Bay Area Journal

I finally took a vacation. With a massive movement of men and materials, the Family traveled by plane to my parents' house -- 9 days in Redwood Shores, Calif., just a bit south of San Francisco, where we were joined by a massive influx of relatives.

The scorecard: My wife and three boys, 5.5 years and under; my sister, her husband, and one-year-old; my brother, his wife, and boy and girl, 3-years and under; my dad's mother and her husband; my mom's mother and her husband; and my mom, dad and their, dog, Sadie.

But we got there early, dropped off the kids and headed up to Napa for two days of wine sipping, fine dining, mountain hiking and spa treatments. The wine on Day 1 was OK, and dizzying... they took us for six bottles.

Day 2 may well have been my best day ever:

- Wake up late.
- Massive continental breakfast in the lobby of the Yountville Inn. Bagels, crumbcakes, fruit, juice, coffee and cereal; brought back more to the still-sleeping wife in our room.
- Relaxed in the whirlpool, then a dip in the well-heated pool.
- Shower and dress, head off to Calistoga, home of spas, hot springs and more wineries.
- We decided to hike up an old mountain mining trail...on the way there, we stopped at a spa and found a convenient appointment for mud baths and massage.
- A two-hour hike. Picnic on the mountain. Critters and birds flitting by. Massive, spread-winged vultures floating overhead (Vultures may not sound so great, but at the time, I thought they were eagles, so it was glorious...my outdoors-y brother-in-law burst the bubble upon seeing my digital photo of the bird in flight, but it was too late by then).
- On the way down the mountain, an amusing but embarrassing episode for my wife. The less said about this the better. Let's just say that it's good that we had a lot of napkins along.
- The spa -- I'd never done this. I must do it again ... first, a bath in hot steaming mud. Then a mineral bath soak. Then the steam room, a little relax time and a massage from my shoulders to my toes. Complete, giddy, bliss.
- Delicious steak dinner, then back to the hotel to seduce my wife and watch movies.

You can't really top perfection, and my extended family certainly would not be able to try. But there were no major blow ups, fist fights or hurt feelings to speak of, and everyone loved our kids. And we finished the trip with a visit to the Millbrae In-N-Out Burger, chomping down a fresh Double-Double and feeding french fries to the birds.

I know, positivity is boring. But this was indeed a good vacation.

And, now, back to our regularly scheduled misery.

People that I Miss

This blog is pretty anonymous, and it should stay that way (except for you special few, you know who you are, you little dickenses...). But I've been mulling the past, and how I've left too many people behind in my life, through too many moves across the country and too much laziness and forgetting and closing off my mind and my heart to anyone or anything that might cause an excess welling of emotion.

Given the power of Google, I thought I'd throw out a few names of people I miss, who I think about all the time but have lost from my life completely... If you come across this, and think you might know me, leave a comment or send me an email. In no particular order...

Brian Anton -- my best friend through 8th grade. Then I moved. Comic readin', Micronaut playin' buddy. I remember you asking me once, in 8th grade, if we would still be friends if it weren't for comics. Two answers: yes...and what does that matter?

Homer Cepeda -- It was Homer and Brian and me through 8th grade. Went off to private school after I moved. You'd think you could Google a guy with a name like Homer Cepeda, but nothing comes up but the baseball stats of Orlando Cepeda.

Scott Chankin -- My bowling and summer camp buddy before I moved. I've never gotten over my guilt for not replying to your letter to me after I moved out of town.

Dan Rubin -- College buddy. I'd heard you'd been laid off. You'd always kept in touch. Now you've disappeared and I'm regretting not keeping up. Where did you go?

Eric Geoffroy -- College buddy ... best friend, really, until senior year when you moved off campus and I got a girlfriend, I guess. Tremendous musical talent who opened my eyes to real creativity. What the heck are you doing now?

Lisa Spencer -- that college girlfriend. Hey, look, I'm happily married with kids and all that, but I'd just love to know what you've made of yourself.

There's a longer list, but I'll stop there for now...

Nooooooooo!

I'm at my office. I've got my pen, I've got my New York Times Arts section, open to the crossword puzzle. I'm ready.

And there's a line for the men's room.

This is so wrong.

