In 1989, I was pretty much at a life crossroads. I had just been promoted to a full-time job in the career of my choice. I was 21-going-on-16, and in the process of attempting to piss it all away. Drinking too much, driving too fast, spending money I didn't have, hanging out with people who had no vision of their own futures.
I became aware of the uncomfortable position in which I had put myself by the time 1989 became 1990. I began turning the corner, and had a lot of help from friends and family and career mentors in making that turn.
One of those mentors was the then-new editor of the Anytown Daily Bugle. He was a relatively young guy himself, and he had made a few bad choices during the early years of his career. He shared the consequences of those choices with me, and showed me how focusing on work could help pull me out of my personal downward spiral. He had no reason to do this; it's not typical for a top editor to pay any attention at all to a young sports copy editor, unless there was a screwup in print.
But he did, and I responded by working at about 114 percent of my talent level. Some of the best work I ever did came during that 1990-92 era, and the learning I did during that time laid the foundation for the job I have today. I have a file in which I've kept every complimentary letter or memo I've ever received relating to my work. I have a sheaf of them with the initials "LZ" at the end. He made sure that every good move I made was noticed, and through my boss, that every bad move I made was corrected.
He promoted me into my first management position in late 1991. I was going to be assisting our young sports editor in running the department. Then, in a surprise move, the sports ediitor left to take a job in Florida. Suddenly, for a month, I ran the show.
I'm not sure I did it very well, but I kept things afloat and kept us from embarrassing ourselves in print. The editor hired another man who became one of my mentors as sports editor, and I settled in as his assistant in January 1992.
At the end of December 1991, we all received an extra payroll envelope with our Christmas bonuses, which by then had dwindled to $30 per employee. Imagine my surprise when I opened my envelope to see an extra "0" after the "$30."
In it, a handwritten note: "A little something extra. Great work this month. Looking forward to the future. -LZ"
I'm not sure what happened in the summer of '92 between him and the publisher, but he quit. The publisher was, um, moved to a corporate damage control position shortly thereafter. A new editor took over; I learned a lot from him, too.
But I'll never ever forget the lessons I learned from Lou Ziegler, especially those relating to how to treat the people who work for you. Praise publicly and frequently; criticize privately and only when necessary, but every time it's necessary. I took those lessons to bigger jobs and bigger places, but the techniques and the results were the same.
Lou died Saturday at 56. He was running the newsroom in Fargo, N.D.; despite his declining health, he was still teaching and helping people until shortly before his death.
Peace, man, and thanks for helping me save my career.
Sunday, January 30, 2005
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Hey Julio, another drink, por favor
Did the Leader of the Free World just say we need more Hispanics here to "do jobs Americans won't do?" Twice?
Jobs Americans WON'T DO? We're too good for work all of a sudden?
And worse, a room full of journalists didn't call him on that remark?
"Jobs Americans won't do." As I recall, from 1789 to 1863, we called that slavery.
Screw us.
Jobs Americans WON'T DO? We're too good for work all of a sudden?
And worse, a room full of journalists didn't call him on that remark?
"Jobs Americans won't do." As I recall, from 1789 to 1863, we called that slavery.
Screw us.
Saturday, January 15, 2005
A comprehensive update
It's 7:31 a.m. in central Minnesota. The temperature outside is 18 below zero, and it's not expected to get much warmer. The sun is poking its head up over the eastern horizon; it appears as if it's trying to decide whether it really wants to come up or not.
My first start-to-finish project with my new company is scheduled to launch on Monday. So far, everything's on track and in order. I've been lucky enough to have been working with very skilled people on the customer side. If everything goes as planned -- and there's no reason to think that it won't -- a small newspaper in central Minnesota will be using a computer system that I installed, starting Monday.
This for me has been the culmination of a wild, wild year. Eleven months ago, I was sitting on the other side of the computers, doing the same thing I had been doing for all of my adult life and a good chunk of my late adolescence. I was bored to tears, tired of the constant second-guessing that goes on at every level of a newsroom, and frustrated with the thought that, because I had devoted my entire life and what little formal education I had to the pursuit of journalism, I wasn't qualified to do anything else.
Then this thing fell into my lap. I was given the opportunity to use what I knew about how a newsroom works in conjunction with what was arguably my best natural skill -- manipulating the technology -- to help design, sell and install that technology in other newsrooms. It gave me a chance to make good on one of my frequent grumbles: "When I design my own computer system, it sure as hell isn't going to work like this one ... "
Well, OK, I'm not exactly designing it, but I'm getting a chance to contribute. My newsroom experience has gained me much respect inside the company and with customers. People don't second-guess every decision I make. I don't second-guess every decision I make. In short, career-wise, it so far appears that I've made a perfect landing.
I pointed out last year, when I was deciding whether to do this, that it's a volatile industry. And it still is. We're hiring a bunch of people right now. A lot of those people might be let go if business takes a turn. I might be let go if business takes a turn. Our company is one of the smaller players in the industry; the chance of being bought out is very real, at least in the medium term. A lot of uncertainties are attached to this gig.
But one thing is certain: So far, it works for me. Right now, I'll take that.
-----------------------------
The new career has meant a new lifestyle for the family. After nearly a decade and a half of working at night, on weekends, working a non-set, uncertain schedule, having to drop everything and come to work to cover a major news event, I'm now leading the normal life of a 9-to-5er.
Well, almost. I'm also on the road most weekdays and a few weekends. If we have to work for a client on Monday, we have to travel on Sunday night. So it's not perfect.
But it's better than the previous arrangement. My weekends have largely been free to spend with the family; to let The Wife pursue her pursuits without worrying that she's going to get a call at 2 p.m. Saturday saying I have to go to work because a terrorist was found in the Middle East. We're able to have weekends with the kids and explore the wonder that is Florida. I have friends in our neighborhood, friends outside of work. We spend weekend nights with them, drinking, talking, basically just doing what humans are supposed to do in their time off: relaxing.
I'm home for dinner most nights. We have what's called "Circle Time" at dinner, which The Wife devised as a way to give the kids a forum to report on the events of their days. The Old Daughter lists hers off methodically. The Boy breathlessly speaks of the latest book he's read or the five or six people he played with at recess. The Young Daughter stretches out her time by reporting what she's done, then repeating it. I usually say, "I helped people with their computers." What I'm doing is not nearly as important as what they're doing.
-------------------------
The travel is rough sometimes. I enjoy being out and seeing new things and meeting new people. I don't like being away from the family for extended periods. But the perks are good.
The Wife and I used those perks -- a bundle of Delta SkyMiles and Marriott Rewards points -- to spend her 34th birthday in beautiful downtown Manhattan. The Wife has always wanted to see a Broadway show. So last Saturday, we went to a Broadway show.
It was weird to think that it was almost as easy for us to go to a Broadway show on Broadway as it would have been to go to a Broadway show in St. Petersburg. We left Friday night, went to the show Saturday and came home Sunday. Spent $400 on food, transportation, show tickets and stuff.
