Yes, I am back. No more enlightened than before and certainly not additionally inspired or inspiring, but here just the same. Apparently things have deteriorated horribly in my absence as politics have In the middle of this cesspool of a presidential campaign I can no longer hold my tongue. But I will be brief.
President Obama, otherwise a fine family man, is a trainwreck of a President. He has no discernable leadership skills other than to amass political accolades. What he doesn't realize, and what most others also don't seem to realize, is that he was swept into office riding a tidal wave of White Guilt and desire to be a part of an historical first. He gave a good speech but had no new ideas, no concrete agenda to get America out of the economic abyss into which it had sank in 2009. No one seemed to notice this. No one heard him hammer away at government controlled health care as his number-one job if elected. But he didn't win in '08 on his ideas. He won because he gave folks a chance to get a cut of history and absolve themselves of racial self-loathing.
Well we got what we paid for. Nothing has been done that a junior economics major could identify as progress toward righting the ship of commerce. Not one thing. And the Obama team knows it and doesn't dare claim that you're better off now than four years ago. (Notice how fast that has disappeared out of the news cycle?) But we do have a minority president. And he DID tell the Seals to take out Bin Ladin, but much time was spent at the Democratic Convention spiking the ball about this. After the behavior of the Libyans, Egyptians, and other nations' radicals this past ten days, I'd guess they were a little to smug about it.
Here comes Romney/Ryan, squeaky-clean and indeed full of specifics to help the economy. If you missed them, they were well-covered at the convention. Are they tying the can of failure to Obama's tail? No, they aren't, and that's what they should be doing every day. Remind people who aren't radical Democrats that--Hell NO-- they are not better off than four years ago and are losing ground every month. It's that simple. But they're spending precious time trying to tell us how much better they'll be, which is a waste. They need to fire point-blank away at Obama's lack of leadership.
This election is not about Mitt Romney. It's a referendum on Obama. On how he led a friendly congress to ram a questionable health care act through committees and into votes without any debate, critical examination or dialogue which the Democrats would have howled over had this happened to them. But it didn't and a friendly press has covered their backs all the way. It's a referendum on four years of neglect of the economy, which that friendly congress would have helped the President repair any way he wanted. But then it's a referendum on his in-denial stimulus program that spent untold billions, accomplishing only a laundering of borrowed Chinese money much of which found its way to Obama coffers. (Remember Solyndra, and the other "Green" failings?) It's a referendum on the Obama Blame America First Apology tour. This is Barack Obama's report card.
He says he gets an Incomplete. I say he needs to change his major.
As usual the Democrats have only the old, hackneyed ideas to offer: more money for education, raise taxes on the rich, cut military spending, increase entitlement spending, yada, yada, yada. As usual, they operate politics of personal destruction, attacking the candidates themselves as well as their issues. All kinds of insulting websites and Facebook pages are in full Blue-State vogue, as only the Democrats can do. I am sure there are at least a few Republican counter parts but they just aren't good at this.
That's enough. Maybe this wasn't as brief as it should have been. I just had to get this out in the open. Sometimes the 300-pound gorilla in the middle of the room has to be pointed out to your dinner guests.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Hang Up and Drive
The incredible velocity of passing time has overtaken me again. A steady stream of remodeling, work, visitors, little league football and more remodeling left me with little opportunity for posts.
With that in mind and with the lateness of the hour I will post only this:
People of Kansas City; Independence, Lee's Summit and elsewhere in this metropolis--Please drive your cars. You took the trouble to get out on the street so act like you know what you're doing. Hang up your cell phones, put down the makeup and take control of your automobiles. Please drive the speed limit. Please drive away when the light turns from red to green. (Green is not the color signal for contemplation or ringing up a consort. It means GO!) Please use your turn signals to indicate your intentions. And please recognize that my turn signal isn't a plea for permission to change lanes; it is a courtesy required in this society to let you know I am moving over in front of you.
Inevitably on a busy street there will be a line of trundling cars with a person (most often a woman, sorry ladies) in the lead chatting away in an obviously engaging conversation on a mobile phone. All too often she is also trying to manage a cigarette. This must end, or lawlessness may ensue. I have been in too many of those processions at ten MPH under the limit with a STAT delivery and found it painfully slow to work my way up to open road. Again I say: Hang up and drive. And crush out the smokes if you can't see the road out there through the fog of your Camels or Marlboros.
Thank you for your support.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
August Plaza Follies and TKC
An interesting few days have passed. The Plaza is a war zone and the most powerful labor leader in the city appears to fear the comments of a local blogger.
Just when you think the heat has leveled out everything for a while, unruly mobs return to the Plaza and this time-with the Mayor as an observer-three children are wounded by gang-warfare gunfire. Most of a week has passed and the only result of all this is a lukewarm committment to a nine PM curfew.
All this churns up a few questions. Some have been addressed heavily on local radio talk forums; some less so: (1) Where is Plaza security? Owner Highwoods had a shot across the bow last year with a violent flash-mob and should have been aware of the giant bulls-eye on their property from that point forward. Since that was well over a year ago they have enjoyed adequate prep time to hire some private security people rather than lean on the police department to bail them out. Didn't get the message, I guess. Gee, what would J. C. Nichols have done to protect this wonderful jewel? Time to get a Philly-style Curfew Bus in the parking lot behind the Classic Cup. Highwoods, you are going to have to spend some of the high-rent money you've squeezed from your tenants to protect them and their customers. And ultimately, yourself.
(2) What in the world are street gangs doing on the Plaza? I doubt the local gang-bangers are eating at Starker's or the Cheesecake Factory, or doing a lot of high-end shopping at Restoration Hardware. Or maybe they are, I don't know. This one falls on the PD. They need to encourage gangs to conduct their retributions over on the greenway along Cleaver II, far away from homes and businesses.
(3) Where is condemnation (STRONG condemnation) from local minority leaders, calling for an end to unsupervised sons and daughters? The mobs were largely minority ''youtes'' apparently left to wander the area by parents, guardians, older sibs, etc. What the leaders give us is largely silence, broken only by beleagured activist Alvin Brooks who seemed indignant about the characterization of the lawless crowd as a "mob" in a radio interview. The mayor purports to be upset but no one has been body-slammed over this yet. NOTE: a few regular folks have called the talk shows, and demanded that local minorities begin to own this issue of non-parenting. Year after year it has languished, passed off as another product of the ''victim'' mentality with minority leaders (holding their own blameless) milking the governments as the only approved solution--reparations, of a sort.
A nine-o'clock curfew isn't a body-slam. Put their driver's licenses on the block. Give them public service in orange jumpsuits on weekends, perhaps cutting weeds along freeway fences. (Kansas City is dreadfully overgrown and un-manicured.) This is a chance for the mayor to make his mark. If he crafts a forceful, positive solution and butts heads with these entrenched local minority leaders he will be a hero. If not, and the Plaza--along with other venues--falls to the feral mobs, Sly will go the way of Funk.
Then there is Tony's KC, an entertaining blog which--refreshingly--calls it like it is. Citing tipsters which implicate Firefighters' Union president Louis Wright in a kickback scheme, Tony is now named in a defamation lawsuit.
Understandably Wright is interested in clearing his name but it almost seems he doth protest too much. As Tony suggested during a radio interview, why hasn't Wright simply demanded Tony publish a retraction? Well-read as it may be, TKC isn't so pervasive as to destroy Wright's reputation, or cause widespread contempt. People that respected Wright before this broke will continue to do so, and those who think he's a jerk will revel in it but, it seems absurd that Wright would be remotely involved in any such enterprise. A retraction would have reached the same readers who saw the original story. Wright has suffered no job loss or economic deprivation from all this, and by filing the suit has actually widened the spread of his own accusations. Public figures, alas, have to endure a few randow arrows.
And since Tony runs a blog, not an op-ed column, Wright could have offered a rebuttal in the comment section. TKC takes all the rocks people care to throw and Wright's well-crafted reply would have been a most effective move on his own behalf. Now he appears to be the fat-cat political boss sitting on the exercise of free speech, regardless of the folly in the content. At least, that's how it looks to me.
Just when you think the heat has leveled out everything for a while, unruly mobs return to the Plaza and this time-with the Mayor as an observer-three children are wounded by gang-warfare gunfire. Most of a week has passed and the only result of all this is a lukewarm committment to a nine PM curfew.
All this churns up a few questions. Some have been addressed heavily on local radio talk forums; some less so: (1) Where is Plaza security? Owner Highwoods had a shot across the bow last year with a violent flash-mob and should have been aware of the giant bulls-eye on their property from that point forward. Since that was well over a year ago they have enjoyed adequate prep time to hire some private security people rather than lean on the police department to bail them out. Didn't get the message, I guess. Gee, what would J. C. Nichols have done to protect this wonderful jewel? Time to get a Philly-style Curfew Bus in the parking lot behind the Classic Cup. Highwoods, you are going to have to spend some of the high-rent money you've squeezed from your tenants to protect them and their customers. And ultimately, yourself.
(2) What in the world are street gangs doing on the Plaza? I doubt the local gang-bangers are eating at Starker's or the Cheesecake Factory, or doing a lot of high-end shopping at Restoration Hardware. Or maybe they are, I don't know. This one falls on the PD. They need to encourage gangs to conduct their retributions over on the greenway along Cleaver II, far away from homes and businesses.
(3) Where is condemnation (STRONG condemnation) from local minority leaders, calling for an end to unsupervised sons and daughters? The mobs were largely minority ''youtes'' apparently left to wander the area by parents, guardians, older sibs, etc. What the leaders give us is largely silence, broken only by beleagured activist Alvin Brooks who seemed indignant about the characterization of the lawless crowd as a "mob" in a radio interview. The mayor purports to be upset but no one has been body-slammed over this yet. NOTE: a few regular folks have called the talk shows, and demanded that local minorities begin to own this issue of non-parenting. Year after year it has languished, passed off as another product of the ''victim'' mentality with minority leaders (holding their own blameless) milking the governments as the only approved solution--reparations, of a sort.
A nine-o'clock curfew isn't a body-slam. Put their driver's licenses on the block. Give them public service in orange jumpsuits on weekends, perhaps cutting weeds along freeway fences. (Kansas City is dreadfully overgrown and un-manicured.) This is a chance for the mayor to make his mark. If he crafts a forceful, positive solution and butts heads with these entrenched local minority leaders he will be a hero. If not, and the Plaza--along with other venues--falls to the feral mobs, Sly will go the way of Funk.
Then there is Tony's KC, an entertaining blog which--refreshingly--calls it like it is. Citing tipsters which implicate Firefighters' Union president Louis Wright in a kickback scheme, Tony is now named in a defamation lawsuit.
Understandably Wright is interested in clearing his name but it almost seems he doth protest too much. As Tony suggested during a radio interview, why hasn't Wright simply demanded Tony publish a retraction? Well-read as it may be, TKC isn't so pervasive as to destroy Wright's reputation, or cause widespread contempt. People that respected Wright before this broke will continue to do so, and those who think he's a jerk will revel in it but, it seems absurd that Wright would be remotely involved in any such enterprise. A retraction would have reached the same readers who saw the original story. Wright has suffered no job loss or economic deprivation from all this, and by filing the suit has actually widened the spread of his own accusations. Public figures, alas, have to endure a few randow arrows.
And since Tony runs a blog, not an op-ed column, Wright could have offered a rebuttal in the comment section. TKC takes all the rocks people care to throw and Wright's well-crafted reply would have been a most effective move on his own behalf. Now he appears to be the fat-cat political boss sitting on the exercise of free speech, regardless of the folly in the content. At least, that's how it looks to me.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Hot
Yeah, it's hot. No one knows that better than I. I know it better than all the talking TV heads that pretend to be your parents, urging you to drink lots of water and wear light colored clothing because I am out there in it all afternoon long.
They also urge you to take lots of breaks, and I keep wondering how many foremen or crew chiefs have been informed that "Larry Moore told me it's OK to take an extra break, 'cause it's hot," as an employee wanders off to sit down under a tree.
