Retrospectator Sport

Last year was almost a null year for me. The first 9 months of it felt like a total wash.

My dad's diagnosis was the first time I'd really cried in years. I spread my time amongst pointless endeavors. I didn't do as much comedy as I could have. I sat back when I should have sprung forward. And I have some regrets.

People who say they live with "no regrets" are usually giant a-pipes, or very boring. I have a conscience, especially when it comes to doing things that primarily screw ME over. I feel like a pretty young 31 year-old at times. But this is where I am. I'm working on this whole "progress" concept at times, realizing that, in order to do it, I can't get caught up in staring at the passing window shoppers and coffee huts. In that sense, when I feel a slow-down in the mix, I find that I get more than a little chafed.

It's the same with road rage, long lines, and being the 4th of 5 dogs leading the sled. The view never changes, I didn't ask for this, but what can I do to make it better? Well, for one, I can make it better for one other dog, at least, by keeping my business to myself, even if they have a decent view of my undercarriage. I hate to stagnate. It feels like death to me. That's one reason my job is almost unbearable. (the other reason is commonly known as "co-workers") There's no opportunity for advancement here at the big OJ Splatterberg's, my raise wouldn't cover the cost of the network space that the e-mail announcing it was sent through, and yet the dog in front of me finds it necessary to slow down the whole sled by wanting to talk about where we're going.

Turns out, it's Nowhere. I'm gnawing at my harness as we speak.

And I have found that the more I shake things up, the settling of those things is usually to my benefit. Unless it's pool, I suck at pool.

The last 3 months of last year were much better for me. I felt progression, I felt growth, I felt Mexico in my veins. Or was it dysentery? I have much more to accomplish before I'll be satisfied, and anything standing in the way of that pursuit, whatever category of Noun it may be, will meet the same fate as most of my toilet paper: It will thrown into the trees of my high school prinicipal's retirement cottage.

This place has more inside jokes than a Gyno's office. I'm leaving.
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Another Reason To Hate The Media

It's not even our media, but here's a great example of how the media can really F over a great lot of us.

It's called "Happy Slapping" and it's likely not very popular here in America. Kids/Teens attacking other people and filming it with their mobile phones. Evidence of an assault, brilliant.

So do what I do. When you see a teen or three, get pre-emptive and drive a boot heel into their kneecap. When they drop, and they will, start raining blows to their head and yell "Back to school, Tommy! BACK TO SCHOOL!!!" And then blame the media.

They have to be held accountable for something, right?


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Conference Cold-Call

I have been applying for jobs recently, doing the best I can to network in my own weird avenues. My networking skills are nearly null because I have a problem of asking for help. It's a man thing, it's a wiring deal in my head where asking for help equates to admitting weakness and defeat. Like saying "Hey, I can find a job where I don't know anyone on my own! I don't need you! (crying) I don't need this hat, or this nametag! (really crying, some snot) I don't even like being a Parking Enforcement Officer!" I guess I don't want to think that I can't do it all on my own. It's much easier with some help, but I don't always ask because I wonder if my asking will be seen as giving up and just hoping on the charity of others.

But I've been doing it more lately. I've been asking people "Hey, I hate to bother you, but I did lend you $50. Can you correlate the formulas on this spreadsheet? Wake up. Can you... wake up." By asking people to help, you may find a fresh perspective, a compatriot, or at the very least and perhaps most valuable, and accomplice. And a few great people have stepped forward to lend a hand, a website, a phone number, and at one point, this advice: "You got something right here, go like this" (flicking nose)

Another recent favorite activity of mine? Telling people "No." As in "I reviewed and studied your request. No. It can't be done. Let me rephrase. It CAN be done. It will cost another $8,000 a year, plus a new laptop, three weeks of DBA training, and... wake up..." Telling people "no" as a means of righteous defense has been exhilirating. When I really need to, I tell someone "no." Why drag out the pain for everyone involved when you can shut it down early? The dragging out is only fun when you're not that into the person you're dating and they're being a putz.

