
One time, on the way home from a family trip to Disneyland, we stopped at an In-N-Out Burger next to the freeway to get drinks for the trip home. I downed a large regular Coke—the 32 oz. size—and when we reached our house, I ran inside almost before turning off the car so I could drink a giant cup of water because I was sooo thirsty. When Lori got inside, she came into the kitchen with a concerned/confused look on her face and said, "Something isn't right. You shouldn't be drinking like this. Go to the doctor and get it checked out." Yes, dear.
One morning not long after this, I had to visit Costco to get some pictures developed at theirOne Two Hour Photo (they were busy). That day, there just happened to be a health fair going on, and it was free for Costco members. You could get your blood pressure taken, a cholesterol reading, a blood sugar reading, and maybe even a facial. (I skipped the facial. Some other time...) I figured that with two hours to kill, I would go ahead and give it a try. Just before picking up my pictures, I stopped to get the results. All of my readings were OK with the exception of the blood sugar. The lady asked if I was diabetic because the reading was 290—almost triple what a fasting blood sugar should be. I told her that I had not been diagnosed as such, but would get it checked out.
So, I made an appointment with my doctor, a Dr. Hatwalker (yes, that was his name—stop laughing). Dr. H had me go take a glucose test, the one where you drink the most horrible, oversweetened orange soda, then they do an hourly blood sugar check for about four hours. Test done—let's eat, and yes I'll have fries with that!
Normally, when you've had some sort of lab work or test done, you get your results within a week or two. In this case, one week passed. Two. Three. Five. Christmas. Valentine's Day. March. So, what's going on here? I called the doctor's office (Seaview) several times to try and get the test results, unless they had decomposed from age by then. Eventually, I was told that I had to come into the Seaview office.
Wednesday, March 27, 2002. I went over to Seaview and was told to go down a long hallway and see the nurse in the back. So down the hall and around a corner I went. This was getting...interesting. When I reached said nurse, she told me that in order to get my results, I'd have to make an appointment to see the doctor.
I'm not sure exactly what happened next because after telling me that I would need to make an appointment and come back another time, the nurse looked up at me and said, "...Or, I can get you in right now." The only thing that explains that was that upon learning that I would have to make an appointment after all of the delays, I had to have given her The Look of Impending Violence in the Workplace™. Regardless, I was finally going to get the results!
After sitting in the little examination room for a bit, the door opened and a pleasant looking African American man with a Caribbean accent of some kind entered and introduced himself as Dr. Poyette, and that he was now the doctor on my case. He told me that he had reviewed the test results (no doubt after blowing the dust off) and that, yes, I was definitely, positively diabetic. At one point, Dr. Poyette stepped out of the room and I asked the nurse what had happened to Dr. Hatwalker. She only said, "He's no longer here." I asked if it was his idea, and she said, "No." 'Nuff said.
Dr. Poyette got me started on a basic regimen of Glyburide and Metformin (aka Glucophage), two common drugs for controlling blood sugar. Once on the pills, my thirst and hunger levels tapered off and I felt much better. I saw Dr. Poyette a few more times before they switched my primary care physician once or twice. Then my health plan at work changed and I started seeing Dr. Chochinov up in Ventura. Dr. C was an endocrinologist who came highly recommended. He kept pretty good tabs on me and adjusted medication as needed depending on what my various blood sugar/cholesterol readings were. Under his care, I continued taking Glyburide and Glucophage, and he added Actos.
The real trouble began when yet again, my health plan at work changed (November 2004) and I could no longer see Dr. Chochinov. I was assigned to Dr. Pluche. A nice guy and knowledgeable, but not an endocrinologist. I saw him a couple of times, but at the time, it was hard to get time off to visit the doctor (I should blog about that, but I'd probably ruffle some feathers and end up disappearing...) What happened next is really my own fault for not only dropping the ball, but kicking it down the street and onto the railroad tracks with a train coming. I did quite possibly the worst thing a diabetic can do: I took over and "tried" to manage my own care. (I put "tried" in quotes because you really can't manage diabetes completely on your own. With a chronic disease like diabetes, ALWAYS work with a health care professional.)