Decisions, Decisions

that little song at the end of my previous post has been a theme in my life of late. I've been having problems with decisions. It's really very simple: I need to do something else with my life. I need to follow my muse for writing. I need a job that I feel some passion for, or at least I can tolerate enough that I can do decent work. I need to be able to order my life so that I have a few "perfect days".

I need to quit my job.

Unfortunately, I'm afraid I'm moving in that direction, but not on purpose. My main client is putting us up for review. My business will take a big loss for the work I'm doing, for a client we may not get back. And for my part, it's all I can do to get myself to do any work at all ... I've been distinctly unimpressive to the very people who will make the review decision.

Decisions, decisions.

The idea, of course, is to choose your own path. To chose a goal, chart a course, and boldly sail the schooner of life in that direction, not letting the storms of distractions and the icebergs of fate impede your path or trap you in the sargasso of indecision.

My alternative theory is to choose the river of your fate and to see where it takes you...and if you feel you're going the wrong direction, you can hope that it will divide somewhere downstream and you'll be offered a new path, right in front of you, that a mere push of the pole will set you on a new course. But what if the river never divides? You can choose a new river, but it's very hard to do...since the river never stops and neither do you.

Decisions, decisions.

More Songs in My Head

Some songs I'm imagining myself singing...

Livin' on the road my friend
Is gonna keep you free and clean
Now you wear your skin like iron
Your breath's as hard as kerosene.

- "Pancho & Lefty" by Townes van Zandt

They say that these are not the best of times
But they're the only times I've ever known...

I have seen that sad surrender in my lover's eyes
I can only stand apart and sympathize
For we are always what our situations hand us:
It's either sadness or euphoria.

- "Summer Highland Falls" by Billy Joel

I've been driving
Sixteen hours
This rain is like a
Metronome.

- "Been Set Free" by Peter Himmelman

I was singing a song about open plains
I was singing a song about a rope.
I was about a southbound train
I was singing a song about hope.

And it's not like I'm goin' nowhere
'Cause I'm getting there awful fast.
It's not like I'm in a hurry to get there
Sometimes I wish I had more of a past.

Everyone is cheering
While I'm leanin' against the rail.
Everyone sees their future nearin'
While I'm just afraid to fail.

And what were you thinking when you told me you loved me?
Did you even know that you had lied?
What were you thinking when you looked me in the eyes...
And made just one..lonely ... plea:
Decide...

"Decide" by me, Impending, today

ABC News: Bush Nominates Alito for Supreme Court

Don't you get the feeling that all of a sudden, Bush and team have started to watch television. It's like each move and counter move is perfectly designed to integrate with prevailing wisdom of the press. The Harriet Miers nomination was kicked back by movement conservatives who thought she had no judicial credentials (because, well, she didn't...) ... here's Alito, with the mostest judicial credentials ever! Miers was too much of a blank slate ... Alito has lots and lots on his slate! It's like Bush is saying, "You want experience? You want a record? I'll give you the mostest ever!" And the media just eat it up. Having the newsmakers conveniently package the news into the storylines they've already written makes things so darned easy for them. The story just writes itself! Which, of course, is the problem...the nub, as it were.

One Minute Story: Comic Book Dreams

I was sitting on a park bench, dreaming.

In my dream, I was in the army. But when I fired my gun, I didn't kill anyone. They would just keep coming and coming, over the dusty, dirty hill that was dotted with patches of green and brown grass and wavy, straw-like grains. Then I'd look over the hill and they'd be gone, and the hill became an expanse, a valley, that went on forever. So I forced myself over the hill and then I fell and rolled, but I didn't feel like I was rolling and I couldn't feel the bumps and I should have been bruised but I wasn't, probably because I was dreaming.

And I stood up with my gun at the ready...but there was no enemy, only this empty plain that stretched on forever.

So I sat down and laid my gun on my lap and I had a smoke. Only I don't smoke. So I started coughing. So I dropped the cigarette and it set the grass on fire. And there was fire all around me like in a ring and I got up and gaped at it, open mouthed I gaped at it, standing, ready to shoot something. But nothing came and it was hot. And I was scared.

And then I woke up.

* * *

"So, what do you think, Doc?"

"What do you think, John?"

"I think I'm getting hot under the collar!"

"What is that, some sort of movie line?"

"I think so. Probably not."