All that aside, does anyone remember the summer of 1980? We didn't have high nineties and low hundreds. There were 17 days of 108 or better, and other days of lesser but still high temperatures, besting the heat we are sagging from this past week. I remember that summer, and how hot the ramp was at the airport, and how heavy the radio seemed that we had to carry and how ineffective the air conditioning in each airplane was against the wall of hot air outside. I had to wear a white dress shirt, a tie, and try to look presentable, finally going home soaked through and through. And I remember that each day was just like the one before with no end in sight.
That went on for weeks and weeks and still wasn't as hot or unpleasant as the summers of 1934 and 1936 which were hot and dusty. Add to that, there was very little air conditioning employed in those days. Not many heat warnings, advisories and excessive heat alerts either. How did the people survive?
Global warming? Well, yeah, the globe is warmer, at least right around here. Look around, the glaciers are gone. They were gone before we had cars, coal-fired electric power plants and Al Gore--possibly the largest source of heat pollution around. Yeah it's hot. It's been hot before and will be hot again. It will be cold again too. Something else to remember: How much we bitched and moaned about how cold it was five and six months ago. Conjure that up--and enjoy the heat.
They also urge you to take lots of breaks, and I keep wondering how many foremen or crew chiefs have been informed that "Larry Moore told me it's OK to take an extra break, 'cause it's hot," as an employee wanders off to sit down under a tree.
All that aside, does anyone remember the summer of 1980? We didn't have high nineties and low hundreds. There were 17 days of 108 or better, and other days of lesser but still high temperatures, besting the heat we are sagging from this past week. I remember that summer, and how hot the ramp was at the airport, and how heavy the radio seemed that we had to carry and how ineffective the air conditioning in each airplane was against the wall of hot air outside. I had to wear a white dress shirt, a tie, and try to look presentable, finally going home soaked through and through. And I remember that each day was just like the one before with no end in sight.
That went on for weeks and weeks and still wasn't as hot or unpleasant as the summers of 1934 and 1936 which were hot and dusty. Add to that, there was very little air conditioning employed in those days. Not many heat warnings, advisories and excessive heat alerts either. How did the people survive?
Global warming? Well, yeah, the globe is warmer, at least right around here. Look around, the glaciers are gone. They were gone before we had cars, coal-fired electric power plants and Al Gore--possibly the largest source of heat pollution around. Yeah it's hot. It's been hot before and will be hot again. It will be cold again too. Something else to remember: How much we bitched and moaned about how cold it was five and six months ago. Conjure that up--and enjoy the heat.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Independence
After more than three months absent from the blog, it's long past time for more of my mediocre observations. Being broke and friendless, and working once again in an entry-level job tends to lessen the passion for sharing slices of life. Then the realization occurs that it is, nonetheless, life. So here goes.
Today's observation, in the aftermath of the failed rapture prediction and in the wake of the horrific tornadoes in Reading and Joplin is: Independence. Of course, what else?
Driving around the city as I do in my new job, I have observed that each city and neighborhood has its own feel, or personality. Hyde Park, for instance, is rich in large, beautiful residences--once, and still, home of many city leaders in commerce and government; a pleasant mix of races, lifestyles, shops with no evident fear of the depression which lies just east of Paseo. It's an in-your-face confrontation with urban decay, right there on the front lines.
But most of my workday is in Independence, best known as the origin of the Santa Fe, Oregon and California trails by which the early West was populated. It is equally famous as the home of Harry Truman, whose life has been thoroughly seized by the Chamber of Commerce for promotional considerations.
Independence is a blue-collar town. Many neighborhoods are full of small, well-kept homes in which the owners have refused to abandon their "inner city" to the "we buy ugly houses" promoters. The yards are often overgrown and many side streets have no curbs or sidewalks but Independence has refused to give in to blight. I suspect the average age of home owners there is pretty high and wonder what will happen as the properties begin to come up for sale when age forces residents to apartments and nursing homes, but for now it's solid as a rock.
Aside from the trails and Truman attractions, the dominant industry in Independence looks to be tattoo parlors. I counted six in a three-mile expanse of 23rd Street. The residents seem to reflect this and support it as many people you encounter are covered in ink, with varying degrees of artistic appeal. Behind tattooing, discount smoke shops are everywhere and do a land-office business, reflecting Missouri's high incidence of smoking (25 percent of adults, a rate exceeded only by three other states). In third place, fast food looks to be the winner with a Taco Bell at least every 4000 liner feet. Fast food is way more popular than fresh food, judging by the infrequency of supermarkets and the long lines at drive-thru windows.
Independence is known locally as "Meth-dependence" in honor of the local industry which the Chamber of Commerce seldom mentions. Small, inexpensive homes in quiet neighborhoods have drawn methamphetamine cookers in disproportionate numbers, to bedevil the local authorities and keep the supply lines short. I guess all those tattoo-ed folks driving around in beat up old cars are that way for a reason.
But still, this is a pleasant town. I see many children out riding their bikes and chasing each other on the quiet streets and across tended lawns. In these warmer, longer evenings, homes with front porches draw neighbors up for a chat. Walkers are everywhere, old and less old alike. It looks a lot like small-town America that played well on TV in the Fifties and Sixties. You won't see Donna Reed anywhere; she has gained some weight and ink, and taken up smoking. Still it seems a lot like my small-town hometown in Kansas, and much less like a little urban brother to Kansas City.
Not to say there aren't problems here. Other than the meth concern, you need only wait five minutes on any street before a IPD black-and-white cruiser roars by under lights and siren en route to some lawlessness. It is, after all, a city of over a hundred thousand souls. And it is the true county seat of Jackson County. The courthouse is square in the middle of town, and what is known as the "Jail Annex" is only two blocks away. Larger counterparts do much more business in Kansas City but this is the Real McCoy.
Independence is the only city in which I have personally seen a store-front casket shop. Proudly displayed in the window are coffins of varying styles and colors, in case you're having problems finding just the right one. Don't know just how much walk-in business they get, but it has been there a while now and must be profitable. We didn't have anything like that in my small-town hometown in Kansas.
The crown jewel of Independence is the annual "Santa-Cali-Gon" festival over Labor Day weekend. A carnival moves into downtown and hordes of crafts booths, T-shirt vendors and some of the greatest food hawkers ever set up shop along the sidewalks. "Ye Old Corn Hole" sells hot corn on the cob. Others sell amazing french fries (yes, they are fantastic), funnel cakes, burgers, onion rings, fried pickles and pies. In the evenings, there is usually a concert and dancing in the street. Early September is still very much summer, but these people are unmoved in their determination to celebrate.
What exactly they celebrate is unknown to me. Could it be the history living in the Trails? Or perhaps Harry Truman, whose silhouette adorns every street corner? Maybe they fete the Sheriff's deputies for their accrued meth busts since the last Santa-Cali-Gon, I don't know. But when city living tends to jade one's senses it is refreshing to see folks just celebrating. And I kind of wonder if they are just celebrating living in Independence. You could do a lot worse. You could do a lot worse in Missouri.
Today's observation, in the aftermath of the failed rapture prediction and in the wake of the horrific tornadoes in Reading and Joplin is: Independence. Of course, what else?
Driving around the city as I do in my new job, I have observed that each city and neighborhood has its own feel, or personality. Hyde Park, for instance, is rich in large, beautiful residences--once, and still, home of many city leaders in commerce and government; a pleasant mix of races, lifestyles, shops with no evident fear of the depression which lies just east of Paseo. It's an in-your-face confrontation with urban decay, right there on the front lines.
But most of my workday is in Independence, best known as the origin of the Santa Fe, Oregon and California trails by which the early West was populated. It is equally famous as the home of Harry Truman, whose life has been thoroughly seized by the Chamber of Commerce for promotional considerations.
Independence is a blue-collar town. Many neighborhoods are full of small, well-kept homes in which the owners have refused to abandon their "inner city" to the "we buy ugly houses" promoters. The yards are often overgrown and many side streets have no curbs or sidewalks but Independence has refused to give in to blight. I suspect the average age of home owners there is pretty high and wonder what will happen as the properties begin to come up for sale when age forces residents to apartments and nursing homes, but for now it's solid as a rock.
Aside from the trails and Truman attractions, the dominant industry in Independence looks to be tattoo parlors. I counted six in a three-mile expanse of 23rd Street. The residents seem to reflect this and support it as many people you encounter are covered in ink, with varying degrees of artistic appeal. Behind tattooing, discount smoke shops are everywhere and do a land-office business, reflecting Missouri's high incidence of smoking (25 percent of adults, a rate exceeded only by three other states). In third place, fast food looks to be the winner with a Taco Bell at least every 4000 liner feet. Fast food is way more popular than fresh food, judging by the infrequency of supermarkets and the long lines at drive-thru windows.
Independence is known locally as "Meth-dependence" in honor of the local industry which the Chamber of Commerce seldom mentions. Small, inexpensive homes in quiet neighborhoods have drawn methamphetamine cookers in disproportionate numbers, to bedevil the local authorities and keep the supply lines short. I guess all those tattoo-ed folks driving around in beat up old cars are that way for a reason.
But still, this is a pleasant town. I see many children out riding their bikes and chasing each other on the quiet streets and across tended lawns. In these warmer, longer evenings, homes with front porches draw neighbors up for a chat. Walkers are everywhere, old and less old alike. It looks a lot like small-town America that played well on TV in the Fifties and Sixties. You won't see Donna Reed anywhere; she has gained some weight and ink, and taken up smoking. Still it seems a lot like my small-town hometown in Kansas, and much less like a little urban brother to Kansas City.
Not to say there aren't problems here. Other than the meth concern, you need only wait five minutes on any street before a IPD black-and-white cruiser roars by under lights and siren en route to some lawlessness. It is, after all, a city of over a hundred thousand souls. And it is the true county seat of Jackson County. The courthouse is square in the middle of town, and what is known as the "Jail Annex" is only two blocks away. Larger counterparts do much more business in Kansas City but this is the Real McCoy.
Independence is the only city in which I have personally seen a store-front casket shop. Proudly displayed in the window are coffins of varying styles and colors, in case you're having problems finding just the right one. Don't know just how much walk-in business they get, but it has been there a while now and must be profitable. We didn't have anything like that in my small-town hometown in Kansas.
The crown jewel of Independence is the annual "Santa-Cali-Gon" festival over Labor Day weekend. A carnival moves into downtown and hordes of crafts booths, T-shirt vendors and some of the greatest food hawkers ever set up shop along the sidewalks. "Ye Old Corn Hole" sells hot corn on the cob. Others sell amazing french fries (yes, they are fantastic), funnel cakes, burgers, onion rings, fried pickles and pies. In the evenings, there is usually a concert and dancing in the street. Early September is still very much summer, but these people are unmoved in their determination to celebrate.
What exactly they celebrate is unknown to me. Could it be the history living in the Trails? Or perhaps Harry Truman, whose silhouette adorns every street corner? Maybe they fete the Sheriff's deputies for their accrued meth busts since the last Santa-Cali-Gon, I don't know. But when city living tends to jade one's senses it is refreshing to see folks just celebrating. And I kind of wonder if they are just celebrating living in Independence. You could do a lot worse. You could do a lot worse in Missouri.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Eureka!
Not too long after the New Year, I said to Adorable Wife, "As long as I'm off we should go to LA and see your brother before he moves back here. Drive out. You have vacation. Why not?"
She couldn't come up with a reason not to, which took me a little by surprise, so we decided to try it. I had expected not a "NO" but a "HELL NO" because Wife cares little for excursions by automobile. Thus stunned, we made a few calculations regarding where to stay and how far to drive each day and what the weather would be (pretty much wore out the Weather Channel website.) And then, on the appointed day, we left. You couldn't ask for a better trip.
We were gone ten days and had nine days of sunshine. Across the great Southwest, it was actually warm. Amarillo, on the first day out, was above 60. Kingman, Arizona, our second night's stop, was 65. Every day in Los Angeles was 80 or better; it was actually hot one afternoon. We had nice accommodations in each place we stayed overnight, including Uncle Jim's house, and never had a bad meal. It was a nice trip in every way possible and leaves me with a few observations.