During late 2005 and all of 2006, little by little, things were coming apart at the screams. Around July 2006, I had booked a trip to Walt Disney World with some friends, to take place three months later. One fine day during that summer, I went outside to get the papers. In doing so, I walked some 60 or 70 feet round trip, only to get back inside the house so out of breath that you could swear I had run around our block (a half-mile) at full speed. During one of our casino parties shortly thereafter, I was carrying a blackjack table back to the truck and got so out of breath that our boss told me to sit for a few minutes. What's going on? I've carried many a blackjack table with no trouble. Never had one cause me to double down like this...
We had a layoff at work in the fall, and I got caught up in it, so I was looking forward to the trip to Florida to get away for a bit.
October was here, and it was time to head to Walt Disney World. I couldn't have asked for better weather for the trip, and could not beat a $237 round trip airfare on jetBlue, non-stop to Orlando out of Burbank. As a bonus, two of the people in our group work for Disney and were able to sign me into all of the Disney parks during the trip, saving me an untold amount of money. Walt Disney World for free. So what could go wrong here? Plenty.
Each morning while we were there, I got a wake-up call from Jim. We met up at our rented minivan and began our day by heading toward one of the four parks. A few times, I was so tired and out of it that I almost told Jim to go on and leave me to rest. With the Disney resort transportation system and a cell phone, it would be easy to catch up with the group if I was up to it. Instead, I chose not to be a party pooper and went along. I literally dragged myself through the parks and tried to enjoy everything as much as I could. Every chance I had to sit, I took advantage. At one point, we had a rare chance to ride in the front seat of the monorail between Epcot and the Transportation and Ticketing Center (TTC). And I dozed off along the way as well as on the way back later. My one time—and possibly only time—riding over Epcot on the monorail and I missed most of it.
To make a long story short, the week just dragged—quite unfortunate because I got to see just about everything that could be seen at Walt Disney World, only I wasn't really up to doing so. In hindsight, I should have canceled, but didn't want to miss it and knew that I could not afford such a trip for a long time.
The health problems continued. It got to the point that walking up one flight of stairs was a chore. I could get about halfway up before needing to stop and catch my breath. I found a job as a CAD drafter at Raypak, a manufacturer of swimming pool pumps. During the interview, I grew very comfortable with my boss-to-be. To be fair to him and the company, I shared that I was diabetic. He shared that the lady in his life was also diabetic. That seemed to give us a connection. But two weeks into the job, I managed to have a sugar spike and fell asleep at my desk. That was the end of the job.
Also, at that time, Diana's church youth leader took the group to dinner at our local Taco Bell every Wednesday evening before the meeting, and I usually came along to visit with the adults. One evening, one of the deacons asked me if I was OK, and I told him that I was tired, but OK. Usually, one of the adults sat and ate with me, but not tonight. They all huddled at a table across the way. Very strange. I know I took a shower, so it couldn't have been that...
Friday evening, December 1, 2006, two days after being snubbed at Taco Bell, I was stumbling around the house with slurred speech. Finally, Lori asked me, "What's with you tonight?" I told her that I wasn't feeling well and that perhaps I should drive over to the E.R. She said, "You aren't driving anywhere. Go get in the car..."
We went over to St. John's Pleasant Valley Hospital (about a mile away) and waited for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably not that long. Because it got late, Lori took Diana home and returned, just in time for them to call my name. All I remember is getting into a wheelchair and riding down a hallway. The next thing I remember was being asked by a security guard if I wanted to put my stuff in a locked cabinet. Huh? They told me to change into a hospital gown and wheeled me somewhere else, stopping in a little room off of the hallway. In a half daze, I thought, "They're admitting me?" The next thing I knew, it was morning and I'm laying in ICU, having been awakened at 0-poke-thirty by a nurse giving me a shot in the shoulder. Insulin, I learned later.
