I'm Awake Now

Dalmatians are an interesting breed of dog. They're noble looking, sleek, and groomed to run along English carriages of the 18th and 19th century. They're famously inbred to attain the perfect blend of black spots and white fur, and they tend to be skittish and ill-tempered, given the right (or wrong) circumstances.

I gave a dalmatian the circumstances this morning.

I got up about 0500 this morning because...dunno...just got up. Puttered around the house and ate the usual morning yogurt and fruit blend. Started to get ready to go to work, not especially awake, which explains why I was on the bike at 0615ish. It was a darn cold morning, the chilliest it'd been since I started riding to work, and I was seriously considering taking the straight route to work because the thick pair of shorts and long-sleeved Oakland Athletics shirt was not keeping me warm. I mulled it as I peddled softly to King Street, then I must have figured that longer I stay on the bike, the warmer I would be. I was about to get toasty.

So here I am, lollygagging on Richmond in a frozen stupor, when a dalmatian took issue with my riding form and started after me. Fast. And he wasn't a happy puppy. Dogs bark in various ways to show their moods: happy, hungry, mad. Old Pongo there was beyond mad: he was growling and howling, and this spotted Cujo wanted a piece of Bicycling Bob the Blob. A big piece.

As interesting as dalmatians are, adrenaline is sooo much neater, and I used buckets of it. The two of us were flying down the street, me peddling, him frothing. After a few seconds, I realized I was keeping ahead of him. Now common sense would dictate that I speed up and get up away from those really sharp teeth.

But no.

I turn in my saddle and yelled at Cruella De Vil's fur coat: "LET SEE WHAT YOU GOT!!!"

Taunting was probably not the wisest course of action, but it turns out he didn't have as much adrenaline as me. He gave up after a block's worth of Cujo-type anger and went home. When I stopped at the corner of Fifth and Richmond to catch my breath, I realized I wasn't cold. Nor was I cold for the rest of the ride to work. But I still took a long soak in the spa at the gym. To the victor go the spoils.

I called Carson Animal Control because that part of Richmond is between Carson Middle School and St. Therea's Elementary, and it could have been a little kid on a bike instead of Bicycling Bob the Blob. Pat the Dogcatcher had the balls to ask me if I got an address of where the dog lived.

I told him I was a tad busy at the moment.

Adventures in the Locker Room

(Get your mind out the gutter, potty mind. I'll explain below.)

On the ride to work the morning, a couple of things caught my eye and made me say, "Hmmmmm."

The Carson Nugget installed some new electronic slot machines called, "Trailer Park Party." These machines have a characature of a chubby white guy with a beer and a sleeveless (torn) white t-shirt. What are the manufacturer and the Carson Nugget thinking? What's next? Barrio Boogie Nights? Get-down Ghetto Gala? Those examples may be a little extreme, but so are the slot machines.

A banner across the main street reminds us that the Capitol City Memory Walk is coming up. Does anyone find it curious that the Alzheimer's charitable event is a walk? What if no one is watching the patients who are doing the walk themselves?

As for the ride, nothing spectacular to report. Down Telegraph and down Stewart. I sat my big butt in the turning lane at Fifth Street like a real bicyclist does and no doubt was cursed mightily. That was fun.

OK, you want to hear the locker room story, but there's nothing to it. As you can see from the picture, we've got a bunch of lockers to choose from. I'm in the corner, changing, and I throw my shoes on top so no one will stumble on them. You can guess what happened: one of my shoes fell into the corner between the lockers because there's no cover on top. I tried to fish it out with a hanger after climbing up on the lockers but I couldn't reach. The gym attendant duct tape'd a broom to the hanger and he pulled it out. (He said he thought I was going to show him a dead rat. I said that if I found one, I'd throw it in the women's locker room.)

25 years of the Blue Brothers.

The escape from Northern Nevada Correctional Center gets more interesting every day.

The best postcard from PostSecret isn't a postcard: ""I have made six postcards, all with secrets that I was afraid to tell the one person I tell everything to, my boyfriend. This morning I planned to mail them, but instead I left them on the pillow next to his head while he was sleeping. 10 minutes ago he arrived at my office and asked me to marry him. I said yes.""

And for the record, this is why the Breakfast Club was in detention:
- Bender (Judd Nelson): pulls a false fire alarm
- Brian (Anthony Michael Hall): flare gun goes off in his locker
- Andrew (Emilio Estevez): tapes a guy's butt cheeks together with athletic tape
- Claire (Molly Ringwald): ditches class to go shopping
- Allison (Ally Sheedy): didn't do anything, she didn't have anything better to do on a Saturday

No Bones About Me

Had a good ride this morning. Went to Smith's to get healthy stuff and shampoo, having left my other one in the gym last week, and rode with intermittent spurts of energy. Funniest sight this morning: big, honking semi-truck hauler walking his itty, bitty little dog who was wearing on orange t-shirt (the dog, not the dude).

After the Big Move yesterday, my back was again reminding me of its existence, so I go up early this morning so I could soak in the spa at the gym (which is right next door to where I work). As I write this an hour or so later, I'm still not quite awake after the soak. Since work is not challenging right now, all is good.

Went for a ride last night and this shows how much Carson has shrunk since I've started bicycling for real: up Mountain, across Winnie, down Carson (with a small detour onto Curry), up the Fifth Street hill, then went home. Took hardly any time or effort. Then I drove the truck for a few minutes and got to see a mama deer with her twin fawns over by the Governor's Mansion.

Was in a situation at work just now where I had to choose between common sense or procedure. I chose common sense. Silly me. Within five minutes, two supervisors jumped on me (nicely) about my "incorrect" choice.

Peter King of Sports Illustrated writes a column called, "10 Things I Think I Think." Along those lines, here are ten things I think I think:

1. History will be unkind to the current Bush administration for not admitting, and apologizing for, the mistakes it made it in going to war with Iraq. History will be equally unkind to journalists who chose access to political figures over actually doing their jobs and finding out the truth before the mistakes were made (hint: Woodard and Bernstein). We voters aren't going to look too good, either.

2. Baseball is a game where cheating is acceptable until you get caught or someone points out something to the umpire. That makes it more American than football.

3. Chessplayers take themselves way too serious, which is probably why I never advanced beyond the beginner's stage.

4. Secret to a successful marriage: marry the best person you ever met or are going to meet. That's what I did. Pity my wife can't say the same thing.

5. Sex without love and/or intimacy is a mistake. And faking it shows a lack of respect and patience on the part of both participants.

6. Best invention ever: internal air conditioning. Worst invention: television.

7. The higher angels should win. The internal demons often do.

8. "Family" is not the same as "the relatives." One is by choice, the other by blood. As Robert Heinlein pointed, your family often consists of people you're not related to.

9. Two wrongs are still wrong and will never, ever be right. Duh. You'd think people 17 years and older would figure it out on their own.

10. If I had to do it over again, I would have done much better in high school, gone to college right away, gotten a real job and earned a decent wage early on. But then I would have missed the finest person I ever met. Turns out I made the right choices, after all.

Oh yeah: Chocolate rules.

Unit 1253 is Empty!

Today is Aunt Lilly's birthday, and what better way to honor her than spend it grunting and groaning over some heavy frinkin' furniture? Well, wasn't doing much else, anyway.

Liz and I finally got motivated around 1000ish and drove both vehicles over after taking the center seats out of the van (which are still in the garage...somewhere). We got on a roll with the twenty or thirty bins, loading them up and unloading them in the garage. For the last trip, we shoved as much as we could in the van and packed it tight. Then the darn thing's engine wouldn't turn over. It was dead.

We knew trouble was coming because the van had starting issues for a couple of weeks now, but after a little cajoling and laying a slaughtered lamb on the hood (metaphorically), it eventually turned over. We popped the hood before we left the house this morning, thinking the battery terminals needed cleaning, but the engine is designed with the battery under some other parts and resting on its side. You can only reach the top (red) terminal. If you must replace the battery, mechanics at a garage have to take out the parts to access the battery.

And we don't have jumper cables. How can you have three cars and no jumper cables? So it was off to AutoZone for some cables. And those anti-shoplifting detectors they have by the doors? Very loud. The good news is once we got the cables hooked up to the two batteries, the van started right up. I'm feeling very Tim Taylor-like right now.

And the furniture: a bed set, dining table and chairs, a couple of solid-wood dressers, end tables, plus all of the bins. What was the heaviest of all that? The frinkin' dining table. It's solid wood. You would have been close if you had said the big dresser, but we took the drawers out and that made all the difference in the world.

So the entire storage unit is in the garage, which looks suspiciously like the end of an Indiana Jones movie (the Ark of the Covenant is in there, somewhere). I'll call the local charities this week to see if someone will come pick up some stuff.

My favorite Cub got his number retired today. I found some Sammy Sosa stuff in a box and threw it away without a second thought.

The best place to play on-line backgammon was down for a couple of weeks after a massive server crash. They'll be back up this week.

I got cc'd on an email to the college administration, including the president, about the on-line rosters. The guy who sent it obviously doesn't know my history with the silly place or he wouldn't have done that. :-)

R-Rated synonym generator. You've been warned!

