Hello there faithful readers.
After minimal thought and basically zero consideration, I've decided to commit blog suicide and move. I don't love this blog host as much as another, and so I've taken all the content and brought it elsewhere. Don't worry, this change is good. You can get emails when I post now, whereas only like seven of you are notified right now. And I will write more often, which means more mild entertainment for you! We all win.
So without further ado...
CLICK ON THIS HUGE WRITING TO GO TO MY NEW BLOG!
Once you're there, read my newest post and follow the directions. Please? Thanks for reading, and I'll never forget that this is the place where I fell in love with writing in the first place.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Thursday, December 17, 2009
2009 Newsletter
It's online people!
You are probably already getting a copy of this in the mail soon anyway, but if you want a friend to see the splendor and glory that is The Willcox-Trent Times, all you have to do is direct them to this blog! And it's free (with a computer and internet and word program, of course).
So click here to check it out.
Thanks for liking it!
(Oh yeah, I forgot that this blog host is not that awesome. I will probably be moving my blog eventually, but I'm scared to lose 22 loyal readers. Anyhow, you'll be directed to one more blog. Read the hilarious and entertaining intro, and at the bottom you will see the link for the newsletter itself. Happy downloading!)
You are probably already getting a copy of this in the mail soon anyway, but if you want a friend to see the splendor and glory that is The Willcox-Trent Times, all you have to do is direct them to this blog! And it's free (with a computer and internet and word program, of course).
So click here to check it out.
Thanks for liking it!
(Oh yeah, I forgot that this blog host is not that awesome. I will probably be moving my blog eventually, but I'm scared to lose 22 loyal readers. Anyhow, you'll be directed to one more blog. Read the hilarious and entertaining intro, and at the bottom you will see the link for the newsletter itself. Happy downloading!)
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Be Careful What You Ask For, You Will Get It!
"It's funny when things change so much. It's all state of mind."
-Eddie Vedder, on the song "In Hiding"
I am aware that this is quickly becoming a forum to update the various phases of my unemployment, but I am not planning on changing the name of my blog. That just happens to be my perspective right now. Plus, some of you may be interested in the latest in this ongoing saga.
Speaking of perspective, I think it's an important part of this phase of the story. A lot of people feel a lot of different ways about life. But I think by and large people try to do the best they can with what life deals them, and they hope that hard work and good choices will lead to a quality life.
I'm learning to disagree.
I don't find that life deals me anything at all. I deal life to myself. I've known this on a deep level, but it's almost like I forgot. And when inexplicable things happen, it's hard to remember. I've believed this for some time, but now I'm starting to practice it. The results so far are subtle, but no less stunning to me.
I know, why would people choose to have a car accident or get attacked, etc. The short answer is, I don't know. But choices have after-effects, and that's the best I can say for someone else's decision. For myself, when something difficult happens it is for a reason. I'm starting to see it clearly. There's a lesson in everything, so getting emotionally resistant is of no use. Looking for the message is all that matters.
What am I talking about? Why the philosophy all of a sudden? The job situation, of course.
And I should say before moving on that it seemed terrible the way the Tin Woodsman thing happened. But the truth is that I was ready to move on - very ready - and getting let go allowed me to do that, collect money through unemployment, and spend quality time with Oliver (including potty training!).
But I forgot that leaving was what I wanted, and got very down. Then I got better, little by little, until I saw a movie that reminded me what I knew in my soul. Then I started making conscious choices, from what I want specifically to what kinds of emotions I will allow to enter my being. As I've mentioned, the change in me has been transformative.
Which is a long way of introducing what happened the last couple of days. As I was about to leave Kat's house (after working on building a stone wall) on Tuesday, I received a call from a company I applied with called Spirit Leatherworks. Oliver was grouchy because I just woke him up, I had an armful of stuff, and the girl on the other end wanted to give me a phone interview. Major shift of focus, to say the least!
I ambled through, not really remembering anything about the job I had applied for. I was sure I'd get an interview though. Because it's what I asked for. Literally.
Forty-five minutes later, I was called back to schedule an interview for Thursday. See what happens when you ask?
So I went to the interview, and although I wasn't sure if I wanted the job at all I was nervous. Nervousness is not something I can stop with logic alone, apparently. Anyhow, the guy I was going to interview with (Rob) was really busy, so I interviewed with two people underneath him instead. It really wasn't necessary, and I realize they did this just to be polite, but we all played our parts and went through with it. Near the end, Rob came in and said he wanted to interview me the next day - Friday.
I went home thinking little of it, although I knew the way everything happened was unusual. I honestly didn't really care. I'm not looking for usual.
When I went in on Friday, I wasn't nervous and I had questions. My main concern was getting offered a job I didn't like and not having the wisdom to make a clear decision. This time Rob came out of his office promptly and took me to another building. Once the door opened to the other building, I was intrigued. There were belts hanging on all the walls, it smelled wonderfully of leather, and people were sitting at tables talking about what they liked and didn't like about a certain design.
Soon after the door closed to the room I'd interview in, my concern grew. Rob was a dynamic guy, much to my surprise, and I knew that if he wanted me to have the job telling him "no" was going to be difficult.
And then it happened. I started liking him. Why? He wanted to know about my last job and he wanted to know the truth. He was adamant about it. And so I told him, and it felt good, and he understood! Then he told me that my resume was good, but I could make it better. The honesty was such that I didn't hear criticism at all. I heard a reasonable human being.
He went on to tell me that there were 250 applicants, 9 resumes stood out, 1 failed the phone interview, and then 3 were chosen for real interviews. Of those three, one girl was perfect, one person needed to (in his opinion) finish school first, and the other person was me.
He said he wouldn't hire me for this job because it was beneath me. I was so relieved that I wasn't disappointed at all. He said I'd be going crazy within 3 months.
Then he said he wanted me to work there. Huh?
Here's the thing; they're a young company and growing like crazy, and this guy is wise enough to know that successful businesses employ good people. Who knew? And he could tell I was a good person (fooled him, eh?!).
We had a great talk. I know he is busy, but I could've talked to him for a long time. I was very energized. It was a confirmation of what I always knew: if I work hard and carry myself with integrity then things will work out. Plus I've started choosing - very consciously - to make money doing something that is fulfilling at a place that understands that I'm talented.
The end of the story is that I will work there. Rob is talking to the owner today ("We're talking about a lot of things, and 10 minutes or less will be about you. But we will talk about Matthew Trent"). He wants to find something for me to do, be it financial, management or otherwise. He just wants me because he can tell that I have a fire inside.
AND HE'S RIGHT!!!
My fire is burning hot, on logs of intention.
-Eddie Vedder, on the song "In Hiding"
I am aware that this is quickly becoming a forum to update the various phases of my unemployment, but I am not planning on changing the name of my blog. That just happens to be my perspective right now. Plus, some of you may be interested in the latest in this ongoing saga.