"What do you think your dream meant, John?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you have some unresolved conflicts."

"Pffffft. Okay..."

"I think you're angry and helpless. And you realize your only enemy is the one you can't fight -- yourself."

"Well, yes. That's all true, but..."

"But what?"

"But I think it was about my frustrations..."

"Yes, that's what I said..."

"...about my inability to successfully gain super powers."

"That's funny..."

"You see, I tried to irradiate a spider. But it's not easy to find radiation. They don't sell it at Radio Shack."

"I'd imagine not..."

"Cosmic rays aren't easily available, either."

"I'm not familiar with..."

"So, I've been working in my garage on an exoskeleton. Mostly with scrap metal and transistors, some old machine tools and minimotors."

"And what will this exoskelton do for you?"

"The exoskel-e-ton will give me super strength, of course. and I'll be bulletproof. Mostly."

"So, when you say 'bulletproof' that's really a metaphor for ..."

"Protecting me from bullets, yes."

"And who would be shooting at you?"

"Villains. Look, if you're not going to take me seriously, I'm going to have to..."

"Are you threatening me?"

"... take you to my garage and show you. It's really cool."

"That's okay. I believe you."

"You do?"

"No, I don't."

Lines in the Sand

Some days I feel like I'm running around in circles. There's a starting line, just beyond the edge, but I keep circling just shy of it, every lap arcing so close that if I just stopped ... I could step right over.

But I can't.

Yesterday, I discussed with someone (OK... my therapist ...) what a thrill it might be to see what I can really get away with at work. Could I, potentially, finish a week's worth of work in one or two days, and then relax and enjoy the rest of the week. My answer: I probably could. What's scary about that? That I have no idea what I'd do with the rest of my time. But wouldn't it be fun to see if I could do it?

The problem is getting started. How do you get off the track? How do you 'just do it' when something, a little child inside you is screaming, "I don't wanna face this"?

So here's my answer: From hereforth, I'm going to take George Costanza's advice and 'do the opposite'. Whatever I want to do, I'm going to do the opposite. If I want to avoid work, I'm going to work. If I don't want to make a phone call, I'll make the phone call. If I don't want to write the article, I'll write the article. If I don't want to have lunch with my old boss, I'll call her and set it up.

God I hate this idea.

(which probably makes it a pretty good one).

My Perfect Day

As it happens, I hate my job. What would comprise my perfect day?

6:00 am -- Wake up. Realize it's 6:00 am. Go back to sleep.

6:45 am -- Shuffle downstairs. Get newspaper. Have cup of coffee from coffee shop magically appear in my hand. Drink coffee and read paper. Cook can of corned beef hash. Feed kids.

7:15 am -- Eat bowl of cereal, corned beef hash and orange juice. Continue reading paper.

8:30 am -- Shower and stuff. Get dressed: No suit...but lookin' sharp and comfy.

9:30 am -- Go to coffee shop. Drink more coffee. Write stories.

11:30 am -- Lunch! Gyro or falafel. Read magazine.

Noon -- Make phone calls. Take meetings. Do Emails. Do work.

2:30 pm -- Writing time. Another coffee shop. Don't bug me.

5:00 pm -- Dinner! Lots of delicious food! From a restaurant. How 'bout some ribs?

6:00 pm -- Play with kids.

7:00 pm -- Put kids to bed.

8:00 pm -- Watch TV. Zone out.

9:00 pm -- Work more ... send more emails ... while watching TV.

10:30 pm -- Seduce wife.

11:00 pm -- Read compelling novel. Or comic book.

11:15 pm -- Fall asleep.

Opening Lines

Someday, I'm sure to write a novel. Doubtless, I will choose from among the following opening lines:


Rene wasn't tired and she wasn't hungry. She wasn't anxious and she wasn't nervous. She wasn't happy and she wasn't sad. She was perplexed. And who wouldn't be: there was a sea lion in her living room.

* * *

Turbulence wasn't a word used lightly among pilots. "A little bumpy," they might say. Or, "we're hitting a rough patch." So when the speakers crackled with shouts of "Turbulence!" from the cockpit, Jack knew he'd best check the seat pocket for that little paper bag.

* * *

One thing I was sure about growing up: I would never be caught by an elephant with a pound of peanuts stuffed in my underwear. But here I am.