This is the difference between Liz and me:
- I had a long, hot shower with lots of soap and a shave with heated shaving cream. I just finished a snack of crackers and chicken salad while puttering around the internet, listening to ITunes.
- Liz jumped in the shower for five minutes, barely long enough to clean out the dirt from under her nails. She got dressed and headed out the door with a daughter who wants to drop off a job application. While she is out, she's picking up some Advil so I'll be able to move later. [Edit: And now she took the girls to a movie. All four of them in the truck.]

In terms of thinking of other people before her and taking care of us, she is the hardest working person in this house.

Another Good Day

HAPPY BIRTHDAY to Aunt Lillian Musclebound Fruitbat!!! Girlfriend, you may not agree but you look damn good. In my mind, you'll always be, in some way, the college undergraduate who visited us at Fort Lee in the 1960s. You were (and are) the coolest thing on four wheels (I still remember your VW bug and Sunny). :-)

That's Aunt Lilly's baby picture and she's the blonde in the picture from yesterday's blog.

Low and slow this morning, getting ready to go over to storage. Gotta do some grunting, masculine lifting. Maybe later I'll head over to the gym later for a long soak in the spa. And a crappy movie. Love crappy movies.

Another prescription when you're down: big, honking stacks of pancakes. Maybe they're not the healthiest thing in the world, but the world looks a lot brighter after some fried flour, the sap from a thousand trees, and a gallon of solidified, churned cowmilk melting all over the place. Did that last night for dinner. Yum.

Time to get rolling.

Closure is a Myth

Funny how memories are inspired by a piece of cloth, a spoon, a piece of paper, a smell...

Liz is organizing the garage like crazy, getting ready for some of the stuff from storage. I opened an old picture frame and smelled the old house. It took my breath away and buckled my knees, and I had to walk around for few minutes to get back on track. Tomorrow promises more of the same.

Things did get done today, but not as much as I wanted. Started working on class stuff, but the college's web site doesn't have the critical stuff I need to put a class together (like a current part-timers' guide), and my rosters page was empty. Along those lines, Liz found a box of my stuff from my WNCC office when I left in 1997. Emptying that was an unwelcome trip down memory lane.

One upside is I got the basic OFFL Web Site done. No real bells and whistles this year, and it's only a matter of time before I get tire of the minimalist look.

I'm out of words right now. More later.

The Blahs Before the Panic

Awesome picture from Damaris B. Sarria's blog.

Just mulling around the house right now, not doing much of anything except blog writing, which my loved ones know is my learned response to having too much to do. These things will build up then BANG! I will work like a Republican stealing money from the church till five minutes before Mass starts. Along the way, I will do my best to make everyone on the planet feel my misery (except for the one billions citizens of the Chinese mainland, who have yet to give a rat's ass about me) and I will consume copious amounts of caffeine to make up for the late nights working on things I could have been working on while the sun was shining. I'm already feeling the tentacles of cold panic creep into my stomach which can only be purged through hard work and/or a death ride on Dollar. Not too hard to guess what I'd rather do. Writing all this allows me to flush the stuff through and organize it a little in my walnut-sized brain.

Took the 2.2 up Fifth Street after work and had a dinner of fruit and yogurt and low-fat chocolate ice cream. My aura feels much cleaner when compared the eggs and bacon I had for breakfast, but not nearly as yummy as I felt when Liz dropped off a small garlic chicken pizza for lunch. Not the healthiest of choices, but sometimes one must live to eat instead of eat to live. (You have to say that last sentence in snobbish tone of voice.)

I bought a new web domain because I've always felt a little guilty about using an .org, which is supposedly reserved for charitable and non-nonprofit organizations, though the violators of the rules are many (well, many minus one now). In the near future, look for me at www.bbkld.com.

How did I live without DSL and ITunes?

The Bob Moore Automotive Group of Oklahoma City owns the bobmoore.com domain, plus bobmoore.net. I sent Mr. Moore an email asking if he'd like bobmoore.org when I drop it in exchange for a small donation to a local elementary school (the email is at the new site). I suspect the response will be (1) silence, or (2) "We already support a gazillion charities." They will then wait a short time for the domain to become free, then pick it up off the free market at practically no cost. Oh well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

A shout-out to my saintly Aunt Lillian Musclebound Fruitbat who is going through some personal stress with other loved ones in the family. Aunt Lilly: I said it privately and I repeat it publicly: you're right and sometimes being right sucks. Stay the course and be strong.

Eldest got a call for a job interview. Excellent. Middle is nearly set for the fall semester, which began today ... Friday ... WNCC is so weird. (Prison classes start two weeks late. OMG, that's two weeks from today. (must type faster)) Youngest is taking a P.E. class where she'll be assisting physically challenged kids, and she starts her WNCC construction class next week. Wow.

Saturday is Organize My Brain Day, in which I'll be living in front of the keyboard and preparing for the semester. I repeat this here because I know I will wake up tomorrow and want to do absolutely anything else other that be the responsible adult. I will be strong. I will do what's right. I wonder who the Cubs and A's are playing. Is that Dollar calling me to go outside and play?

Parents in Kansas: Beware The Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster. It could soon be a part of your child's K-12 curriculum.

Sunday is Drag Boxes and Bins to Lynne Street Day. Yuck. Forgot to call for the furniture pick-up. Dang!

Somebody started "The Worst Joke Ever" thread over at the Bicycle Forums, and some are bad enough to make your toes curl the other direction. Most run along the 'tasteless' vein, but this one is cute:

A stranger rides into a western town and notes people gathered around the town's gallows, anticipating a hanging. The stranger rides up to a townperson and inquires who is getting hung that day, and the townperson replies, "Oh, they're hanging Brown Paper Joe today." "Brown Paper Joe?" asks the stranger. "Why in the world do they call him Brown Paper Joe?" The townperson replies, "Well, 'cause he wears brown paper shoes and brown paper hats; sometimes he even wears brown paper shirts and chaps -- that's why they call him Brown Paper Joe." The stranger then inquires why Brown Paper Joe is being hung, and the townperson replies: "'Cause he was rustlin'."

I didn't say it was good.

"Beloit College releases the Beloit College Mindset List, which offers a world view of today's entering college students. It is the creation of Beloit's Keefer Professor of the Humanities Tom McBride and Director of Public Affairs Ron Nief." The list which makes many of us feel instantly old can be found here. It's only a matter of time before we read how "Frank Sinatra was always the Voice of Tampax" or something equally cruel.

The Internet is evil and takes me away from the responsible things I should do. Yeah. It's the Internet's fault. Right.

Can't Think of a Snazzy Title

That's a catfish. (Subscription required)

Having a "low word volume" morning. Don't have anything to zing about. Will be on the laptop all day tomorrow getting ready for the semester and working on the storage on Sunday.

Had a good ride this morning. Need to stop having the $2 special at the Nugget. The food tastes good for five minutes, then I feel yucky for about two hours.

Somebody just lost their job at Northern Nevada Correctional Center. This will make teaching there a little more difficult.

And speaking of crime, this is the 25th anniversary of the bomb exploding in Harvey's Casino. Twenty-five years.

Today is my two-year anniversary in this job. Amazing. Unbelievable. The last time I lasted this long in a job was at TMCC is 2000. The good news is I automatically get a payraise because I go up a step which translates to about $30 more a week. Party time.

"She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade more, one ray less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!" -Byron (I think)

Short One

Rode home and nothing of note happened, except I was spaced off while riding, missed a turn, and ended up taking the easy way home instead of the calorie-burner like planned. Next time.

Got to rip off another band-aid in the next couple of weeks: Grama's furniture needs a new home. She has some good pieces but no one has room for them. Gonna have to suck it up and move them out next week.

And I haven't done anything to get ready for my classes which begin in two weeks. Academic panic is a good motivator.

It's funny how the most obvious things slip under the radar when your mind is elsewhere. I mentioned at Grama's memorial at how two of her grandsons had jobs that linked them directly to her (doctor and world traveler), but I forgot to mention the third grandson (me) who teaches in higher ed, just like Grama and Grampa used to. I missed that completely. Weird.

I named my bike, since women seem to think men name everything (especially the steely stuff between our legs)(my bike, you potty mind). You may call him Dollar, since I always seem to be spending money on it. The other, more truthful reason, is it was this actor's favorite horse and appeared in more films with him that any other ride.

It's Cold Out There

I managed to stay off the bike for about 24 hours, but I got antsy last night and biked to Safeway for some yogurt and fruit. The original plan was to go the back way to Albertsons via Ormsby/Ash Canyon/Winnie/College Parkway, but the damn wind was blowing really hard and I couldn't make any headway. I turned off Ormsby at Washington and took Mountain and Winnie to Safeway. It was a good ride.

And what is up with the wind and how can it always be in my face? I was riding on all four compass points last night, and the wind was directly against me on three of those (north, south and west). Two directions I can understand, but three and sometimes all four?

At Safeway, just as I was leaving, an elder driver was trying to park in the far left handicapped spot and was having troubles lining his SUV up. He was getting no help from his wife who was standing beside the car and ripping him for stopping on the left line. And not a light rip: we're talking Marine Corps Drill Sergeant ripping. She was in his face with her index finger. As he backed the SUV up to try again, she turned to me with a big sigh and gave me a "What am I going to do with him?" look. I turned 180 degrees around and showed her my back.

I rode in this morning on the 2.2 mile route and was reintroduced to an old friend: wind chill. Yikes! And the faster I peddled to try to keep warm, the colder I got. Thank God for hot showers.

Here's an old tribute to our forces in the Middle East (not for dial-up). I always tear up when I watch it and now knowing my daughter will be one of them...