Speaking of perspective, I think it's an important part of this phase of the story. A lot of people feel a lot of different ways about life. But I think by and large people try to do the best they can with what life deals them, and they hope that hard work and good choices will lead to a quality life.
I'm learning to disagree.
I don't find that life deals me anything at all. I deal life to myself. I've known this on a deep level, but it's almost like I forgot. And when inexplicable things happen, it's hard to remember. I've believed this for some time, but now I'm starting to practice it. The results so far are subtle, but no less stunning to me.
I know, why would people choose to have a car accident or get attacked, etc. The short answer is, I don't know. But choices have after-effects, and that's the best I can say for someone else's decision. For myself, when something difficult happens it is for a reason. I'm starting to see it clearly. There's a lesson in everything, so getting emotionally resistant is of no use. Looking for the message is all that matters.
What am I talking about? Why the philosophy all of a sudden? The job situation, of course.
And I should say before moving on that it seemed terrible the way the Tin Woodsman thing happened. But the truth is that I was ready to move on - very ready - and getting let go allowed me to do that, collect money through unemployment, and spend quality time with Oliver (including potty training!).
But I forgot that leaving was what I wanted, and got very down. Then I got better, little by little, until I saw a movie that reminded me what I knew in my soul. Then I started making conscious choices, from what I want specifically to what kinds of emotions I will allow to enter my being. As I've mentioned, the change in me has been transformative.
Which is a long way of introducing what happened the last couple of days. As I was about to leave Kat's house (after working on building a stone wall) on Tuesday, I received a call from a company I applied with called Spirit Leatherworks. Oliver was grouchy because I just woke him up, I had an armful of stuff, and the girl on the other end wanted to give me a phone interview. Major shift of focus, to say the least!
I ambled through, not really remembering anything about the job I had applied for. I was sure I'd get an interview though. Because it's what I asked for. Literally.
Forty-five minutes later, I was called back to schedule an interview for Thursday. See what happens when you ask?
So I went to the interview, and although I wasn't sure if I wanted the job at all I was nervous. Nervousness is not something I can stop with logic alone, apparently. Anyhow, the guy I was going to interview with (Rob) was really busy, so I interviewed with two people underneath him instead. It really wasn't necessary, and I realize they did this just to be polite, but we all played our parts and went through with it. Near the end, Rob came in and said he wanted to interview me the next day - Friday.
I went home thinking little of it, although I knew the way everything happened was unusual. I honestly didn't really care. I'm not looking for usual.
When I went in on Friday, I wasn't nervous and I had questions. My main concern was getting offered a job I didn't like and not having the wisdom to make a clear decision. This time Rob came out of his office promptly and took me to another building. Once the door opened to the other building, I was intrigued. There were belts hanging on all the walls, it smelled wonderfully of leather, and people were sitting at tables talking about what they liked and didn't like about a certain design.
Soon after the door closed to the room I'd interview in, my concern grew. Rob was a dynamic guy, much to my surprise, and I knew that if he wanted me to have the job telling him "no" was going to be difficult.
And then it happened. I started liking him. Why? He wanted to know about my last job and he wanted to know the truth. He was adamant about it. And so I told him, and it felt good, and he understood! Then he told me that my resume was good, but I could make it better. The honesty was such that I didn't hear criticism at all. I heard a reasonable human being.
He went on to tell me that there were 250 applicants, 9 resumes stood out, 1 failed the phone interview, and then 3 were chosen for real interviews. Of those three, one girl was perfect, one person needed to (in his opinion) finish school first, and the other person was me.
He said he wouldn't hire me for this job because it was beneath me. I was so relieved that I wasn't disappointed at all. He said I'd be going crazy within 3 months.
Then he said he wanted me to work there. Huh?
Here's the thing; they're a young company and growing like crazy, and this guy is wise enough to know that successful businesses employ good people. Who knew? And he could tell I was a good person (fooled him, eh?!).
We had a great talk. I know he is busy, but I could've talked to him for a long time. I was very energized. It was a confirmation of what I always knew: if I work hard and carry myself with integrity then things will work out. Plus I've started choosing - very consciously - to make money doing something that is fulfilling at a place that understands that I'm talented.
The end of the story is that I will work there. Rob is talking to the owner today ("We're talking about a lot of things, and 10 minutes or less will be about you. But we will talk about Matthew Trent"). He wants to find something for me to do, be it financial, management or otherwise. He just wants me because he can tell that I have a fire inside.
AND HE'S RIGHT!!!
My fire is burning hot, on logs of intention.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Eat (whenever I want and with minimal exercise), Pray (for the perfect job to appear on the internet), Love (my time with Oliver)
So, I'm beginning to get the hang of this unemployment thing. Much has changed since my last rant, and I'm starting to fear that I'm getting too comfortable. Barring some miracle where I become rich overnight (like the publishing of a young-adult coming-of-age novel, for example), I will have to again work. Just the thought of it is frightening. Now I know how Michael Vick felt when he got out of jail. "You mean I have to play in the NFL now?" Like that dog murderer, I am rapidly getting out of shape.
The upside is I am writing like it is my job. Which of course it is not. I don't have one! But I enjoy it more than anything.
I know what you're thinking. I enjoy raising Oliver more than anything. That's true of course, but I don't need to list it every time I rate fulfillment, do I? Or Nancy? I mean, if I were to get three wishes I wouldn't first wish for air to breathe, would I? Obviously nothing else works without that, but it's there along with the sun shining already. I'll tell you what, from now on whenever I talk about happiness and don't list Oliver or Nancy, just assume they occupy the top two slots. Then we don't have to worry about being bogged down in useless paragraphs like this one anymore. But I digress.
Back to the writing thing. I started this project on the Oliver story in such a way that enough people being interested would drive me to actually finish the story. So far it's definitely been enough to keep me writing. The flip side is, now that it's not my turn I am lost. So I'm reading.
And here's the point of this whole thing. I'm reading "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert. You may have heard of it? Anyway, it's good and a bestseller for a reason. Read it. But that's not the point.
The point is, she's searching herself because of crisis in her life. Who hasn't? Fortunately for us, she's been kind enough to write about the experience and the story started before she started to improve. Which I thought was interesting, because my whole life has been based around self-searching and I only seem to write about it when I'm really up or really down. I decided to give the middle a shot. Here goes.
Oh yeah, I'm pretty unoriginal too. So I'll compare to what I'm reading, but it still seems interesting to me to do so. I've been thinking about it a lot. But I'm only in the first of three parts. I guess we'll soon find out how much that matters.
She (Liz) was married because she thought she should be and resenting the expectation of having children, which she didn't really want. But she had a really great job that paid her well for doing something she loves - writing. To be true to herself she acknowledged she didn't want kids, or even her husband for that matter. She went through an ugly divorce, but as the main breadwinner, she came out the other side able to travel for a whole year!