I was told that my blood sugar level had reached 478—pretty high, and at one point I was actually listed in critical condition. As for nourishment, I was on an IV solution and didn't have any solid food till Sunday. On Saturday evening, I was given a menu to choose my meal for Sunday morning. The meal arrived with a protein shake. I told the nurse that I hadn't ordered a protein shake, but she said that Dr. Weimer (the critical care doctor assigned to my case) wanted me to drink it in order to get my weight up. I don't remember being weighed, but found out that the hospital beds have an electronic scale built in. Out of curiosity, I asked the nurse what my weight was. She said, "117." I'm five-foot-eight. That was only about eight pounds more than Diana weighed then! And she was on the small side herself.
Eventually, I started having visitors. The people from church came by and prayed for me. The deacon who had inquired about how I was feeling at Taco Bell told me that he sensed something was wrong and that if he could have, he'd have picked me up and taken me to the hospital right then and there. Word for word, he said, "You looked like shit." Strong words coming from a church deacon. But I realized then that chances are, my condition was the topic of conversation at their table at Taco Bell. That would explain why they kept their distance that evening.
In all the years I've lived in Camarillo, it took this brush with death to get my older brother Mark to come to town from his home on Catalina Island. He arrived with our younger brother Paul, but told the nurse to tell me that "Frank and Joe" were there to see visit. I know some Franks, and I know some Joes, but none who would have been together. Confused, I told the nurse, "Send 'em in." Sure enough, it was Mark and Paul. My mom, sister Barbara, nephew Michael, niece Jani and her boyfriend Ivan arrived a bit later. Per the rules of the ICU, only two people can visit at a time, so they took turns. When my mom got her turn to visit, she faced the bed, gave me the stink-eye, and told me, "If you weren't laying in that bed, I'd kick your ass!" It must be serious business when a church deacon and Mom are swearing at me...
Three days after being admitted, I was stable enough to be moved from ICU to a regular room upstairs, where I would spend another three days for observation and diabetes education. I was also shown how to properly inject insulin, being that the other diabetes medications were useless against a pancreas that now produces no insulin of its own whatsoever. So now I'm a Type 2 dealing with the disease like a Type 1. Does that make me a Type 3? A Type 1.5? A Type Strange? Haven't answered that one yet.
One perk of recovery meant daily visits from a charming and rather attractive student nurse, Adelina. One of her duties was to get me up and moving. Adelina told me that I should take a couple of laps each day around the nurse's station. I couldn't stop at two. With her holding my arm for stability, I went ten laps each time because I could. Adelina was impressed and said that no other patient had worked that hard to get back up and into the game.
Thursday, December 7, 2006, was my release date from the hospital. After a courtesy shuttle ride from my room down to the entrance via wheelchair, Lori took me over to Longs Drugs to pick up My First Insulin Kit™ and get me started with the new regimen. And to be honest, I really am better these days. I am more aware of what I eat and make mostly good choices. I've returned to the care of Dr. Pluche and he's quite happy with my progress. I've started my long walks again. The downside is that while I needed to put some weight back on, I sort of went overboard. I will address that.
In the meantime, all of you take good care of yourselves. Find out whether diabetes runs in your family. If so, make sure you do everything in your power to lessen your chances of getting it, or delaying its onset. I was diagnosed at age 42. Having been informed of my history of long walks, Dr. P said that I probably delayed the onset of diabetes by about 15 years. And in his words, he says he's going to help me live to be 125. And who knows? I just might.
Toward the end of the '90s, I had gained a lot of weight, so much so that one time I thought I heard a faint voice coming from the bathroom scale: "Oh no...it's...it's him again." But I got on anyway and noticed that after going around six or eight times, the numbers finally stopped with a figure in the little window—and it began with a "2." I realized that I was buying pants with a 40" (!) waist size. This was ultimate suckage.
Mysteriously, just after turning 40 in 1999, I noticed that my weight began to drop. I hadn't been walking much, nor had I cut back on how much or what I ate. The number went down, down, down. I also noticed that I was drinking some three to five gallons of fluids a day, and seemed to never quite satisfy my thirst. Regular Coke. Super-sized fries. Double cheeseburgers. All were on the menu. And the weight kept dropping. It was kind of nice because I could fit back into my size 38 Levi's 501s again. Then my 36s. Then my 34s...