We ate lunch Saturday at a Chinese restaurant in Chinatown. We ate lunch Sunday at an Italian joint in Little Italy. Both would rank near the top in our experience of those restaurant genres, although neither was ranked high enough in the eyes of travel-guide writers to merit a mention. That's part of what makes New York fun: The ability to discover great stuff just by looking for it.
We saw Wonderful Town at the Al Hirschfeld Theater on West 45th Street. Brooke Shields played the lead. She's actually far more talented than her career credits would suggest. Live theatre seems to be her niche, and she has a much-underused gift for physical comedy. The music was good without being cheesy. The seats were comfortable. The company was great. It couldn't have been a better evening.
This is not the kind of thing we'd be able to do if I wasn't doing what I was doing. It doesn't take all of the sting about being away from home, but it helps a little bit.
------------------------------
Life's not perfect. It never is. But mine right now is basically a sequence of perfect moments. That's about as close as you can hope to get in this less-than-perfect world. I didn't just change careers on Feb. 4, 2004. I changed everything, and I dragged four people along with me for the ride.
Risky? Yeah. But so far, worth it. The lesson: You're never bound to something that sucks unless you choose to be bound to something that sucks. It takes more than a finger-snap and a decision, but really, in the broad sense, not that much more.
My first start-to-finish project with my new company is scheduled to launch on Monday. So far, everything's on track and in order. I've been lucky enough to have been working with very skilled people on the customer side. If everything goes as planned -- and there's no reason to think that it won't -- a small newspaper in central Minnesota will be using a computer system that I installed, starting Monday.
This for me has been the culmination of a wild, wild year. Eleven months ago, I was sitting on the other side of the computers, doing the same thing I had been doing for all of my adult life and a good chunk of my late adolescence. I was bored to tears, tired of the constant second-guessing that goes on at every level of a newsroom, and frustrated with the thought that, because I had devoted my entire life and what little formal education I had to the pursuit of journalism, I wasn't qualified to do anything else.
Then this thing fell into my lap. I was given the opportunity to use what I knew about how a newsroom works in conjunction with what was arguably my best natural skill -- manipulating the technology -- to help design, sell and install that technology in other newsrooms. It gave me a chance to make good on one of my frequent grumbles: "When I design my own computer system, it sure as hell isn't going to work like this one ... "
Well, OK, I'm not exactly designing it, but I'm getting a chance to contribute. My newsroom experience has gained me much respect inside the company and with customers. People don't second-guess every decision I make. I don't second-guess every decision I make. In short, career-wise, it so far appears that I've made a perfect landing.
I pointed out last year, when I was deciding whether to do this, that it's a volatile industry. And it still is. We're hiring a bunch of people right now. A lot of those people might be let go if business takes a turn. I might be let go if business takes a turn. Our company is one of the smaller players in the industry; the chance of being bought out is very real, at least in the medium term. A lot of uncertainties are attached to this gig.
But one thing is certain: So far, it works for me. Right now, I'll take that.
-----------------------------
The new career has meant a new lifestyle for the family. After nearly a decade and a half of working at night, on weekends, working a non-set, uncertain schedule, having to drop everything and come to work to cover a major news event, I'm now leading the normal life of a 9-to-5er.
Well, almost. I'm also on the road most weekdays and a few weekends. If we have to work for a client on Monday, we have to travel on Sunday night. So it's not perfect.
But it's better than the previous arrangement. My weekends have largely been free to spend with the family; to let The Wife pursue her pursuits without worrying that she's going to get a call at 2 p.m. Saturday saying I have to go to work because a terrorist was found in the Middle East. We're able to have weekends with the kids and explore the wonder that is Florida. I have friends in our neighborhood, friends outside of work. We spend weekend nights with them, drinking, talking, basically just doing what humans are supposed to do in their time off: relaxing.
I'm home for dinner most nights. We have what's called "Circle Time" at dinner, which The Wife devised as a way to give the kids a forum to report on the events of their days. The Old Daughter lists hers off methodically. The Boy breathlessly speaks of the latest book he's read or the five or six people he played with at recess. The Young Daughter stretches out her time by reporting what she's done, then repeating it. I usually say, "I helped people with their computers." What I'm doing is not nearly as important as what they're doing.
-------------------------
The travel is rough sometimes. I enjoy being out and seeing new things and meeting new people. I don't like being away from the family for extended periods. But the perks are good.
The Wife and I used those perks -- a bundle of Delta SkyMiles and Marriott Rewards points -- to spend her 34th birthday in beautiful downtown Manhattan. The Wife has always wanted to see a Broadway show. So last Saturday, we went to a Broadway show.
It was weird to think that it was almost as easy for us to go to a Broadway show on Broadway as it would have been to go to a Broadway show in St. Petersburg. We left Friday night, went to the show Saturday and came home Sunday. Spent $400 on food, transportation, show tickets and stuff.
We ate lunch Saturday at a Chinese restaurant in Chinatown. We ate lunch Sunday at an Italian joint in Little Italy. Both would rank near the top in our experience of those restaurant genres, although neither was ranked high enough in the eyes of travel-guide writers to merit a mention. That's part of what makes New York fun: The ability to discover great stuff just by looking for it.
We saw Wonderful Town at the Al Hirschfeld Theater on West 45th Street. Brooke Shields played the lead. She's actually far more talented than her career credits would suggest. Live theatre seems to be her niche, and she has a much-underused gift for physical comedy. The music was good without being cheesy. The seats were comfortable. The company was great. It couldn't have been a better evening.
This is not the kind of thing we'd be able to do if I wasn't doing what I was doing. It doesn't take all of the sting about being away from home, but it helps a little bit.
------------------------------
Life's not perfect. It never is. But mine right now is basically a sequence of perfect moments. That's about as close as you can hope to get in this less-than-perfect world. I didn't just change careers on Feb. 4, 2004. I changed everything, and I dragged four people along with me for the ride.
Risky? Yeah. But so far, worth it. The lesson: You're never bound to something that sucks unless you choose to be bound to something that sucks. It takes more than a finger-snap and a decision, but really, in the broad sense, not that much more.
Monday, January 10, 2005
New York, New York
Trip report to come. Let's just say that it was everything we expected and then some. Nothing about that city is overrated.
Sunday, January 02, 2005
Welcome to the new life
It's 7:45 a.m. I'm awake before everybody else, which is the new "normal" in our house. After years of being a night person, I've learned to enjoy a good sunrise.
It's Jan. 2. Tomorrow, I'll be on an airplane for the first of two times this week. I'll be heading to New Hampshire for work until Wednesday, then on Friday, The Wife and I are leaving to celebrate her birthday in New York. We've never been to New York. (I'm listening to suggestions, by the way; we're only going to be there for the weekend, so we're going to be trying to pack a lot into a very short time.) This is also the new "normal" in our house, a house from which 12 months ago we were lamenting the fact that we didn't leave very often.