On the other hand, I married Nancy because I love her so much it sometimes makes me grit my teeth to the point that I fear they might break. And if that doesn't damage the pearly-whites then my love for Oliver is sure to. He was born because that's what we wanted. It hasn't felt wrong for a second and I don't expect it ever will. However, it is my job situation that has me reeling. I went through a divorce of sorts, but it wasn't so ugly for me as much as for the kids born of that relationship (co-workers). I too love writing, and although I once got an A+ in a 100-level writing class, I have yet to receive a cent for my imposing skill.
My search is different, and yet it's the same.
The first place Liz went was Italy. She had no real agenda other than to learn Italian and eat. Italian because it's beautiful, eat because...because it's Italy! The whole country is based around eating, for the love of God!
The first place I went was home. I ate because I have to stay alive. But quickly my life turned into Italy, and the whole day is based around food. "I need to get Oliver up so we can eat breakfast together, I need to stop working so I can feed Oliver lunch, he needs to eat now so he can sleep soon and be up from his nap at a reasonable time." Etc. As it turns out, eating responsibly means that it takes a few minutes to prepare food, clean up, and so on. Chunks of day gone, but I don't mind. I can eat what I want, and for the most part whenever I want. (Halloween candy, however, is a curse.)
But the beauty in my life is two-fold. I will take back in part what I said earlier, because it involves Oliver. But being around him so much is wonderful. Sometimes, of course, I want to put him in a basket and float him down the river. Not doing so is teaching me a lot about the depths of patience. The other times are great. I love the unsolicited, "I love you Dad," or "Oller tired," or even, "I miss Mama." I love that he's wearing underwear. That couldn't happen if I wasn't around all the time. I love wrestling him for as long as he wants, and not having to hurry up because lunch time is almost over. And I really love snuggling under a blanket with him and watching a movie. Am I a good parent? Eh, who knows? I just figure if I'm loving our time together then that love will make him a good person, somehow. And if that's true, he'll be great.
The other beauty of my life is writing. And reading this book makes me realize that what makes great writing isn't necessarily learned in school. She is funny, self-deprecating, insightful about herself, and she touches on a nerve that applies to most everyone. That's why her book is a bestseller.
Hell, I can do that.
At least I hope so. Do I want to have a book published? I'd be lying if I said no. But I understand the doubt. Why me, anyway?
Why not.
Also, does it matter? Isn't enjoying writing enough? I've actually found myself avoiding writing jobs because I'm afraid it will take away the magic. I'm probably right, too. So I keep looking at the other stuff, and I am not inspired. I am enjoying this time in my life that is suddenly filled with wonder. By helping mold a child's imagination I am molding my own. And I'm finding that imagination is powerful and easily discounted. Just know this: if I am a published author, reasonably wealthy, and living in an Italianate-style house in the next couple years, then you should remember this blog and talk to me. You can do it, too.
I am loving my personal Italy. Next up in the book is India, for spirituality. I've been so focused on that for over a decade that it sometimes makes me one-dimensional. What I'm really looking forward to is Bali. The fusing of enjoyment and a deeper meaning. Hopefully I can apply that to my life.
And when I do, I'll get back to you.
The upside is I am writing like it is my job. Which of course it is not. I don't have one! But I enjoy it more than anything.
I know what you're thinking. I enjoy raising Oliver more than anything. That's true of course, but I don't need to list it every time I rate fulfillment, do I? Or Nancy? I mean, if I were to get three wishes I wouldn't first wish for air to breathe, would I? Obviously nothing else works without that, but it's there along with the sun shining already. I'll tell you what, from now on whenever I talk about happiness and don't list Oliver or Nancy, just assume they occupy the top two slots. Then we don't have to worry about being bogged down in useless paragraphs like this one anymore. But I digress.
Back to the writing thing. I started this project on the Oliver story in such a way that enough people being interested would drive me to actually finish the story. So far it's definitely been enough to keep me writing. The flip side is, now that it's not my turn I am lost. So I'm reading.
And here's the point of this whole thing. I'm reading "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert. You may have heard of it? Anyway, it's good and a bestseller for a reason. Read it. But that's not the point.
The point is, she's searching herself because of crisis in her life. Who hasn't? Fortunately for us, she's been kind enough to write about the experience and the story started before she started to improve. Which I thought was interesting, because my whole life has been based around self-searching and I only seem to write about it when I'm really up or really down. I decided to give the middle a shot. Here goes.
Oh yeah, I'm pretty unoriginal too. So I'll compare to what I'm reading, but it still seems interesting to me to do so. I've been thinking about it a lot. But I'm only in the first of three parts. I guess we'll soon find out how much that matters.
She (Liz) was married because she thought she should be and resenting the expectation of having children, which she didn't really want. But she had a really great job that paid her well for doing something she loves - writing. To be true to herself she acknowledged she didn't want kids, or even her husband for that matter. She went through an ugly divorce, but as the main breadwinner, she came out the other side able to travel for a whole year!
On the other hand, I married Nancy because I love her so much it sometimes makes me grit my teeth to the point that I fear they might break. And if that doesn't damage the pearly-whites then my love for Oliver is sure to. He was born because that's what we wanted. It hasn't felt wrong for a second and I don't expect it ever will. However, it is my job situation that has me reeling. I went through a divorce of sorts, but it wasn't so ugly for me as much as for the kids born of that relationship (co-workers). I too love writing, and although I once got an A+ in a 100-level writing class, I have yet to receive a cent for my imposing skill.
My search is different, and yet it's the same.
The first place Liz went was Italy. She had no real agenda other than to learn Italian and eat. Italian because it's beautiful, eat because...because it's Italy! The whole country is based around eating, for the love of God!
The first place I went was home. I ate because I have to stay alive. But quickly my life turned into Italy, and the whole day is based around food. "I need to get Oliver up so we can eat breakfast together, I need to stop working so I can feed Oliver lunch, he needs to eat now so he can sleep soon and be up from his nap at a reasonable time." Etc. As it turns out, eating responsibly means that it takes a few minutes to prepare food, clean up, and so on. Chunks of day gone, but I don't mind. I can eat what I want, and for the most part whenever I want. (Halloween candy, however, is a curse.)
But the beauty in my life is two-fold. I will take back in part what I said earlier, because it involves Oliver. But being around him so much is wonderful. Sometimes, of course, I want to put him in a basket and float him down the river. Not doing so is teaching me a lot about the depths of patience. The other times are great. I love the unsolicited, "I love you Dad," or "Oller tired," or even, "I miss Mama." I love that he's wearing underwear. That couldn't happen if I wasn't around all the time. I love wrestling him for as long as he wants, and not having to hurry up because lunch time is almost over. And I really love snuggling under a blanket with him and watching a movie. Am I a good parent? Eh, who knows? I just figure if I'm loving our time together then that love will make him a good person, somehow. And if that's true, he'll be great.
The other beauty of my life is writing. And reading this book makes me realize that what makes great writing isn't necessarily learned in school. She is funny, self-deprecating, insightful about herself, and she touches on a nerve that applies to most everyone. That's why her book is a bestseller.