*Except for local freeways here and in LA, you only need three highways to get there: I-35, I-40 and I-15. Very simple, and we didn't even take a map. We should have, just to keep tabs on where we were and what town was coming up next. But we didn't anticipate much highway construction and gambled.
*The interstate highways are very good, even in cold-weather states like Kansas and Oklahoma. In fact, the freeways in Kansas City are superior to those in LA for smoothness and roominess, but obviously don't take the beating that the cousins in California endure daily. Even on our worst days, the traffic in Missouri is far better than what the Californians grapple with. LA has no rush hour. It's just a mess to drive in all the time.
*All of what is called "LA" is incredibly populous. It's a long ride to the east before you begin seeing open space; pretty much up in Cajon Pass. There are just too many people there, too much traffic and no where to park. Uncle Jim's apartment has a gated garage which was undergoing repairs one day. If you took your car out it had to stay out until after five. That isn't good because there is very little street parking and on Tuesday there is no street parking because they sweep the streets. It gets to be a bit of a hassle, but if you live there and never lived anywhere else you wouldn't know about how roomy and low-maintenance America really is.
*Los Angeles TV reporters are easily mistaken for movie stars except that the reporter babes are far better looking. Seriously, where do they come up with these gorgeous women to cover the daily school shootings? I was stunned. Even the weather was aired by babes, one of whom seemed challenged just to stand up on her platform shoes and balance out her big fake boobs. Well, it is LA. Entertainment capital of the world, you know.
*California is unreasonably expensive. Gas was $3.45 or more. Deli turkey was $12 a pound. A two bedroom apartment with a parking space is over $2200 a month in a decent neighborhood. Forget buying a house; nice suburban homes such as you find in KC north or Johnson County for $200,000 weigh in around $750 large (and up) in Torrance. I didn't even ask about the property taxes.
*Latin influence is even more noticeable that three years ago, the last time we traveled there. Cali has always had it, but now there is more. I guess it all seems to work, and I can't put my finger on it, but there is just more.
*The Mojave in winter is certainly easier to inhabit than in July, but it seems wrong to wear a jacket. It is still just as foreboding and impressive in the 40-degree range and no less beautiful. I marvel at how anyone got across there to the coast before the railway was built through.
*Route 66 is alive and well in the five states through which we and it travelled together, although we stuck to I-40 due to time constraints. The next time we'll take as much of 66 as we can and make it the destination rather than LA. Doing that we will be able to stop at Jack Rabbit, Bluewater, Sky City, and Clines Corners. We can explore Tucumcari, Albuquerque, Grants, Winslow and Barstow as we wish. Long pieces of the Old Road are still out there as frontage roads or secondary routes, but there just the same.
All went well until the last night on the way home. We attended 5:00 mass in Amarillo at St. Thomas the Apostle, arriving uncharacteristically early. A family of five came in and sat next to us, two little boys and a girl toddler. The younger boy was squeamish and uncomfortable until he finally erupted in a magnificent show of vomiting as the homily began. He fouled his mom's stylish black dress and much of the nearby pew and carpet. Adorable Wife immediately went to DefCon 2 and left in search of help. The mom sat stunned with her hands cupped together, full of junior's puke and completely helpless. After getting his bearings, the dad scooped up the offending child and headed for rest-room solace but poor mom was immobilized until Adorable Wife reappeared with a highway-department-sized trash can and some rags. With a disgusting SPLAT mom dumped the festering and fetid contents into the can and set about to cleaning herself up, eventually gathering the rest of the brood and filing out.
After that and in need of some pampering, we treated ourselves to a nice steak dinner at the Big Texan Steak Ranch. Big Texan is a tourist-oriented, barn-like steak house which offers a well-known challenge: If you can eat a 72 oz. (that's four and a half pounds) sirloin, baked potato, roll, butter, salad and shrimp cocktail in an hour, it's yours free. If you can't, it costs $50. They say only one of each eight contestants succeeds. We settled for a couple of normal steaks and paid for them ourselves, but the place was very entertaining and the food was great. This shocked me because I usually don't expect much from highly hyped establishments that feed on travellers. I would go back again, or if I lived in Amarillo, often.
Thus fortified, we returned home the next day with cold and snow slowly reappearing as we worked our way back north. It's odd how, after only a few moments back in the house, that it seemed we were never actually gone. But we were, and I have the credit card receipts to prove it. And I think we're both ready to go again!
She couldn't come up with a reason not to, which took me a little by surprise, so we decided to try it. I had expected not a "NO" but a "HELL NO" because Wife cares little for excursions by automobile. Thus stunned, we made a few calculations regarding where to stay and how far to drive each day and what the weather would be (pretty much wore out the Weather Channel website.) And then, on the appointed day, we left. You couldn't ask for a better trip.
We were gone ten days and had nine days of sunshine. Across the great Southwest, it was actually warm. Amarillo, on the first day out, was above 60. Kingman, Arizona, our second night's stop, was 65. Every day in Los Angeles was 80 or better; it was actually hot one afternoon. We had nice accommodations in each place we stayed overnight, including Uncle Jim's house, and never had a bad meal. It was a nice trip in every way possible and leaves me with a few observations.
*Except for local freeways here and in LA, you only need three highways to get there: I-35, I-40 and I-15. Very simple, and we didn't even take a map. We should have, just to keep tabs on where we were and what town was coming up next. But we didn't anticipate much highway construction and gambled.
*The interstate highways are very good, even in cold-weather states like Kansas and Oklahoma. In fact, the freeways in Kansas City are superior to those in LA for smoothness and roominess, but obviously don't take the beating that the cousins in California endure daily. Even on our worst days, the traffic in Missouri is far better than what the Californians grapple with. LA has no rush hour. It's just a mess to drive in all the time.
*All of what is called "LA" is incredibly populous. It's a long ride to the east before you begin seeing open space; pretty much up in Cajon Pass. There are just too many people there, too much traffic and no where to park. Uncle Jim's apartment has a gated garage which was undergoing repairs one day. If you took your car out it had to stay out until after five. That isn't good because there is very little street parking and on Tuesday there is no street parking because they sweep the streets. It gets to be a bit of a hassle, but if you live there and never lived anywhere else you wouldn't know about how roomy and low-maintenance America really is.
*Los Angeles TV reporters are easily mistaken for movie stars except that the reporter babes are far better looking. Seriously, where do they come up with these gorgeous women to cover the daily school shootings? I was stunned. Even the weather was aired by babes, one of whom seemed challenged just to stand up on her platform shoes and balance out her big fake boobs. Well, it is LA. Entertainment capital of the world, you know.
*California is unreasonably expensive. Gas was $3.45 or more. Deli turkey was $12 a pound. A two bedroom apartment with a parking space is over $2200 a month in a decent neighborhood. Forget buying a house; nice suburban homes such as you find in KC north or Johnson County for $200,000 weigh in around $750 large (and up) in Torrance. I didn't even ask about the property taxes.
*Latin influence is even more noticeable that three years ago, the last time we traveled there. Cali has always had it, but now there is more. I guess it all seems to work, and I can't put my finger on it, but there is just more.
*The Mojave in winter is certainly easier to inhabit than in July, but it seems wrong to wear a jacket. It is still just as foreboding and impressive in the 40-degree range and no less beautiful. I marvel at how anyone got across there to the coast before the railway was built through.
*Route 66 is alive and well in the five states through which we and it travelled together, although we stuck to I-40 due to time constraints. The next time we'll take as much of 66 as we can and make it the destination rather than LA. Doing that we will be able to stop at Jack Rabbit, Bluewater, Sky City, and Clines Corners. We can explore Tucumcari, Albuquerque, Grants, Winslow and Barstow as we wish. Long pieces of the Old Road are still out there as frontage roads or secondary routes, but there just the same.
All went well until the last night on the way home. We attended 5:00 mass in Amarillo at St. Thomas the Apostle, arriving uncharacteristically early. A family of five came in and sat next to us, two little boys and a girl toddler. The younger boy was squeamish and uncomfortable until he finally erupted in a magnificent show of vomiting as the homily began. He fouled his mom's stylish black dress and much of the nearby pew and carpet. Adorable Wife immediately went to DefCon 2 and left in search of help. The mom sat stunned with her hands cupped together, full of junior's puke and completely helpless. After getting his bearings, the dad scooped up the offending child and headed for rest-room solace but poor mom was immobilized until Adorable Wife reappeared with a highway-department-sized trash can and some rags. With a disgusting SPLAT mom dumped the festering and fetid contents into the can and set about to cleaning herself up, eventually gathering the rest of the brood and filing out.
After that and in need of some pampering, we treated ourselves to a nice steak dinner at the Big Texan Steak Ranch. Big Texan is a tourist-oriented, barn-like steak house which offers a well-known challenge: If you can eat a 72 oz. (that's four and a half pounds) sirloin, baked potato, roll, butter, salad and shrimp cocktail in an hour, it's yours free. If you can't, it costs $50. They say only one of each eight contestants succeeds. We settled for a couple of normal steaks and paid for them ourselves, but the place was very entertaining and the food was great. This shocked me because I usually don't expect much from highly hyped establishments that feed on travellers. I would go back again, or if I lived in Amarillo, often.
Thus fortified, we returned home the next day with cold and snow slowly reappearing as we worked our way back north. It's odd how, after only a few moments back in the house, that it seemed we were never actually gone. But we were, and I have the credit card receipts to prove it. And I think we're both ready to go again!
Friday, December 31, 2010
Holiday Baking
Finally, I have the time, clarity and impetus to get a post together. It's amazing how quickly the year has scooted by since last posting before Thanksgiving.
Every year, I say that same thing because once Halloween goes by it seems like the final 61 days are a blur of decorating, shopping and trying to train myself not to nibble at the Adorable Wife's "holiday baking." Quotes here are used to identify the exact words she uses, but they may convey the wrong concept. "Holiday baking'' might cause one to think of Betty Crocker hard at it ten days before Christmas, slaving over the oven to hand-craft gifts of homemade treats for friends and family. Dressed in a A-line and pearls with immaculate hair, nails and makeup, Betty
thoughtfully loads cookies, tarts, cakes and candy into baskets or tins and garnishes them with bows which she herself ties. The full force of "holiday baking" might even give one to assume Betty hosts a Christmas party in her beautifully decorated home at which the prized treats are distributed to anxiously expectant neighbors, local power families and her kids' teachers.
But that isn't what happens here.
Adorable Wife starts worrying in late August about what to do. She bakes cookies, candied orange peels and fudge for all of her heftiest donors and a few things for a couple of girlfriends, but not for others in general. She really should forget the girlfriends because they're always dieting anyway or are allergic to sugar. Regardless, just after Halloween Adorable Wife lays in a load of pecans, condensed milk and chocolate chips just so she will know they are there when she's ready to crank up the oven in six short weeks.
And finally in December, she cuts the bear loose. Demands are made of her employer for time off, since most everything is given away to work-related friends of the institution. I am summoned from my winter hibernation to assist. Then for three days there is a fury of white flour dust in the air and gritty, dried brown sugar residue on the counter tops. The kitchen is a whirlwind of cookie sheets, bowls of all sizes awaiting washing, orange peels cooling on racks and displeased comments regarding the unsatisfactory grade of butter I allegedly bought. The oven, roused from its eleven-month rest, runs constantly.
My job is usually to wash bowls as they are emptied, cookies sheets when they are almost cool enough to touch, spoons and measuring vessels of all kinds as well--and have them instantly available when Her Adorableness demands them. This is the first year in many that I have been present for the entire ordeal, so I had a front-row seat for the whole thing.
Wife prefers not to work in a dress, heels and pearls, but in a warm-up suit and sneakers. Things being what they are for her, the warm-up jacket often gives way to a T-shirt and I am commanded to open a window. Also, after all of this ''holiday baking'' is done and over, there is no party. There is no gaiety or salivating neighbor waiting at the door. Adorable Wife merely shovels everything into little boxes and runs deliveries each day for a week until all is gone. By Christmas Eve, I once again have the grit off the countertops and all the bowls back in the cabinets.