* * *

I like butter. A lot.

* * *

Swimming is easy. It's breathing that's the trouble. Always remember to breathe, my grandma told me and I took that advice to heart.

* * *

"Call me, Ishmael!" I shouted. But, alas, my love had gone to sea.

Thumbsucker - A Movie Review

Last night, I went to a free sneak preview of Pride and Predjudice, and, after a series of wacky mishaps involving my mother-in-law and a large, extra-spicy burrito, and upon discovering that Pride and Predjudice is based on a Jane Austen book, making it a movie which no self-respecting male should attend alone, I found myself $15 poorer balancing a Coke, a bag of hot, buttery popcorn, and a ticket to "Thumbsucker".

Thumbsucker is a movie about resolving the conflict between who you are and who you want to be. Seventeen-year-old Justin Cobb has an embarrassing habit: He picks his nose. Ha! Just kidding -- he sucks his thumb. He does it by himself, when he's stressed, or tired, or just wants to relax. Understandably, his unrequited jock dad doesn't thinks he's an idiot, and his celebrity obsessed, fantasizing nurse mom is enabling. Dad gets so upset, he writes his own initials on Justin's thumb -- MFC.

Justin is a nice kid, a little buck-toothed and a little mopey. He's on the debate team, where he's in love with Rebecca, who has big boobs. It appears we're headed for tender teen romance when, after their first kiss, Rebecca notices MFC written on his thumb and asks him what it means ... so responds, well, poorly.

So Justin goes on a journey to see how he can change himself -- to become the person he's supposed to be. He tries hypnosis, pharaceuticals and pot. He gets advice from his hippie, new age orthodontist (Keanu Reeves), a recovering addict TV-star (Benjamin Bratt) and his recovering teen debate teacher (Vince Vaughn).

And eventually, you know, discovers himself and stuff.

You know, writing reviews is hard, and I have to get back to work. It was a good movie. I liked it... go see it. Thanks.

Art for Art's Sake

Ahh...the glorious music of the keyboard...oh the art you can create:

l;aksdjfl;asdfja;sldjfasl;dfjka;sldfja;ldfja;ldfj;aldfj;aldfj;aldfjal;dfjal;sdfjla
;dfjla;dfjalsdf

Now, look how I start to mix in other rows... here's the middle row plus QWERTY! ...

aj;sdlkfjas;ldjfa;lsdfjqwoeituawoeitywoeitlkdfasl;dkfasodfjqopweityakdfj
aoetiuqwodfasdl;ufweijasdfwioetujawoeiuldkfwoe

And now, a little three-row action...

al;ksdjalkdjacm,v.x,cjgoeifnmaweoifnxcvkdhtiodnvawencvweopifnkl
d;vnaeiocvcmcxnwoehaxcvmnoer

And numbers!

;aklsdfl;aksj20935u239045lsdjf032459lksdjf23095ldsf340mncvc
gj3049lkdjeowkdac.,vcm409

With but a touch of the shift key...punctuation!

lka;sdnval;df()*#$@Y(*@NC@)#$*(SVMCXNGLDGC">NVEG@()$GNVDM<>SVMCXNGLDGC

(oops...CAPS LOCK! what spontenaeity!)

And now... the whole keyboard....!!!!!

lkajdlvna;lhgdkjh03489*()^(JHKDN(DS*Y983453mfdmnzxc,.vn48thasdklfzd90v8h4rtio

Thank you, thank you...yes I know... I feel blessed that we could be a part of this artistic experience together ...

How to Shoot an Apple off a Man's Head at 100 Yards

How to Shoot an Apple Off of a Man's Head At 100 Yards

If you enjoy nature hikes up easy rolling hills, antiqueing in an old river town, a variety of unique crafts by local artists, and teeth-rattling near death experiences, the Stillwaters Art Fair, this Saturday and Sunday, is for you. Here are some highlights.

Nature Hikes

Bring your backpack and take a hike! Trails will take you through historic Stillwaters and up the Lenaole Overlook, where there's plenty of space to spread out the picnic blanket, sip lemonade and watch the apple-shooting exhibition down by the river from a safe distance. Don't jump -- it's only gunplay!