From the internet. If my body were a car:
- If my body were a car, this is the time I would be thinking about trading it in for a newer model. I've got bumps and dents and scratches in my finish and my paint job is getting a little dull, but that's not the worst of it.
- My fenders are too wide to be considered stylish. They were once as sleek as a little MG; now they look more like an old Buick.
- My seat cushions have split open at the seams. My seats are sagging.
- Seat belts? I gave up all belts when Krispy Cremes opened a shop in my neighborhood.
- Air bags? Forget it. The only bags I have these days are under my eyes. Not counting the saddlebags, of course.
- I have soooooo many miles on my odometer. Sure, I've been many places and seen many things, but when's the last time an appraiser factored life experiences against depreciation?
- My headlights are out of focus and it's especially hard to see things up close.
- My traction is not as graceful as it once was. I slip and slide and skid and bump into things even in the best of weather.
- My whitewalls are stained with varicose veins.
- It takes me hours to reach my maximum speed.
- My fuel rate burns inefficiently.
- But here's the worst of it: almost every time I sneeze, cough or sputter..... either my radiator leaks or my exhaust backfires.

Richard Simmons was on 'Who's Line Is It, Anyway?'?

Quick Blubs:

- After the Big Ride yesterday, drove to work this morning to give the legs a chance to chill.

- Passed a couple of bus stops on the way in and saw the middle schoolers waiting for their first day of school. They all had the persecuted, "hung dog" look, which is pretty much the look grown-ups have on Monday mornings. Wait until these kids find out first-hand that a job is year-round and doesn't take summers off.

- The talking heads were b---hing about college graduation rates this morning in regards to student-athletes. It sounds like the NCAA is going to use a new formula to calculate graduation success. I probably have less tolerence on the subject that most folks: if you accept a full-ride athletic scholarship, you do what you can to graduate. This is the rest of your life that you are preparing for. If it turns out you can't cut the academic mustard, then give up your ride to someone else. And if you are the coach of a major college sports program and your kids aren't graduating, you are not preparing them for life after sports and you should be working at McDonalds.

- A co-worker just told me that his stepson and a buddy tried to deep-fry a Burger King Whopper. My arteries are closing as I write this.

- The chief of the Tour de France says there is no doubt that Lance Armstrong took a performance enhancing drug to win the 1999 TDF. I can almost understand where the French are coming from on this. One analogy from the Bicycling forum web site: How would we feel if the Yankees lost to a French team in the World Series? On the other hand, The French haven't won the TDF in twenty years. They really need to get over the fact they're the planet's biggest wusses.

- Tropical Storm Katrina is approaching the Florida coast. The spouse can make her own joke here.

- A Marine from Reno was killed in Iraq last weekend. He is the 20th Nevadan that has died there since the conflict started.

- Here's a couple of blogs I glance at every once in a while. Ronnie works at Pixar Studios and Jill is a English Literature professor (I think). They write good.

- This is very funny and very cute, and yes, the title really is, "Everyone has had more sex than me." WARNING: Don't bother to look at this if you have a dial-up line. It will take forever to load.

- The greatest song ever recorded now has a video! Same warning as above.

- And there is still worst out there. Again, same warning (blah blah blah).

- One of the middle schools kids this morning was smoking. Tobacco wins another one. We all lose.

Sanity is Perceptively Relative

When I got home tonight, a daughter asked me (paraphrasing), "You went to the gym after work, then you biked to [the north] Albertsons?" She then gave me the universal daughter-to-father look that translates to, "Are you f---ing crazy?"

The answer to the first question is, "yes," and "Dunno" to the second, and I don't feel defensive about it all. I've got plenty of idle time in my job because this is the first time in my professional existence where enthusiam and amibition are not welcome by the higher ups. We will stay in our assigned cube, we will do our assigned duties, and we will not and dare not to venture outside of that. After the Air Force and higher education where energy is cherished and encouraged, I feel like I'm working under a two-ton concrete block. The humongous upside to that is I'm not completely drained at the end of the workday and I don't think about work after 5:00 PM, more firsts in my professional life.

So why do I stay? Well, this is a recent development that may or may not end soon, depending on who stays and leaves the shop. I've been looking at other jobs but have slowly come to realize that I'm not defined by my 8-5 life, not matter how good or bad it is. It's how I spend the rest of my life. I like spending time with the relations. I like teaching and biking (though CC is starting to shrink) and writing. I like playing with web sites, the Internet, and reading. We will never, ever get ahead on our bills, so there's no use fighting and worrying that windmill.

So the daughter's question got me thinking. I spent about fiften minutes on upper body work at the gym, then biked up to the library via Roop and Stewart, but there was nothing there I wanted, so I headed up to the north Albertsons via Carson. Ran into the boss on her way home and we gossiped for a few minutes, then I went to Albertsons. Met Liz there and helped her put the groceries into the truck, then I biked home via Subway and Mountain. And I feeling a little buzz from all the leg and arm work, and I know I easily go another hour.

Yeah, in your eyes, I may be f---ing crazy, but if you have to ask why, you probably won't understand the answer.

Life is Good in America

If you understand the above, then you are a true internet geek. If not, look at number three on this page.

Did you know it is possible to snooze while riding a bike? Not fall asleep but sort of zone out and catch some quiet time? Practiced that this morning on the way to work via Smiths to pick up yogurt, canned fruit, and bananas. Did 50 sit-ups at the gym without pausing for a breath. Look out, Terrell Owens. Bob the Blob will soon be conducting interviews while doing his thousand sit-ups.

Today's ray of sunshine is courtesy of Danielle, who planned to spend the day dreading tomorrow, the first day of her senior year at high school. But no. She is a furious writer and has been pushing her books all over the place. She's had a couple of minor bites, but today...(in her own words)....

"Eee! A literary agency said it would be interested in looking at my book to consider for representation! I sent a query to them online (ahh, the beauty of instant communication), and now I have to whisk a few chapters off to them! Of course, this is no assurance of representation, but what it tells me is that my pitch isn't completely worthless, and that's really important. (The pitch I used on them is the same one I used in my cover letter to all the publishers.)

Of course, it probably helps that in the little place that said "In a few words, how does your background relate to the subject matter of which you are writing about?", I put "Previous independent study in demonology." ^_^ Heheh. I figured that was bound to turn a few heads.

For those of you who don't know the importance of a literary agent, let me tell you that they can take the sunrise and sprinkle it with dew and most importantly help a manuscript get sold to a bigger publishing company, such as Penguin Putnam, Harper Collins, and any other big name you've heard of. Most books you see in stores only got sold (and actually get a prominent position in stores) because of agents. They aren't needed for publishing, but they can get a writer a better deal with more money at a better house. (Most) writers love literary agents, or at least the thought of them."

Damn, girl. You is amazing! We're very, very proud of you.

Remember what I said about stupid people? Isn't this the same idiot who said God would kill him if folks didn't pony up a million dollars?

And if you, as a Christian, are offended by the fact that I called this guy stupid and an idiot, you need to set your sights a lot higher. Advocating murder of a chief executive is morally wrong and corrupt. Period.

The United States has a long history of interfering with Central and South American affairs dating back to the Monroe Doctrine. We didn't (and don't) seem to really grasp the concept of "sovereignty", and we would invade and conquer and dig canals from here to Terra Del Fuego just because it suited us at the time. (The cover story each time was, "Our citizens are in danger." Well, duh. Got to a dangerous place and that happens.) A majority of the western part of this country used to be owned by our neighbors down south.

Treating these folks poorly is a habit we can't seem to kick, either (Grenada and Panama). As I said before, I believe in karma: you treat people like scum...they will rise up and give it right back to you. This isn't going to end good, I bet. These countries control a lot of oil, just like Saddam, and look how that went.

Are you the Unabomber's missing twin? Do you think you possess the potential to become one? Then take this test!

Fun With Duct Tape

I'm a firm believer that God, in whatever form She happens to be in, gives us IQ tests every once in a while. Did these people pass or fail?

Picture 1
Picture 2
Picture 3
Picture 4
Picture 5
Picture 6
Picture 7
Picture 8

And don't look at this one if you're a Republican.

Hey, Stupid People: Shut Up!

I'm feeling drained and tired, probably due to the weekend. And I haven't been on the bike since Thursday. Need to get rolling again.

So while I get reloaded on Life, here is yet another old rant. I wrote this one in response to a "Letter to the Editor" of the Reno Gazette-Journal. I must have been having a bad day because I usually let small minds other than mine pass on by, but this letter really pushed my button that day. This guy had some personal issues that he felt belonged in the newspaper.

His letter, dated January 28, 2003, is in bold and is printed in its entirety. My snarky and R-rated responses are italicized and in brackets.

"Pet peeves: therapy in letter writing?"

I hope so!

1. Drive-through workers who give back change on top of the bills so it slides off.
[Minimum wage workers trying to do their best with their boss literally standing on their butt and pushing them to speed up the line.]

2. Utility and phone menus: "Press one for English."
["Press two if you're bigoted American creep who wouldn't let his granddaughter date a cultured, respectful man because he has a permanent tan."]

3. Teachers who won't give a little extra because they have "too many" students.
[And how did you vote the last time the school district floated a bond to pay for more schools to ease crowding? And how many times have you overseen 40 hormonely-enhanced supersmart citizens?]