There is no more baking for the next twelve months. It was once true that Adorable Wife would make a cake in September for my birthday, but since the time all the icing slid off the top layer that seems to have gone by the wayside. I guess my birthday cake really doesn't qualify as holiday baking anyway but it was a nice gesture.
So now Thanksgiving is done, the baking is done, Christmas is done, and after tomorrow, New Year's Day is done as well. That finishes off ''the holidays" as we have come to call the time, loosely from Thanksgiving to the New Year's. The long, dark tunnel of winter is before us with little to look forward to until (for me) March Madness begins. Even with that, I can't say I will miss much about 2010. Except for the November election, I must admit 2010 was pretty bleak for me. Like the New York Mets used to say, ''maybe next year.''
Every year, I say that same thing because once Halloween goes by it seems like the final 61 days are a blur of decorating, shopping and trying to train myself not to nibble at the Adorable Wife's "holiday baking." Quotes here are used to identify the exact words she uses, but they may convey the wrong concept. "Holiday baking'' might cause one to think of Betty Crocker hard at it ten days before Christmas, slaving over the oven to hand-craft gifts of homemade treats for friends and family. Dressed in a A-line and pearls with immaculate hair, nails and makeup, Betty
thoughtfully loads cookies, tarts, cakes and candy into baskets or tins and garnishes them with bows which she herself ties. The full force of "holiday baking" might even give one to assume Betty hosts a Christmas party in her beautifully decorated home at which the prized treats are distributed to anxiously expectant neighbors, local power families and her kids' teachers.
But that isn't what happens here.
Adorable Wife starts worrying in late August about what to do. She bakes cookies, candied orange peels and fudge for all of her heftiest donors and a few things for a couple of girlfriends, but not for others in general. She really should forget the girlfriends because they're always dieting anyway or are allergic to sugar. Regardless, just after Halloween Adorable Wife lays in a load of pecans, condensed milk and chocolate chips just so she will know they are there when she's ready to crank up the oven in six short weeks.
And finally in December, she cuts the bear loose. Demands are made of her employer for time off, since most everything is given away to work-related friends of the institution. I am summoned from my winter hibernation to assist. Then for three days there is a fury of white flour dust in the air and gritty, dried brown sugar residue on the counter tops. The kitchen is a whirlwind of cookie sheets, bowls of all sizes awaiting washing, orange peels cooling on racks and displeased comments regarding the unsatisfactory grade of butter I allegedly bought. The oven, roused from its eleven-month rest, runs constantly.
My job is usually to wash bowls as they are emptied, cookies sheets when they are almost cool enough to touch, spoons and measuring vessels of all kinds as well--and have them instantly available when Her Adorableness demands them. This is the first year in many that I have been present for the entire ordeal, so I had a front-row seat for the whole thing.
Wife prefers not to work in a dress, heels and pearls, but in a warm-up suit and sneakers. Things being what they are for her, the warm-up jacket often gives way to a T-shirt and I am commanded to open a window. Also, after all of this ''holiday baking'' is done and over, there is no party. There is no gaiety or salivating neighbor waiting at the door. Adorable Wife merely shovels everything into little boxes and runs deliveries each day for a week until all is gone. By Christmas Eve, I once again have the grit off the countertops and all the bowls back in the cabinets.
There is no more baking for the next twelve months. It was once true that Adorable Wife would make a cake in September for my birthday, but since the time all the icing slid off the top layer that seems to have gone by the wayside. I guess my birthday cake really doesn't qualify as holiday baking anyway but it was a nice gesture.
So now Thanksgiving is done, the baking is done, Christmas is done, and after tomorrow, New Year's Day is done as well. That finishes off ''the holidays" as we have come to call the time, loosely from Thanksgiving to the New Year's. The long, dark tunnel of winter is before us with little to look forward to until (for me) March Madness begins. Even with that, I can't say I will miss much about 2010. Except for the November election, I must admit 2010 was pretty bleak for me. Like the New York Mets used to say, ''maybe next year.''
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Wrong again.
Having taken most of a month off from blogging, much of which was spent holding breath over the election, I have been able to reflect (like the President, Katie Couric, and countless others) what this election means. But do you need someone to tell you that? Some things seem obvious, others less so, but here goes.
1. This isn't an embrace of Republicans or Conservatives, but a thorough rejection of Obamacare, Cap-and-Trade (energy credits trading and taxing), an incredibly ineffective stimulus program-the largest success of which has been political paybacks to large labor unions and other Democratic supporters. It's also a rejection of the people who created and enacted these...things. And it's a rejection of the Pelosi/Reid closed-door politics which denied the people a healthy legislative debate on the content and execution of these topics.
2. The citizens want their country secured. No one has seen to that. How many terrorists have walked uncontested into America shoulder to shoulder with other illegals? Where are they right now, and what are they planning?
3. The citizens want their economy fixed. The proven remedy is to reduce taxes and reduce even more the spending of government funds. Of course this makes political paybacks and buying loyalty through government freebies much more difficult and is unpopular among Democratic legislators. This is a simple cyclical occurrence which we routinely have in our economy. It isn't rocket science, and folks want the leaders to do what they know has to be done.
4. The citizens want the debt of the country reduced, and fast. If we have to go without a stimulus, and departments all have to cut budgets across the board, so be it.
5. The citizens want the health care bill repealed, Cap and Trade dead (and not run by executive order through the EPA, but dead as a doornail), the stimulus program cut off and spending controlled. Soon.
That's basically what the election was about. It isn't complicated. I was pleased that people finally woke up and recognized that Candidate Obama was telling us exactly what he intended to do, and to his credit, got it done. Unfortunately people were voting for a rock star, for the first black president, for a nice guy, all the while overlooking what he was actually saying.
Really, people need to listen more. Obama, Pelosi, Reid--they did exactly what they said they would. It is going to take some time to undo damage of this scale. That's why so many Democrats were discarded, and may yet be cast out in 2012. On the strength of his charm, Obama will probably be reelected but severely limited by an unfriendly Congress and suspicious electorate.
At any rate, this is our take here on what the election means. The President, all the network media talking heads and the daily papers will tell you that this election was the people clamoring for more cooperation in Washington. Horsefeathers. That's just more spin from the liberal spin machine whose fax machines and emails carried that message to Democratic leaders all morning on Wednesday, November 3rd. And they got it wrong again.
1. This isn't an embrace of Republicans or Conservatives, but a thorough rejection of Obamacare, Cap-and-Trade (energy credits trading and taxing), an incredibly ineffective stimulus program-the largest success of which has been political paybacks to large labor unions and other Democratic supporters. It's also a rejection of the people who created and enacted these...things. And it's a rejection of the Pelosi/Reid closed-door politics which denied the people a healthy legislative debate on the content and execution of these topics.
2. The citizens want their country secured. No one has seen to that. How many terrorists have walked uncontested into America shoulder to shoulder with other illegals? Where are they right now, and what are they planning?
3. The citizens want their economy fixed. The proven remedy is to reduce taxes and reduce even more the spending of government funds. Of course this makes political paybacks and buying loyalty through government freebies much more difficult and is unpopular among Democratic legislators. This is a simple cyclical occurrence which we routinely have in our economy. It isn't rocket science, and folks want the leaders to do what they know has to be done.
4. The citizens want the debt of the country reduced, and fast. If we have to go without a stimulus, and departments all have to cut budgets across the board, so be it.
5. The citizens want the health care bill repealed, Cap and Trade dead (and not run by executive order through the EPA, but dead as a doornail), the stimulus program cut off and spending controlled. Soon.
That's basically what the election was about. It isn't complicated. I was pleased that people finally woke up and recognized that Candidate Obama was telling us exactly what he intended to do, and to his credit, got it done. Unfortunately people were voting for a rock star, for the first black president, for a nice guy, all the while overlooking what he was actually saying.
Really, people need to listen more. Obama, Pelosi, Reid--they did exactly what they said they would. It is going to take some time to undo damage of this scale. That's why so many Democrats were discarded, and may yet be cast out in 2012. On the strength of his charm, Obama will probably be reelected but severely limited by an unfriendly Congress and suspicious electorate.
At any rate, this is our take here on what the election means. The President, all the network media talking heads and the daily papers will tell you that this election was the people clamoring for more cooperation in Washington. Horsefeathers. That's just more spin from the liberal spin machine whose fax machines and emails carried that message to Democratic leaders all morning on Wednesday, November 3rd. And they got it wrong again.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Think Pink
Everything this month is pink. Women in pink. Men wearing pink lapel ribbons. High school kids, boys and girls alike, wearing pink t-shirts, socks and shorts. Pink dye in the fountains. Pink newspaper pages. NFL players and officials with pink gloves and whistles. You can't swing a dead cat without hitting something pink.
Clearly it's breast cancer awareness month proudly sporting pink as the color of the cause du jour. Women no doubt live in the shadows of this affliction, having been drilled since youth to remember yearly exams, self-examination and know the advantage of early detection. It may not be a conscious concern each day but surely it weighs on a woman's mind from time to time, if for no other reason than propagation of this particular affliction. Everyone knows someone who has contracted breast cancer. Many know someone who did not survive it.
Clearly breast cancer is a terrible disease, affecting even women who undergo surgery to remove masses that might possibly serve as a platform for cancer to develop. Awareness is high and seems to increase each year with more walks, runs, pink days and media attention than the year before. Women are constantly reminded to be vigilant.
With the possible exception of Muscular Dystrophy, I think no other affliction approaches the public relations and media frenzy that accompanies breast cancer month. Make no mistake, it is well deserved and does much good teaching and alerting women to the danger.
It leaves me only one observation: Where is equal time for men?
Seriously. Men are not commonly stricken with breast cancer. Many, however, are hammered with prostate cancer and it too can lie undetected. By the time symptoms develop, you're way behind the recovery curve. There doesn't seem to be any hype associated with it though. No fun runs, no walks-for-the-cure. No Susan Koman standard-bearer. No awareness month. What color do we wear for prostate cancer? Who walks for men?
Perhaps the public doesn't care that men get sick. Females are supposed to be the fairer, gentler gender (a highly subjective view, I must add) and need more attention, more nursing, and must suffer more publicly. I don't know. In this era of political correctness and not caring to bruise any feelings about anything, should men not be granted a bit of support against a disease particular to men?
None of this is asked to diminish the dread and horror of a breast cancer diagnosis. Not at all. But when will society fall in behind men with prostate cancer? The treatments are unpleasant to discuss or contemplate. Cancer of any kind is an awful future to face, but many men face it too. Perhaps men are expected to be stoic and suffer in silence, but why should that be? Correctness demands an balanced approach.
Again, take nothing away from the pink cause. It's a good thing and promotes life-saving practices. But who is looking out for men?
Just wondering.
Clearly it's breast cancer awareness month proudly sporting pink as the color of the cause du jour. Women no doubt live in the shadows of this affliction, having been drilled since youth to remember yearly exams, self-examination and know the advantage of early detection. It may not be a conscious concern each day but surely it weighs on a woman's mind from time to time, if for no other reason than propagation of this particular affliction. Everyone knows someone who has contracted breast cancer. Many know someone who did not survive it.
Clearly breast cancer is a terrible disease, affecting even women who undergo surgery to remove masses that might possibly serve as a platform for cancer to develop. Awareness is high and seems to increase each year with more walks, runs, pink days and media attention than the year before. Women are constantly reminded to be vigilant.
With the possible exception of Muscular Dystrophy, I think no other affliction approaches the public relations and media frenzy that accompanies breast cancer month. Make no mistake, it is well deserved and does much good teaching and alerting women to the danger.
It leaves me only one observation: Where is equal time for men?
Seriously. Men are not commonly stricken with breast cancer. Many, however, are hammered with prostate cancer and it too can lie undetected. By the time symptoms develop, you're way behind the recovery curve. There doesn't seem to be any hype associated with it though. No fun runs, no walks-for-the-cure. No Susan Koman standard-bearer. No awareness month. What color do we wear for prostate cancer? Who walks for men?
Perhaps the public doesn't care that men get sick. Females are supposed to be the fairer, gentler gender (a highly subjective view, I must add) and need more attention, more nursing, and must suffer more publicly. I don't know. In this era of political correctness and not caring to bruise any feelings about anything, should men not be granted a bit of support against a disease particular to men?