Hell, I can do that.
At least I hope so. Do I want to have a book published? I'd be lying if I said no. But I understand the doubt. Why me, anyway?
Why not.
Also, does it matter? Isn't enjoying writing enough? I've actually found myself avoiding writing jobs because I'm afraid it will take away the magic. I'm probably right, too. So I keep looking at the other stuff, and I am not inspired. I am enjoying this time in my life that is suddenly filled with wonder. By helping mold a child's imagination I am molding my own. And I'm finding that imagination is powerful and easily discounted. Just know this: if I am a published author, reasonably wealthy, and living in an Italianate-style house in the next couple years, then you should remember this blog and talk to me. You can do it, too.
I am loving my personal Italy. Next up in the book is India, for spirituality. I've been so focused on that for over a decade that it sometimes makes me one-dimensional. What I'm really looking forward to is Bali. The fusing of enjoyment and a deeper meaning. Hopefully I can apply that to my life.
And when I do, I'll get back to you.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Section 5 - Part II
It's funny that I "split" this section after I had written 15 pages. It is now slightly lopsided, as the next half is 37. But it's about baseball, and moves pretty quickly. Trust me, it wrote very quickly. Most of this was written in less than a week. I have become a medium for this story, and am no longer the author.
By the way, this section is up. Click on the title to check it out. For those of you who only get this as an email, click http://olivermcbubbins.wordpress.com/
By the way, this section is up. Click on the title to check it out. For those of you who only get this as an email, click http://olivermcbubbins.wordpress.com/
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Stay-at-home-rad!
Remember the name of my blog. It is important to know. Because I have a feeling that most readers will think that I'm either looking for sympathy or I will be told how easy I have it compared to (fill in personal story here). Back to sentence number one, please. This is simply a representation, a way to get life off my chest if you will.
What the heck am I talking about? My temporary life. Remember, faithful readers, that I am jobless. And childcare-less. This truly is as simple as one plus one, and it equals two of us at home. (My friend George has recently been paying me to do some work on his house, but what I'm talking about here is all the other days.)
Yes, stay-at-home-dad. Mr. Mom. Fortunately, those are the only nicknames I know for it. And also unfortunately, because I hear them a lot! For the record, I would rather work. I love Oliver - a ton. He doesn't drive me crazy when we're alone, teaching him things is fulfilling, playing with him is actually fun for me too, and I feel great about our time together. But I'm learning something that I have in common with babies:
In spite of every fiber of my being crying out otherwise, I NEED STRUCTURE!
You want to know how I know? Here's my current structure:
I wake up when Oliver wakes up. At first it wasn't this way, because I couldn't sleep through Nancy getting up in the morning. No more. And Oliver can sleep until 9. Sounds good you say? Nope!
Now I'm up. I read the paper while I feed/ignore Oliver and myself. This seems to wind down around 10. At which point I justify to myself that if I put him in front of a movie to job-hunt then it's OK. The movie starts, I put away breakfast dishes, which often means I unload the dishwasher, and while I'm at it I may as well put the dryer on for the last 15 minutes (don't ask, long story and sore subject) because by the time I'm done with the dishes the dryer will be done and I might as well move the clothes over from the washer and now that the washer is empty I can run another load and Holy Crap! I forgot about putting the chickens out and gathering the eggs and (expletive) those hungry (expletives) are out of food again!? so I get that taken care of and now the second load of laundry is wrapping up in the dryer and I fold and put those away (Nancy will be soooooo happy!) and the movie is over.
I have to admit that sometimes at this point movie number two will happen. Go ahead, call child services. I deserve it. But hey! Sometimes it is Sesame Street, and I learned a lot from Sesame Street. I still remember -tion (shon shon shon shon!), for example.
Anyway, when this happens I will then finally get on the computer. Check the email. Nothing. Check Facebook (because of all the job offers that happen there!). Boring. And now I'm also irritated because of all the freaking Yankee fans I'm friends with. Hey Yankee fans: DON'T POST ANOTHER RUN SCORING AS YOUR STATUS, ANY MORON WHO CARES ALREADY KNOWS! AND IT'S ANNOYING!
On a side note, I'm very happy for you that it took billions of dollars in payroll to get to the World Series again. Money well spent. The Iraq War called, it wants its waste of money back.
Anyway, now I go to Oregon Employment. Very exciting website designed by a 70-year-old in a web-design class. I click through the forty pages I need to go through until I can job search. Nothing. Something interesting is happening to me. I am qualified for most jobs that pay up to $10 per hour. I am definitely not qualified for any job over $17. And all those in between, I seem to be missing one key thing. Neato. And so I went to school to...do what I did before I moved to Eugene? Understandably, this is depressing. Cum Laude is Latin for "doesn't mean jack shii unless you go to grad school or are related to someone important." I hate Latin.
So back to my day. It is now time for Oliver to sleep. I lovingly put him to bed, complete with reading stories, rocking, and snuggling. Take that child services! You cannot take my son! He loves the way I rock him and read! I do many excellent voices, and I am a source of endless entertainment for him!
Anyway, back to the computer I am growing to hate. Notice no writing lately? No? Well, I did. Not even much on the story, which is funny because one of my first thoughts when I was in that weird lay-off meeting was, "Well, at least now I can really work on the story." Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, no.
I now bog down on applying for one job that I don't think I really want but may pay me an OK wage or offer benefits or at least I need to dress kind of nice for. Sometimes I get through the application. Sometimes a crazy thing will happen like...complete this weird interactive quiz thing that will only take an hour. Since Oliver usually sleeps for two, I am game. Then about 45 minutes in, I will finish typing a two paragraph pile of crap about how I would upsell garbage, hit backspace which inexplicably takes me to the previous page, and spend the next two minutes resisting the urge to discus my laptop into the park across the street. I don't finish. I chalk it up to "it wasn't meant to be."
Then Nancy comes home. She hates seeing me like this, and wonders why I need to be crappy every day after work. I try to explain but I can't. Yes, Oliver watched a movie today. No we didn't go outside. Now I feel like a bad parent AND a useless part of civilization. I don't want to argue with her so I just stop talking. Inside the head is danger, and now I am starting to feel really down. Then I eat dinner. Then we watch a movie. Then I reflect on what I accomplished today. Then I am down.
I'll find a job tomorrow.
What the heck am I talking about? My temporary life. Remember, faithful readers, that I am jobless. And childcare-less. This truly is as simple as one plus one, and it equals two of us at home. (My friend George has recently been paying me to do some work on his house, but what I'm talking about here is all the other days.)
Yes, stay-at-home-dad. Mr. Mom. Fortunately, those are the only nicknames I know for it. And also unfortunately, because I hear them a lot! For the record, I would rather work. I love Oliver - a ton. He doesn't drive me crazy when we're alone, teaching him things is fulfilling, playing with him is actually fun for me too, and I feel great about our time together. But I'm learning something that I have in common with babies:
In spite of every fiber of my being crying out otherwise, I NEED STRUCTURE!
