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 |  If you havent ever read my blogs, give them a go! You will be amused at my journey! |
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Me and Holo-Zoo are building a submarine here next to the pond. We're determined that we're gonna find out what's at the bottom of this damn thing... ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ... If you're new to my journal, you've got a lot of catching up to do. So, don't be a slacker, get the full story. Here are my first two journals for your reading torture.
You don't have to read them all at once. Print 'em, and take them to that little reading room with the white chair. You know you love to read in there. Or print 'em out and use them as doorstops, bookends, or paperweights. You may prefer to leave a message on my voice mail. I award weekly Gift Points for clever, and or entertaining messages left there.
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I can recall trying to beat my Dad at arm-wrestling a time or two when we were growing up. We all wanted to take a crack at him, me, my older sister and my younger brother. He always beat us, but if I recall correctly, he also made a big show out of turning red and straining and groaning, evidence we thought, that we were giving him a real challenge. Veins bulged out on his forehead, sweat beads popped up on his bald pate, and primordial howls escaped from his throat. His arm bent back, nearly defeated, until he summoned a supposed burst of energy that allowed him to suddenly push back and pin our hands to the table. Then he would laugh at his own remarkable come-back and we'd playfully glower at him, still mere kids, not strong enough yet to beat dear ol' Dad at arm wrestling. I don't remember ever beating Dad at arm-wrestling. Not even after I joined off-season footbal in highschool and started lifting weights. It's possible that I never, ever beat Dad. I don't remember. I also remember wanting to know if I was a faster runner than my Dad. The only time I challenged him to a race was once on vacation when we made one of those yellow station wagon trips down to Florida. We raced on the beach, and he beat me easily. I was probably 9 or 10. To be honest, I don't ever remember beating Dad in a running race, either. Maybe I never did. "I ain't as good as I once was, But I'm as good once as I ever was." some cowboy singer I heard on the KVET I'll bet I could take him now, though. I don't care if he's older and retired. Boys live to beat their Dads at sports games, even if it's shuffle board at the old folks home. I raced my own son on the beach about 5 or 6 years ago. He was easy to beat. I ran only fast enough to barely beat him, conserving my energy, and hoping I didn't blow a lung in the process. Since then, he's challenged me to a few more foot races and I've declined them all, using one excuse after another. I have no burning inclination to collect ugly reminders about how rusty my bucket is getting, nor do I need to demonstrate to my son that I am anything less than the SuperDad he thinks I am. If he were to ever beat me in a footrace, I don't think I'd be allowed to wear the cape anymore! Besides, he nearly tore my arm off at the shoulder arm wrestling me the other day. His arms are longer than mine. He has young firm muscles, but I was still not expecting him to win. Boy was I wrong. He beat me quick, too, almost like it was too easy for him. Yup. Zach beat me for the first time ever at arm-wrestling. He must have cheated, don't you think? I'm convinced of it. Zoo - Salted and Roasted   ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| I think I may have "short-timer's disease", today. Short-timer's Disease is when you know that you aren't going to be in your current position for very much longer and your work suffers because of it. This affliction is marked by a severe attitude problem, manifested by the fact that you could care less, whether or not your work gets done because in a very short time, you will no longer be working that job. It hasn't ever gotten quite that far for me, but I can honestly say, I have no motivation or sense of responsibility today. My work is getting done, but I'm not exactly thrilled to be here. I considered walking into my branch manager's office to let him know that the phone call I was supposed to get never materialized, but apparently he's not here today. Figures. It sucks to know that there is impending doom on the horizon that's not getting any closer, but not fading out of sight, either. How can they set up the guillotine, strap me down to it, raise the blade and NOT pull the trigger? If I open my eyes and look around, I can see all the hooded faces circled around me. I can't see their eyes but I know they are watching me right now. I wish they would just get on with it. The not knowing for certain, yet feeling pretty sure that I DO know is starting to drive me mad. I'm almost starting to get a little pissed about last week's call from my boss. How can he mention something as terrifying as "job security" and then leave me hanging like that? So, I wait. But the Lord has prepared me for this waiting game. He told me this weekend that I don't have anything to worry about, that he'll provide for me, that he won't let my family suffer, and that I should play golf every day until something happens. It's true. Well, everything except that last part about golf. Hol-Zoo wrote that part, not me. He said yesterday that if my current job doesn't work out, he thinks we can make it as crime-lords, or gigilos. More on those interesting possibilities later. Zoo - Salted and Roasted ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