None of this is asked to diminish the dread and horror of a breast cancer diagnosis. Not at all. But when will society fall in behind men with prostate cancer? The treatments are unpleasant to discuss or contemplate. Cancer of any kind is an awful future to face, but many men face it too. Perhaps men are expected to be stoic and suffer in silence, but why should that be? Correctness demands an balanced approach.
Again, take nothing away from the pink cause. It's a good thing and promotes life-saving practices. But who is looking out for men?
Just wondering.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
34 in the bag
In my vanilla past there have been, and are, a few significant women that have had an effect on me. I don't mean role models, or runway models, or Playboy models, but women I have actually known that have somehow shaped my life a lot or a little. There were a few that temporarily changed my habits, like the gorgeous young Italian woman (who, appropriately, taught Italian) in college that caused me to linger in the hallway after Criminology just to see her walk by on her way to her classroom. But I refer more to those who had a longer-lasting positive effect.
Of course there was my mom with whom I was always close, but becoming more close after my father died far too early in life. Her life took her from an Iowa farm without electricity or plumbing, to college, through a teaching career, through World War II as a civilian Navy file clerk, to life with our small family. Things she taught me to do and be, and to not do and not be, are always with me and always will be just as Mom herself is.
I can point to my mother-in-law as one whose caring and endurance and hard work--all with a sense of humor--helped me form a lot of my adult life and parenting skills. Always putting everyone else first, she set the standard high to ''love thy neighbor.'' No one else I have ever met comes close.
My daughters continually wow me with the things they accomplish. They are not bank presidents or genetic engineers but regular responsible people, one a dedicated mother and teacher; the other a multitasking psychologist who works with seniors. They, too, are determined and work hard. When your offspring grow up and take on the world as they have it is gratifying and humbling all at the same time.
There are some others; a teacher, a friend who has dropped out of my life, a few other women I have personally known who have impressed me or effected my life in some way.
Then there is Adorable Wife, now on the eve of anniversary no. 34. Words fail me.
Her good qualities are great and her no-so-good qualities are actually pretty tolerable. If the daughters are hard workers they learned it from mom. She balanced what became full-time work, two grade-school (and later high school) girls and all the activities and diversions that accompany adolescence, aging parents who often depended on her for help, and my own demanding job which kept me out of the house and unable to help.
Sure, lots of women do all that and more, some as single parents. Others have huge obstacles to overcome with health, work and income. We didn't have most of these. But Adorable Wife, operating not on college education or hard-knocks experience but on her own wits, took on the task of helping support the family in fund-raising.
Fund raising makes strong men wince and women turn their heads away. It's difficult to humble yourself enough to ask for money and still have the dignity to accept any answer. It is more difficult to do it over and over, occasionally with the same benefactors and get results. It's difficult to create events that honor benefactors and alumni and do them with style. It's hard to get supporters to come back year after year and want to help. But they do. She got them to.
I am amazed, awed and just plain lucky. Some women refuse to work, expecting to stay home, go to country clubs and have domestic help. Others are all about career at the expense of family. It's all about balance, and somehow Adorable Wife has found her balance. I love her forever for who she is but also for what she accomplished in these past twenty years, setting out not to help shape an institution but merely to support it. At the same time, she kept home and family together and prosperous. There is a sharp temper and streak of stubborn, but incredible warmth and caring and concern as well. It takes all of these to do what she has achieved. And then, of course, she is adorable too.
Thirty-four is a funny number to pause and make observations like this; usually it's on mulitples of five years or ten. The number is meaningless. I should have done this a long, long time ago.
Well done, Adorable Wife!
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Cleaning the attic of the mind
Amazingly two weeks have passed since Lufthansa cut me loose and they still owe me expenses and a severance check. This is cruel irony; had I failed to immediately respond to obligations posed by bosses in Frankfurt, Dallas or Minneapolis, I would have had much phone time explaining, and pledging repentance. When the shop closed, everyone was paid off that day: unused vacation, bonus, final weeks' pay, severance-all of it. But with me they seem to feel no urgency. Unless I get an attorney involved, I don't think anyone at the company is overly concerned about making explanations or repentance. Their shoe seems to fit both feet.
Unemployment is attractive only to those still working. It is pleasant to have no hard schedule to keep but also a little like a Christian Scientist with appendicitis-just wondering how bad it is going to be. At least the weather has been agreeable, sterling days in early fall. Gorgeous blue skies, trees still wearing full summer green with only the earliest hint of color here and there so far. Every day has been swept clean with gentle warm breezes, occasionally punctuated by a cool nip suggesting sharper days yet to come.
The birthday has come and gone, over a week ago now. Adorable Wife hustled up some pity greetings from a few of her friends, but I didn't hear a word from any of mine. I guess I have never made much of it over the years but it was disappointing just the same. Old Norton came through three days later on Friday with tickets to the KU-New Mexico State football game. Characteristically we endured rain in the first quarter so that we'd be comfortably wet the rest of the game. And - horrors - umbrellas are no longer permitted in the stadium. I was forced to leave it outside under a bush with some others. Just to round out the evening, when we went to retrieve it we found it had been stolen. Adorable Wife had been quite clear instructing me to guard it with diligence but displayed remarkable restraint when informed the next day. At least the Hawks won, but it is witten that NM State is weak this year making the victory slightly hollow. Only time will tell if KU was good or just scheduled well.
Then there are the resurging Kansas City Chiefs, 3-0 at the bye week but having played three of the weaker teams in the league, with only the Chargers having any claim to competence. But alas even the Chargers are struggling so we can't really assume confidence from defeating them. The Chiefs really have shown some improvement though and maybe this is "for real" as Jack Harry might like to say.
Rob and Steve play on a YMCA flag football team on Saturdays, and a perk that comes with the lack of work is that I get to go watch. No need to go in and prep a NFL charter any more; idleness has a benefit. The games are fun; some of the boys are really into football. Some are there for the glory. Others are there only that their fathers might channel themselves back through their sons.
"Mean Green" in the huddle
Robbie has a true understanding of the game, good focus and the physical ability to perform. He can pass, catch passes and sniff out the ball like a bloodhound. Steve usually gets in a couple of good plays but is easily distracted by things in the grass or sideline noises. Steve is not quite as long-legged as his brother and thus not as fast but when he gets the ball he gives it everything he has. If the boys get a Players' Association together, I have no doubt Steve will probably wind up as the players' rep.
Steve also likes to give the crowd a victory dance when he makes a good "tackle." The dads who coach are men of infinite patience but I think their time will pay dividends in years to come.
Anniversary number 34 is closing in quickly and Adorable Wife wants desperately to celebrate with a road trip. She does not know to where, but wants to go just the same. We had discussed a short trip to California to visit her brother but with finances fading quickly away that seemed inadvisable. It will have to be postponed several weeks anyway what with our powerful social schedule already in flaps-up. Maybe we can go out to Blue Springs and watch the Ford dealer paint falling leaves on the showroom windows. Nothing's to good.
That's the bad part of not working--no money coming in. A few days in Torrance might have been a nice diversion, but not once you go to suck at the public trough. I would have eaten too much anyway, and now that I have lost 15 pounds and kept it off I am trying to be careful.
Unemployment is attractive only to those still working. It is pleasant to have no hard schedule to keep but also a little like a Christian Scientist with appendicitis-just wondering how bad it is going to be. At least the weather has been agreeable, sterling days in early fall. Gorgeous blue skies, trees still wearing full summer green with only the earliest hint of color here and there so far. Every day has been swept clean with gentle warm breezes, occasionally punctuated by a cool nip suggesting sharper days yet to come.
The birthday has come and gone, over a week ago now. Adorable Wife hustled up some pity greetings from a few of her friends, but I didn't hear a word from any of mine. I guess I have never made much of it over the years but it was disappointing just the same. Old Norton came through three days later on Friday with tickets to the KU-New Mexico State football game. Characteristically we endured rain in the first quarter so that we'd be comfortably wet the rest of the game. And - horrors - umbrellas are no longer permitted in the stadium. I was forced to leave it outside under a bush with some others. Just to round out the evening, when we went to retrieve it we found it had been stolen. Adorable Wife had been quite clear instructing me to guard it with diligence but displayed remarkable restraint when informed the next day. At least the Hawks won, but it is witten that NM State is weak this year making the victory slightly hollow. Only time will tell if KU was good or just scheduled well.
Then there are the resurging Kansas City Chiefs, 3-0 at the bye week but having played three of the weaker teams in the league, with only the Chargers having any claim to competence. But alas even the Chargers are struggling so we can't really assume confidence from defeating them. The Chiefs really have shown some improvement though and maybe this is "for real" as Jack Harry might like to say.
Rob and Steve play on a YMCA flag football team on Saturdays, and a perk that comes with the lack of work is that I get to go watch. No need to go in and prep a NFL charter any more; idleness has a benefit. The games are fun; some of the boys are really into football. Some are there for the glory. Others are there only that their fathers might channel themselves back through their sons.
"Mean Green" in the huddle
Robbie has a true understanding of the game, good focus and the physical ability to perform. He can pass, catch passes and sniff out the ball like a bloodhound. Steve usually gets in a couple of good plays but is easily distracted by things in the grass or sideline noises. Steve is not quite as long-legged as his brother and thus not as fast but when he gets the ball he gives it everything he has. If the boys get a Players' Association together, I have no doubt Steve will probably wind up as the players' rep.Steve also likes to give the crowd a victory dance when he makes a good "tackle." The dads who coach are men of infinite patience but I think their time will pay dividends in years to come.
Anniversary number 34 is closing in quickly and Adorable Wife wants desperately to celebrate with a road trip. She does not know to where, but wants to go just the same. We had discussed a short trip to California to visit her brother but with finances fading quickly away that seemed inadvisable. It will have to be postponed several weeks anyway what with our powerful social schedule already in flaps-up. Maybe we can go out to Blue Springs and watch the Ford dealer paint falling leaves on the showroom windows. Nothing's to good.
That's the bad part of not working--no money coming in. A few days in Torrance might have been a nice diversion, but not once you go to suck at the public trough. I would have eaten too much anyway, and now that I have lost 15 pounds and kept it off I am trying to be careful.
The mid-term elections are only weeks away now. It will seem longer with the barrage of political ads, mostly negative ones, squeezed into commercial time. Finally the country seems awakened to half- and non-truths told by the Left in the last election, and apparently realizes they made a huge mistake. I can only hope we elect enough clear-thinkers to repeal Obama-care and Cap-and-Trade, and cut off so-called stimulus spending. By most accounts, notably the Congressional Budget Office, the stimulus spending has been a miserable failure. If they extend the '01 and '03 tax reductions, we can put some cash in the hands of small business and get the economy rolling again. Then and only then can additional taxation be considered. But before any of this can happen voters will have to clean house in Congress and I guess in the meantime we will have to endure the self-righteous claims of politicos in the negative ads.
Tomorrow is Thursday with work two weeks gone. I'd sure like to see those checks show up, pay off my credit card and get on with life. Which in my case is filing for unemployment compensation. Only one ghost of a job opening has floated past so far and with each day passing gets less tangible. Day trading may be the thing to do? Buy lottery tickets? We shall see.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Done
Finally, the post-KC career has ended. Trips I made this summer to "hot spots" that needed an extra pair of hands are done, the fires all having long ago burned out. A month in Detroit, a couple of weeks in Minneapolis and finally ten days of hell in Denver. I am sort of glad they are letting me go after Denver. I really wouldn't want to deal with their retail program there again.
As much as I love Colorado I couldn't go reprise all that nonsense in the Denver shop. I found the staff arrogant and the other folks they flew in pompous. If I could buy just one of them for what they're worth then turn around and sell them for what they think they're worth, I wouldn't need to file for unemployment. Never have I witnessed such an unhealthy abundance of self-esteem and curiously, never have I seen such a disorganized startup.