4. Customer service workers who don't speak or read English and can't provide customer service.
[How about you learn a little Spanish and ask them how many jobs they're pulling down so their kids have the "honor" of being ridiculed at our overflowing public schools?]

5. People who don't call ahead to cancel appointments.
[I wouldn't talk to you, either, jackass.]

6. Reckless people who cut you off to get to the light 2 seconds before you do.
[You lost - they won. Get over it.]

7. Mandatory gratuities added on food bill for six or more.
[It seems you have this thing against minimum wage workers. Have you seen a doctor about that? And also about the empty void between your ears, that rock you call a heart, and that dark spot on your penis?]

8. Dept. store workers: "Everything we have is on the shelf."
[Or better yet, "It's store policy to hide things in the back so we hold down profits, close stores, and lay off minimum wage workers." (see above)]

9. Spyware and pop-ups on computers: cost money to get it all off of there.
[I'm almost with you on that one, but I stay away from the porn sites that load them onto your PC in the first place.]

10. Doctor referrals: have to pay for two appointments.
[So you want that generalist to decide if that black spot on your penis is either dirt, a smudge, VD, or cancer? Do you have an extra penis that you can use in case things are bad?]

11. Foreign languages spoken in public places, stores, companies, etc.
[Unless you're a full-blooded member of the Washoe (local) tribe, you probably have a close ancestor or cousin who speaks a foreign language.]

Anyone who agrees, maybe if we all speak our mind we can get something done about things. If we are silent nothing will be done for sure.
[Sure. Look how all the cross burnings and German Shepards shredding peaceful demonstrators stopped the civil rights movements.]

[deleted], Sun Valley, NV"
[Dickhead]

Run-on Sentences

If you read the funny papers, as they were called in a long-ago age, you'll see Doonesbury is picking on artists who sing the old standards. WTF is up with that? Now I admit Rod Stewart's latest CD is pushing it, but if Mr. Trudeau actually listened to and understood the lyrics of that good stuff, he might find something a little more artistic and coherent than "Bob Dylan Live at Woodstock." Actually, everything is more coherent that ol' Bob, but I can only go so far in flaming two American icons in one paragraph (Rod is not one of them). Now this is how an angel sounds when she sings. No blowing in the wind here.

[From an old blog - slightly edited]

To my supervisor...who is supervising for the first time:

Now that you’ve been a boss for a few weeks (known to your supervisees as “Fifth Circle of Dante’s Hell”), you may be thinking about taking things to the next level: actually supervising. To understand this urge to destroy, one must look at the roots of supervision. Why, you ask? Well, potential supervisors show management skills during their formative years. As the supervisor ages (note I did not use the word, “mature”), he/she/it continues to develop the skills that will suck the air and joy out of every project it/she/he is involved with.

Here are some milestones:

Kindergarten: Eats paste and crayons, and isn’t be allowed to near scissors. Having no tools to create, these tots will fill their minds with revenge, anger, and the overwhelming need to show their underwear to the world. These events translate to adult life in this way:

Ate Paste: Can’t hold these together in a crisis.
Ate Crayons: Destroys anything in life that has color or taste.
Showed underwear: That's got to be Freudian, right?.

Second grade: The tot cuts the hair of classmates, whether they want it or not. Symbolizes future skill of cutting employee off at the knees for proposing a logical, factual argument (based on mathematical trends and scientific projections) that contradicts supervisor’s desire to do something totally asinine (too many examples to cite here).

Sixth grade: Every valentine sent to girls or boys at school (including the one sent to the 81-year-old librarian) returned to potential supervisor with cute phrases as “cold day in hell”, “sexual harassment”, “bust your balls”, and “restraining order.” Each is smeared with dark brown substance that smells suspiciously like Grampa after he leaves the bathroom. Gives supervisor a hint at the tools that can be used in the future to stifle creativity and freedom of thought in workers.

High school: A never-ending parade of public embarrassments, acne, bad smells, and continued rejection by the opposite gender and the “cool crowd.” All this translates directly to management.

College: Supervisor experiences freedom from parental supervision, a set schedule, and external expectations of public school. This freedom is overpowering and the student wastes no time in moving back with Mommy and Daddy. Denotes desperate need for control and structure where none is actually needed. The greatest accomplishment during this time is finally getting to “second base” with someone during an alcohol-induced stupor. Sadly, there’s no one else in the room and the supervisor realizes he’s groping himself. Like the valentine cards, this sets the stage for future sexual harassment claims.

Despite all this, the supervisor views herself/itself/himself as a normal, adjusted human being that is fit to lead and direct. This is an illusion just like all the others and will only lead to isolation and derision of the supervisor. Sadly, it/she/he does not mind because this is his/her/its normal state of existence.

Despite this warning, you still may feel the need to direct and supervisor. Is this urge really worth the loss of your basic humanity? Think before it’s too late!

An Old Blog (Slightly Edited)

At a meeting with my (binder? portfolio? folder?). It contains things collected over the years (muy e senior packrat). In one slot are business cards from old meetings and interviews. One card was from a warden at a prison where I taught classes.

Flashback: a couple of weeks after he gave me that card, he was in a motorcycle accident and died instantly.

What is the make-up of a man that makes him comfortable with dangerous choices? The bike he died on was new, and the weather was clear and perfect, so perhaps he had not enough experience and a little too much machine for a twisting mountain road.

And his vocation: warden. It's gotta be on the "most important," "most criticized," and "most dangerous" job lists. No one is happy with a warden, especially his clients and, in this state, the employees. His choices are probably mostly negative: who goes in the Hole, who gets punitive punishment, who works double-shifts, etc. Yet he must have thought that it was important enough to put his well-being and safety on the line every single day of his life.

Looking at it this way, the decision to get on a motorcycle was probably pretty easy. And final.

The Jailhouse Rocks

Ah, another ritual of academia. This batch of woe strikes fear into the hearts of grizzened professors and neophyte instructors alike. Like Poe's raven, they come a-tapping incessantly, and are a blight on the faculty consciousness until the next crisis can hopefully blot them from everybody's short-term memories. They affect how an entire class is developed and taught. They can change career paths.

A irate president, you ask? Some new-fangled pedography (teaching method)? Robots? No. Something far more frightening.

Student evaluations. (OK, I dramatized it a little, but these puppies do tend make professors and instructors (me the latter) a little wacky.)

To explain: every semester, all WNCC students are given a blank evaluation form and asked to rate various aspects of their classes, ranging from how the course met their educational needs to material organization to the amount of respect the students received from the teacher. There is also an opportunity for them to provide written comments about the course. All forms are supposed to be anonymous, except for the occasional student who signs them. A signature doesn't hurt the student because faculty don't get their copies of the evaluation forms until long after the semester has ended and final grades have been turned in.

When we do get the forms back, we can (a) objectively evaluate the feedback and incorporate the constructive criticism into the next semester's classes, or (b) ignore it and vindictively double the workload for the next batch of hapless grunts that stupidly register for our classes. Since I teach murderers, rapists, and child molesters, taking option (b) is not bright, so I'm thinking of changing a few things for the next semester.

The best part of the evaluations are, no argument, the written comments. Inmates as a rule have no fear to get in my face and tell me when I'm screwing up, and I deeply appreciate it when they do because I got to work with these guys to get the learning they need. If I'm creating barriers with pointless yakking and/or crappy class material, then nobody is getting nothing done.

Nevertheless, the comments mean a lot to me because these guys are either writing with a fully developed bullshit dictionary or they actually mean what they're saying. Either way, they're making an effort to be part of the system and not be outside of it.

These are all of the comments that mention me specifically and, again, they are anonymous:

- "Mr. Moore was 'And Is' one of the best teachers I've ever had the opportunity of knowing and I appreciate his willingness to come here and teach."

- "Mr. Moore has taught me in a way I can understand. In my opinion, he is doing a great job."

- "The instructor Mr. Moore has done an excellent job in helping me understand computer operations."

- "Mr. Moore is very on-time with his teachings, and very helpful when in need. He's not an evil teacher. The man has a halo over his head."

You'd be tempted to label that last one as pure bullshit, but I can guess who wrote it because that's the way he talked in class. He wrote straight from the heart.

And people wonder why I teach in a prison.

A Strike and a Whiff

It's funny how the small things like a missile strike (or miss) will catch your breath. T. has joined this profession that literally "sails in harm's way," so the parents are both very proud and normally worried. Something we'll have to get used to, I suppose.

Today's rant (get out the pillow and blankeys): the Central American invasion of the United States. Took a 'Intro to Social Work' class last semester in an attempt (failed, of course) to understand my collegues across the state. One of the films we say was about Hispanic strawberry pickers in southern California who are there without the permission of the federal government. These folks work for a pittance and live in the worst slum to earn enough money to feed their families back home, and to complain about the horrendous working conditions would get them instantly fired. Because they are illegal, they cannot qualify for most medical and social programs. Ironically, the feds withhold the same taxes and SSI from their paychecks as they do ours, but they cannot file a 1040a to reclaim this money because they'd be deported.

The argument against giving them automatic legal status seems twofold: they'll take away jobs from "natural" Americans (bigotry, by any other name), and they'll vote Democratic (I like them, already). Looking at the first argument, I don't see white Americans beating down the doors at Wendays or a strawberry field to get a job. As for the second...works for me.