We had a family reunion of sorts this weekend. The Salvo's from Minnesota drove down with some homemade wines that we all sampled. Wild Blackberry, red rasberry, red and white currant wine, and some other flavors that I can't remember right now. Uncle Ray makes them on his farm up there and they're really good! It was good to see those folks again. Keep writing Aunt Nancy. Some day maybe someone will give you a large sum of money to write something. I know you are hoping the same for me. Thank you! Ray is the youngest of the three senior Salvo brothers, and he also has the sharpest wit of them all. Or maybe he just doesn't turn off his filter very much. Marv is like that. Whatever is on their minds, usually ends up on their tongues, and then before anyone can do anything about it, they've said whatever it is they were thinking. The end result is usually something suggestive, gross or hilarious, take your pick. It makes for a fun afternoon, though, especially when the homemade wine is flowing like it was on Saturday. I think everyone had a good time. We ate, some people swam, played cards, a little guitar on the back patio, some ribbing and poking fun at each other. It was all good. Thanks to everyone for indulging me in career shop talk while we munched on snacks in the kitchen. It helped. And thanks Mom, for the Valerian root. It reduced last night's jumpy nervous leg syndrome from a 2 hour ordeal, to something more like 45 minutes, after which point I was sleeping like a baby, dreaming of beekeepers and pigfarmers, both of which Uncle Ray has tried his hand at. It was NOT a very erotic dream. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Stephanie. Bless her little heart. She has taken some swimming lessons in years past, so I know that she knows how not to drown, but someone needs to teach that girl how to dive in properly. She stands at the edge and raises her arms above her head, and then, instead of using her legs to launch herself up and out over the water, she just starts leaning forward. The result is something akin to a tree being felled in the forest. She just leans and falls, until her torso hits the water like a sheet of plywood. Ouch. It hurts me to watch, but she says it doesn't hurt her at all. Yeah, sure. The big red mark on her stomach tells the real story. I gotta teach that girl how to dive. Maybe next summer. Tomorrow, we go down to Owens Music store and pick up her new clarinet. She's never played before, but she'll be in band this coming school year. So it's time to get her feet wet, and see if she can swim with the rest of the fishes. BACK to SCHOOL supplies: A clarinet, shoes for everyone, new jeans and pants for Zach and Stephie, new tires and a lobotomy for me, new job for Marv, new headaches for everyone if I have to be Zenith's newest pumpkin counter. As a diversion of sorts, Marv and I just might head up to the ol' Oyster Bar tonight and throw down for the Monday Night Texas Hold 'Em Tourney. Or not, depending on how disgruntled with Monday we have become by the end of the day. Zoo - Salted and Roasted ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Somewhere in Thorndale, TX, there lives either a near-sighted cat, or a cleptomaniac crow with an eye for shiny things. My mother in law, Nancy, told us a little story this weekend about something weird that happened on Saturday morning. As the story goes, she was weeding her courtyard when she stopped to wipe the sweat from her face. She took off her gardening gloves, laid them on top of the stone wall with her clippers, took off her glasses and laid them down, too. She pulled a handkercheif out of her pocket and mopped her face and neck with it. When she turned back around, her glasses were gone. Only one of the lenses was still there, lying at the base of the wall. She initially blamed it on her cat, Tiger, who she said was lurking around all morning with her. When she noticed her specs missing, she suspected Tiger, and looked for him. He was moseying towards her, looking bored, but guilty, she decided. I don't think he did it, though. I've had cats all my life and I can't imagine what a cat would want with prescription eye-wear. Cats just don't do that sort of thing. First of all, they have too much dignity to carry out such a crime, and