I worked 50 out of 72 hours at one stretch, which leaves just enough time to go home, eat something, sleep and go back to work. And it doesn't get you that much sleep. For that I wound up without a "Thanks for your help," "Appreciate you hanging in there with us," or even a "Just go to Hell and don't come back." No traditional hospitality room and no pizza in the conference room. Not even a clean lab coat every day. Borderline disdainful on their part, and I am getting a little old for this.
So now, back at home in the comfort of my own swivel chair, I am told that no other assignments are forthcoming in exotic places like Detroit which signals the end of employment with this company and the end of a long, not particularly distinguished career. That's OK. Lufthansa is difficult to work for and seems to enjoy squeezing the Americans it employs. I haven't got a raise in 7 years. I actually took a promotion and lost money.
One thing strikes me after all this traveling: We are a nation of immigrants. In Detroit, you need to learn to speak Arabic. In Minneapolis, Somali. In Denver, of course, Spanish. Look around and recognize the buildings, factories, names on the map and mountains. But listen and you might think you're in Yemen.
It is, thus, good to be home. Now begins the long search for suitable work. The position I want doesn't exist so I will have to settle for what I can get. Hopefully I won't need to learn a foreign language.
One more word on air travel: Don't. Drive or take the train. Planes are crowded and airlines/airports/TSA are disdainful of us who pay their wages. Indeed, the golden age of air travel (if one existed) is long past. I suppose if you are going to Australia it's inevitable, but to St. Louis or Dallas? Take a second look in the driveway.
That's my story and I'm sticking with it.
As much as I love Colorado I couldn't go reprise all that nonsense in the Denver shop. I found the staff arrogant and the other folks they flew in pompous. If I could buy just one of them for what they're worth then turn around and sell them for what they think they're worth, I wouldn't need to file for unemployment. Never have I witnessed such an unhealthy abundance of self-esteem and curiously, never have I seen such a disorganized startup.
I worked 50 out of 72 hours at one stretch, which leaves just enough time to go home, eat something, sleep and go back to work. And it doesn't get you that much sleep. For that I wound up without a "Thanks for your help," "Appreciate you hanging in there with us," or even a "Just go to Hell and don't come back." No traditional hospitality room and no pizza in the conference room. Not even a clean lab coat every day. Borderline disdainful on their part, and I am getting a little old for this.
So now, back at home in the comfort of my own swivel chair, I am told that no other assignments are forthcoming in exotic places like Detroit which signals the end of employment with this company and the end of a long, not particularly distinguished career. That's OK. Lufthansa is difficult to work for and seems to enjoy squeezing the Americans it employs. I haven't got a raise in 7 years. I actually took a promotion and lost money.
One thing strikes me after all this traveling: We are a nation of immigrants. In Detroit, you need to learn to speak Arabic. In Minneapolis, Somali. In Denver, of course, Spanish. Look around and recognize the buildings, factories, names on the map and mountains. But listen and you might think you're in Yemen.
It is, thus, good to be home. Now begins the long search for suitable work. The position I want doesn't exist so I will have to settle for what I can get. Hopefully I won't need to learn a foreign language.
One more word on air travel: Don't. Drive or take the train. Planes are crowded and airlines/airports/TSA are disdainful of us who pay their wages. Indeed, the golden age of air travel (if one existed) is long past. I suppose if you are going to Australia it's inevitable, but to St. Louis or Dallas? Take a second look in the driveway.
That's my story and I'm sticking with it.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Twin Peaks
Once again, Adorable Wife has taken to the highway and gone on a shopping binge. Together with Drinkin' Buddy trips are made annually, usually to the shoppers' temple in Osage Beach, Missouri, where an outlet mall exerts a strong magnetic attraction to the polar opposites among us.
But this year is different. They may yet go to Osage Beach, but Adorable Wife and Drinkin' Buddy surprised everyone this year by heading for Tulsa. Yeah, that's right: Tulsa, Oklahoma. Not exactly the first place you think of when asked to name popular venues for hitting the racks.
The difference is that these two fearless browsers aren't looking for Cartier, Armani or Elizabeth Arden. They seek Ross Family Stores, and Tulsa has five. Adorable Wife discovered Ross several years ago and became quite taken with them, wading in chest deep to shop with other True Believers.
Tulsa has all the other names they need as well: Macys, Penneys, Gordmans, all the usual suspects. It remains unrecorded what can be purchased at these stores in Oklahoma that is not on the shelves in Kansas City. The rest of us in the family don't know what Ross carries that cannot be found at Kohl's or Sears at comparable prices here. Perhaps it is simply the act of release: escaping from from the surly bonds of home for a few days. We all would understand.
On this trip our intrepid shoppers found a rustic, log-cabin-style restaurant in the corner of a Tulsa mall, much as one finds the Olive Garden or Mimi's Cafe at the fringes of a shopping center here. The name of this affair was "Twin Peaks" and figuring it to be a steak house or similar enterprise, the girls ventured in. Adorable Wife, not yet through the door, noted the loud music and told Drinkin' Buddy this might not work out. Once inside they were greeted by the hostess, wearing "flimsy" attire, and it dawned on them that the clientele was men-only even though the hostess told them "we do get a few ladies in here."
But not them: out they went. Maybe "Twin Peaks" should have tipped them off but the girls were just hungry, not looking for work. Perhaps this is why they headed for Tulsa though. A town that puts a gentleman's club in a mall is thinking out of the box. They can market. Maybe their merchants operate similarly and have better selection and prices than competing venues.
All I know is, the outlet mall in Osage Beach doesn't have a strip club.
But this year is different. They may yet go to Osage Beach, but Adorable Wife and Drinkin' Buddy surprised everyone this year by heading for Tulsa. Yeah, that's right: Tulsa, Oklahoma. Not exactly the first place you think of when asked to name popular venues for hitting the racks.
The difference is that these two fearless browsers aren't looking for Cartier, Armani or Elizabeth Arden. They seek Ross Family Stores, and Tulsa has five. Adorable Wife discovered Ross several years ago and became quite taken with them, wading in chest deep to shop with other True Believers.
Tulsa has all the other names they need as well: Macys, Penneys, Gordmans, all the usual suspects. It remains unrecorded what can be purchased at these stores in Oklahoma that is not on the shelves in Kansas City. The rest of us in the family don't know what Ross carries that cannot be found at Kohl's or Sears at comparable prices here. Perhaps it is simply the act of release: escaping from from the surly bonds of home for a few days. We all would understand.
On this trip our intrepid shoppers found a rustic, log-cabin-style restaurant in the corner of a Tulsa mall, much as one finds the Olive Garden or Mimi's Cafe at the fringes of a shopping center here. The name of this affair was "Twin Peaks" and figuring it to be a steak house or similar enterprise, the girls ventured in. Adorable Wife, not yet through the door, noted the loud music and told Drinkin' Buddy this might not work out. Once inside they were greeted by the hostess, wearing "flimsy" attire, and it dawned on them that the clientele was men-only even though the hostess told them "we do get a few ladies in here."
But not them: out they went. Maybe "Twin Peaks" should have tipped them off but the girls were just hungry, not looking for work. Perhaps this is why they headed for Tulsa though. A town that puts a gentleman's club in a mall is thinking out of the box. They can market. Maybe their merchants operate similarly and have better selection and prices than competing venues.
All I know is, the outlet mall in Osage Beach doesn't have a strip club.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
BLOOMINGTON, Minn. (Aug. 23)--My hotel room here is about on the edge of where the old Twins' stadium sat 'way back when. Maybe Harmon Killebrew stood here warming up. Maybe Mickey Mantel or George Brett walked through my bathroom on the way to the team bus, I don't know.
But I do know they didn't have to listen to the incessant parade of Delta airplanes departing to the south, throttles firewalled and barely three hundred feet in the air. For the last six weeks I have lived in hotels seemingly built directly under the glide path of landing airplanes. If the wind shifts they depart across the parking lot, vibrating the window glass and drowning out the television or telephone calls.
I suppose the ALer's had some noisy old Northwest Orient jets with which to contend over the years, but they were only at the ball park for four or five hours. I don't know how the people in the apartments next door have put up with the roar, beginning at six in the morning and going until well after sunset. I should be getting used to it but it only gets more annoying. The Detroit airport was the same way but no one lived anywhere near it, just us schleps in the hotels.
When landing from the north, the planes streak across miles of Minneapolis, the last two or three miles slightly above the treetops. Yesterday I took a drive around the Twin Cities and noticed how low the planes were at Lake Nokomis, a city park in a neighborhood of classic American homes. It looked like the streets the Cleavers, Andersons or the Nelsons might have lived on. Except for the racket from above.
After that I went up to downtown Minneapolis, and over to St. Paul, suddenly realizing there was no airplane noise. For five whole hours, no airplanes. Both city centers are quite alive, with people out on foot everywhere. In Minnieapolis the after-church crowd was all over downtown, in the streets, in the restaurants and on Nicollete Mall.
Over in St Paul the univeristy crowd was having late morning coffee on the sidewalks at several java huts and diners near "the U" as the University of Minnesota is locally known. And all over downtown St. Paul, people were heading for the big city park on Sibley Street and on the lawn at the beautiful state capitol building. Mickey's Diner was discharging the last of the breakfast rush, with a crowd of them lingering on the corner.
After that I drove over to Wisconsin, about 10 miles east. The state border is the St. Croix River. Where I-94 crosses, it is as aide as a lake and a gorgeous marina blue as far as you can see. Sail boats are popular there and the day was quite warm. It looked great.
And back to the hotel. Crossing the Minnesota River as I approached my exit, I saw an airplane climbing from the airport. Even in the truck with the windows up and the air on it made its presence known. Welcome home.
But I do know they didn't have to listen to the incessant parade of Delta airplanes departing to the south, throttles firewalled and barely three hundred feet in the air. For the last six weeks I have lived in hotels seemingly built directly under the glide path of landing airplanes. If the wind shifts they depart across the parking lot, vibrating the window glass and drowning out the television or telephone calls.
I suppose the ALer's had some noisy old Northwest Orient jets with which to contend over the years, but they were only at the ball park for four or five hours. I don't know how the people in the apartments next door have put up with the roar, beginning at six in the morning and going until well after sunset. I should be getting used to it but it only gets more annoying. The Detroit airport was the same way but no one lived anywhere near it, just us schleps in the hotels.
When landing from the north, the planes streak across miles of Minneapolis, the last two or three miles slightly above the treetops. Yesterday I took a drive around the Twin Cities and noticed how low the planes were at Lake Nokomis, a city park in a neighborhood of classic American homes. It looked like the streets the Cleavers, Andersons or the Nelsons might have lived on. Except for the racket from above.
After that I went up to downtown Minneapolis, and over to St. Paul, suddenly realizing there was no airplane noise. For five whole hours, no airplanes. Both city centers are quite alive, with people out on foot everywhere. In Minnieapolis the after-church crowd was all over downtown, in the streets, in the restaurants and on Nicollete Mall.
Over in St Paul the univeristy crowd was having late morning coffee on the sidewalks at several java huts and diners near "the U" as the University of Minnesota is locally known. And all over downtown St. Paul, people were heading for the big city park on Sibley Street and on the lawn at the beautiful state capitol building. Mickey's Diner was discharging the last of the breakfast rush, with a crowd of them lingering on the corner.
After that I drove over to Wisconsin, about 10 miles east. The state border is the St. Croix River. Where I-94 crosses, it is as aide as a lake and a gorgeous marina blue as far as you can see. Sail boats are popular there and the day was quite warm. It looked great.
And back to the hotel. Crossing the Minnesota River as I approached my exit, I saw an airplane climbing from the airport. Even in the truck with the windows up and the air on it made its presence known. Welcome home.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
BLOOMINGTON, Minn. (Aug 17)--Having been exposed as a fraud and expense account squatter in Detroit, the company has moved me on to Minneapolis.
I left with mixed feelings, like there was a job not yet done. I didn't leave a trained replacement behind, but it really seemed like they didn't want me to and didn't care. I wonder if the shop was in trouble with a customer and brought a few of us in for the customer to see; sort of a visible response that they were making every effort to make things better.