And thusly, I've been slowly building a reputation amongst my new team. The reputation, however, varies. To my co-workers I am "assertive and staunch." To the people who got promoted above me without my input, I am "capable, but sometimes difficult." Being difficult with corporate management means that you're not wagging your tail and saying "Okay, I'll do it!" Bureaucracy has its place. It is a byproduct of one person favors going unpaid for too long. Next thing you know, your request for a report about a team that dropped the ball takes 5 days instead of 30 minutes, because your previous request included the words "And NOW, got it?"

For a long time, the "bosses" around here have had meetings to talk about meetings they should be talking about. When the meeting is over, they call us into meetings to discuss what meetings they've had, and what they discussed. Next, a discussion of what type of meetings would be most helpful to people. My usual response is "fewer, and if that's not possible, none." Oh my, the classics are classic for a reason!

The world has never been conquered in meetings, except for one between Dan 'Larry The Cable Guy' Whitney and some sort of Minion or possibly Underlord. Meetings disrupt the flow. I go with that flow, but the more meetings I have, the more I need in order to figure out what in the hell that last e-mail was referring to. With a subject line of "Meeting Tuesday: For Words The California Blue," I'm bright, but I can't see through "illiterate." Is this a Mars Volta EP? I guess we'll talk it over.

I applied for a position today with a company I've always admired, and they asked for my website address. I included it with my info, knowing full well that a fair amount of my input has referred to a great dislike of my "co-workers," as they are referred to in my handbook of diversities in which to respect. I respect race, creed, color, national origin, and personality. Your sexuality is your own business. Walking around the office while jokingly and loudly singing, I wish were kidding, "The Macarena," well that is MY business. That same person just blurted "No soup for you" and set to laughin', oh just a'LAFFIN'!

So as I network my way into a career where I can grow and flourish and be far away from Sandie and her lack of tact, make-up, and an "indoor voice," I ask that I, too, be respected. I cannot and will not hide from my writing here. I won't censor it or retract it, because it's how I'm feeling when I write it that shows through like Rhandira's software vendor t-shirt under his off-white Oxford button-down, and those kick-ass white socks with almost ankle-reaching slacks. This outlet, there are far fewer people who need to ask me "what I'm thinking" via "meeting." And my writing is a reflection of my mood while working for a company that doesn't need me.

My neighbor just sneezed... with a mouthful of yogurt.

On a more personal note, yesterday felt like a day of clarity. I have been funked for a while, like 2 months, undermotivated, underenthused, under there. Under where? Gotcha!
Calm down, seriously... Something turned on or off yesterday. I feel like a good thing is a-brewin' here. More to come as news and financial windfall warrant.

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Something To Feel This Way Or That About

The Seattle School District was holding hearings on the possible closings of 10... again, TEN... Seattle Schools due to lack of funding. This is the first year that students are required to pass a standardized test in order to graduate. College admission standards are rising.

And there will be outcries of prejudice, racism, and hypoglycemia as people will be held accountable for their work on all fronts. Who is to blame for a student's poor grades? Bad teaching or bad pupils? Environment or societal messages? Funding?

Cripes, I don't know. I come from a time when we didn't worry about that because we were drunk.

The State Senate worked all weekend to pass an $8.5 billion tax package which includes a 9.5... again, NINE-AND-A-HALF-CENT... gas tax. But that's not the whole story.

The money raised is being spread out over the state in order to fix a number of really high, free, by, and skyways. Potholes, cracks, stoplights, and oh yeah, teetering, shifting Viaducts running above the ferry terminals along the watery grave-edge of downtown.
It will get done... at some point. Either people will stop driving their kids to schools that won't be open, or home school them.

"Meanwhile, the marquee projects — the Alaskan Way Viaduct and Highway 520 floating bridge — receive only partial funding. They won't get started unless urban voters pass a regional transportation package to cover the rest."

The senate also passed a Child Neglect Bill, ironically. It was the result of the disturbing, tragic case of the two little boys who starved to death last year because the state workers didn't do their job and sterilize their mother. She was a raging alcoholic who was reaping state benefits, returning food to stores in exchange for cash, which was then spent on beer. Can you imagine that? Your money going for someone else's beer? Angry yet?
And a lot of people will say "The government should not be getting involved with how we raise children!" To which I say "first off, don't have kids. Second, eat a pile if you think parents shouldn't be held responsible for the welfare of children, and if they can't, that somebody should make sure the kid's basic needs are met. Finally, that transportation bill's pretty huge, so we'll need some good ol' child laboring to get it all done."