Antiquing

If it's old, it's here! Stillwaters is known worldwide for its antique stores, where the motto is, "It may be 100 years old, but it's new to you!" The Stillwaters Musket Society has recently taken posession of a cache of vintage Civil War Benchrest Rifles, found just last month by a now-unknown Wisconsin antiquer, for the annual Apple Shoot. Polished and lovingly restored, these beauties were designed to be accurate from 1800 feet...but that was a long time ago!

Arts and Crafts by Local Artists

What is Art, and what is a Craft? Well, we'll let the philosophers sort out that timeless question! We've put Arts and Crafts together in a one-of-a-kind tent show sure to satisfy the aesthetic eye. Special this year is a piece of metal-craft by artisan Chris Crawford of Minnetonka, who has developed an ingenious apple holder that can be sized for the youngest and most ... ample ... amongst us. But don't clamp that apple too tight, Chris! It has to fall off!

Teeth-Rattling Terror...and Fun!

This year's 100th Anniversary Apple Shoot should be more thrilling -- and safer -- than ever, due to new rules that require at least three weeks of firearms training for all contestants. Also, men -- and women, too, for the second consecutive year! -- who wish to wish to be Apple Tablers will use Chris Crawford's Apple Holders in hopes that it will help avoid unfortunate incidents like the wounding of Johnny Smeltstrom by Steve Olson, who accomplished what everyone agrees was an excellent piece of shooting when he tracked the apple as it prematurely fell from Johnny's head and shot a bullet right through the apple as it passed Johnny's sternum. Ouch! The new safety measures have led to some grumbling from long-time Apple Shoot enthusiasts, but most everyone agrees that sometimes the "old school" isn't the best school!

Remember, early sign up for Apple Tablers begins tomorrow. Tourists welcome! See you there!

# # #

One Minute Story: Takin' it to the Streets

A One-Minute Story ...

"I'm mad as hell, and I'm..."

"Not going to take it anymore...yes, of course," I said drolly. This was becoming tiresome.

"But I really am. I'm ready."

"I'm sure you are," I said, and began packing up the assorted papers and file folders I'd spread across John's desk. The piles of papers and folders and magazines already heaped thereon made it hard to tell which papers were mine and which were his.

"That's mine," John said.

"Yes, yes, of course. I really have to go now. I have a meeting ..."

"I told you I'm ready to do something. What are we going to do?"

"What would you like to do," I said, sighing and sitting back down, briefcase closed upon my lap.

"Something. I'm going to quit. And tell the media. I've had enough of the lies, the deception, the sheer callousness..."

"Yes, well... I have to advise against that. You'd only find yourself alone. Ostracized. Jobless. Is that what you want?"

"Yes! I mean...no, not really," John looked sad, and conflicted, and I realized that he had told the truth the first time -- like Garbo, he wanted to be alone... but he wanted it to happen to him...not to happen because of his own actions.

"There are always consequences," I said. "Every action is a decision, especially when you can predict the outcome. What will you decide to do today?"

"I don't know yet. I have a lot of work to do."

"Don't we all..."

#

What I ate in Chicago

I spent a week in Chicago at a trade show in the massive McCormick Place. I'm back now and my feet still ache. The highlights of the trip hinged upon, as usual in my case, what I ate and where I ate it. Here, for your consumption (get it, consumption...'cause it's about food...get it? no, not tuberculosis...what are thinking? Anyway..., is a recap of my visit.