You want to know how I know? Here's my current structure:
I wake up when Oliver wakes up. At first it wasn't this way, because I couldn't sleep through Nancy getting up in the morning. No more. And Oliver can sleep until 9. Sounds good you say? Nope!
Now I'm up. I read the paper while I feed/ignore Oliver and myself. This seems to wind down around 10. At which point I justify to myself that if I put him in front of a movie to job-hunt then it's OK. The movie starts, I put away breakfast dishes, which often means I unload the dishwasher, and while I'm at it I may as well put the dryer on for the last 15 minutes (don't ask, long story and sore subject) because by the time I'm done with the dishes the dryer will be done and I might as well move the clothes over from the washer and now that the washer is empty I can run another load and Holy Crap! I forgot about putting the chickens out and gathering the eggs and (expletive) those hungry (expletives) are out of food again!? so I get that taken care of and now the second load of laundry is wrapping up in the dryer and I fold and put those away (Nancy will be soooooo happy!) and the movie is over.
I have to admit that sometimes at this point movie number two will happen. Go ahead, call child services. I deserve it. But hey! Sometimes it is Sesame Street, and I learned a lot from Sesame Street. I still remember -tion (shon shon shon shon!), for example.
Anyway, when this happens I will then finally get on the computer. Check the email. Nothing. Check Facebook (because of all the job offers that happen there!). Boring. And now I'm also irritated because of all the freaking Yankee fans I'm friends with. Hey Yankee fans: DON'T POST ANOTHER RUN SCORING AS YOUR STATUS, ANY MORON WHO CARES ALREADY KNOWS! AND IT'S ANNOYING!
On a side note, I'm very happy for you that it took billions of dollars in payroll to get to the World Series again. Money well spent. The Iraq War called, it wants its waste of money back.
Anyway, now I go to Oregon Employment. Very exciting website designed by a 70-year-old in a web-design class. I click through the forty pages I need to go through until I can job search. Nothing. Something interesting is happening to me. I am qualified for most jobs that pay up to $10 per hour. I am definitely not qualified for any job over $17. And all those in between, I seem to be missing one key thing. Neato. And so I went to school to...do what I did before I moved to Eugene? Understandably, this is depressing. Cum Laude is Latin for "doesn't mean jack shii unless you go to grad school or are related to someone important." I hate Latin.
So back to my day. It is now time for Oliver to sleep. I lovingly put him to bed, complete with reading stories, rocking, and snuggling. Take that child services! You cannot take my son! He loves the way I rock him and read! I do many excellent voices, and I am a source of endless entertainment for him!
Anyway, back to the computer I am growing to hate. Notice no writing lately? No? Well, I did. Not even much on the story, which is funny because one of my first thoughts when I was in that weird lay-off meeting was, "Well, at least now I can really work on the story." Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, no.
I now bog down on applying for one job that I don't think I really want but may pay me an OK wage or offer benefits or at least I need to dress kind of nice for. Sometimes I get through the application. Sometimes a crazy thing will happen like...complete this weird interactive quiz thing that will only take an hour. Since Oliver usually sleeps for two, I am game. Then about 45 minutes in, I will finish typing a two paragraph pile of crap about how I would upsell garbage, hit backspace which inexplicably takes me to the previous page, and spend the next two minutes resisting the urge to discus my laptop into the park across the street. I don't finish. I chalk it up to "it wasn't meant to be."
Then Nancy comes home. She hates seeing me like this, and wonders why I need to be crappy every day after work. I try to explain but I can't. Yes, Oliver watched a movie today. No we didn't go outside. Now I feel like a bad parent AND a useless part of civilization. I don't want to argue with her so I just stop talking. Inside the head is danger, and now I am starting to feel really down. Then I eat dinner. Then we watch a movie. Then I reflect on what I accomplished today. Then I am down.
I'll find a job tomorrow.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Wherever the FFFFFFF We Are
As some of you know, I recently went to three Pearl Jam shows: two in Seattle and one in Portland (or at least some place called Ridgefield, which actually isn't in Oregon at all, but that's what they're calling it and I will too).
I was as high as can be on life after the first show in Seattle because of a number of factors. I was in the 20th row, it was the first time I had seen any of Backspacer live, and they are one damn great rock band that gets better with every tour. So I went back to the house we were renting after the show, and Brad directed me to the message board on their website to see what people thought. This was a dangerous move.
I saw very quickly that a lot of "fans" out there like to complain about the crowd. I personally do not care, but apparently that makes or breaks a show for a lot of people. Not caring, I turned the computer off and somehow went to sleep that night.
The next day was show number two. I figured we'd be closer on this night, because I thought most people who only went to one show would go to the first one of the tour. (And as a brief explanation for those of you who don't know, fan club tickets get priority seating based on the fan club number. Basically, the lower the number the closer the seat, besides rows 1, 2, 9, and 10, which are lottery rows.) Imagine my surprise when I got to my seat and not only was it not on the floor, it was in the back corner of the arena.
Oh and by the way, this show was the BEST one I have ever been to. I have been to 32, including a small benefit show in Portland and Pearl Jam's 10th anniversary show which was very special. But night two in Seattle had great energy from the band, and an amazing setlist (which is very important when you've been to as many shows as I have).
But the seating thing was confusing, so afterward I went back to the message board to see if this happened to a lot of people. There were some around us, sure, but I had no idea how widespread the problem was.
As it turns out, not very. But it was a mistake, and the Ten Club more than made it up to me.
But that's not the point of this story. The point comes from the "Portland" show. And the fact that many people on the message boards talked about the crappiness of the crowds in Seattle. I didn't understand why so many people cared.
Remember how I said that the crowd doesn't matter? Not true. I realized that a crowd is a lot like government. The entire crowd represents the federal government, and this is what people usually judge. However, the immediate crowd is like local government, and this is what makes the most actual difference.
Anyway, my local crowd happened to be in the 8th row, the closest I've been besides possibly a show I saw in Dublin in 2000. I was stoked, to say the least. Plus everyone around me seemed really cool. Dan talked to a girl from Buffalo because he had a Rochester shirt on, I saw the couple who traded tickets with Adam and Kira for the second night in Seattle, allowing them to be on the floor for the first time. It was great.
But the two seats in front of me remained vacant until after Ben Harper and the Relentless 7 were done (what fools miss that, by the way?) Right before Pearl Jam came on, the seats were finally occupied by two guys, both taller than me by at least four inches. No matter, though. I could see most of the stage if I looked in between them.