I also noticed that I was falling asleep easily in the afternoon. One time in particular, a guy at work was showing me how to do a task that I was taking over for him, and after a blank moment, Bill said something like, "Hey, are you OK? You kinda dozed off there..."
One time, on the way home from a family trip to Disneyland, we stopped at an In-N-Out Burger next to the freeway to get drinks for the trip home. I downed a large regular Coke—the 32 oz. size—and when we reached our house, I ran inside almost before turning off the car so I could drink a giant cup of water because I was sooo thirsty. When Lori got inside, she came into the kitchen with a concerned/confused look on her face and said, "Something isn't right. You shouldn't be drinking like this. Go to the doctor and get it checked out." Yes, dear.
One morning not long after this, I had to visit Costco to get some pictures developed at their
So, I made an appointment with my doctor, a Dr. Hatwalker (yes, that was his name—stop laughing). Dr. H had me go take a glucose test, the one where you drink the most horrible, oversweetened orange soda, then they do an hourly blood sugar check for about four hours. Test done—let's eat, and yes I'll have fries with that!
Normally, when you've had some sort of lab work or test done, you get your results within a week or two. In this case, one week passed. Two. Three. Five. Christmas. Valentine's Day. March. So, what's going on here? I called the doctor's office (Seaview) several times to try and get the test results, unless they had decomposed from age by then. Eventually, I was told that I had to come into the Seaview office.
Wednesday, March 27, 2002. I went over to Seaview and was told to go down a long hallway and see the nurse in the back. So down the hall and around a corner I went. This was getting...interesting. When I reached said nurse, she told me that in order to get my results, I'd have to make an appointment to see the doctor.
I'm not sure exactly what happened next because after telling me that I would need to make an appointment and come back another time, the nurse looked up at me and said, "...Or, I can get you in right now." The only thing that explains that was that upon learning that I would have to make an appointment after all of the delays, I had to have given her The Look of Impending Violence in the Workplace™. Regardless, I was finally going to get the results!
After sitting in the little examination room for a bit, the door opened and a pleasant looking African American man with a Caribbean accent of some kind entered and introduced himself as Dr. Poyette, and that he was now the doctor on my case. He told me that he had reviewed the test results (no doubt after blowing the dust off) and that, yes, I was definitely, positively diabetic. At one point, Dr. Poyette stepped out of the room and I asked the nurse what had happened to Dr. Hatwalker. She only said, "He's no longer here." I asked if it was his idea, and she said, "No." 'Nuff said.
Dr. Poyette got me started on a basic regimen of Glyburide and Metformin (aka Glucophage), two common drugs for controlling blood sugar. Once on the pills, my thirst and hunger levels tapered off and I felt much better. I saw Dr. Poyette a few more times before they switched my primary care physician once or twice. Then my health plan at work changed and I started seeing Dr. Chochinov up in Ventura. Dr. C was an endocrinologist who came highly recommended. He kept pretty good tabs on me and adjusted medication as needed depending on what my various blood sugar/cholesterol readings were. Under his care, I continued taking Glyburide and Glucophage, and he added Actos.
The real trouble began when yet again, my health plan at work changed (November 2004) and I could no longer see Dr. Chochinov. I was assigned to Dr. Pluche. A nice guy and knowledgeable, but not an endocrinologist. I saw him a couple of times, but at the time, it was hard to get time off to visit the doctor (I should blog about that, but I'd probably ruffle some feathers and end up disappearing...) What happened next is really my own fault for not only dropping the ball, but kicking it down the street and onto the railroad tracks with a train coming. I did quite possibly the worst thing a diabetic can do: I took over and "tried" to manage my own care. (I put "tried" in quotes because you really can't manage diabetes completely on your own. With a chronic disease like diabetes, ALWAYS work with a health care professional.)