Roughly this time last year, I urged my readers -- which is to say, I urged myself -- to break free of whatever was binding them to stuff that sucked and to head out in search of something good. In a triumph that ranks as one of the biggest triumphs in my entire existence, I have done so. I hear tales from elsewhere of others doing so, too: Otis, Lynniechan, Janel (aka West Virginia Mountain Mama), countless other people I know.
It can perhaps be attributed to some form of mid-life crisis. But the best way to deal with a crisis is to face it head-on and take action. I'm proud of everybody I know who has done so in the past year. That includes myself.
Happy 2005, y'all. May it be a year of doing whatever the hell you want to do.
It's Jan. 2. Tomorrow, I'll be on an airplane for the first of two times this week. I'll be heading to New Hampshire for work until Wednesday, then on Friday, The Wife and I are leaving to celebrate her birthday in New York. We've never been to New York. (I'm listening to suggestions, by the way; we're only going to be there for the weekend, so we're going to be trying to pack a lot into a very short time.) This is also the new "normal" in our house, a house from which 12 months ago we were lamenting the fact that we didn't leave very often.
Roughly this time last year, I urged my readers -- which is to say, I urged myself -- to break free of whatever was binding them to stuff that sucked and to head out in search of something good. In a triumph that ranks as one of the biggest triumphs in my entire existence, I have done so. I hear tales from elsewhere of others doing so, too: Otis, Lynniechan, Janel (aka West Virginia Mountain Mama), countless other people I know.
It can perhaps be attributed to some form of mid-life crisis. But the best way to deal with a crisis is to face it head-on and take action. I'm proud of everybody I know who has done so in the past year. That includes myself.
Happy 2005, y'all. May it be a year of doing whatever the hell you want to do.
Sunday, December 26, 2004
Peeking from behind the barrier
See, I wasn't going to go an entire month without posting something. I just need to gather my thoughts a bit. It's been a wild month; travel, parties, gifts galore, excitement and bliss and wonder. Basically, all the reasons one would wake up every morning.
So today, the day after Christmas, I'm surrounded by the debris from the Mini-Humans' barrage of Christmas joy. Dora the Explorer is praising my youngest from the TV screen. The oldest just emerged from her room, wearing a new outfit. The Boy is trying to decide which of his new pirate ships should pillage the castle.
Had a good conversation with my little sister last night. She's going to give me a niece in May. It's the first time I've spoken to her since the news broke. Life has been kind of a struggle for her the last several years, to say the least. Much of the drama has been self-created, but that hasn't made it any easier. Anyway, for the first time in, like, ever, she has a reason now to believe in the future. I couldn't be happier for her.
No work Friday, no work yesterday, no work today, no work tomorrow. No thinking about configuration issues or search requests or integration with existing systems. See how I'm not thinking about it?
This is what contentment feels like. I feel the overall inspiration coming back. I'm starting to feel like Me again. This is a good thing.
So today, the day after Christmas, I'm surrounded by the debris from the Mini-Humans' barrage of Christmas joy. Dora the Explorer is praising my youngest from the TV screen. The oldest just emerged from her room, wearing a new outfit. The Boy is trying to decide which of his new pirate ships should pillage the castle.
Had a good conversation with my little sister last night. She's going to give me a niece in May. It's the first time I've spoken to her since the news broke. Life has been kind of a struggle for her the last several years, to say the least. Much of the drama has been self-created, but that hasn't made it any easier. Anyway, for the first time in, like, ever, she has a reason now to believe in the future. I couldn't be happier for her.
No work Friday, no work yesterday, no work today, no work tomorrow. No thinking about configuration issues or search requests or integration with existing systems. See how I'm not thinking about it?
This is what contentment feels like. I feel the overall inspiration coming back. I'm starting to feel like Me again. This is a good thing.
Thursday, November 25, 2004
Good stuff all around
Awful lot of goodness around. Be thankful for all of it.
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Silent cry, invisible tear
Looks like bad weather today in my hometown, not unlike a November 24 from 17 years ago. Today's a little bit of a rough day. Not that every day since that day hasn't been in its own little way, but when those numbers all come together, a "1," a "1," a "2," a "4," for some reason, it's just a little bit rougher.
I miss my father. Yeah, I know, he's still here. But the brutal truth is, he's not. And I think that sucks.
It's OK for me to think that. And I'll be fine, in a while, for a while.
I just needed a few minutes alone with November 24 to tell it what I really think of it.
I miss my father. Yeah, I know, he's still here. But the brutal truth is, he's not. And I think that sucks.
It's OK for me to think that. And I'll be fine, in a while, for a while.
I just needed a few minutes alone with November 24 to tell it what I really think of it.
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
Yasser Arafat, 1929-not soon enough
Proving once again there is no justice in the world, gallstones got him before the Israelis did. The fact that his name is on the Nobel Peace Prize is an insult to the memory of Yitzhak Rabin and to Shimon Peres.
Speak ill of this dead bastard all you want.
Speak ill of this dead bastard all you want.
Nothing matters and what if it did?
Click, Drag and Delete have been pretty busy tonight. I keep trying to write something coherent, but bullshit comes out instead. My tolerance for bullshit is pretty low, and getting lower all the time.
I've been trying to make sense of the post-election babble. What are people really trying to say? Because 51 percent of us were too stupid to vote for W, the country's going straight to hell in a handbasket? Funny thing; most of the people who seem to be the most blue about Kerry's loss have access to computers and a good command of the written word, and jobs that give them a platform to share their feelings. Most of the people who stand around with my wife waiting to pick up their kids from school couldn't be more pleased with the election results. I know of nobody among the rapidly widening circle of friends we're gaining here on the Western Edge who voted for Kerry. If they did, they're doing a good job verbally faking their happiness over the result of the election.
What does that actually prove? Well, really, nothing. My suburb might or might not be typical. I would lean toward "not." A majority of my neighbors are officers in the Air Force, who work at the nearby base that houses Central Command. Some of them are headed to Iraq soon. Some of them have had to send people who report to them over there. All of them have strong feelings about the war, for and against. All of them voted for Bush.
It seems very possible that we're outgrowing our little democracy. What "unites" us? Really, nothing.
It took the deaths of 3,000 people who decided to not skip work one Tuesday in 2001 to get us to unite for a common cause, and that lasted, what, about two months? Then we were back to bitching and squabbling and back-biting. And that's not the fault of the left; if we must resort to schoolyard discourse (and apparently we must), the right started the whole "we're perfect and you're stupid" thing. They started it ...
An aside that doesn't really fit in anywhere else in this rant: Stop trying to convince me George W. Bush is a knuckle-dragging functional illiterate. He's not the most articulate person who's ever stood in front of the Great Seal. But last time I checked, they weren't just handing out degrees from Yale, even to people whose dads went there. I dropped out of a not-very-prestigious state university. I'm not going to pretend I'm smarter than somebody who found a way to make it through Yale.