But nine songs in I noticed a problem. The band went in to "Evenflow," which happens to be from their first album. It is still popular amongst casual fans, but I wish they wouldn't play it again for 15 years because I've seen it dozens of times. But the fact of the matter is that I'm still seeing my favorite band, so I enjoy it for what it is worth. Two rows up from me, a group of people we're enjoying it for far more than it was worth. They were freaking out, reveling, headbutting, and swaying with arms around each other. Kind of embarrassing, actually. But I can understand on a level. And as long as people are having a good time and not infringing on my enjoyment, I don't care.
What I did care about was the two big guys in front of me. They instantly starting making fun of that group, swaying, laughing, and so on. Not to their faces, of course. But what was really annoying was that they made a comment to each other many times per song for the rest of the show. Every time that happened, my window to the stage was closed. Obviously, that was very annoying.
What really bothers me, however, is as follows. I started liking Pearl Jam because they were (and are) an emotions-on-the-sleeve kind of band. They felt real. They were certainly not elitist. And when I first listened to them, I was in high school. Anyone who's ever gone to high school knows that virtually everyone gets made fun of, it is very elitist, and the people who remain friends are a select group indeed. Pearl Jam was a group, at my school at least, who represented people who didn't want to be a part of the name-calling and idiocy.
So here I was, at a Pearl Jam show with the best seats I've ever had, completely distracted because the two morons in front of me couldn't stop acting like high schoolers. I was disgusted. And I wondered where their enjoyment of the show was. Was the best part when Ben Harper joined the guys for an awesome version of "Red Mosquito?"
Was it Eddie's duet with Corin Tucker (from Sleater-Kinney) on "Golden State?"
Or was it acting like a couple of jackasses and partially ruining my experience? I would much rather have people act like they've just won the lottery when the popular radio songs come on than make fun of those who do. If you're making fun of people, you have missed the point of the band and you should stop renewing your membership. Let the real fans up front. The ones who get it.
The funny thing was getting on the message boards after the show and seeing all the fans say how great the crowd was, compared to Seattle. Maybe overall, I don't really know. For me, not so much. Thanks a lot, a-holes.
I was as high as can be on life after the first show in Seattle because of a number of factors. I was in the 20th row, it was the first time I had seen any of Backspacer live, and they are one damn great rock band that gets better with every tour. So I went back to the house we were renting after the show, and Brad directed me to the message board on their website to see what people thought. This was a dangerous move.
I saw very quickly that a lot of "fans" out there like to complain about the crowd. I personally do not care, but apparently that makes or breaks a show for a lot of people. Not caring, I turned the computer off and somehow went to sleep that night.
The next day was show number two. I figured we'd be closer on this night, because I thought most people who only went to one show would go to the first one of the tour. (And as a brief explanation for those of you who don't know, fan club tickets get priority seating based on the fan club number. Basically, the lower the number the closer the seat, besides rows 1, 2, 9, and 10, which are lottery rows.) Imagine my surprise when I got to my seat and not only was it not on the floor, it was in the back corner of the arena.
Oh and by the way, this show was the BEST one I have ever been to. I have been to 32, including a small benefit show in Portland and Pearl Jam's 10th anniversary show which was very special. But night two in Seattle had great energy from the band, and an amazing setlist (which is very important when you've been to as many shows as I have).
But the seating thing was confusing, so afterward I went back to the message board to see if this happened to a lot of people. There were some around us, sure, but I had no idea how widespread the problem was.
As it turns out, not very. But it was a mistake, and the Ten Club more than made it up to me.
But that's not the point of this story. The point comes from the "Portland" show. And the fact that many people on the message boards talked about the crappiness of the crowds in Seattle. I didn't understand why so many people cared.
Remember how I said that the crowd doesn't matter? Not true. I realized that a crowd is a lot like government. The entire crowd represents the federal government, and this is what people usually judge. However, the immediate crowd is like local government, and this is what makes the most actual difference.
Anyway, my local crowd happened to be in the 8th row, the closest I've been besides possibly a show I saw in Dublin in 2000. I was stoked, to say the least. Plus everyone around me seemed really cool. Dan talked to a girl from Buffalo because he had a Rochester shirt on, I saw the couple who traded tickets with Adam and Kira for the second night in Seattle, allowing them to be on the floor for the first time. It was great.
But the two seats in front of me remained vacant until after Ben Harper and the Relentless 7 were done (what fools miss that, by the way?) Right before Pearl Jam came on, the seats were finally occupied by two guys, both taller than me by at least four inches. No matter, though. I could see most of the stage if I looked in between them.
But nine songs in I noticed a problem. The band went in to "Evenflow," which happens to be from their first album. It is still popular amongst casual fans, but I wish they wouldn't play it again for 15 years because I've seen it dozens of times. But the fact of the matter is that I'm still seeing my favorite band, so I enjoy it for what it is worth. Two rows up from me, a group of people we're enjoying it for far more than it was worth. They were freaking out, reveling, headbutting, and swaying with arms around each other. Kind of embarrassing, actually. But I can understand on a level. And as long as people are having a good time and not infringing on my enjoyment, I don't care.
What I did care about was the two big guys in front of me. They instantly starting making fun of that group, swaying, laughing, and so on. Not to their faces, of course. But what was really annoying was that they made a comment to each other many times per song for the rest of the show. Every time that happened, my window to the stage was closed. Obviously, that was very annoying.
What really bothers me, however, is as follows. I started liking Pearl Jam because they were (and are) an emotions-on-the-sleeve kind of band. They felt real. They were certainly not elitist. And when I first listened to them, I was in high school. Anyone who's ever gone to high school knows that virtually everyone gets made fun of, it is very elitist, and the people who remain friends are a select group indeed. Pearl Jam was a group, at my school at least, who represented people who didn't want to be a part of the name-calling and idiocy.
So here I was, at a Pearl Jam show with the best seats I've ever had, completely distracted because the two morons in front of me couldn't stop acting like high schoolers. I was disgusted. And I wondered where their enjoyment of the show was. Was the best part when Ben Harper joined the guys for an awesome version of "Red Mosquito?"
Was it Eddie's duet with Corin Tucker (from Sleater-Kinney) on "Golden State?"
Or was it acting like a couple of jackasses and partially ruining my experience? I would much rather have people act like they've just won the lottery when the popular radio songs come on than make fun of those who do. If you're making fun of people, you have missed the point of the band and you should stop renewing your membership. Let the real fans up front. The ones who get it.
The funny thing was getting on the message boards after the show and seeing all the fans say how great the crowd was, compared to Seattle. Maybe overall, I don't really know. For me, not so much. Thanks a lot, a-holes.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
He's Gone
So I had a couple of things cooking for this next installment. Once I had the pictures, I was going to write about taking Oliver to Fenway Park. It was really fun. I also had a reunion with Dave Garrow while in Rhode Island, and got to meet his family. It was really good to see him again, and I am looking forward to doing some more catching up with him. I was really looking forward to writing about these things.
Then something funny happened.
I was "laid off."
I put that in quotes because it is far too open-ended to have much of a meaning. And I don't plan to explain its definition necessarily in this entry. You will have to put it together for yourselves.