During late 2005 and all of 2006, little by little, things were coming apart at the screams. Around July 2006, I had booked a trip to Walt Disney World with some friends, to take place three months later. One fine day during that summer, I went outside to get the papers. In doing so, I walked some 60 or 70 feet round trip, only to get back inside the house so out of breath that you could swear I had run around our block (a half-mile) at full speed. During one of our casino parties shortly thereafter, I was carrying a blackjack table back to the truck and got so out of breath that our boss told me to sit for a few minutes. What's going on? I've carried many a blackjack table with no trouble. Never had one cause me to double down like this...
We had a layoff at work in the fall, and I got caught up in it, so I was looking forward to the trip to Florida to get away for a bit.
October was here, and it was time to head to Walt Disney World. I couldn't have asked for better weather for the trip, and could not beat a $237 round trip airfare on jetBlue, non-stop to Orlando out of Burbank. As a bonus, two of the people in our group work for Disney and were able to sign me into all of the Disney parks during the trip, saving me an untold amount of money. Walt Disney World for free. So what could go wrong here? Plenty.
Each morning while we were there, I got a wake-up call from Jim. We met up at our rented minivan and began our day by heading toward one of the four parks. A few times, I was so tired and out of it that I almost told Jim to go on and leave me to rest. With the Disney resort transportation system and a cell phone, it would be easy to catch up with the group if I was up to it. Instead, I chose not to be a party pooper and went along. I literally dragged myself through the parks and tried to enjoy everything as much as I could. Every chance I had to sit, I took advantage. At one point, we had a rare chance to ride in the front seat of the monorail between Epcot and the Transportation and Ticketing Center (TTC). And I dozed off along the way as well as on the way back later. My one time—and possibly only time—riding over Epcot on the monorail and I missed most of it.
To make a long story short, the week just dragged—quite unfortunate because I got to see just about everything that could be seen at Walt Disney World, only I wasn't really up to doing so. In hindsight, I should have canceled, but didn't want to miss it and knew that I could not afford such a trip for a long time.
The health problems continued. It got to the point that walking up one flight of stairs was a chore. I could get about halfway up before needing to stop and catch my breath. I found a job as a CAD drafter at Raypak, a manufacturer of swimming pool pumps. During the interview, I grew very comfortable with my boss-to-be. To be fair to him and the company, I shared that I was diabetic. He shared that the lady in his life was also diabetic. That seemed to give us a connection. But two weeks into the job, I managed to have a sugar spike and fell asleep at my desk. That was the end of the job.
Also, at that time, Diana's church youth leader took the group to dinner at our local Taco Bell every Wednesday evening before the meeting, and I usually came along to visit with the adults. One evening, one of the deacons asked me if I was OK, and I told him that I was tired, but OK. Usually, one of the adults sat and ate with me, but not tonight. They all huddled at a table across the way. Very strange. I know I took a shower, so it couldn't have been that...
Friday evening, December 1, 2006, two days after being snubbed at Taco Bell, I was stumbling around the house with slurred speech. Finally, Lori asked me, "What's with you tonight?" I told her that I wasn't feeling well and that perhaps I should drive over to the E.R. She said, "You aren't driving anywhere. Go get in the car..."
We went over to St. John's Pleasant Valley Hospital (about a mile away) and waited for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably not that long. Because it got late, Lori took Diana home and returned, just in time for them to call my name. All I remember is getting into a wheelchair and riding down a hallway. The next thing I remember was being asked by a security guard if I wanted to put my stuff in a locked cabinet. Huh? They told me to change into a hospital gown and wheeled me somewhere else, stopping in a little room off of the hallway. In a half daze, I thought, "They're admitting me?" The next thing I knew, it was morning and I'm laying in ICU, having been awakened at 0-poke-thirty by a nurse giving me a shot in the shoulder. Insulin, I learned later.
I was told that my blood sugar level had reached 478—pretty high, and at one point I was actually listed in critical condition. As for nourishment, I was on an IV solution and didn't have any solid food till Sunday. On Saturday evening, I was given a menu to choose my meal for Sunday morning. The meal arrived with a protein shake. I told the nurse that I hadn't ordered a protein shake, but she said that Dr. Weimer (the critical care doctor assigned to my case) wanted me to drink it in order to get my weight up. I don't remember being weighed, but found out that the hospital beds have an electronic scale built in. Out of curiosity, I asked the nurse what my weight was. She said, "117." I'm five-foot-eight. That was only about eight pounds more than Diana weighed then! And she was on the small side herself.