God knows there's hypocrisy to spare in both red and blue hues. Bill Clinton was a womanizer who got a hummer from a chubby babe right there in the Oval Office. His successor sat in that same Oval Office and sent people off to die for ... well, for ... well, to defend us against ... uh, dammit, we had to bomb somebody! Michael Moore is a lying sack of shit. So is Ken Lay and the rest of his Enron cronies. I'm not sure any of Moore's lies have cost anybody their retirement savings.
Bottom line: We're facing a pretty serious hero shortage on both sides. Why? Because the good people are too damn smart to get involved. Colin Powell knows better. You know somebody's gunning for Barack Obama, the latest political Flavor of the Month,; not to attack his political ideas, all of which are sound, but to find out which of his college girlfriends he cheated on or how many speeding tickets he has or some other indiscretion with an actual relevance value of zero. We're going to be stuck with Hillary Clinton in 2008, not because she's the best or the brightest, but because she has good "name recognition."
The pool of statesmen and stateswomen is pretty thin these days. Good leaders are out there, but they're too busy leading to get caught up in the smoke-and-mirrors act that is the United States political system. The truly intelligent and visionary people don't want to play the game -- or they get drummed out of the game. (See index entries "McCain, John, too much integrity for own good," and "Dean, Howard, too visionary and passionate to be taken seriously").
Besides, we don't really want a leader as our president. We want somebody who looks good on TV and who can quip one-liners. We don't want a human; we want an image. Is Arnold Schwarzenegger the governor of California because he has an advanced degree in international economics? No. Did you know he has an advanced degree in international economics? Probably not. Lots of people have degrees in international economics. None of them was the Terminator. You likely won't see any of them as the governor of California.
So, now that I've declared the Repbulic extinct, what do I care about? I care that I'm not paying more than my fair share of the tax burden. I care that the things for which I am paying those taxes are of the highest quality, and are being built and maintained by people who are themselves being paid a living wage. I care that my children are safe, and I know that's primarily the responsibility of my wife and me. I'm less worried about international terrorists than I am about the registered sex offender who lives eight houses away from us. I care that the person who's being paid to watch him while he's on probation is doing her job. (We checked. She is.) I care mostly about stuff that's happening within about a 12-mile radius of wherever I am at the moment.
The most important vote I cast last Tuesday wasn't for president; it was for sheriff and the county commission.
I'm not choosing to be isolated; I'm choosing to mind my own house, and to take as much control as possible of what I can see. I'm participating in the process, but only to the extent where it affects me. I don't care what they do in Boston. I don't care what they do in Wyoming. I'm not sure anybody else in my immediate line of sight does, either. My hot-button issue is not abortion, or gay marriage, or "moral values," whatever the fuck that means. My issue is taxes. Bush sees it my way on taxes. Therefore, I voted for Bush. It's up to the people I send to Congress to keep him honest. (My vote for Senate went to the Democratic candidate, who lost to her slimebag opponent by about 132 votes ... Oops, there we go with the schoolyard stuff again. My bad. But he is a slimebag.) Bush wouldn't have been able to send all those people off to die if Congress hadn't let him. Kerry wasn't going to do anything about it anytime soon. All things being basically equal -- and they were -- the Republicans keep my taxes low, I'm voting Republican. As soon as the Democrats find some way to make it personally beneficial for me to vote for them, I'll vote for them.
So much for "united" states, huh? That's pretty much what I'm suspecting.
A logical criticism for what I have just written would go as follows: "You wrote god-knows-how-many-hundred-words and I still don't know what you believe." If that's the case, you weren't paying attention, and I'll sum it up in a few sentences.
I believe in the power of the individual, and I believe in the power of integrity and vision. Few of the choices with which I was presented last Tuesday showed me any of that. I support integrity and vision, no matter what party provides it. Does that explain anything?
(I'm not sure that this was any lower on the bullshit scale than any of the stuff that fell victim to Click, Drag and Delete, but I needed something to show for the last hour of typing. If I lose my balance while standing on this fence, it's really going to hurt my nuts. Click "Publish Post" and go on to the next thing, I guess.)
I've been trying to make sense of the post-election babble. What are people really trying to say? Because 51 percent of us were too stupid to vote for W, the country's going straight to hell in a handbasket? Funny thing; most of the people who seem to be the most blue about Kerry's loss have access to computers and a good command of the written word, and jobs that give them a platform to share their feelings. Most of the people who stand around with my wife waiting to pick up their kids from school couldn't be more pleased with the election results. I know of nobody among the rapidly widening circle of friends we're gaining here on the Western Edge who voted for Kerry. If they did, they're doing a good job verbally faking their happiness over the result of the election.
What does that actually prove? Well, really, nothing. My suburb might or might not be typical. I would lean toward "not." A majority of my neighbors are officers in the Air Force, who work at the nearby base that houses Central Command. Some of them are headed to Iraq soon. Some of them have had to send people who report to them over there. All of them have strong feelings about the war, for and against. All of them voted for Bush.
It seems very possible that we're outgrowing our little democracy. What "unites" us? Really, nothing.
It took the deaths of 3,000 people who decided to not skip work one Tuesday in 2001 to get us to unite for a common cause, and that lasted, what, about two months? Then we were back to bitching and squabbling and back-biting. And that's not the fault of the left; if we must resort to schoolyard discourse (and apparently we must), the right started the whole "we're perfect and you're stupid" thing. They started it ...
An aside that doesn't really fit in anywhere else in this rant: Stop trying to convince me George W. Bush is a knuckle-dragging functional illiterate. He's not the most articulate person who's ever stood in front of the Great Seal. But last time I checked, they weren't just handing out degrees from Yale, even to people whose dads went there. I dropped out of a not-very-prestigious state university. I'm not going to pretend I'm smarter than somebody who found a way to make it through Yale.
God knows there's hypocrisy to spare in both red and blue hues. Bill Clinton was a womanizer who got a hummer from a chubby babe right there in the Oval Office. His successor sat in that same Oval Office and sent people off to die for ... well, for ... well, to defend us against ... uh, dammit, we had to bomb somebody! Michael Moore is a lying sack of shit. So is Ken Lay and the rest of his Enron cronies. I'm not sure any of Moore's lies have cost anybody their retirement savings.
Bottom line: We're facing a pretty serious hero shortage on both sides. Why? Because the good people are too damn smart to get involved. Colin Powell knows better. You know somebody's gunning for Barack Obama, the latest political Flavor of the Month,; not to attack his political ideas, all of which are sound, but to find out which of his college girlfriends he cheated on or how many speeding tickets he has or some other indiscretion with an actual relevance value of zero. We're going to be stuck with Hillary Clinton in 2008, not because she's the best or the brightest, but because she has good "name recognition."
The pool of statesmen and stateswomen is pretty thin these days. Good leaders are out there, but they're too busy leading to get caught up in the smoke-and-mirrors act that is the United States political system. The truly intelligent and visionary people don't want to play the game -- or they get drummed out of the game. (See index entries "McCain, John, too much integrity for own good," and "Dean, Howard, too visionary and passionate to be taken seriously").