What folks seem to gloss over is that unless someone's ancestors were born on this continent, most of our existence in this country was the result of a decision made by g-g-g-grandparents to pack up, leave family and property behind, and move here from across the ocean blue. Many did not bother with the trivialities of a visa because they needed to earn money to support their families, both local and abroad, so technicially they were illegal.

Folks, we all want the same thing: what's best for our families. America was built on subjegating a lower class to do our dirty work, whether they be Irish, Chinese, Native Americans and, most sadly, Africans. Let's rise above all that just for once and be the people we really want to be. America is a melting pot, after all.

(BTW, to sum up social workers: too much work, too many abused kids, not enough resources to support them.)

Took the morning off from riding. No particular reason. Maybe I'll go tonight.

With These Hands

As predicted, I pigged out at the office BBQ with two large burgers that were mostly bread, so I hit the road by going back the down way. In other words, the 2.2 miles up the hill on Fifth Street.

A digression: it's been a normal, hot August in Cartoon City, so when I stepped out of the office at 1700ish to head home, the temperature...was perfect. Absolutely perfect. The crap of the workday flew off like chains and I felt clean. Immediately going back inside would be a crime.

So I took the hill with my usual smoothness (panting and wheezing the whole way, naturally). Instead of turning east off Richmond, I turned west and headed up Kind's Canyon, a long slow incline which I've never done before. The bike gears were ratcheted as low as they possibly could go and I still had spagetti for legs. I focused on the road directly in front of the bike and just concentrated on making the next landmark. Someone calls that point-to-point traveling: get to the next tree, the next fire hydrant, the next fence post on the side of the road. Build up enough of those landmarks and you've made some real progress.

How did I do the first time? Judge for yourself. Just past Longview is a Nevada state road marker. I turned back there.

And the trip down the hill! Wow! I've never gone so fast on a bike, and I was quickly reminded that survival is tied to keeping the handlebars and front wheel as straight as possible. It was a rush and would have been a magnificent wipeout.

Most important lesson: don't stop. I took a break just before Longview to get my wind and realized I couldn't get my legs back in the rhythm. Next time, I'll just go slower, if that's possible.

Reality Check

Mike McGuire is exactly why this is a great country.

Bill Me Later

You know what you need? An authentic Indian name! (Hmm, not very politically correct there, but that's Canada for you.)

I live with:
Iris Hyperactive Clavicle
Renata French Buffalo
Gladiola Teetering Mayflower
Glynis Caterwauling Ram

And there's my saintly Aunt Lillian Musclebound Fruitbat. And my Uncle Mack Cantankerous Goat.

The boss may have really done something to her backside. The doctor is sending her to get MRI'd and she's out until Monday, floating along on muscle relaxants and pain medication.

Started the day with some non-fat yogurt and fruit, then did the 2.2 miles to work in (mostly) the higher gears. Here it is, a couple hours since I ate, and I'm starving. Got a can of fruit cocktail squirreled away down here so that'll help. They're having an office BBQ today so I'll be taking the long way home tonight.

I absolutely hate paying bills. Is there anyone who likes paying bills? Spent a bunch of time last night cooking the books, got annoyed, and jumped on the bike to work it out of my system. Didn't work. Had to take another ride before I was tired enough to sleep. [Edit: Someone from work saw me biking to Subway last night. "You're turning into a regular Jared."]

What's going on? Oh yeah. Office politics and personalities. I will as a rule steer clear of posting massive amounts of work stuff here because I don't like to read it myself. For the record, though, if I ever become a manager or supervisor again (not something I enjoy), my first and foremost rule would be:
"We're not hiring someone you're in love with, remotely related to, or your bestest buddy in the world. This is a place where you escape those things and we want you to concentrate on the task at hand. The baggage and gossip that goes along with that hiring is more trouble than it's worth."
The worst places I've worked are where relationships have gotten in the way of the tasks at hand. Sensible folks' brains and common sense are gone when they work with loved ones, and the damage done from actual and perceived issues related to this will destroy office and team morale faster than anything, even a death in the office. It simply ain't worth it.

Must find peaceful center of calmness now. Omm. Omm. Omm. Where's the Cherry Garcia?!

Oh yeah. Michael Arrowheaded Beltline. Ironic.

Low and Inert

The caption of that picture is, "How does a blonde print a Word document?" Click on the photo to make it bigger.

Low and slow this morning, especially getting out of bed (again). Took the morning off from bike riding but it wasn't far from my mind. Telegraph to Richmond to Fifth Street to Roop to Fairview to the office = 2.2 miles per the truck's odometer.

The boss called in sick, thinking she may have tore a hamstring. GAK! That sends shivers up my spine...and this is a guy who's been punctured and flattened and sliced and scarred. The thought of ripping a body part makes my stomach go queasy.

This is one of those things I will never, ever understand.

Lightning and Antecedents

If you believe in heritage and genetics like the Daughters of American Revolution or The Mayflower Society, well, you need to get a life. Really. Be serious. Do you think that because your great-great-etc. was a magnificent queen or a successful battlefield general or great white European philosopher, you're automatically worthy enough to be spoken of in the same sentence? If it were true, then why ain't you any of those things today? (And if you actually are, then why are you reading this blog?)

I bring this up because like many Americans, I am the descendant of fairly decent European stock. There's a castle or two somewhere with the family name, not to mention a barony. If you believe the family stories on my father's side of the gene pool, I'll be getting a call from Edinburgh when Scotland regains its own monarchy. It's all crap, of course. Stories about antecedents are like fishing stories: they grow with time and they start to stink after a while. Folks tend to forget they're also related to the village whore and town septic tank scraper.

So am I going anywhere with this? Nope. Just reminding y'all to thine own self be true, first and foremost. (Not every one of these rants is a gem, boys and girls. I really just want an excuse to show the cute puppy pictures.)

Tried to bike home, but there was an itsy-bitsy lightning, thunder, and downpour thing going on. In Arizona, they call it a gully washer. Got a mile, maybe 1.5 miles in, before I wimped out and called for a ride. Ten minutes after I called, the lightning part had moved on and it was just raining. I'll know better next time. [Edit: It's a mile. I measured it the next day.]

Speaking of antecedents: for most of human history, folks generally lived and died within 30 miles of where they were born. The Industrial Age brought better transportation and roads, and the Nuclear Family migration of the 1950s from rural to urban centers pretty much wiped out that old tradition. Even so, I met someone the other day who was born in Carson City, raised in Dayton, attended UNR, and now lives in Dayton. All of that is within the 30-mile circle of Carson City. She is by far the exception to the current rule of American transplantation. Nevada has the highest number of non-natives within its borders (the state with the most naive born: Pennsylvania).

For myself, here are the states that I know I've lived in, chronologically by the first time I lived there:

Texas
Alaska
New Hampshire
Nevada
Virginia
Arizona
California
Mississippi
Nebraska

And throw a year in Canada and three years in Japan in there, just for fun.

Are those the cutest puppies?

Venting, venting, venting...

Got nothing to write today. Had a good ride this morning, but got out of bed late and was running behind on the clock, so there was no lollygagging this morning.

Looking at my WNCC classes for Northern Nevada Correctional Center and Warm Springs Correctional Center. Unless something really strange happens, all three for these classes will fly:

NNCC COT 202: 14 students
NNCC IS 101: 15 students
WSCC IS 101: 14 students

This is all a matter of public record so I've no problem putting this out here. Western Nevada Community College pays part-time instructors $650 per credit. My paycheck for the above three classes, three credits each, will be $5850.

Now let's do the math.

Colleges and universities in the Nevada System of Higher Education receive a vast amount of their funding from the Nevada Legislature, which in turn funds the NSHE from taxes derived from tourism and gaming activities. The amount of money the individual NSHE institutions receive is based on the number of credits students take each Fall semester (the other semesters count, too, but to a less degree). The number of actual students in a classroom is also important but not so much as the number of credits.

Folks like me in a former life would add up the number of credits and divide them by 15, which produces a measurable unit known as an FTE. This is supposed to represent a full-time student, and the more FTE an educational institution reports, the more money it gets from the Legislature.

(Gad, this is boring, but it used to matter big-time to me. Almost done.)

At the moment, I'm teaching a total of 43 students, each of them taking a three-credit class. This equals 129 credits or 8.6 FTE. Back in the old days, an educational FTE was worth between $5000-$6000 from the legislature, so let's use the low end.

8.6 FTE x $5000 = $43,000 - $5850 = $37,150 net for the college from the Legislature.

There's a bunch of overhead costs involved, such as facilities, classroom supplies and furniture, heating, lighting, and administrative support. As I teach in a prison classroom, much of this overhead is absorbed by the prison. The college has to supply the classroom computers and a warm body, and provide each with administrative support.

Now the fun part and, again, this is all public record. Back in the day when I counted these things up, the WNCC Prison Education Program used to enroll about 200 FTE a year at WNCC which is, taking the low end again (200 FTE x $5000), about a million bucks from the legislature, a significant income for a college with a $16-18 million annual operating budget. The Prison Education program is the fourth largest money-maker for the college, behind the campuses in Carson, Fallon, and Douglas County. Do you think the Prison Ed program actually gets a million-dollar budget?

I've been wanting to vent that for a while.

*snore*

Back on the machine and feeling good despite little to zero sleep. Just kept waking up all night. Anyway, Telegraph to Washington to Smiths, then to Roop and Fairview. Planned to take an easy ride, but The Light That Is Never Green at Carson and Washington...was green. I was still a couple of blocks away so I stuck it in overdrive. The light turned red while I was in the intersection.