second, they see much better than we do, anyway, and would never stoop so low as to pretend they didn't... even for fashion's sake. I personally think it must have been a bird. Crows like to steal shiny-looking things and take them back to their nests, don't they? Then they have poker parties and show their friends all the cool stuff they have. Watches, jewelry, polished stones and such, all have been found in crow's nests. Marv and I went to Thorndale on Sunday to see Stephanie sing in church. She's sung before in a large group, and even in a trio, but this time she was performing her first solo. We were on hand for moral support, and to help look for Nancy's glasses after church. Stephanie was great, but Nancy stole the show, playing the piano accompaniment with her prescription sunglasses on. Marv and I couldn't help but tease her during the service by swaying slightly back and forth, with big smiles, like Stevie Wonder. After the service we went back to Nancy's house and Marv and I looked for the missing glasses. They were nowhere to be found. We poked in every bush, shook every tree, and scouted out every bird's nest we could find, but no glasses. They're gone for good, I think. Personally, I think a bird flew down while she was mopping her face and just scooped them up, popping one lense out in the process, and just flew away with them to God-knows-where. I heard a lot of birds mocking me while I was looking around the property for those glasses. They were all undoubtedly laughing and having a good time at my expense. I know at least one of those birds knows where those glasses are. The trick will be getting them to talk. But how do you turn a mockingbird into a stool pigeon? Zoo - Salted and Roasted ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Let talk about Ass-drop County, Texas. The town I live in is called Bastrop, but because they have their heads shoved so far up their county seat that they can't see the light of day anymore, I am going to start calling it Ass-drop County, TX. My mortgage company sent me a rosey little letter yesterday, advising me that Ass-drop County reported that I have not paid my property taxes this year, and that if I didn't provide proof of payment within 30 days, that my mortgage loan would be in default and my house would be foreclosed on. Bunch of incompetent buffoons they are. Half my taxes were paid by a certified check, and the other half by personal check. I checked with my bank today, and both checks were cashed by these simpletons down at the county seat. I just freakin' love it when people spend my money and then tell other people that I'm a deadbeat and that my house should be confiscated. To make it even more fun, in an entirely different matter the county also sent back my check for Marv's auto registration sticker (expires 7/31/06) saying that I needed to write my Texas DL# on the check somewhere. I looked at the check, and sure enough, bright as the forced smile on my face, clear as crystal, there it is. My DL# was written plain as day on the memo line of the check. So, today, I have to leave work early to go tangle with Ass-drop County about these two things. Just what I wanted to do today. I did enjoy telling Zach the story, though. "Listen up, boy. This kind of shit will happen to you too, one day, and you'll have the distinct pleasure of marching your pissed-off self down to the county tax assessor collector's office, and extracting Linda Harmons head from her own ass. It's a right of passage of sorts." I must surely live in the most back-assed, hicksville redneck, gooberfied county in the state. Ass-drop County. Zoo - Salted and Roasted ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
Hi. I'm Clyde Molehill with the Federal Pasture Protection Agency... we had an appointment? Pleased to meet you. Let's get started. Are those your pumpkins? Nice. I know it's not very professional to admire someone's vegetables so openly, but I couldn't help myself, and besides, it's my job. Is that your scarecrow? He looks kind of droopy. Look at the way the crows are laughing at him. I'm marking that down. You get points taken off when the crows laugh, you know. On the positive side, your corn-rows are nice and straight, your grain silo is freshly painted, and your fenceline is in excellent repair. What do you call a guy who's outstanding in his field? A farmer. And I am field auditor. Soon. May your fields always be amber waves of grain. Zoo - Salted and Roasted ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| A morning spent catching up on one hundred thirty emails and forty-two voice mails can be a daunting beginning to anyone's day. Especially for someone that may not even be around for very much longer at this company. Throw in a net meeting on an empty stomach about a pesky spreadsheet, wherein everyone is talking at once and nobody is being heard, and you have a recipe for Excedrin headache number eight thousand and six. Headache number eight thousand and five