Besides, we don't really want a leader as our president. We want somebody who looks good on TV and who can quip one-liners. We don't want a human; we want an image. Is Arnold Schwarzenegger the governor of California because he has an advanced degree in international economics? No. Did you know he has an advanced degree in international economics? Probably not. Lots of people have degrees in international economics. None of them was the Terminator. You likely won't see any of them as the governor of California.
So, now that I've declared the Repbulic extinct, what do I care about? I care that I'm not paying more than my fair share of the tax burden. I care that the things for which I am paying those taxes are of the highest quality, and are being built and maintained by people who are themselves being paid a living wage. I care that my children are safe, and I know that's primarily the responsibility of my wife and me. I'm less worried about international terrorists than I am about the registered sex offender who lives eight houses away from us. I care that the person who's being paid to watch him while he's on probation is doing her job. (We checked. She is.) I care mostly about stuff that's happening within about a 12-mile radius of wherever I am at the moment.
The most important vote I cast last Tuesday wasn't for president; it was for sheriff and the county commission.
I'm not choosing to be isolated; I'm choosing to mind my own house, and to take as much control as possible of what I can see. I'm participating in the process, but only to the extent where it affects me. I don't care what they do in Boston. I don't care what they do in Wyoming. I'm not sure anybody else in my immediate line of sight does, either. My hot-button issue is not abortion, or gay marriage, or "moral values," whatever the fuck that means. My issue is taxes. Bush sees it my way on taxes. Therefore, I voted for Bush. It's up to the people I send to Congress to keep him honest. (My vote for Senate went to the Democratic candidate, who lost to her slimebag opponent by about 132 votes ... Oops, there we go with the schoolyard stuff again. My bad. But he is a slimebag.) Bush wouldn't have been able to send all those people off to die if Congress hadn't let him. Kerry wasn't going to do anything about it anytime soon. All things being basically equal -- and they were -- the Republicans keep my taxes low, I'm voting Republican. As soon as the Democrats find some way to make it personally beneficial for me to vote for them, I'll vote for them.
So much for "united" states, huh? That's pretty much what I'm suspecting.
A logical criticism for what I have just written would go as follows: "You wrote god-knows-how-many-hundred-words and I still don't know what you believe." If that's the case, you weren't paying attention, and I'll sum it up in a few sentences.
I believe in the power of the individual, and I believe in the power of integrity and vision. Few of the choices with which I was presented last Tuesday showed me any of that. I support integrity and vision, no matter what party provides it. Does that explain anything?
(I'm not sure that this was any lower on the bullshit scale than any of the stuff that fell victim to Click, Drag and Delete, but I needed something to show for the last hour of typing. If I lose my balance while standing on this fence, it's really going to hurt my nuts. Click "Publish Post" and go on to the next thing, I guess.)
Saturday, November 06, 2004
A weekend in Florida
On a beautiful Saturday in November (and here in Florida, there is rarely anything other than beautiful days in November), here's the way my two days off are shaping up ...
Surrounded by chaos: I have four extra children this weekend. The three younger ones pair off with our three quite nicely, and the oldest one is 11-going-on-34, so she's actually quite helpful. However, there is no way to have seven kids in your house and have peace ? no matter the hour. One of the kids who isn't ours was in bed with us last night.
The kids belong to friends of ours. They're off at the husband's 20-year high-school reunion in Wisconsin. Compounding the pain: The Wife is off at a dog show. I'm not yet at the edge of my sanity, but I can certainly see the edge from here. Thankfully, I have a bottle of 80-proof Danish liqueur within easy reach, when it becomes necessary. (Memo to Department of Children and Families: For me, not the kids.)
The friends who left us their kids are the most interesting people I think we've ever known. He is a major in the Air Force, tall, good-looking, flies KC-135 airborne refueling tankers when he's not leading his troops. He went to the Air Force Academy on a wrestling scholarship. I forgive The Wife's crush on him. I can certainly see why. His wife is also good-looking and in excellent shape; she is a nurse, the PTA president, a volunteer for god-knows-how-many other causes and still manages to find time to raise four smart, well-adjusted, good-looking and talented children. Their son is 5; he plays on my son's football team, and also plays the piano and does complex math. Their daughters are 4, 8 and 11, and are all smart and talented in their ways.
I can get through all of that without having to mention that they also face with grace and aplomb the daily challenges of being an interracial couple. He's white and grew up in rural Wisconsin; she's black and grew up in inner-city Chicago. That's the only thing that visibly separates them from the rest of us average suburban folk. For them, however, it's a complete non-issue. Yes, they take some crap every once in a while, but not nearly to the degree that they would have, say, 30 or even 20 years ago. For all the backward steps the country is taking as this tilt to the right continues, we certainly seem to be making strides against the cancer of racism.
The price of victory: The Boy's 3-7 football team somehow managed to squeak into the league playoffs. This sucked, because we were more than prepared for the season to be over. The coaches are becoming more annoying, and getting up at 6 a.m. every Saturday is just getting old.
In a stunning development, our Broncos pulled out a most unfortunate victory. This means yet one more week of football practice and one more Saturday of being awake at an ungodly hour. Thankfully, we're playing the champions of the other division, who went 9-1.
This experience has certainly confirmed all of my previous bitching about organized youth sports. Two weeks ago, one of our team's assistant coaches was kicked out of the game for questioning the officials. A parent was kicked out of the stands shortly thereafter. They weren't being violent or belligerent, just annoying and immature. Their reactions were well out of proportion to the importance of a game involving 5- to 7-year-old boys.
Because the coach was ejected, he was barred from participating on the field the next week. So he instead sat atop the press box with a video camera ... and a cell phone. He was calling plays down to the remaining coaches on the field.
I can't imagine any circumstance under which that would have been necessary.
New arrival: We have a new Champion Dog wanna-be in our house. A cute little golden retriever puppy replaced The Wife's male dog, who had behavior issues that derailed his chase for a championship. I don't like dogs, at all. This is a well-known fact. However, I'm going to take a shot at getting off on the right foot with this dog. Maybe if I'm reasonably nice to it, it won't hate me so much. Wish me luck.
Well, kids are starting to holler at each other in the other room. Guess I should see what's going on. Where's that liqueur again?
Surrounded by chaos: I have four extra children this weekend. The three younger ones pair off with our three quite nicely, and the oldest one is 11-going-on-34, so she's actually quite helpful. However, there is no way to have seven kids in your house and have peace ? no matter the hour. One of the kids who isn't ours was in bed with us last night.
The kids belong to friends of ours. They're off at the husband's 20-year high-school reunion in Wisconsin. Compounding the pain: The Wife is off at a dog show. I'm not yet at the edge of my sanity, but I can certainly see the edge from here. Thankfully, I have a bottle of 80-proof Danish liqueur within easy reach, when it becomes necessary. (Memo to Department of Children and Families: For me, not the kids.)