Just finished two bananas, fruit cocktail and yogurt. It's all very healthy and dietetic. I'm so hungry. Wish I could say the pounds were melting off.

And a co-worker is now riding his bike to work. We shall absorb him into The Body. Resistance is Futile. (I know I just mixed TOS and TNG.)

And speaking of which, these are too damn cute unless you swing this way.

Can I put my head down on my desk and take a nap?

The Raffy Rant

I try to be a thoughtful baseball fan, but I was shocked like others at Rafael Palmeiro's suspension for using steroids (specifically, stanozolol, so it wasn't an accident). I've been mulling this since the revelation and want to get some thoughts down.

Baseball is held in a mythical regard, and we speak softly when we say the names of Mantle, DiMaggio, Ruth, Berra, Tinkers-Ever-Chance, and others in the pantheon of American sports legends. There's a cliche that says, "Baseball is what America wants to be and Football is what America is." So let's get this in the open: baseball is a game where cheating is acceptable behavior, just like NASCAR, politics, and paying taxes. The Baseball Hall of Fame is filled with spike-sharpeners, pinetar-batsmen, and spitball-specialists. Now we must consider whether to admit athletes who regularly and openly used performance enhancers like steroids and human growth hormones in a time when baseball did not prohibit their use.

The guardians of baseball's image are reporters, and long-standing sportswriters hold the keys to the HOF. Many have stated Palmeiro is a Hall of Famer, the steroid use did not change their minds, and he will receive their votes, though perhaps not on the first ballot. These include Stark of ESPN, Nightengale and Livingstone of Sports Weekly, and Elliot of The (Toronto) Sun. Some are waiting to see how the McGuire debate works out (Verducci of Sports Illustrated), and others are taking a hard-line against admittance, including writers for the New York Daily News and USA Today. Rick Reilly of Sports Illustrated wrote particularly vicious column in the August 15th issue of SI, lambasting his colleagues for even considering giving their votes to Palmeiro.

So if I had a vote, what would I do?

Lost in the noise is the basic issue that use of steroids without a doctor's permission is illegal. Period. The use of vasoline to make an Uncle Charley break a little sharper is not illegal outside of baseball. Why hasn't a federal agent shown up at Palmeiro's (or McGuire's or Sosa's or Canseco's) doorstep with a search warrant and a set of shiny handcuffs? Palmeiro broke federal law, unless his doctor prescribed the drugs, then the Maryland State Board of Medical Examiners need to examine the Orioles team doctor's medical license.

If Palmeiro spends any time in jail, it's because he lied to Congress and not because of the drugs. And maybe not even then. And the fact we find this kind of cheating "acceptable," even after an apology, is the disease that is afflicting our culture.

Am I overstating things? I don't think so. The Hall validates a player's career and holds it up to a higher regard over thousands of other players. Why then are reporters and other people defending an illegal and stupid habit that destroys human beings? Ken Caminiti was a steroid user, among other drugs, and he figured this all out before he died in 2004.

We can't do anything about the other idiots already in the Hall, but we can do something about the drug users who are examples to teenagers who see Palmeiro and others as justification to destroy their bodies with steroids.

Repeat after me: "Today, we will not accept illegal drug use and lying about it as normal behavior."

Hey, Raffy, you want into the HOF? The ticket booth is out front. Pete Rose and Jose Canseco will probably let you cut in line. Or not. But when has playing by the rules been an issue to you?

Mustang Sally

My butt is dragging all the way to the floor from spending much of the day sitting on it in beautiful Mustang, Nevada. Spent time finagling and picking professional football players which I will use to totally devastate rest of the league. Ah, the preseason: everyone has a perfect record and no one is a loser. Except for my opponents. They just don't know it, yet. :-)

It was a fairly well-behaved draft, with only one or two noses out of joint. I ran the internet conference room for the owners who could not appear, which is funny since I can't hear worth crap, so I had to use some imagination in the name spelling (look at the name of the first RB below). And it turns out I screwed up by picking an extra tight end and not having enough wide receivers (note to the daughters: get your mind out of the gutter). David Givens will probably have to go but that's no loss. Nevertheless, in the interim:

Introducing Your 2005 Madison Wolverines:

Quarterbacks:
David Carr, Houston Texans
Drew Brees, San Diego

Running Backs:
Obafemi Ayanbadejo, Arizona Cardinals
Edgarrin James, Indianapolis Colts
Priest Holmes, Kansas City Chiefs
Moe Williams, Minnesota Vikings

Wide Receivers:
Andre Johnson, Houston Texans
Keyshawn Johnson, Dallas Cowboys
Eddie Kennison, Kansas City Chiefs

Tight Ends:
Eric Johnson, San Francisco 49ers
Jermaine Wiggins, Minnesota Viking
David Givens, New England Patriots

Kickers:
Jay Feeley, New York Giants
Jason Hanson, Detroit Lions

Defense/Special Teams:
Green Bay Packers
New York Jets

Edit: You just know without a doubt this dude probably said, "Paint? What paint?", when he was busted.

Wonderland

Not much to meander about this morning. Still off the bike. Went to Wal-Mart and learned their associates have no money in their registers at 0700 on Saturday mornings. Stopped at Albertsons to get fruit and yogurt, and saw a beautiful morning spirit. Not all of us need coffee to be inspired in the mornng (I always thought those people were a myth).

In another entry, I predicted gas prices would be $3+ per gallon, but I didn't think it was going to be so soon.

Blessed Release

My back finally relaxed about 11:00 AM and I could walk more like a human and less like a neanderthal. It acts up once or twice a year, reminding me that it's still there. I'm still staying off the bike until Monday.

The interview at Rural Clinics went well, aside from the fact I was not qualified in the least bit of the job. They're looking for a Fiscal person; I'm a Data Analyst type. They sent me the essential tasks for the position and it clearly stated they wanted someone to financially represent the office. In fact, of the seven essential tasks listed, I felt comfortable with...one...the very last one...the least important task on the list. But I knew that going in and I told bluntly told them that, too. If honesty cost me the job, then it isn't a job I want.

The upside to me, I added, is that I'm a clean slate and that I can be trained. I said you want someone with good personal traits that can blend with the rest of the office. People can be trained to do Financial or Excel stuff, but you can't train them to be enthusiastic or punctual or a good teammate. I'd rather have the latter and train the person to meet the office mission than bring in a jerk who can add.

Anyway, I left the office feeling pretty good about the interview (except for my tendency ... habit ... committment to blather on ... like I'm doing right now). If they offer me the job, a remote possibility, I dunno what I will do.

Finished The Da Vinci Code and checked out Moneyball, but I've got to get ready for the OFFL Draft tomorrow. Get to spend all day in beautiful Mustang, Nevada, the home of late, lamented Mustang Ranch. True Story: in its last days of existence, the federal government took possession of ol' Joe Conforte's place to recoup unreported and unpaid income taxes, and even installed a federal agent as the on-site overseer of business. Yep, the Mustang Ranch was a public entity and had a female IRS agent as a madam. You can make your own obvious jokes from here.

Back Out

Not much to say this morning and no riding today. I yakked my back and moving is more painful than Bush's excuses not to meet the mothers of deceased war heroes parked outside his Texas ranch. Predict I'll be riding again on Monday. Until then, lots of minimal motion and lifting.

So when in pain, what to do? Eat gobs and gobs of unhealthy food! Went to the Pinion Plaza for a steak breakfast and I feel bloated and sicker than before. Then I had a white mocha with whipped cream. Yuck, yuck, yuck. I feel like I just took a dirty chemical bath and now weigh about 300 pounds, which isn't too far from the truth.

Reading The Da Vinci Code again after reading Angels and Demons a few weeks ago. If I were Catholic, Dan Brown would be a very dangerous and threatening person to my faith. He's articulate, knowledgeable, and has an uncanny talent for connecting the dots to the most obscure facts. The actions sequences are a little lame and Deus ex Machina at times (not unlike the Star Trek transporter). Even so, he provides thoughtful insight into why the Catholic Church is the way it is.

Which leads me to my humble opinion as to why religion is such a presence in our lives and I'm not talking the spiritual aspect. I'm thinking more of the intellectual side of things. Turning the Wayback Machine to the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. Outside of the big population centers like Paris and London, who was generally the most educated member of the local community? The parish priest, who could read and write and serve as Rome's pipeline to the masses. The Church anointed political figures (including kings and emperors), educational curriculum, and community morals. Again, IMHO, not all of this was bad because it served to give the community a sense of togetherness. When the Church interfered with rational thought and verifiable science, that's when they crossed the line and kept Man from evolving (Da Vinci, again, and his brethren). Notice how far we've come, and in a really short time, since the Age of Reason took hold. Imagine where we would be today if minds had been a little more open 500-600 years ago.

Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo got zero stars from Roger Ebert. Hollywood is losing money at the box office because their recent major releases are aimed at the all-important 13-25 demographic (War of the Worlds, Charley and the Chocolate Factory, and (shudder) Dukes of Hazzard). I miss the days when movies were made by adults for adults. Sean Connery says he won't make movies again while they're being green-lighted by immature idiots (paraphrase). Good for him!

Back to work.

Just Because I'm Listening...