Well, nevertheless, I left. Friday night, the flight home continued my Friday Night Fights on the airplane. An anticipated thunderstorm delay in Detroit never materialized but storms developed en route over Kansas City and the four-state area. Flying along next to this storm gave us spectacular views of lightening shooting back and forth across the tops of the clouds. The show was amazing, entertaining me until the pilot announced that the Kansas City airport was closed. We would be diverted to St. Louis.
After two hours on the ground there, we were finally cleared to resume the trip to MCI. Again, we flew alongside a magnificent storm (the same one that cost us an on-time arrival) with flashes of light as intense as a nuclear detonation. It was awesome indeed but everyone was dog-tired and few observed the show.
Now here I am in Minnesota. To which I drove, I might add. I need a break from air travel. And it is great to have my own transportation, having not to depend on the whim of others for a ride to work. Or more importantly, a ride back to the hotel.
Access to Minnesota is gained by traversing the Iowa countryside, most of which appears to be on the verge of flooding. Rivers there were high and standing water was everywhere around Des Moines. Further north the traffic thins, the rivers run more clear and it's hard to fathom there are hungry people anywhere with all that corn. The long evening shadows brighten the greens, letting them sparkle against the shadows. Iowa in the summer is not awe-inspiring like the Rockies, but it has a majesty all its own. (Note that Iowa in the winter is a completely different proposition and there are few romantic observations to be made on its behalf.)
Anyway it appears that summer here is about like that in Kansas City, only about 10 degrees cooler. Unfortunately it is just as humid, or more, if that's even possible. So far the dew point and temperature are nearly the same, never more than 9 degrees distant from one another.
The Mall of America is across the street, quite beautifully maintained inside and still a draw. But the local shop I am assigned to is less hospitable than I had hoped, less even than Detroit. And hot. They have the most feeble air conditioning I have ever seen. The docks have no fans. The managers are rather curt. The building is wholly inadequate for the business it is expected to process. Heaven help them if they get a health inspection. I have been working in the dishroom, the very bowels of the enterprise. It is hot and steamy, with stagnent air. Oh, for a couple of floor fans.
Minneapolis itself is as green as Seattle, lush and verdant; a visually satisfying place. It appears to be prosperous but I have seen very little of the city and thus not exposed to competing declarations. We shall see.
I don't know how much more traveling this company expects me to do, but it is beginning to wear a bit. I guess as a lame duck I have the luxury of not having to take much crap. But at the same time, I would like to continue to take their money. Meager as it is, it's all to which I have access at the moment.
I left with mixed feelings, like there was a job not yet done. I didn't leave a trained replacement behind, but it really seemed like they didn't want me to and didn't care. I wonder if the shop was in trouble with a customer and brought a few of us in for the customer to see; sort of a visible response that they were making every effort to make things better.
Well, nevertheless, I left. Friday night, the flight home continued my Friday Night Fights on the airplane. An anticipated thunderstorm delay in Detroit never materialized but storms developed en route over Kansas City and the four-state area. Flying along next to this storm gave us spectacular views of lightening shooting back and forth across the tops of the clouds. The show was amazing, entertaining me until the pilot announced that the Kansas City airport was closed. We would be diverted to St. Louis.
After two hours on the ground there, we were finally cleared to resume the trip to MCI. Again, we flew alongside a magnificent storm (the same one that cost us an on-time arrival) with flashes of light as intense as a nuclear detonation. It was awesome indeed but everyone was dog-tired and few observed the show.
Now here I am in Minnesota. To which I drove, I might add. I need a break from air travel. And it is great to have my own transportation, having not to depend on the whim of others for a ride to work. Or more importantly, a ride back to the hotel.
Access to Minnesota is gained by traversing the Iowa countryside, most of which appears to be on the verge of flooding. Rivers there were high and standing water was everywhere around Des Moines. Further north the traffic thins, the rivers run more clear and it's hard to fathom there are hungry people anywhere with all that corn. The long evening shadows brighten the greens, letting them sparkle against the shadows. Iowa in the summer is not awe-inspiring like the Rockies, but it has a majesty all its own. (Note that Iowa in the winter is a completely different proposition and there are few romantic observations to be made on its behalf.)
Anyway it appears that summer here is about like that in Kansas City, only about 10 degrees cooler. Unfortunately it is just as humid, or more, if that's even possible. So far the dew point and temperature are nearly the same, never more than 9 degrees distant from one another.
The Mall of America is across the street, quite beautifully maintained inside and still a draw. But the local shop I am assigned to is less hospitable than I had hoped, less even than Detroit. And hot. They have the most feeble air conditioning I have ever seen. The docks have no fans. The managers are rather curt. The building is wholly inadequate for the business it is expected to process. Heaven help them if they get a health inspection. I have been working in the dishroom, the very bowels of the enterprise. It is hot and steamy, with stagnent air. Oh, for a couple of floor fans.
Minneapolis itself is as green as Seattle, lush and verdant; a visually satisfying place. It appears to be prosperous but I have seen very little of the city and thus not exposed to competing declarations. We shall see.
I don't know how much more traveling this company expects me to do, but it is beginning to wear a bit. I guess as a lame duck I have the luxury of not having to take much crap. But at the same time, I would like to continue to take their money. Meager as it is, it's all to which I have access at the moment.
Monday, August 2, 2010
DETROIT, Mich. Aug. 2--On the road for the third week now. I have remembered my work shoes and watch, making this endeavor slightly less arduous but hardly less tedious.
Professional road warriors must live bleak lives. They shuttle from airport to airport, conference room to conference room, hotel to hotel. Their forums are not front porches and city parks but Blackberries and laptops. They are well versed in the nuances of security screenings at Denver versus Orlando. They chat easily with hotel van drivers, flight attendants and local corporate managers. They attend sporting events in unfamiliar cities to entertain employees, customers and clients they might otherwise loath.
That is not the life for which I am on a narrow path, but it is a life I have seen a number of men and women lead. I am getting a little up-close look at it and it indeed is, to be redundant, bleak.
For openers, there is the distance from family. Cell phones help but there is always the lack of company and touch. Sitting here in Michigan, I can't see Steve's expressive face as he yells at his sister with the equally expressive face. I can't hug my wife after her long day of working her job, caring for her often rebellious-mother and attending to her aged aunt.
Professional road warriors must live bleak lives. They shuttle from airport to airport, conference room to conference room, hotel to hotel. Their forums are not front porches and city parks but Blackberries and laptops. They are well versed in the nuances of security screenings at Denver versus Orlando. They chat easily with hotel van drivers, flight attendants and local corporate managers. They attend sporting events in unfamiliar cities to entertain employees, customers and clients they might otherwise loath.
That is not the life for which I am on a narrow path, but it is a life I have seen a number of men and women lead. I am getting a little up-close look at it and it indeed is, to be redundant, bleak.
For openers, there is the distance from family. Cell phones help but there is always the lack of company and touch. Sitting here in Michigan, I can't see Steve's expressive face as he yells at his sister with the equally expressive face. I can't hug my wife after her long day of working her job, caring for her often rebellious-mother and attending to her aged aunt.
Living out of a suitcase is not very exciting either. You never have quite enough clothes or the right clothes for various situations, and shoes are difficult to deal with if the suitcase is a carry-on like mine. Then there is the world of flying in the modern era. Consider the plight of the road warrior who is forced to ride airplanes:
>Fewer flights exist across the board to accommodate travelers. Airlines had an incredible waste of capacity through the 90's when fuel was cheap and times were good. Now, the sooner you make your reservation the better your trip will be. These airplanes are full and uncomfortable.
>Checking your bag has become a luxury. Unless you are a frequent flier with free bag checking privileges, the cost is $20 to $30 for one bag and you had damned well better not let that bag weigh more than 49 pounds. Overweight bag penalties are $100 or more.
>On some flights, airlines won't let you select a seat until the day of travel. On that day you had either best get to the airport early or hit the keys and surf for whatever bone the airline will throw your way. Otherwise it is a center seat in the last row, between the two fat guys.
>Everything the airline does now costs. Unless you ride first class, alcohol has always been sold, but now food (if there is any), blankets, pillows, talking to a reservation agent, checked bags, are all for-sale. And American Airlines shamelessly offers to upgrade you to priority boarding status for $10 so you don't have to fight with the unwashed for a spot in the overhead for your carry-on. Just dreadful.
>As always the airline will never fail to make you feel like a prisoner of war. It begins with the government going through your bags, shoes, pockets, and forcing most men to take off their belts. It continues with the list of violations for which you can be taken from an airplane in chains which flight crews defiantly announce as you taxi out. Everything is done for the airlines' convenience, right down to demanding a credit card for a sandwich--no cash accepted. And don't ask for help or information if your flight is delayed or cancelled; they are just to busy. Usually trying to help the flight crew who is stranded.
My first flight home was cancelled due to a storm that ran through Detroit like fury, as good as any summer storm in Missouri. It was late, than later, than later still before American Eagle cancelled it. But the agent that finally showed up at the gate just flat said, "if you need help rebooking a flight, you need to go to a service center or call the 800 number. I won't be able to help you here." She had little information, personality, style or interest in anyone save for the crew that was stuck at the gate with her.
Travel, unless you are riding first class, is best done on trains or in private automobiles. Take your own food or stop and dine where you choose. Bring your own pillow. Take all the shoes you want.
It can be fun, enlightening and educational to be out and about but doing so "on the clock" is a just work.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Motor City
OK, so here I am in Detroit. Well, actually Romulus, Michigan. This is where the airport and all of the airport-related businesses are. I have been temporarily detailed to the Detroit-Wayne County airport station to help on the dock.
The dock at 5:00 PM is utter chaos. Somehow I can't imagine running it by myself for long but I think that is what these folks have in mind. The regular supervisor is preparing to go on vacation next week and that would leave me in charge. They don't have anyone else, so I am looking forward to this like another colonoscopy. They are insane, and a little desperate.
I have not actually been into Detroit and don't plan to go. It isn't really a travel destination. Sometime I would love to go upstate and see the lakes. I would like to go over the big bridge to the upper peninsula. But Detroit itself doesn't hold much. The population dropped here from 1.5 million 30 years ago to about 650,000 at the last estimate. The city is greatly uninhabited, compared to what it was and the tax base is correspondingly eroded. Like in Kansas City the folks who paid the taxes and earned the money moved to the suburbs, or off to California, so I can visit all the big-city blight and decay that I want at home.
But this remains a vital population center with the attendant airport, McDonalds, interstate highways, cell phone stores and other perks of urban life, so indirectly, here I am. More insanity.
Getting here isn't a breeze. There are only a few nonstop flights and they are packed. I connected thru Memphis on the way here, getting in with just enough time to walk the fifty miles from gate B41 to B12. I arrived in time to see not one but three very large women boarded into the first row of economy. They were dressed to kill, every one of them, but apparently unable to hoof it down the jetway. They were rolled in aboard wheelchairs, one right after the other, holding up boarding for all 9,000 economy passengers. Utter insanity.
I was in the window seat, with the fat guy in the middle seat crowding me and the fat lady in the aisle seat to his left. Either he or the fat lady had gas, which is a bad deal for several reasons:
1. other people may think it was me, not them;
2. you can't get up and walk away easily; and
3. the windows don't open.
Now going home, I get to experience delightful American Eagle's regional jets which have a stunning 50% on time rate. They are claustrophobic, smelly and route me through O'Hare the traditional worm hole of airline travel in the United States. Whole airplane loads of people disappear there. Yet even more insanity.
The alternative to all this is for me to tell the company to forget it, and cut my severance check.
I really don't want to travel like this but neither do I want to give up employment before I have to in the Obama economy. If I could start my retirement job (parking cars for Avis) then I would be gone in a New York minute, but I can't, so I won't.
Worst part of all this is that I forgot my work shoes and wrist watch, and I can't see from day to day how our tomatoes are progressing. But one good thing: It isn't hot and humid like in KC. These people think it's hot but I have seen and been in hot and this ain't it. Maybe Avis is hiring here. I could do that for a while, at least until November. Sound a little insane? It's catching.
The dock at 5:00 PM is utter chaos. Somehow I can't imagine running it by myself for long but I think that is what these folks have in mind. The regular supervisor is preparing to go on vacation next week and that would leave me in charge. They don't have anyone else, so I am looking forward to this like another colonoscopy. They are insane, and a little desperate.