The friends who left us their kids are the most interesting people I think we've ever known. He is a major in the Air Force, tall, good-looking, flies KC-135 airborne refueling tankers when he's not leading his troops. He went to the Air Force Academy on a wrestling scholarship. I forgive The Wife's crush on him. I can certainly see why. His wife is also good-looking and in excellent shape; she is a nurse, the PTA president, a volunteer for god-knows-how-many other causes and still manages to find time to raise four smart, well-adjusted, good-looking and talented children. Their son is 5; he plays on my son's football team, and also plays the piano and does complex math. Their daughters are 4, 8 and 11, and are all smart and talented in their ways.
I can get through all of that without having to mention that they also face with grace and aplomb the daily challenges of being an interracial couple. He's white and grew up in rural Wisconsin; she's black and grew up in inner-city Chicago. That's the only thing that visibly separates them from the rest of us average suburban folk. For them, however, it's a complete non-issue. Yes, they take some crap every once in a while, but not nearly to the degree that they would have, say, 30 or even 20 years ago. For all the backward steps the country is taking as this tilt to the right continues, we certainly seem to be making strides against the cancer of racism.
The price of victory: The Boy's 3-7 football team somehow managed to squeak into the league playoffs. This sucked, because we were more than prepared for the season to be over. The coaches are becoming more annoying, and getting up at 6 a.m. every Saturday is just getting old.
In a stunning development, our Broncos pulled out a most unfortunate victory. This means yet one more week of football practice and one more Saturday of being awake at an ungodly hour. Thankfully, we're playing the champions of the other division, who went 9-1.
This experience has certainly confirmed all of my previous bitching about organized youth sports. Two weeks ago, one of our team's assistant coaches was kicked out of the game for questioning the officials. A parent was kicked out of the stands shortly thereafter. They weren't being violent or belligerent, just annoying and immature. Their reactions were well out of proportion to the importance of a game involving 5- to 7-year-old boys.
Because the coach was ejected, he was barred from participating on the field the next week. So he instead sat atop the press box with a video camera ... and a cell phone. He was calling plays down to the remaining coaches on the field.
I can't imagine any circumstance under which that would have been necessary.
New arrival: We have a new Champion Dog wanna-be in our house. A cute little golden retriever puppy replaced The Wife's male dog, who had behavior issues that derailed his chase for a championship. I don't like dogs, at all. This is a well-known fact. However, I'm going to take a shot at getting off on the right foot with this dog. Maybe if I'm reasonably nice to it, it won't hate me so much. Wish me luck.
Well, kids are starting to holler at each other in the other room. Guess I should see what's going on. Where's that liqueur again?
Thursday, November 04, 2004
What's new is old again, or something like that
It's time for a change here at Dateline: Anytown, USA. It's been a while, and the debris was starting to get pretty thick. I was writing my name in the dust. The stench was not yet overwhelming, but it was certainly noticeable. And the occasional cockroach crawling by was yet another sign that I needed to do some serious cleanup.
I had three choices:
1/Put in the necessary mental elbow grease to do the much-needed renovations
2/At least do the minimum to clean up the existing mess
3/Blow the whole damn thing up and start over
Because I'm lazy, and because I secretly enjoy a little bit of violence and mayhem now and then, I chose "3."
So much to talk about. So much has happened over the last several months. So many new adventures, so many new towns, so many takeoffs and landings. Lots of new people, which has been a good thing for me; I'm making progress against rapidly advancing agoraphobia. I'm not exactly a social butterfly, but I'm no longer actively avoiding other humans.
So much to think about. Wondering if my former Governor can fix in four years the damage he's done in the previous four. I earlier said I wasn't going to tell you how I voted. I'm going to go back on that, because it deserves some reflection, and because I kind of like pissing you off. I voted for Bush -- not because I think he's done a particularly good job, but because I think the Democrats can do better than Kerry, and I want them to focus on doing so in '08. Kerry didn't show me anything to make me think he was a better alternative, at least not in the short term. Remember, he got hornswoggled by that whole WMD thing, too. I have a history of votes that I question later: I voted for Perot in '92. I have a feeling I'm going to be questioning this one soon.
So much to be pissed off about. As mentioned in a post in the dusty forum, my former employer laid off a whole bunch of people last week. One of them was the best human being with whom I had ever worked. He was my boss when I had the boring job that I whined so much about. He was the only good thing about that job. He was also the only bad thing about that job. He never quite got his arms around the upper-management thing. After I left in '02, he got shoved aside and shoved aside and shoved aside until he finally was pushed off the edge. He's 43, with a kid in high school and a kid in middle school. I'd like to think he'll have no problem finding another job; he's smart and he's skilled. But it's not a great market for 40-ish white males, so ...
Some 60 people were excused from further participation. I know about 25 names. To a person, most of them were older people; some of them were people who hadn't kept up with the technology, some of them were people whose jobs had been kind of phased out as the newspaper reduced its coverage, and some of them were certainly less than competent. But I hate it when anybody leaves a job under any terms other than his or her own, through no real fault of their own.
And I especially hate it when good, hard-working people are victims of mismanagement by those in very high places. This newspaper pissed away more than $60 million over the last five years; $40-some million on a bad technology investment and the rest on refunds to advertisers after it was revealed they had been fudging their circulation numbers. Upper management was quick to say the circulation scandal had absolutely nothing to do with the layoffs. Upper management is, of course, full of shit.
Now, of course, the question looms: How in the hell do I wrap this up with something that'll make you come back for the next one? I've asked myself that question every time I've sat in front of this (or any other) keyboard over the last three years. I've never come up with a good answer for it. But y'all keep coming back anyway, for some reason. I'll keep searching for that answer.
I had three choices:
1/Put in the necessary mental elbow grease to do the much-needed renovations
2/At least do the minimum to clean up the existing mess
3/Blow the whole damn thing up and start over
Because I'm lazy, and because I secretly enjoy a little bit of violence and mayhem now and then, I chose "3."
So much to talk about. So much has happened over the last several months. So many new adventures, so many new towns, so many takeoffs and landings. Lots of new people, which has been a good thing for me; I'm making progress against rapidly advancing agoraphobia. I'm not exactly a social butterfly, but I'm no longer actively avoiding other humans.
So much to think about. Wondering if my former Governor can fix in four years the damage he's done in the previous four. I earlier said I wasn't going to tell you how I voted. I'm going to go back on that, because it deserves some reflection, and because I kind of like pissing you off. I voted for Bush -- not because I think he's done a particularly good job, but because I think the Democrats can do better than Kerry, and I want them to focus on doing so in '08. Kerry didn't show me anything to make me think he was a better alternative, at least not in the short term. Remember, he got hornswoggled by that whole WMD thing, too. I have a history of votes that I question later: I voted for Perot in '92. I have a feeling I'm going to be questioning this one soon.
So much to be pissed off about. As mentioned in a post in the dusty forum, my former employer laid off a whole bunch of people last week. One of them was the best human being with whom I had ever worked. He was my boss when I had the boring job that I whined so much about. He was the only good thing about that job. He was also the only bad thing about that job. He never quite got his arms around the upper-management thing. After I left in '02, he got shoved aside and shoved aside and shoved aside until he finally was pushed off the edge. He's 43, with a kid in high school and a kid in middle school. I'd like to think he'll have no problem finding another job; he's smart and he's skilled. But it's not a great market for 40-ish white males, so ...