Eventually, I started having visitors. The people from church came by and prayed for me. The deacon who had inquired about how I was feeling at Taco Bell told me that he sensed something was wrong and that if he could have, he'd have picked me up and taken me to the hospital right then and there. Word for word, he said, "You looked like shit." Strong words coming from a church deacon. But I realized then that chances are, my condition was the topic of conversation at their table at Taco Bell. That would explain why they kept their distance that evening.
In all the years I've lived in Camarillo, it took this brush with death to get my older brother Mark to come to town from his home on Catalina Island. He arrived with our younger brother Paul, but told the nurse to tell me that "Frank and Joe" were there to see visit. I know some Franks, and I know some Joes, but none who would have been together. Confused, I told the nurse, "Send 'em in." Sure enough, it was Mark and Paul. My mom, sister Barbara, nephew Michael, niece Jani and her boyfriend Ivan arrived a bit later. Per the rules of the ICU, only two people can visit at a time, so they took turns. When my mom got her turn to visit, she faced the bed, gave me the stink-eye, and told me, "If you weren't laying in that bed, I'd kick your ass!" It must be serious business when a church deacon and Mom are swearing at me...
Three days after being admitted, I was stable enough to be moved from ICU to a regular room upstairs, where I would spend another three days for observation and diabetes education. I was also shown how to properly inject insulin, being that the other diabetes medications were useless against a pancreas that now produces no insulin of its own whatsoever. So now I'm a Type 2 dealing with the disease like a Type 1. Does that make me a Type 3? A Type 1.5? A Type Strange? Haven't answered that one yet.
One perk of recovery meant daily visits from a charming and rather attractive student nurse, Adelina. One of her duties was to get me up and moving. Adelina told me that I should take a couple of laps each day around the nurse's station. I couldn't stop at two. With her holding my arm for stability, I went ten laps each time because I could. Adelina was impressed and said that no other patient had worked that hard to get back up and into the game.
Thursday, December 7, 2006, was my release date from the hospital. After a courtesy shuttle ride from my room down to the entrance via wheelchair, Lori took me over to Longs Drugs to pick up My First Insulin Kit™ and get me started with the new regimen. And to be honest, I really am better these days. I am more aware of what I eat and make mostly good choices. I've returned to the care of Dr. Pluche and he's quite happy with my progress. I've started my long walks again. The downside is that while I needed to put some weight back on, I sort of went overboard. I will address that.
In the meantime, all of you take good care of yourselves. Find out whether diabetes runs in your family. If so, make sure you do everything in your power to lessen your chances of getting it, or delaying its onset. I was diagnosed at age 42. Having been informed of my history of long walks, Dr. P said that I probably delayed the onset of diabetes by about 15 years. And in his words, he says he's going to help me live to be 125. And who knows? I just might.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
A Little Laughter Coming Your Way
Normally I write about things going on my life. This time, I decided to write a little about...me. Me the person. Who am I, really? Why am I the way I am? My apologies in advance if it comes across like I'm tooting my own horn or patting myself on the back. Just an honest look at one particular aspect of my personality. And besides, I can't toot my own horn because I don't play an instrument. And if I pat myself on the back too hard, I'll end up with a bruise. (Actually, that happened once. When asked about it, I just said a possum jumped on me when I was out walking. They bought it because that's the kind of thing that would happen to me.)
Throughout my life, people have almost had to be reminded that I was even in the room, due to the fact that I tend to be rather quiet and unassuming. Teachers often wrote on my report cards: "Good student; hardly know he's there." How did someone who grew up in a house of five children manage to be so quiet? For whatever reason, I was. Maybe I got lost in the crowd? Perhaps. Even to this day I can walk into a room and ask the girls something, and they jump because they didn't hear me coming in. Oftentimes I've wondered if I'd have made a good burglar, seeing as how I can sneak around without even trying to do so.