So anyway, Politics is all about the Big Announcement. It has very little to do with people. But people can't govern themselves (See: sporting events, girls going wild, prom) so somebody has to do it. It can either be a faceless group of people representing your "Best interests" when it starts but faltering to their own avenues... or you can bypass your parents and hope the government helps out.

We.
Are.
Screwed.


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Let's Kick It Off Right

I've been working from home for the better part of past 4 weeks. Stress is much lower, although dealing with whom and what I deal with carries it's own causes for a ten-count. Sunday night, and I'm getting ready to start downshifting so I can, sigh, work tomorrow. I have a lot to do. And I have zero interest in doing any of it. I am my own leader, so I can get plenty of work done on my own. OH WAIT, no I can't, becuase I have too much horsecrap through which to sift. Leadership is wearing a LOT of cologne and makeup, which is pointless when they are THAT far in the dark. Yeah, I can smell 'em coming, but it doesn't mean they brought a flashlight.

fffrrrrrrrrrrrp
'scuse me

Shitchya not, one day I received 9 e-mails prior to 10am regarding a subject I HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH, other than knowing of it. Imagine you ate cheese once. It agreed with you. Somebody had cheese out at a party, and you were seen eating from it. That was, say, 4 years ago. Now imagine getting 9 voicemails within 2 hours where somebody in another state that an Org Chart has deemed your "manager." The subject of those voicemails? Your manager is interested in making cheese. You were seen eating cheese four years ago. Therefore you must know about the process that resulted in your bringing lip-side a few cubes of smokey cheddar, and a bloop of gorgonzola-cranberry-walnut log to your crostini. Right?

So now, do you say that you could find out enough about cheese making to start your own business in your kitchen, risking further involvement in glorifying some other cheeseball... OR, do you just chuck a summer sausage (Summer: THE Sausage Season. paid for by Weird Sausage Lovers of Multnomah County) in their direction, pack your boxes, and start to separatin' curds & whey?

I'd rather be helping others, moving forward, giving back, like Ty Pennington sans Type-A personality and those "tendencies." But, shit yes, I'm bringing a toolbelt, because toolbelts are hot. Other things hot include good grout work, re-wiring your kitchen, and the inner surfaces of Maya Angelou's thighs. Sssssssssssssssssssssssssizzlin'!

I feel like I'm being taken-from. I am not stolen-from, as I am complicit in this transaction of effort and, sigh, money. I'm gathering the strength to throw double birds and say "NO SEVERANCE, NO PEACE." E-mailing the floor about donuts in the breakroom, then leaving two empty boxes from a local bakery and one-half a maple bar... whoa, it moved a little there. I would then sit there and edit old essays of mine, while waiting for someone's inner Carnie Wilson to send them gaping maw-long into that last fraction of a pastry. Then I'd take a picture, send it around with the caption "This person ate the last donut on [insert date of fun here]. Forever Piggy." Then I'd start packing my boxes, and go. The only thing it would do is cause a large, 4-week inconvenience to greater than 10 people, each making more than $100K. Then I may go for a long walk, and hope my erection would subside before I get to the next crosswalk. Think of it... I could leave behind those I non-like, and meet all new people to judge! What a fabulous time in which we live.

Sounds worth it to me. Fist me sleeping, how many times can I write about wanting to quit? It's getting as bad as telling everyone what's wrong with them.
If anybody needs a moderately well-read, enthusiastic, analytical mind to work for them, drop me a Message. It's a staring contest, and I'm pretty sure my adversary doesn't have the proper reptilian brain functions to remember to blink, or they've simply fallen asleep at the keyboard with their finger on the "Annoy" key. It's right but the FU2 key.
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My dear Aunt Judy, sister of my dad Gerry, is in town from Georgia. She told me that she has quite a few of her friends reading this, and for the promotion and new readership, I am very grateful.
If anything here offends you, or is rather "blue," feel free to e-mail me about it. If you need MORE blue material or MORE offensive stuff, oh wow, wait until Wednesday for my story with "Everything!" Paranoia, technology, physical tics, and everyone's favorite... costume SWASTIKAS!

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