A slow afternoon that ended by the spouse giving me a ride home. A little break won't hurt me...will it?

Some observations about today:
- Got a haircut during lunch after borrowing a co-worker's SUV. She's a nice person who sings like nobody's listening, dances like no one is looking, and lives like there's no tomorrow. She's had a much harder life than most.
- My hair was severely out of control, so the stylist spent some effort on it. She took a lot of time running her hands through my hair. Should I feel violated? (I do, a little)
- Got a Subway for lunch. Turkey breast on wheat with lots of veggies. Just what the doctor ordered. (And who own's Subway?)
- Five 20-ounce glasses of water today. It turns out I may not need all that water.

"Reality" is a slippery word, meaning something different to each of the six+ billion humans on the blue marble, not to mention those members of the animal kingdom which I suspect are far more perceptive that we understand. There are people whose idea of Reality is so far removed from the majority opinion, they should be patted softly on the head. Or in some instances, just plain locked up.

It's about a mile from the intersection of Carson and Fifth to the house if you go west by way of Richmond.

ESPN [Unscientific] Poll Question: "If your team was in a pennant race, would you make a deal to get Rafael Palmeiro?" Of the 86,000 respondents so far, 66% said, "No."

This dude will be sleeping on the couch possibly for the rest of his life.

As I listen to my Shuffle, this web site enters my consciousness.

When I don't have anything to say, I insert other people's web sites into my blog. :-)

OK, one more: "Hunks Banned from Alcohol Ads in the U.K."

My Achy, Achy Bod

Woke up this morning in a complete ache and didn't sleep that well, probably from all the riding, but did that discourage me? HA! I eat pain for breakfast. (It hurts just to write that. Advil is my co-pilot.)

Up Mountain, down Washington to Smith's, then generally south on Stewart, cut over to Roop, then to Fairview. When I was biking in the bike turn lane on Roop, I almost spit on someone's brand new car. Muy desconcertado.

I was heading down Stewart with the vague idea of picking up something from Burger King and realized I had no need for it, but boy, did it sound good. Instead, yogurt and peaches in a light syrup (160+210 calories). Will be snacking on trail mix throughout the day. Smith's had no bananas, they had no bananas today.

Sigs from the Bicycling Magazine Forum, exactly quoted. These people are nuts:
- ... either this man is dead, or my watch has stopped...
- Rocky, watch me pull a rabbit out of a hat.
- Proof that America is a great country: Obesity is a major health problem for our poor.
- whip me, beat me, make me write bad checks
- "You don't understand quantum mechanics, you just get used to it." - Richard Feynman
- Hell is other people. - Sartre
- Life is like a ten-speed bike. Most of us have gears we never use. -Charles Schulz
- Talk nerdy to me, baby.
- "People curse their government while shoveling hot food down"-Mark Knopfler
- "Console yourself with knowing there's nothing sexier than a fit, sweaty man."
- Melancholy is incompatible with bicycling. ~James E. Starrs
- Just because I don't care doesn't mean I don't understand.
- Thank you Lance--enjoy being a father.

Edit: 80 sit-ups, but do the last 10 count if your shoulder blades don't leave the ground? :)

Hyper...Ventilating

As mentioned, I took the way home that I used to get to work, with a slight variation for safety. From Fairview to Roop, across DMV and DOT to Stewart, turned west on Fifth, north on Richmond, east on Telegraph and looped around to the house.

Sounds easy, but oy vey: going up that hill on Fifth was a new experience for me. I shifted down to the lower gears and really pushed myself. When I got to the top, I realized I was holding my breath, so I did my "asthma prevention" breathing exercises to get back into a rhythm. By the time I got to Richmond, everything was back to normal and I was feeling pretty good. And I felt that push in my back.

Honestly, it's a small very, very hill, but it's the first of many I plan to conquer. Maybe there's something like this in my future. Not professionally, of course, but it's a goal of some sort.

So as I was writing this silly thing, reliving the ride, I start to get jumpy. Twitchy. Ants. Off I go, again! East on Telegraph, north on Mountain, east on Washington, and into the library.

(Important observation: If you're not 18 years old, don't dress like you're 18 years old. Especially if 18 is 20-30 years ago. Ew.)

After the library, sauntered south to Musser, turned right, and pumped hard until Winters, then looped home.

I have a disease...endorphin dependency. Is there a 12-step program?

Thank you, Lara. She knows why.

Back to my life. I have a life...somewhere..."Honey! Did you see where I put my life?"

I Have Sinned

Lunch:
- Small bowl of fruit...150 calories
- Red raspberry yogurt, eight ounces...230 calories
- Can of peaches...350 calories
...then....
- Cheesey Gordita Crunch from Taco Bell. *sigh* (a gift from a co-worker)

The Taco Bell web site says those silly things are about 250 calories. Methinks, "Yeah, right." I'll take the same route home that I took to get here. Maybe, just maybe, I'll break even on that gordita.

Ups and Downs

It was a great ride, but much too short. Went west on Telegraph, south on Richmond, east on Fifth, and south on Roop. The highlight is that downhill on Fifth that's good for a quick adrenaline rush.

D.'s fever broke. It was up to 102 last night and she was so uncomfortable. I was worried. She looked much better this morning.

Feel much better after my hissy fit last night. Watched a stupid movie and it helped me depressurize.

Food so far: a bowl of rice krispies with sugar (about 200 calories per this web site) and four ounces of mandarin oranges (70 calories - nice!). And water. Lots of water.

Edit: Forgot to mention the 70 sit-ups...although the last ten were mostly grunting than actually leaving the floor.

Locker Room Etiquette

[Written in my head this morning]

Dear Sir Right Next Me:

Congratulations on making the life-changing and life-enhancing decision to begin working out at the local fitness club. You will feel better for it if you choose to stick with it. You will have more energy, the days will be brighter, and you will sleep better at night. And you won't miss the semi-humorous quips from colleagues and friends about the aging love handles and floppy spare tires.

Since it's obviously been a while since you stepped into a locker room, please forgive my bad manners for bringing up something you did this morning. It was probably due to the fact that you haven't had your morning coffee or other appropriate stimulant. The fact that you were up and about at the ungodly hour of 7:00 AM, though, is a testament to your stubbornness and willingness to improve your lifestyle. Applause, sir.

Just so you know, there are 124 lockers in our locker room. Five had locks on them (including mine) and, based on the number of people in the gym itself, there were probably ten to twenty in use without locks. That leaves about 100 lockers ready for your sweating socks. So, for future reference, you may not want to use a locker that is adjacent to one that is already in use. This spares both of us the extremely uncomfortable feeling of one wet guy right out of the shower (me) standing next to one old, sweaty guy fresh off the gym floor (you).

Appreciate the consideration. Now Go Get 'Em, Tiger!

Thank you.

The Power of A Noid

At the end of the workday, I let someone rent space in my brain and I got annoyed (get it? "A Noid"). Exercise is the best solution because I can turn that emotion into muscle power, so instead of heading straight home, I biked from work on Fairview (offices behind Lowes) to the Subway across from Safeway on North Carson. This involved going up Stewart, crossing west at Telegraph, and working north on Curry and Division. Probably two miles, mostly very-small-gradient uphills.

Ordered the usual 6" veggie on wheat, and went outside to find my bike tipped over on some patio furniture. My front bike cable was almost ripped out and my bike chain was off. Had to call the spouse to get me down to the Bike Shop before it closed. As it was, I walked in there five minutes before they closed. They patiently rechained me. My damn fault.

As I type this, I'm still kicking myself for letting my frustration and, yes, anger get the best of me. What's worse is I predicted what would happen a week ago! AARRGGHH!!!

Maybe I better get back on the bike. Or maybe I'll go for a jog. Or maybe find a sturdy wall and smack some sense into my head.

- Breakfast: 2 eggs, 2 crispy slices of bacon, 2 pieces of wheat toast, cottage cheese, two cups of coffee.
- Lunch: A small thing of mandarin oranges, a can of peaches and a small thing of strawberry yogurt. (Mixed those together. Yum.)
- Snacks: 8 glasses of water, trail mix with M&Ms, and 2 cherry pop-tarts.
- Dinner: Subway veggie sandwich, 20 ounces of Gatorade, a fat-free or reduced chocolate popsicle.

Tried to calculate calories and stopped after breakfast: 765 calories. I easily busted 2000 calories overall. And this was a light day for food! Little wonder why I don't lose weight. The upside is it was a low fat and high water day.

Perfect If You Have Friends:

[From the internet]

Tired of all those sissy-ass "friendship" poems that always sound good, but never actually come close to reality? Well, here is a series of promises that really speaks to true friendship:

1. When you are sad - I will help you get drunk and plot revenge against the sorry bastard who made you sad.
2. When you are blue - I will try to dislodge whateveris choking you.
3. When you smile - I will know you finally got laid.
4. When you are scared - I will rag on you about it every chance I get.
5. When you are worried - I will tell you horrible stories about how much worse it could be and to quit whining.
6. When you are confused - I will use little words.
7. When you are sick - Stay the hell away from me until you are well again. I don't want whatever you have.
8. When you fall - I will point and laugh at your clumsy ass.

Remember: A good friend will help you move. A really good friend will help you move a body. Let me know if I ever need to bring a shovel.

Back in the Saddle

The morning ride was normal and nothing to write about. The sun rose behind a couple of clouds, so we got to see one of those church-like mornings.