• Best cheeseburger -- the Boston Blackie at Boston Blackies. A half-pound of ground, grilled, cheesed deliciousness, washed down with a draft Sam Adams. Enjoyed with Travelin' Colleague Tony, who is from Boston.
• Best Steak -- The New York Strip at the Saloon. This also was the only steak eaten on the trip, but it was a good choice -- gigantic, moist and delicious all the way through.
• Best Spaghetti & Meatballs -- A little known fact about me is that I only order spaghetti and meatballs at Italian restaurants. However, I didn't go to any Italian restaurants in Chicago. After Friend Brian (one of the proud few that read this blog) blatantly ignored my plaintive cell-phoned pleas to attend his party, I walked Michigan Avenue, bought the Marvel 1602 graphic novel at Virgin Records, read more graphic novels at Borders, and even found time to pick up a bracelet for my lovely wife. Upon my return to the hotel, I ordered spaghetti bolognese from room service and dove into the world of 17th century superheroes. The spaghetti could have used some meatballs.
• Best Drink -- Gin and Tonic, Tavern on Rush. The drink was competent, the conversation, with Friend Nancy and later joined by Travelin' Colleague Tony, was delightful. Even more important was that while I waited alone at the bar for said Friend Nancy, I'm pretty sure that at least two attractive women gave me the eye and a little smile. I'm happily married with three kids, so just that's enough fantasy to keep me going for awhile.
• Best Sushi -- Mirai. I don't even like sushi. This sushi has left me craving sushi. The warm saki and Tsing Tao only embellished the experience.
• Best Pizza -- None.
• Worst Pizza -- Connie's at McCormick Place -- thick slabs of cheese covering bland red sauce and chunks of recently defrosted sausage.
• Most Average Burger -- The Big 'N' Tasty, McDonald's at McCormick Place. First off, the the McDonald's "Express" doesn't carry the Quarter Pounder. Secondly, "Express" in McDonald's language apparently means "30 minute wait". However, the Big'N'Tasty was, as expected, medium sized and OK.
• Best Pancakes -- Pancakes & Eggs in Rosemount. I didn't eat breakfast for the entire trip -- too lazy, too stressed. Until Thursday, on my way out of town, when Friend Colleen and Kid Will intercepted me on the way to the airport for delightful conversation and funny faces. Pancakes were fluffy, but small. However, two extra stars to the P&E for providing Corned Beef Hash as a side dish. It wasn't quite Mary Kitchen ... in fact, it might have been fresher than that... despite that, it was a delicious, welcome and stomach-filling treat, and I happily fell asleep upon takeoff.
• Best Homecoming -- My 16-month-old, who gave me just about the biggest hug ever. Awwwwwwwwwwww....

I'm back now...

Overheard at My Wife's 20th High School Renunion

Tall, blonde, beautiful former cheerleader from wealthy family to a gay man. Spoken with sincerity:

"You know, apparently some people didn't have a good experience in high school."

You think so?

# # #

Important Song Lyrics

Popular Musicians Can Teach You So Much! Here are some "nuggets" that I have found very deep and meaningful for my life! Maybe they can help you, too! They sure do help me!

"Sad songs say so much," Elton John. They do don't they? Much more than the happy ones.

"She steals like a thief but she's always a woman to me," Billy Joel. Billy Joel has a whole lot of what I like to call 'advice songs.' These have been very meaningful to me. I'm not sure what this one means. Perhaps women don't usually steal.

"Honesty. It's such a lonely word..." That's our friend Billy Joel again. I often feel quite lonely. Honest!

"But when you're born to run, it's so hard to just so down," Stevie Winwood. So true. I probably wasn't born to run, but I've kept this in mind!

Does anybody really know what time it is? Does anybody really care? If so I can’t imagine why? We’ve all got time enough to cry," Chicago. It took a band like Chicago to ask this timeless question. And to answer it. Indeed, we do all have time enough to cry, and shouldn't that be enough?

"I want a new drug...One that won’t make me sick...One that won’t make me crash my car...Or make me feel three feet thick..." Huey Lewis and the News. I think of this nugget as everytime I take my anti-anxiety medicine. Hee hee!

I'll probably think of more tomorrow! Oboy!

# # #

Folk Music

Folk music. The music of the folk. Storytellers. Tellin' stories.

If I could choose a new career, right now, money no object, I'd be a folk singer. And I'd move on this right away, if not for my distinct lack of talent on the guitar and ability to carry a tune further than I could throw one. Oh, and the fact that I write songs almost daily in the car on the way to work...with lyrics that are forgotten almost as soon as they are composed.

Be that as it may, I've come to realize that there is a whole population out there of middle class folk who lack folk music telling ther story of said folk. Woody Guthrie covered the Depression-era dust bowl, and a host of unwashed, pale, wide-eyed, patched-jeans wearing folkies covered the Baby Boom in all of its Magical Youth.

But where, oh where, is the musical chronicler of the modern office worker. The dull-eyed, fresh-air deprived worker who once counted on lifetime employment in loco parentis from his company now at the mercy of efficiency experts, automation and the rising tide of highly competent foreigners happy to do his job at a more reasonable rate for the shareholders.