Some 60 people were excused from further participation. I know about 25 names. To a person, most of them were older people; some of them were people who hadn't kept up with the technology, some of them were people whose jobs had been kind of phased out as the newspaper reduced its coverage, and some of them were certainly less than competent. But I hate it when anybody leaves a job under any terms other than his or her own, through no real fault of their own.
And I especially hate it when good, hard-working people are victims of mismanagement by those in very high places. This newspaper pissed away more than $60 million over the last five years; $40-some million on a bad technology investment and the rest on refunds to advertisers after it was revealed they had been fudging their circulation numbers. Upper management was quick to say the circulation scandal had absolutely nothing to do with the layoffs. Upper management is, of course, full of shit.
Now, of course, the question looms: How in the hell do I wrap this up with something that'll make you come back for the next one? I've asked myself that question every time I've sat in front of this (or any other) keyboard over the last three years. I've never come up with a good answer for it. But y'all keep coming back anyway, for some reason. I'll keep searching for that answer.
This is only a test
If this were an actual post, it'd still be boring as hell. But it's not. It's just a test.
Monday, November 01, 2004
Meanwhile, back here at the funny farm ...
We're off to a good start with Election 2004 here in Florida.
We're off to a good start with Election 2004 here in Florida.
Now hear this, America
The way I see it, folks, we have two choices:
We can let the ruling class decide who leads our country for the next four years
We can be the ruling class.
Choose the latter. Get the hell out and vote tomorrow.
As always, I don't care who you vote for, and I'm not telling you who I'm voting for. I do care that you put in the time and effort to make the decision. Don't leave it up to the radicals on either wing. You have an opinion; scream it from the rooftops. I want to hear you.
The way I see it, folks, we have two choices:
Choose the latter. Get the hell out and vote tomorrow.
As always, I don't care who you vote for, and I'm not telling you who I'm voting for. I do care that you put in the time and effort to make the decision. Don't leave it up to the radicals on either wing. You have an opinion; scream it from the rooftops. I want to hear you.
Thursday, October 28, 2004
Saturday, October 09, 2004
Needing some music
My iPod count stands at 504 songs -- pretty weak for a guy who claims to love music as much as I do.
So: I'm asking for your help. Recommend five songs to me -- from any genre; you don't have to know or care what I like. I want to know what YOU like, and I want to share it.
I buy songs pretty much exclusively from the iTunes music store, but if you happen to spring a song on me that I can't get there, let me know where I can get it.
Anyway: Five songs, from each of you. Click on "Enlighten us" and enlighten my iPod before my next road trip.
For the record, here's five from my playlist:
Baby Girl, Sugarland: Newly created "supergroup" featuring three notable singer-songwriters from Atlanta's music scene. They put together a helluva band. Their CD is scheduled for release Oct. 26. Another good song, not yet generally available: "Down in Mississippi (and Up to No Good.)
Love Means Never Having to Say You're Hungry, Charlie Robison: From his new album, "Good Times." Raunchy, not-safe-for-the-minivan paean to ... well, let's just say you won't be able to hear this song without thinking about a certain Dixie Chick's, um ... well, just listen to the song.
Lough Erin Shore, The Corrs: Instrumental from an Irish band of siblings. The rest of their stuff is a little too poppy for me, but man, what a bunch of great musicians. Amazing violin, piano and tin whistle evokes the best of Irish music without making you think of "Riverdance."
Kick my Ass, Big and Rich: Actually, this whole album is worth a listen. Big and Rich is heading for some serious commercial success, which means you should take a listen before Nashville beats them down and turns them into everyothercountryradioact. You won't find too many albums that combine straight-up country, hard rock, rap in Spanish and Bon Jovi-style power ballads.
Pocahontas Proud, Gretchen Wilson: "I'm the biggest thing that ever came from my hometown," hollers the Redneck Woman, and it's hard to argue against that statement when one's hometown is Pocahontas, Ill. I like Gretchen Wilson mostly because she reminds me of every third girl I knew as a teenager in Anytown, girls from the surrounding small towns who drove Chevy 4x4s and would beat you up as soon as hold your hand. I like that in a woman. (A little bit about my taste in women: I think this picture is just about the hottest picture of any woman on the Web.) I like this song because I appreciate people who understand where they came from and are proud of it.
Your turn. Five from you.
My iPod count stands at 504 songs -- pretty weak for a guy who claims to love music as much as I do.
So: I'm asking for your help. Recommend five songs to me -- from any genre; you don't have to know or care what I like. I want to know what YOU like, and I want to share it.
I buy songs pretty much exclusively from the iTunes music store, but if you happen to spring a song on me that I can't get there, let me know where I can get it.
Anyway: Five songs, from each of you. Click on "Enlighten us" and enlighten my iPod before my next road trip.
For the record, here's five from my playlist:
Baby Girl, Sugarland: Newly created "supergroup" featuring three notable singer-songwriters from Atlanta's music scene. They put together a helluva band. Their CD is scheduled for release Oct. 26. Another good song, not yet generally available: "Down in Mississippi (and Up to No Good.)
Love Means Never Having to Say You're Hungry, Charlie Robison: From his new album, "Good Times." Raunchy, not-safe-for-the-minivan paean to ... well, let's just say you won't be able to hear this song without thinking about a certain Dixie Chick's, um ... well, just listen to the song.
Lough Erin Shore, The Corrs: Instrumental from an Irish band of siblings. The rest of their stuff is a little too poppy for me, but man, what a bunch of great musicians. Amazing violin, piano and tin whistle evokes the best of Irish music without making you think of "Riverdance."
Kick my Ass, Big and Rich: Actually, this whole album is worth a listen. Big and Rich is heading for some serious commercial success, which means you should take a listen before Nashville beats them down and turns them into everyothercountryradioact. You won't find too many albums that combine straight-up country, hard rock, rap in Spanish and Bon Jovi-style power ballads.
Pocahontas Proud, Gretchen Wilson: "I'm the biggest thing that ever came from my hometown," hollers the Redneck Woman, and it's hard to argue against that statement when one's hometown is Pocahontas, Ill. I like Gretchen Wilson mostly because she reminds me of every third girl I knew as a teenager in Anytown, girls from the surrounding small towns who drove Chevy 4x4s and would beat you up as soon as hold your hand. I like that in a woman. (A little bit about my taste in women: I think this picture is just about the hottest picture of any woman on the Web.) I like this song because I appreciate people who understand where they came from and are proud of it.
Your turn. Five from you.
Monday, October 04, 2004
That's him. The fat guy
I'm generally a pretty average guy. The one thing that has always made me different from you is that I'm really, really thin.
I didn't weigh 100 pounds when I graduated from high school. The first time I had my body fat measured, during a physical for my track team, my body fat registered 1.8 percent. I could buy my clothes in the children's section until I was 26.