Quiet or not, somehow, some way, I picked up an interesting sense of humor over the years. A blend of humor, actually. Dad had a dry sense of humor. I got that. The cartoons I watched were silly and had a cartoony view on life. I got that. My late friend Ron Szabo was great at the "play on words, punny, take things literally" sense of humor. I got that, too. Put 'em all together and you get...me.
Most people who know me would say that my sense of humor is what stands out most. But the people I encounter on a day-to-day basis react to me in various ways. Some of them see me coming and run the other way. Others spread their arms, ready for me to get close and then attack me with a hug tight enough to bend a steel I-beam. A few have put up "FOR SALE" signs on their homes. (Well, not really. But I have heard a few locks clicking...) The ones who aren't so lucky are the poor souls who have the unfortunate luck to be working in food service or retail when I come through their door. They're stuck. They can't run. They can't hide.
For your reading displeasure, I'm listing a few examples of the abuse that I've heaped onto completely innocent people. Rest assured---each and every one of these actually happened, and no harm was done to anyone. At least none that I know of. No lawyers have called me yet...
Here ya go:
Salesperson: "Did you need some help?"
Me: "I've needed help for years."
* * *
Vons clerk: "Did you need some help out tonight?"
Me: "No, thanks. I remember where my car is parked."
* * *
Person looking for a place to sit: "Is that seat taken?"
Me: [feels empty seat] "No, it's still there."
* * *
Wendy's clerk: [smiling] "You always get the chicken nugget combo with chili."
Me: "Well, if I didn't get the same thing, it would be different. And different just isn't the same."
* * *
Friend: "Do you have my number."
Me: "I've had your number for a long time."
* * *
Out at Magic Mountain one time, wearing my jacket during the summer:
Random Guy: "Aren't you hot with that jacket on?"
Me: "That's what the women say..."
* * *
New casino night worker upon meeting me: "Is your name 'Eric?'"
Me: "It must be...people keep calling me that..."
* * *
Fast food clerk taking my order: "Can I have your name?"
Me: "I'm still using it."
* * *
Him: "Have you ever been to Canada?"
Me: "No, but I've heard of it."
* * *
Me to person taking pictures: "Please don't get me in the picture...it's already on milk cartons." (or, "...on the wall at the post office.").
* * *
Now give me a minute to clean off all of the rotten fruit thrown at me. (Just a note: if you have that much rotten fruit laying around, you might consider cleaning out your fridge once in awhile...)
A good sense of humor is at my very core. It's one of the most important things a person can have. There is so much stress in the world today, and from the look of things, it's not going away any time soon. I just joked about my interaction with people out there who are working hard to make a living. Some might think that my messing with their heads would infuriate them, but quite the opposite is true. A few of these fine people had nasty looks on their face when I arrived, and after I left them with a souvenir of my visit, they were all smiles. I sure hope I made their day as that was really my intention.
Laughter really is the best medicine, and I am eternally grateful to everyone who has passed through my life and given me the fuel to keep the laugh machine going. And especially to the good Lord, the one who really runs this show.
Throughout my life, people have almost had to be reminded that I was even in the room, due to the fact that I tend to be rather quiet and unassuming. Teachers often wrote on my report cards: "Good student; hardly know he's there." How did someone who grew up in a house of five children manage to be so quiet? For whatever reason, I was. Maybe I got lost in the crowd? Perhaps. Even to this day I can walk into a room and ask the girls something, and they jump because they didn't hear me coming in. Oftentimes I've wondered if I'd have made a good burglar, seeing as how I can sneak around without even trying to do so.
Quiet or not, somehow, some way, I picked up an interesting sense of humor over the years. A blend of humor, actually. Dad had a dry sense of humor. I got that. The cartoons I watched were silly and had a cartoony view on life. I got that. My late friend Ron Szabo was great at the "play on words, punny, take things literally" sense of humor. I got that, too. Put 'em all together and you get...me.