I have not actually been into Detroit and don't plan to go. It isn't really a travel destination. Sometime I would love to go upstate and see the lakes. I would like to go over the big bridge to the upper peninsula. But Detroit itself doesn't hold much. The population dropped here from 1.5 million 30 years ago to about 650,000 at the last estimate. The city is greatly uninhabited, compared to what it was and the tax base is correspondingly eroded. Like in Kansas City the folks who paid the taxes and earned the money moved to the suburbs, or off to California, so I can visit all the big-city blight and decay that I want at home.
But this remains a vital population center with the attendant airport, McDonalds, interstate highways, cell phone stores and other perks of urban life, so indirectly, here I am. More insanity.
Getting here isn't a breeze. There are only a few nonstop flights and they are packed. I connected thru Memphis on the way here, getting in with just enough time to walk the fifty miles from gate B41 to B12. I arrived in time to see not one but three very large women boarded into the first row of economy. They were dressed to kill, every one of them, but apparently unable to hoof it down the jetway. They were rolled in aboard wheelchairs, one right after the other, holding up boarding for all 9,000 economy passengers. Utter insanity.
I was in the window seat, with the fat guy in the middle seat crowding me and the fat lady in the aisle seat to his left. Either he or the fat lady had gas, which is a bad deal for several reasons:
1. other people may think it was me, not them;
2. you can't get up and walk away easily; and
3. the windows don't open.
Now going home, I get to experience delightful American Eagle's regional jets which have a stunning 50% on time rate. They are claustrophobic, smelly and route me through O'Hare the traditional worm hole of airline travel in the United States. Whole airplane loads of people disappear there. Yet even more insanity.
The alternative to all this is for me to tell the company to forget it, and cut my severance check.
I really don't want to travel like this but neither do I want to give up employment before I have to in the Obama economy. If I could start my retirement job (parking cars for Avis) then I would be gone in a New York minute, but I can't, so I won't.
Worst part of all this is that I forgot my work shoes and wrist watch, and I can't see from day to day how our tomatoes are progressing. But one good thing: It isn't hot and humid like in KC. These people think it's hot but I have seen and been in hot and this ain't it. Maybe Avis is hiring here. I could do that for a while, at least until November. Sound a little insane? It's catching.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Rocky Mountain High
Long's Peak, from downtown Estes Park -- Elev. 14255 ft.
There are things to be aware of here, if you get out in the remote country: cougars, fast-moving storms with lightening, elk and bears. Cougars are seldom a threat in or near the town, but can wreak havoc if you head up a back-country trail. Elk are everywhere. You need not piss them off. They are large and have enormous antlers and sharp hooves. Now as to the bears, something has changed. I have been coming here for almost all my 59 years and--until last year--have not seen a bear. Now I have.
ESTES PARK, Colo. -- This is a work in progress, to be completed upon return to the flatlands where the air is hot and heavy with only a gasp of wind trying to move it around. Here, near the mountains in Estes Valley, a hot day is maybe 81 and the humidity rarely gets above 15 per cent. The sun is warm and where we stay the pool is always heated just enough for a comfortable entry. The light breeze sails down from the peaks and keeps one fresh all day long. It whooshs through the pines and firs, often bringing a few clouds in the late morning that gather and provide some light rain in the mid afternoon.
Oh yes, it is pleasant in the mountains. However cold it may be here in the winter, it is picture perfect in the summer. Literally, in fact, picture perfect. God crafted the Rocky Mountains into something as colorful and picturesque as anywhere on earth. Green of the evergreens, pinks and grays of the mountains themselves, bluest of blue skies and white the white of snow caps or foaming water rushing downhill in an alpine river.
Enough of that; there are lots of nice places to vacation.
There are things to be aware of here, if you get out in the remote country: cougars, fast-moving storms with lightening, elk and bears. Cougars are seldom a threat in or near the town, but can wreak havoc if you head up a back-country trail. Elk are everywhere. You need not piss them off. They are large and have enormous antlers and sharp hooves. Now as to the bears, something has changed. I have been coming here for almost all my 59 years and--until last year--have not seen a bear. Now I have.
This is not the first one; that was last year. A shaggy cinnamon bear walked the streets of Estes Park unmolested, and nearly unnoticed, save for my wife who saw it trot by on the sidewalk right in front of her. Faithful readers will recall the bear and his countrymen tried to raid the trash outside our cabin in several noisy episodes.
No, this bear simply stayed a safe distance, presumably with her cubs who popped up occasionally. They made no effort to cross the road and menace us or our refuse.
We surmised the economy has been as hard on the bears as it has on the rest of us, forcing the Park Service to lay some of them off. Thus they come down into the edges of the city, like the Okies of the 1930's heading to California, looking for food and employment. That also is probably why the elk drift into town and graze on peoples' lawns. It is not recorded that either elk or bear has filed for unemployment benefits.
Far and away the most dangerous thing we encountered on the trip was our granddaughter. Annie is a cute, lovely 2-year-old with the disposition of Tyrannosaurus Rex. To add to her resume, she can go without sleep seemingly for a week, which is probably why the bears didn't come near us. A bit of a princess, that girl, but when rested and well fed she is as sweet as can be. Unfortunately on the trip out she ran afoul of the law and spent a few hours in jail.
One of the other wild creatures lives on the mini-golf course which we frequent while in Estes Park. Often mistaken for his 
smaller cousin the chipmunk, the Golden-mantled Ground Squirrel is u
biquitous, charming and usually hungry. This fellow has taken up summer quarters in a buckent of sunflower seeds, which is about as good a way to vacation as any, I suppose.
Usually we take up residence in Hayley's ice cream and fudge shop, also a good way. Katie and Rob here are working hard to keep Colorado green by causing money to be left there. I know this place is good because the vanilla malts are good. If those are good, everything else will follow in line. I know way too much about this for my own good.
But all good things must come to an end. Seven nights at 7522 feet is fleeting. We have to trade in the 47 degree 
mornings for Missouri's 80 degree mornings, during which one does not want to work the crossword puzzle out on the deck--no matter how charming the sunlight looks. So we load up the car again and journey back down into the high plains, watching the mountains fade into the haze as we get further east of Denver. After the shock is worn off we can enjoy the trip. Everyone -- well, almost everyone -- helps drive back to KC.
Now we are home and back to cutting grass and other mundane chores that do not involve daily trips to an ice cream shop. There is no anticipation on the trip back, only a little dread of the vacation having ended and the imminent return to work. But there is always the opportunity to be thankful we got to go in the first place, and came home intact: the car undented, the riders healthy and without bear injuries, and actually a few pounds lighter!
And Kansas may not have the majestic mountain peaks which it ceded to Colorado in 1861, but it has a summer vitality all its own, with lots of blue sky too. Hey, if it weren't for Kansas, Nebraska, Iowa and Missouri, who would go to Colorado anyway?
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Goodbye old friend
So we are on our last day at work, six of us left out of the thousands who had worked there over the years; some for a day, some for a lifetime. I brought my camera in to take a few pictures to document that we cleaned up the trash collection areas, but more so to take a few pictures of the last people I worked with in the aviation industry. They were a little like family. Two of them I have worked with for twenty and twenty-five years.
This camera wasn't state of the art. I bought it eight years ago. It was a 2-meg Canon Powershot which took terrific pictures. The files it made were easily sent as attachments and took little room if posted to a blog. A really great camera for me, serving me well for all this time.
I set it down and haven't seen it since.
Someone threw it away or stole it, I don't know which. As an item to fence, it wouldn't bring much. I had four rechargeable batteries inside and four spares in the case, all of which were worth more than the camera itself. I guess most wouldn't know that but camera technology changes so fast it's insane. Eight years is a lifetime in that business.
That was Wednesday. Friday night I bought a new one, another Canon. This one has been out for nine or ten months, the SX120 IS. It is inexpensive and has about the same features the other one did, just with a better lens. I don't need a lot of extras, but I do appreiate the improved zoom and larger screen.
It just gnaws at me that someone may be holding my pictures from family events, my depot trip last fall to the Ozarks, and the photos I took on the last day with my work family. If it was a theft, it is going to disappoint him/her greatly when he is offered squat.
The new one is smaller and lighter, but last Wednesday I lost my work friends, all five of them, and my camera who was kind of a friend as well. We have been lots of places together, places even Adorable Wife h
as declined to travel.
That's enough loss for one week. I hope everyone else is healthy and happy right here.
The new camera takes good pictures too, like this one of the salvia in the back yard. We just don't have a history with each other yet.
This camera wasn't state of the art. I bought it eight years ago. It was a 2-meg Canon Powershot which took terrific pictures. The files it made were easily sent as attachments and took little room if posted to a blog. A really great camera for me, serving me well for all this time.
I set it down and haven't seen it since.
Someone threw it away or stole it, I don't know which. As an item to fence, it wouldn't bring much. I had four rechargeable batteries inside and four spares in the case, all of which were worth more than the camera itself. I guess most wouldn't know that but camera technology changes so fast it's insane. Eight years is a lifetime in that business.
That was Wednesday. Friday night I bought a new one, another Canon. This one has been out for nine or ten months, the SX120 IS. It is inexpensive and has about the same features the other one did, just with a better lens. I don't need a lot of extras, but I do appreiate the improved zoom and larger screen.
It just gnaws at me that someone may be holding my pictures from family events, my depot trip last fall to the Ozarks, and the photos I took on the last day with my work family. If it was a theft, it is going to disappoint him/her greatly when he is offered squat.
The new one is smaller and lighter, but last Wednesday I lost my work friends, all five of them, and my camera who was kind of a friend as well. We have been lots of places together, places even Adorable Wife h
as declined to travel.That's enough loss for one week. I hope everyone else is healthy and happy right here.
The new camera takes good pictures too, like this one of the salvia in the back yard. We just don't have a history with each other yet.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Summer of Healthcare, part II
"OK, here's what we'll do. We'll get them in here, make them nice and comfortable and take a long tube with a camera and some tools on the end of it and run it right up their butts. We'll take movies of their intestines and they'll love it. We'll make a fortune."
So maybe it isn't this simple, but it still so successful that even the empty heads at Medicare can get their brains around it.
So maybe it isn't this simple, but it still so successful that even the empty heads at Medicare can get their brains around it.
This then is the second part of my summer of healthcare, all of this prompted, of course, by my impending unemployment. First the minor surgery for cyst removal and now my 5 year colonoscopy. It is nothing one anticipates but it really wasn't that bad.
For starters, they changed to a different anesthetic. Before, they loaded you up with Demerol. It leaves you groggy and sleepy for a while, but after you get home you have what may be the greatest nap in the world. The new knock-out of choice is the same thing Michael Jackson overdosed on last year. You are out and awake with no concept of the loss of time and at least as clear-headed as you were before they began the procedure.
Last time I woke up about half way through--this time there isn't a chance in hell you wake up until they want you to.
The prep is also a little easier. There is no - and I still don't even like to use the word - enema. It has been replaced with 38 doses of Miralax with a half gallon of Gatorade. It isn't a huge improvement because no one can drink a half gallon of lemon-lime Gatorade in three hours. The attempt is enough to make you borderline sick, but at least that's it. No enema to follow up at the end of this gag-fest.
The people that work doing colonoscopies all day long are cheery and friendly, and very reassuring. Some how they sense that folks are leery of having a load of stainless steel fed up their Sigmoid, and do their best to answer questions and allay all fears.
I just kind of wonder what they all talk about while they're at work. If they could write it down or put it on tape they could make a fortune. The books they might write would sell millions and turn into movies starring Adam Sandler or maybe David Spade and their brothers in bathroom humor.
Actually I have no doubt these folks are very professional. Most all I know who work as physicians and staff are extremely careful, exacting and as skilled as their training and experience permit. And this particular procedure has been recognized to actually save money in the prevention of colon cancer. Medicare is even planning to cover them at 100 percent, assuming that Medicare survives. But it is a reflection of the effectiveness of what they do.
But you just know they have to have a few really good stories. I hope I'm not one of them.
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