Even with the inevitable settling that comes with adulthood, I still tipped the scales at around 130. (I'm just shy of 5-foot-7). I took great pride in being able to maintain a slim profile, despite eating large quantities of whatever the hell I wanted and drinking enough beer on some nights to make you puke just from watching me.
I knew it was going to catch up to me eventually, I really did. And I probably should be glad it took this long.
I stepped on a scale a few days ago for the first time since February. That time, I weighed 134. I almost had a heart attack when I saw the number that popped up the other day. (OK, the heart-attack thing might have been because of the clogged arteries, but anyway ... )
One-fifty-seven.
Damn near 160 pounds. Once again, just shy of 5-foot-7.
I knew something was up during one of my road trips earlier this summer. I packed my normal bunch of clothes, and suddenly, my slightly snug 31-waist pants didn't fit at all. They weren't "slightly snug," nor "really tight." They would not snap around my waist, despite my best efforts to suck it in.
This happened, I swear to God, overnight. I found myself in Washington state suddenly having to shop for pants. In a 33.
So, now, I'm faced for the first time ever with the idea that I might have to care about getting my weight down, or at least making sure it doesn't go up any more. I actually might have to start somehow forcing myself to eat fat-free stuff. (God, I hate fat-free stuff.) Two words: Light beer. A few more words: A lot less of it. And, oh yeah, exercise ...
Part of it is more of the Inevitable Settling, now that I'm closer to 40 than to 30. Part of it is my new job, where I find myself sitting a lot in 757s and in airports and behind desks, and eating restaurant food on other people's money.
Don't get me wrong; I'm not in danger any time soon of being the blubberbutt you see walking away in a TV news story about how we're making the planet sink because we're all so damn fat. And vanity was something I gave up when I started losing my hair, anyway.
The reason it concerns me, mostly, is because I have heart disease coming at me from both sides of my family. I don't really need to make things any harder on my ticker than my genetics already dictate they're going to be.
I'm easing into this. I'll mix a few diet sodas in with the four or five regular sodas, and maybe even a glass of water occasionally. I'll eat well one day, and like I usually do the next day. I had a morning walk for a while as part of my routine, but time and the need to sleep has been stealing that. I need to get it back.
And in that paragraph above, I just mistyped "steak" insead of "steal." And I paused for just a second and I thought, "Mmm, steak ... "
I'm generally a pretty average guy. The one thing that has always made me different from you is that I'm really, really thin.
I didn't weigh 100 pounds when I graduated from high school. The first time I had my body fat measured, during a physical for my track team, my body fat registered 1.8 percent. I could buy my clothes in the children's section until I was 26.
Even with the inevitable settling that comes with adulthood, I still tipped the scales at around 130. (I'm just shy of 5-foot-7). I took great pride in being able to maintain a slim profile, despite eating large quantities of whatever the hell I wanted and drinking enough beer on some nights to make you puke just from watching me.
I knew it was going to catch up to me eventually, I really did. And I probably should be glad it took this long.
I stepped on a scale a few days ago for the first time since February. That time, I weighed 134. I almost had a heart attack when I saw the number that popped up the other day. (OK, the heart-attack thing might have been because of the clogged arteries, but anyway ... )
One-fifty-seven.
Damn near 160 pounds. Once again, just shy of 5-foot-7.
I knew something was up during one of my road trips earlier this summer. I packed my normal bunch of clothes, and suddenly, my slightly snug 31-waist pants didn't fit at all. They weren't "slightly snug," nor "really tight." They would not snap around my waist, despite my best efforts to suck it in.
This happened, I swear to God, overnight. I found myself in Washington state suddenly having to shop for pants. In a 33.
So, now, I'm faced for the first time ever with the idea that I might have to care about getting my weight down, or at least making sure it doesn't go up any more. I actually might have to start somehow forcing myself to eat fat-free stuff. (God, I hate fat-free stuff.) Two words: Light beer. A few more words: A lot less of it. And, oh yeah, exercise ...
Part of it is more of the Inevitable Settling, now that I'm closer to 40 than to 30. Part of it is my new job, where I find myself sitting a lot in 757s and in airports and behind desks, and eating restaurant food on other people's money.
Don't get me wrong; I'm not in danger any time soon of being the blubberbutt you see walking away in a TV news story about how we're making the planet sink because we're all so damn fat. And vanity was something I gave up when I started losing my hair, anyway.
The reason it concerns me, mostly, is because I have heart disease coming at me from both sides of my family. I don't really need to make things any harder on my ticker than my genetics already dictate they're going to be.
I'm easing into this. I'll mix a few diet sodas in with the four or five regular sodas, and maybe even a glass of water occasionally. I'll eat well one day, and like I usually do the next day. I had a morning walk for a while as part of my routine, but time and the need to sleep has been stealing that. I need to get it back.
And in that paragraph above, I just mistyped "steak" insead of "steal." And I paused for just a second and I thought, "Mmm, steak ... "
Innocence rules
The Old Daughter finally unleashed her first curse word.
She didn't say it to her teacher, or to her mom, or to her gramdma. Nobody heard it at all. She whispered it to herself in her bedroom. Several months ago.
We would never have know had she not come out of her room this evening, sobbing. "Mommy, I gotta tell you something," she blubbered. "I said a bad word. I feel terrible about it."
Then she told us the part about having whispered it to herself in her room several months ago. "I just" snif snif "wanted to see" snif snif "what it felt like."
I'm not too worried about teenagerhood, all of a sudden. I think she'll be OK.
And frankly, as far as I'm concerned, as long as she doesn't say it to any of the aforementioned authority figures listed above, she can say whatever the fuck she wants to say.
The Old Daughter finally unleashed her first curse word.
She didn't say it to her teacher, or to her mom, or to her gramdma. Nobody heard it at all. She whispered it to herself in her bedroom. Several months ago.
We would never have know had she not come out of her room this evening, sobbing. "Mommy, I gotta tell you something," she blubbered. "I said a bad word. I feel terrible about it."
Then she told us the part about having whispered it to herself in her room several months ago. "I just" snif snif "wanted to see" snif snif "what it felt like."
I'm not too worried about teenagerhood, all of a sudden. I think she'll be OK.
And frankly, as far as I'm concerned, as long as she doesn't say it to any of the aforementioned authority figures listed above, she can say whatever the fuck she wants to say.
Saturday, September 25, 2004
Too tired to duck again
I'd start an eyeofjeanne.blogspot.com, but geez, I'm so bored with the whole hurricane thing at this point. This one is probably going to hit us with more than a glancing blow. We're not prepared, other than what is left over from Charley and Frances and Ivan.
This whole Edge of America thing might be up for discussion soon.
I'd start an eyeofjeanne.blogspot.com, but geez, I'm so bored with the whole hurricane thing at this point. This one is probably going to hit us with more than a glancing blow. We're not prepared, other than what is left over from Charley and Frances and Ivan.
This whole Edge of America thing might be up for discussion soon.