Here comes a sharp turn, but trust me when I tell you we're coming back to the subject at hand.
How do you like your movies? Do you like the ones that have happy endings? Or at least endings that make sense and everything is tied together with a neat little bow?
If your answer is "yes," I'm afraid this entry will disappoint. This entry is going to be one of those movies with an ending that makes you wonder or think. It will not be neat.
I am SURE that there are many of you out there who would love me to go absolutely nuclear on this situation I now find myself in. Not a happy ending for sure, but at least highly satisfying. Trust me when I tell you that I could, but you are going to have to settle for disappointment if it is carnage you wish for.
There are two main reasons for this. First, I am seeking employment elsewhere and it wouldn't look very good to a prospective employer if they found a blog post from me annhilating my previous job. Second, I'm not a big believer in burning bridges. Plus I truly feel that everything happens for a reason, not that it is very apparent right now.
However, I can imagine that many of you are confused as to how this situation is even possible, and that is the real reason that I'm here writing this. So here goes something.
I started at the Tin Woodsman (or Crosby & Taylor) in 2002, one year after Nancy started. I was a regular production worker. Those of you who know me (100% of all my readers, presumably) know that I work my butt off, I am intelligent, and I care. Naturally, this is what I did at the TW. So I became Tim's (the Production Manager at the time) right-hand man of sorts. He saw that I was enthusiastic, normal, and trustworthy and fed me responsibility. Of course I took it.
Eventually Tim went into more of a designer's role, and that opened up a spot for me as Production Manager. At around the same time, I was starting to have a school schedule that interfered more with work, and I should say that the flexibility of the work schedule was always something I appreciated very much. I was allowed to work when I could, and I never took that for granted.
Anyway, Production Manager. Change is the name of the game in life. Change is the absolute rule at the TW. I was always fine-tuning systems to make things more efficient. Or creating new ones from scratch. I could do this because I was working very closely with the entire process, and could see how each change would affect all the other steps. Sometimes, however, panic would set in and the system would be taken away from me. Obviously, this hurt a lot. It meant I wasn't doing a good enough job, or that what I did do every day was taken for granted or viewed as meaningless. And at first I battled back, because I cared about the company. I didn't give a damn if the system was mine, her's, or the homeless guy's in the car out front - I just wanted it to work. And I KNEW that the new system didn't take everything into consideration and would cause more harm than good.
This happened a few times. Each time got easier, because each time I cared less. I figured out that my obedience was more important than my concern, and realized that a vibrant company cannot be run on such values. Plus, I was finishing school soon and what better time to start a career? So I left.
The career lasted a month-and-a-half. The job was, quite frankly, awful. It was an impossible situation and if you are a prospective employer reading this, I'll be more than happy to explain why in an interview. Otherwise, just know that it was very bad.
So I asked to come back, tail between my legs. I was graciously accepted, and even asked what I could offer the company that I learned in school! Egads! I was given a week to compile a portfolio of sorts, and I was looking forward to putting my schooling to use for the company (and people) I cared about.
So many long stories to make short here. The schooling I ended up using most was what I learned in two classes about Microsoft Excel. What I wanted to do was reduce the constant paranoia of the place by helping create this thing called a budget.
See, there were always spasms of money fears. These resulted in "spending freezes" or mass layoffs. I felt like since I went to school for Finance, graduated Cum Laude (while working full-time, buying a house, remodeling that house, planning and executing a great wedding, having a child), I had some things I could offer the TW.
In fairness, my wife and two brothers work there and perhaps me knowing too much about the finances would cause conflicts. I can understand this thinking, although it is fear-based. What should be known is this; I was once in the break room taking one of the many TW quizzes, when I noticed an unusual sheet at the bottom of the pile. It took two seconds for me to realize that it was a hand-written list of all the employees and what they had made for the previous year. It took me two more seconds to realize that I was getting paid nearly half of what the previous Production Manager made for doing the same job. And it took me two more seconds to destroy it and never talk to anyone about it. In retrospect, perhaps I should've brought this up sooner.
I didn't complain, I didn't slack, and as a matter of fact I was constantly put in a position where I tried to explain why raises weren't coming so often for others. Now you know.
The fact of the matter is I was the perfect person for the job, and yet it never happened. If I were a son, obviously I'd still work there. But more importantly, I am convinced the money troubles that caused my departure would be history. I'm not saying I'd increase sales. I'm saying that there's more to planning the financing of a business than having an accountant. By definition, an accountant counts what already happened. Finance projects. A budget and a Statement of Cash Flows are powerful tools.
I promised I wouldn't get bitter, and I'm sorry if there seemed to be sour grapes here. I want to convey that I am grateful for a lot of things, like the aforementioned flexibility, the opportunity to work with friends, the child-care for Oliver's first two-and-a-half years, the satisfaction of taking a mess and ending with a nicely packed order.
But what may seem like anger is not. It's disappointment. The reason that people stay at the TW is because it is almost perfect. Employees can see perfection on the horizon. They think they can help get there, wherever "there" may be. For me it was helping ease the financial worries.
So close.
My fear today is this - for the first time since I've worked there the crew is going to feel like the possibility of perfection is gone and it's never coming back. And I will say this for myself - I can motivate an demoralized crew. But I am gone. I got in the ship with perfection, and set sail. The place that has given me so much, has paid for my home and wedding and Oliver's healthcare and my car and vacations, it is in trouble. And I can't help it anymore.
By the time you read this, you will have gotten on with your lives. Most likely you are going to work, or school, or another day of retirement. The same as always.
But for me, right now, it is Sunday night. When I wake up tomorrow, I'm not going to work.
Then something funny happened.
I was "laid off."
I put that in quotes because it is far too open-ended to have much of a meaning. And I don't plan to explain its definition necessarily in this entry. You will have to put it together for yourselves.
Here comes a sharp turn, but trust me when I tell you we're coming back to the subject at hand.
How do you like your movies? Do you like the ones that have happy endings? Or at least endings that make sense and everything is tied together with a neat little bow?
If your answer is "yes," I'm afraid this entry will disappoint. This entry is going to be one of those movies with an ending that makes you wonder or think. It will not be neat.
I am SURE that there are many of you out there who would love me to go absolutely nuclear on this situation I now find myself in. Not a happy ending for sure, but at least highly satisfying. Trust me when I tell you that I could, but you are going to have to settle for disappointment if it is carnage you wish for.
There are two main reasons for this. First, I am seeking employment elsewhere and it wouldn't look very good to a prospective employer if they found a blog post from me annhilating my previous job. Second, I'm not a big believer in burning bridges. Plus I truly feel that everything happens for a reason, not that it is very apparent right now.
However, I can imagine that many of you are confused as to how this situation is even possible, and that is the real reason that I'm here writing this. So here goes something.