Did have one funny thing happen. Stopped at the Nugget for the best-deal-in-town $2.00 breakfast (eggs, bacon, toast, cottage cheese). There were four construction guys in the next booth being strangely quiet and trying not to look in my direction. They started bs'ing after a few minutes. Were they talking about me in my silly helmet and blue-jeans shorts before I walked up? It was not unlike the looks I get from overweight folks in their pick-ups and SUVs. These folks generally are "calorically-enhanced", as are their children in the back seat.

All of these folks better get used to bicyclers; there'll be a lot more of us in this silly three-horse town when gas gets up to $3+ a gallon, which I predict will happen within a year.

On the flip side: had one person stop for me to cross on a busy road, even though I was astride instead of aside. That was good.

Edit: Forgot to mention I did 50 sit-ups at the gym. Baby steps.

Lazy Day Monday

Not much happening today. Turned the rental back in and took a quick afternoon ride up to Safeway by way of the Bike Shop. Bought a gauge and talked about raising the handle bar (no can do) and getting a speedometer (another day). Used Elaine's saddle bag (tyvm) to bring home some groceries and the Subway daily special. Doing the laundry. Yawn.

This is the quiet before the dawn. To-do List:
- Call college about Fall semester book order.
- Prepare for job interview on Friday.
- Get ready for the OFFL draft.
- Got to get a stinking TB test.
- Syllabi for the Fall semester.

Did notice the little hills around town aren't the challenge they used to be, especially when I gun it.

Back to work manana.

One more tribute

Started typing and couldn't stop...

"A true story.

When Grama staying in Carson City, she told me how she would dream, occasionally, of seeing Grampa across a great expanse. Over this gulf was a bridge, he on one side and she on the other side. After a long wait, Grama finally crossed the bridge to her love.

Today, she is beside Grampa, holding hands, waiting for us to join her and hoping we take as long as we need to get there.

She understands that the love held in abeyance is not lost love.

Instead, it is a stronger bond, growing and evolving into something higher and indescribable, powered by two kindred souls.

On Earth, this love made a marriage, a family, and a legacy. Beyond Earth, this higher love will fill an Eternity.

Today, we honor her memory. Later, we will remember Grama and Grampa's love.

Knowing that they are together forever, maybe someday we'll be able to think of them and smile a little without that heavy heart.

And in the meantime, Life will be better because we know we have loved ones waiting for us, too, across that faraway bridge."

To CA and Back

[Lost this post already...try, try again...]

Just got back from Berkeley. It's Sunday night and haven't posted since Friday night because the hotel's backbone kept dropping out.

August 6...
Saturday morning:
- Went back to E/M's for breakfast and got to see C/D, E.'s sons. They're both in their 30's now. Maybe because I'm in my mid-40s, but they still seem so young and have their lives in front of them.
- C. lives in Burbank and is listed on IMDB as a camera operator and off-line film editor. He and his bride just had the cutest little girl but she had a fever and ear infection, so C. was there by himself. The good news was the fever broke over the weekend.
- D. is a doctor/doctor (PhD/MD) who's finishing his psychiatry residency in a Los Angeles emergency room. Still single as far as I know. Must have something to do with his Hunchback-ala-Notre-Dame hump and looks (joke).
- Did the fruit, cereal, and gossip thing, then Liz and I went to a bike shop in beautiful downtown Berkeley and headed back to the room.

Saturday afternoon:
- Gathered up the family and Frank, and went to E/M to prepare for the memorial service (below). Greatly admired all three daughters for sucking it up and going, despite the fact it was something they didn't want to do, and some originally hinted they wouldn't go to the service. I was and am so proud of them this weekend for taking that important step in knowing being a real grownup is taking on pain that you can avoid, but won't because it is the right thing to do.
- Prior to going into the nursing home for the service, a kind stranger pointed out our extremely flat tire. Another adventure.

Grama's service:
- There was quite a turnout, considering it wasn't in Nevada. In addition to Hume descendants and spouses, there were Grama's caregivers, Robert and Billie (funny story below), Elaine's co-workers and good friends, and old compadres like Mark Gorrell.
- Chris officiated and did very well. Sasha provided fantastic acoustic guitar accompaniment (15 years old!). Some of us spoke, others sang, and many of us cried (including me). It was gentle, precious, and a good lifelong memory. (My tribute is below.)
- T/D held out through the service but both were hurting, so Robert and Billie very kindly took then back to the hotel. L. represented them well.

After that:
- Called Hertz for roadside service, even though Mike was ready to assist, but it was not a day for that. The dude, his seven-year-old son, and I spent 20 minutes looking for the spare, which turned out to be underneath the van. He got the donut on and we made it to E/M to swap memories and to watch the A's obliterate the Royals, 16-1.
- We got back to the room, watched some TV, sang a little, and crashed.

August 7...
Sunday morning or this morning, if you prefer:
- Called to find an open tire place and got lucky on the first try. That meant we were not staying another night, a real possibility. Checked out.
- Did a brunch with the Merrills, Zinzers, a German, and Moores (12 in all). As we didn't know where we were going, Billie volunteered to navigate. We knew she had vision problems, but turns out they were a tad worst that we thought. The cafe was southwest of E/M's house; Billie had us going northwest towards El Cerrito. The blind was leading the deaf. It was hilarious.
- Afterwards, spent a couple of hours at the tire place waiting for them to repair and mount the tire. Got to listen to the counter person tirelessly tell folks about the tow she broke in the morning, but she made it to work.

- Sunday afternoon: Drove home.

Right now...tired, sweaty and achey. Still feeling a little sad and lost, but a little more at peace. Still question the need for loved ones to pass on. On one hand, the system inflicts needless pain. On the other, Grama was ready to go and be back with Grampa. The system needs improvement but can't think of a better one right now. Still can't lose the general sense of unfairness about the whole damn thing.

Aside from that, am totally proud of everyone who was there or who wanted to be there. Everyone shined and was there for everyone else. Elaine and Mike are such a good team, and they took good care of us and did everything so well. They are my heroes and I am humbled.

-----------------------------------------------

Dear Grama –
- I know you’re here and I know that you’re having a good chuckle at our expense. You should be laughing at us. Here we are, trying to be both serious and humorous at the same time. Some of us are uncomfortable and some of us are missing you a lot. And some of us are wishing we had told you a few things when we had the chance. Well, like I said, you’re here, and I've got some things you should hear said out loud.
- About once or twice a year for the last twenty years, you said that when your time came, you didn’t want anyone to make a fuss about you. I find this ironic because your family has been nothing but a fuss to you. Your daughters, your grandchildren, your great-grandchildren…all a challenge in one way or another. I’ll get back to that in a minute.
- Some things we know about you that others may not continue to amaze us. You were an only child, the stereotypical California girl, raised in sunlight and warm temperatures, enjoying summers on Catalina Island. You were a life guard when you were a teenager, for God’s sake, so it’s hard to imagine you were doing the “Baywatch” thing long before it became stylish for women to show their limbs in public. And this world-traveling thing? What is up with that? Many of us just dream of faraway people and places. You actually went everywhere you wanted to go. The truth is, “adventure” is your middle name.
- Sometime in there, you chose a life partner who, in a weather sense, was your exact opposite. You married this guy from the upper Midwest that was raised in a state that has two seasons: winter and July. What were you thinking? Was it his keen intellect? His razor-sharp wit? His dashing good looks? Looking at this fine group, it obvious all these attributes were passed onto his good-looking descendents here.
- (By the way, Grampa, we know you’re here, and we miss you, too.)
- Other amazing things: you saw the Twentieth Century, perhaps the greatest era in human civilization. You were a witness to Charles Lindberg flying solo across the Atlantic and the Apollo 11 landing on the moon. You saw the Great War That Ended All Wars and the sequel known as World War II. When you moved to Nevada in the 1940s, Reno was the largest city in Nevada with a population of about 30,000. Carson City is twice that size now. And you got to see downtown Reno flood…twice.
- Your sense of humor is very subtle. You said you voted Republican only once, and that was during the Harding administration. The fact that you were probably 10 years old at the time probably flew over everyone’s head in the room, including me. And you once said understood and adored Reggie Jackson. That one fact by itself is just so very cool.
- And your life has a fascinating “yin-yang” thing going. Your grandfather was a Civil War doctor and now one of your grandsons is a doctor. You’ve been to so many faraway places and another grandson found a vocation that takes him to those same places. You are a published author and poet, and so are your kin. You found the love of your life and I can say with a great amount of certainty that your married offspring here have found theirs, too.
- Which takes me back to the “making a fuss” thing. This may come as a surprise to some, but we may have been a trial to you, some of us more than others. Yet despite everything we did, and we did a lot, you never seemed to mind or were really bothered by it. I’m guessing it’s because you know that all that happens to us in this journey known as Life is to be cherished and learned from, and that includes the bad things, too.
- For myself, I want to thank you for cherry pie and vanilla ice cream, for eggs over medium, and marmalade toast. Thank for taking out the countless splinters that little boys manage to find in old fences, and just so you know, I really didn’t mind that silly old needle. Thank you for the gift of reading and for giving us the need to seek discovery and adventure.

Thank you for always believing we were good people, especially during those times we did not believe it ourselves.
Thank you for being there and being rock steady when we all needed it.
Thank you for being proud of my family.
Thank you for being proud of me.
Thank you for being my grandmother.
Luv ya.