I've only heard one song about an office layoff -- Ben Folds' "Fred Jones, Pt 2", a song as emotionally fraught as any for those of us who aren't sure what 'added value' they bring to make themselves irreplacable:

There was no party, there were no songs

'Cause today's just a day like the day that he started

Noone has left here that knows his first name

And life barrels on like a runaway train

Where the passengers change

They don't change anything

You get off; someone else can get on

And I'm sorry, Mr. Jones

It's time.

It's hard when you're so close to it. I'd squirm if I heard a singer wailing,

"Outsourced...what a terrible way to be...

Outsourced! Why'd it happen to me?

I gave all I had for the company,

now they've shifted my job off to New Delhi..."

Ouch.

Or maybe, if the lyrics were a lot better (and I meat A LOT better), like those Depression-era grape pickers in California gathered around the tractor trailer, you'd find people gathering around on the sidewalks downtown, munching on their Vienna Beef hotdogs and nodding their heads and smiling...knowing that someone out there knows what they're thinking could happen any day... and maybe a few more people will try a little harder to be irreplaceable.

Or decide it's time to see what that old dream was all about...

# # #

Impending...in the Dells!

No, no real disasters impending... but I'm blogging today from the gloriously tasteful environs of the Wisconsin Dells. A long-overdue family vacation, since I'm hopelessly burnt out at work...this may or may not help...I will admit to checking my work email here at the Route 12 Internet Cafe...my reward is...ta da!...I get to blog!

Getting here, was, as usual, half the fun ... a 3.5 hour drive from Minneapolis turned into about 6 hours, during which we were forced to pull over on I-94 due to a blinding rainstorm (and a near panic over my driving from a certain passenger...who insists that I was far closer to hitting that motorcycle than I possibly could have been...really! No...really!). We started driving again, and discovered we were still rain-blind, but were able to see well enough to inch the car to an off ramp and, as if called by a divine power, into the parking lot of a Burger King with a Play Place. Two cookies, one milkshake, a pair of Spider-Man goggles and a mini Optimus Prime Transformer, three bathroom breaks and one-and-a-half hours later we were back on the road.
If you've never been to the Dells, think Branson, MO, without the southern-fried tacky. More midwestern tacky...or... oh hell...it's hard to be cynical and aloof when you and your wife have three kids, five-and-under, in tow... When you have three kids, what's tacky about Pirate's Cove Mini-Golf? Or the Ripley's Believe it Not Museum? Or the Tommy Bartlett Water Show? Or the castle-themed Camelot Hotel, chosen to replace the campsite that was no doubt washed away in today's storms, which uses a castle shaped facade -- admittedly successful at delighting the kids -- to hide a perfectly lousy hotel where the wife and kids are trying to sleep while I -- assuming the traditional male role of hunter-gatherer -- head to the Wal-Mart for morning vittles -- a cereal variety pack, milk, bread and a squeeze bottle of jelly.

So, my loyal reader or two...wish me luck... in mending my jaded spirit...in fogetting the cares of the office...in relaxing enough to have a little fun...in getting a little sleep...and in stalking and capturing a delicious squeezable bottle of jelly before Wal-Mart shuts down for the night. It'll be a close one.

# # #

If I Were a SuperHero

I've been relying on the esteemed Prof. Scott Tipton to revive my knowledge of the past two decades of Marvel and DC superhero history, further fueling my descent into fantasy universes I'd left behind for friends and women.

More productive, perhaps, is that my five-year-old son wants to start a company with me, one that would publish comics and make superhero movies. We've created quite the superhero universe already...he takes them quite seriously. But he's also come up with some rather ... odd ... heroes...that would make for fun stories:

STATUE MAN! He's able to stand completely still...like a statue!

ODDBALL! He's big and fat and round, and he can...what exactly can he do?

DINO SIX! A member of the Fantastic Six, Dino Six can turn into any dinosaur. Or, any part of a dinosaur. Like with a Tyrannosaurus head and Stegasaurus tail and Triceratops' horns. A formidable hero.

YELLOW LIGHT! He can look into the sun...without blinking or hurting his eyes! Very useful, because his bad guys hide in the sun!

SLOW MOTION MAN! He's so coooool! He moves extreeemleeeeeeyyyy sloooowwwwwleeeeeeey...

# # #