was achieved yesterday at closing time when my branch manager called me from outside of the office to discuss an "opportunity". His word: "opportunity". My interpretation: "We're taking your job back to California, but instead of telling you that, we're going to try to finesse you into thinking that we actually want you for something else." I didn't fall for it for one minute. He said "opportunity" alright, but he also said "job security". One of those words tells it like it is. The other one disguises itself as an ice cream cone, but as soon as you start licking, the double scoop falls off and immediately starts melting on the sidewalk. What is really happening here? I think the axe is finally falling, that's what. The new guy in charge of the entire Premium Processing Dept. is really, really adamant about centralizing all Audit operations to Sarasota, and all of Accounting stuff to Woodland Hills. I am still the only Accounting person that works outside the home office; still the only Senior Account Specialist with his own island, out in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico. The thing about being isolated like that is the danger of hurricanes. Well, I think I see one brewing. For someone like Bob, who sees things perfectly in his mind, I'm sticking out like a sore thumb on his organizational flow chart. By being in this position, outside of the rest of the department, I have missed chance after opportunity to be promoted, and move up the ladder. I have no doubt in my mind that if I'd been living in California with the rest of the group these last 8 years, I would have been one of the first to be promoted. That's my M.O. no matter where I've worked. Learn the ropes, work hard, figure it all out and start kicking ass, and advancing up the ladder. That's what I've done here at Zenith, too, except that through no fault of my own, I have nowhere left to grow. Once an excellent employee, now I'm like a wart or a boil that needs lancing, something to get rid of, expendable.... and I get the phone call. We've been looking for a field auditor for Texas, and no good candidates have surfaced yet. They are feeling me out to take the position, to see if I am even interested or not. If I don't take it, I feel certain that they will move my job back to Cali. How do I know this? Easy.  they've been takling about it for years.... they've already laid off some employees at this branch.they are talking to me about being a field auditor, a position I have no experience in whatsoever, which means to me that they are trying to see what other positions they can offer me so they don't have to lay me off. Chris mentioned "job security", "the centralization issue", and tried to soften it with "opportunity". It's just a matter of time. He told me to expect a call from Bob today. Bob is not in Human Resources or in the Audit Department. So why would he call me about a job offer outside of his Department, unless it had something to do with centralizing my current job to California? He would have no other reason to speak to me, unless it was about my job status within his Department. I'm not stupid, you know. Yup. I'm pretty sure, if I don't take the field audit job, it's just a matter of time until they let me go. I'd be blinder than a three-toed tree toad not to see this for what it is. Mike Salvo, Field Auditor. I need to find out what this job pays. Does money talk? I'll let you know. But for now, I'm waiting on that phone call from Bob. Either way, field auditor or not, it's "the road" for me. Very soon, I think. Zoo - Salted and Roasted ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
These wonderful good nights' sleeps mentioned in the last journal entry escaped me last night. Last night I had the distinct pleasure of being sufficiently tired enough to go to bed at 10:00 pm, thinking that I would get a great night of restful sleep, such that I would be energized to come into work this morning, take care of a few million things, and then stay up late tonight with friends playing music and whooping it up a bit. Not so. I had the nervous, jumpy leg syndrome again last night. Not only did I have it in my legs, but in my elbows, too. Just when I thought I was drifting off, my legs would seize up and twitch me back into consciousness. It sucked, bad. I tossed and turned. I got up and paced, smoked, drank water, went back to bed, punched my pillow a few thousand times, tried to sleep with my legs folded underneath me- nothing worked. It went on for hours. I guess I finally went to sleep some time after 1:30am - the last time I remember looking at the clock. But miraculously, I am not beat down today, and to put it all in perpsective... I feel fine. I do not have multiple sclerosis. I am not an amputee. I don't have any sort of palsy or epilepsy. I am not addicted to cocaine or something worse. I don't have AIDS or liver disease, or a bad heart, genital warts or herpes. I'm just a guy bitching about some damned leg cramps. Life is