Most people who know me would say that my sense of humor is what stands out most. But the people I encounter on a day-to-day basis react to me in various ways. Some of them see me coming and run the other way. Others spread their arms, ready for me to get close and then attack me with a hug tight enough to bend a steel I-beam. A few have put up "FOR SALE" signs on their homes. (Well, not really. But I have heard a few locks clicking...) The ones who aren't so lucky are the poor souls who have the unfortunate luck to be working in food service or retail when I come through their door. They're stuck. They can't run. They can't hide.
For your reading displeasure, I'm listing a few examples of the abuse that I've heaped onto completely innocent people. Rest assured---each and every one of these actually happened, and no harm was done to anyone. At least none that I know of. No lawyers have called me yet...
Here ya go:
Salesperson: "Did you need some help?"
Me: "I've needed help for years."
* * *
Vons clerk: "Did you need some help out tonight?"
Me: "No, thanks. I remember where my car is parked."
* * *
Person looking for a place to sit: "Is that seat taken?"
Me: [feels empty seat] "No, it's still there."
* * *
Wendy's clerk: [smiling] "You always get the chicken nugget combo with chili."
Me: "Well, if I didn't get the same thing, it would be different. And different just isn't the same."
* * *
Friend: "Do you have my number."
Me: "I've had your number for a long time."
* * *
Out at Magic Mountain one time, wearing my jacket during the summer:
Random Guy: "Aren't you hot with that jacket on?"
Me: "That's what the women say..."
* * *
New casino night worker upon meeting me: "Is your name 'Eric?'"
Me: "It must be...people keep calling me that..."
* * *
Fast food clerk taking my order: "Can I have your name?"
Me: "I'm still using it."
* * *
Him: "Have you ever been to Canada?"
Me: "No, but I've heard of it."
* * *
Me to person taking pictures: "Please don't get me in the picture...it's already on milk cartons." (or, "...on the wall at the post office.").
* * *
Now give me a minute to clean off all of the rotten fruit thrown at me. (Just a note: if you have that much rotten fruit laying around, you might consider cleaning out your fridge once in awhile...)
A good sense of humor is at my very core. It's one of the most important things a person can have. There is so much stress in the world today, and from the look of things, it's not going away any time soon. I just joked about my interaction with people out there who are working hard to make a living. Some might think that my messing with their heads would infuriate them, but quite the opposite is true. A few of these fine people had nasty looks on their face when I arrived, and after I left them with a souvenir of my visit, they were all smiles. I sure hope I made their day as that was really my intention.
Laughter really is the best medicine, and I am eternally grateful to everyone who has passed through my life and given me the fuel to keep the laugh machine going. And especially to the good Lord, the one who really runs this show.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Mid-Year Report
So here it is...2011 is halfway over and I haven't written a single update to my blog. It certainly isn't for lack of time. When you're looking for work [everybody together now... "AGAIN"], you have all the time in the world. See, it's sort of like a mathematical statement:
The amount of free time you have is inversely proportional to the amount of hours spent working at your job.
So there you have it. Class dismissed. OH...wait! You have to read the rest of this page first.
Funny thing...I had some good prospects early in the year, and I really thought it was going to be fairly simple. Unfortunately, for whatever reason, the companies for which I interviewed decided that they wanted someone else just a little bit more. An entire team of recruiters is looking out for anything that can put me back to work and get me off the street. A number of positions have become available, but for reasons known only to them, these companies have either chosen not to fill them, or have decided to spread out the duties among people who are already there.
Otherwise, really not much more to report. So...NOW class is dismissed.
The amount of free time you have is inversely proportional to the amount of hours spent working at your job.
So there you have it. Class dismissed. OH...wait! You have to read the rest of this page first.
Funny thing...I had some good prospects early in the year, and I really thought it was going to be fairly simple. Unfortunately, for whatever reason, the companies for which I interviewed decided that they wanted someone else just a little bit more. An entire team of recruiters is looking out for anything that can put me back to work and get me off the street. A number of positions have become available, but for reasons known only to them, these companies have either chosen not to fill them, or have decided to spread out the duties among people who are already there.
Otherwise, really not much more to report. So...NOW class is dismissed.
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