pretty good, dammit. Zoo - Salted and Roasted ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Sometimes, after a good night's sleep, I wake up in the morning and I'm motivated to do stuff that I normally wouldn't touch. I hate having things hanging over my head, and I feel a little guilty sometimes about lounging around the house when there's work to be done, even when I'm on vacation. Like yesterday. I probably could have gone and played golf for the second day in a row, and noone would have said anything to me about it, because I deserve my golf, and I'm a one hell of a man, and all that other self-serving bullshit. But it was early, I was feeling good, or maybe Marv mentioned the grass, I forget which one. Anyway, as I was finishing up my first cup of coffee, and Marv and Stephie headed out to do some school shopping, and Zach went off to work, I started thinking about cutting the grass of all things. The "carpet scraps smothering technique" hadn't worked very well. Even the front yard, with all its many pine needles was looking pretty shaggy. Too many grassy patches and not enough carpet scraps to cover 'em all. So, before I could talk myself out of it, I was in the garage checking out the lawnmower. Yep, it had gas, and appeared to be in working order. I cleared a path through the house and hauled it out to the back yard. I topped off the gas tank, and primed the carbuerator with a few quick pumps. I yanked on the cord once. I yanked on it again, and wouldn't you know, the damn thing started. I moved the throttle from "turtle" to "rabbit" and off I went trying to liberate our landscaping endeavors from the oppression of the summer weeds. Five minutes later the grass-catcher guard thing on the side fell off. I ignored it and pressed on, sand and grass swirling in the wind all around me. My eyes like narrow slits against the sandstorm, I carefully watched out for rocks and fallen limbs, while rocking the mower back and forth in the choking weeds. The wheels bogged down in the sand over and over again, and I struggled to push the mower through clumps of bull nettle, sunflower stalks and johnson grass The screw that holds the left hand side of the handle upright slipped out, and I kept having to stop and force it back in, all the while battling the high grass. Burning sweat began to drip into my eyes. In no time, my shirt was soaked right through, and the bits of grass and sand (and probably dog shit, too) started sticking to my face and neck. Soon, I decided that I needed to tie a bandana around my head, or go blind from the torrents of sweat. I was about to stop and take a break, when the handle worked itself loose on the right side, too. I could no longer lean down on the handle to lift the spinning blades out of the grass. The grass smothered the engine and the mower died. I spent the next 20 minutes in the sweltering garage, hunting for the right sized nuts and bolts to fix the damn mower. Cursing and complaining, finally, I got it all together and finished the back yard. Then I did the front yard, swept the front sidewalk and the driveway (while eavesdropping on an epic argument between Gary, the guy across the street, and some of his ungrateful friends about some money deal that went sour on him) as well as the back patio. Then I put all the tools and crap away, and jumped in the shower. By the time Marv and Stephie came home from school shopping, I was fresh as a spring daisy, lounging on the front porch, right where they'd left me an hour and half before. I love making it look easy. Zoo - Salted and Roasted ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
I'm such a slacker when it comes to journalling at home. If I ever don't work here anymore, I hope I can find some other time and place to write. It's a rut, I guess, an old habit that will be hard to copy and paste somewhere else. I'm here at work today because I'm not at the convention. Originally I took all of this week off, in anticipation that I would be driving to the convention and back. But now, since I'm not out of town, I decided to still take the week off, with the exception of today. This is good. It allows me to take the nasty edge off all the work piling up on me while I'm gone. When I come back again on Wednesday next week, catching up will be that much easier. I've already accomplished most of what I wanted to do today. Horseshoes: 13 ringers out of 100 shoes tossed. Wednesday Morning Golf: 101 Bovet is coming out tonight, and we'll tinker around on the ProTools with Marv. Julie is coming, too. Golf will happen again on Saturday morning. Bovet is bringing our rain checks from last time we tried to play. I WILL play under 100 this weekend. I must. I can. I will. I hope everyone is having a grand ole time at the convention this year! Please make sure to drop my name in as many of your conversations as possible. Zoo - Salted and Roasted ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
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