I started at the Tin Woodsman (or Crosby & Taylor) in 2002, one year after Nancy started. I was a regular production worker. Those of you who know me (100% of all my readers, presumably) know that I work my butt off, I am intelligent, and I care. Naturally, this is what I did at the TW. So I became Tim's (the Production Manager at the time) right-hand man of sorts. He saw that I was enthusiastic, normal, and trustworthy and fed me responsibility. Of course I took it.
Eventually Tim went into more of a designer's role, and that opened up a spot for me as Production Manager. At around the same time, I was starting to have a school schedule that interfered more with work, and I should say that the flexibility of the work schedule was always something I appreciated very much. I was allowed to work when I could, and I never took that for granted.
Anyway, Production Manager. Change is the name of the game in life. Change is the absolute rule at the TW. I was always fine-tuning systems to make things more efficient. Or creating new ones from scratch. I could do this because I was working very closely with the entire process, and could see how each change would affect all the other steps. Sometimes, however, panic would set in and the system would be taken away from me. Obviously, this hurt a lot. It meant I wasn't doing a good enough job, or that what I did do every day was taken for granted or viewed as meaningless. And at first I battled back, because I cared about the company. I didn't give a damn if the system was mine, her's, or the homeless guy's in the car out front - I just wanted it to work. And I KNEW that the new system didn't take everything into consideration and would cause more harm than good.
This happened a few times. Each time got easier, because each time I cared less. I figured out that my obedience was more important than my concern, and realized that a vibrant company cannot be run on such values. Plus, I was finishing school soon and what better time to start a career? So I left.
The career lasted a month-and-a-half. The job was, quite frankly, awful. It was an impossible situation and if you are a prospective employer reading this, I'll be more than happy to explain why in an interview. Otherwise, just know that it was very bad.
So I asked to come back, tail between my legs. I was graciously accepted, and even asked what I could offer the company that I learned in school! Egads! I was given a week to compile a portfolio of sorts, and I was looking forward to putting my schooling to use for the company (and people) I cared about.
So many long stories to make short here. The schooling I ended up using most was what I learned in two classes about Microsoft Excel. What I wanted to do was reduce the constant paranoia of the place by helping create this thing called a budget.
See, there were always spasms of money fears. These resulted in "spending freezes" or mass layoffs. I felt like since I went to school for Finance, graduated Cum Laude (while working full-time, buying a house, remodeling that house, planning and executing a great wedding, having a child), I had some things I could offer the TW.
In fairness, my wife and two brothers work there and perhaps me knowing too much about the finances would cause conflicts. I can understand this thinking, although it is fear-based. What should be known is this; I was once in the break room taking one of the many TW quizzes, when I noticed an unusual sheet at the bottom of the pile. It took two seconds for me to realize that it was a hand-written list of all the employees and what they had made for the previous year. It took me two more seconds to realize that I was getting paid nearly half of what the previous Production Manager made for doing the same job. And it took me two more seconds to destroy it and never talk to anyone about it. In retrospect, perhaps I should've brought this up sooner.
I didn't complain, I didn't slack, and as a matter of fact I was constantly put in a position where I tried to explain why raises weren't coming so often for others. Now you know.
The fact of the matter is I was the perfect person for the job, and yet it never happened. If I were a son, obviously I'd still work there. But more importantly, I am convinced the money troubles that caused my departure would be history. I'm not saying I'd increase sales. I'm saying that there's more to planning the financing of a business than having an accountant. By definition, an accountant counts what already happened. Finance projects. A budget and a Statement of Cash Flows are powerful tools.
I promised I wouldn't get bitter, and I'm sorry if there seemed to be sour grapes here. I want to convey that I am grateful for a lot of things, like the aforementioned flexibility, the opportunity to work with friends, the child-care for Oliver's first two-and-a-half years, the satisfaction of taking a mess and ending with a nicely packed order.
But what may seem like anger is not. It's disappointment. The reason that people stay at the TW is because it is almost perfect. Employees can see perfection on the horizon. They think they can help get there, wherever "there" may be. For me it was helping ease the financial worries.
So close.
My fear today is this - for the first time since I've worked there the crew is going to feel like the possibility of perfection is gone and it's never coming back. And I will say this for myself - I can motivate an demoralized crew. But I am gone. I got in the ship with perfection, and set sail. The place that has given me so much, has paid for my home and wedding and Oliver's healthcare and my car and vacations, it is in trouble. And I can't help it anymore.
By the time you read this, you will have gotten on with your lives. Most likely you are going to work, or school, or another day of retirement. The same as always.
But for me, right now, it is Sunday night. When I wake up tomorrow, I'm not going to work.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
The First Annual Trent Family Camping Trip
I love living in a city. I love being able to ride my bike to work, or the store, or on a bike path that hugs the river bank. I love being able to talk to people simply by stepping out on my front porch. I really love having my house connected to electricity and the city's sewer and water systems.
But sometimes it is great to get away. In fact, my family is so confident that we will like getting away from the city at least once a year that we have decided to hold an annual Trent Family camping trip. We recently wrapped up year number one.
This first of many camping trips involved the following: myself, Nancy, Oliver, Dan, Cortney, Nolan, Margo (or perhaps Margot, either way she's Dan & Cortney's dog), Kaytlin (Cortney's sister), Adam, and Kira. Nancy, Oliver and I had scouted out a campground a few weeks before and deemed it fit to hold such a group of wingnuts and entertain us at the same time. The campground is called Rujada, is about 45 minutes from Eugene, and it is the poop (I wanted to use a different word here, but I promised a long time ago to keep it clean).
I learned two very important lessons.
1. I love camping.
2. If Dan is responsible for bringing something to the campground, make sure he actually brings it. See exhibit #1 below. It is me using the "coffee grinder." Yes, Dan was responsible for coffee.
He was also responsible for wood, didn't bring any, but more than made up for it. You see, Dan has a problem. He desperately needs to burn things, and he will stop at nothing to do so. No firewood would normally be a problem when meals for two days are planned with fire in mind. However, the Lord of Camping provided Dan with a thing called the woods. These woods were teeming with things like fallen trees, loose sticks, and moss (all of which ran the entire wet/dry spectrum). And Dan's "problem" passed quickly to Adam. The two of them spent virtually the entire time either (a) procuring burnable matter or (b) burning what they had just collected. Basically they were either in front of the fire or in the woods. Seriously, at one point Dan had a fire going at his camp even though the food was being prepared at ours. When I asked him why this was, he said, "Why not?" Why not indeed.
I must interject a small aside here. The funniest part of the entire trip was when I was standing around minding my own business, and suddenly Dan and Adam appeared from out of nowhere carrying a freaking tree. Actually, a tree is not an accurate description of what they were carrying, just what it looked like. What they actually had was an ecosystem. Adam tried to burn a part of it for hours, and even though the fire was nuclear around it, this log was more water than wood and caused a dead spot in the kiln. When I decided to investigate the rest of the tree, it fell apart in my hands and crawly things I've never seen before emerged from every crevice. But they grabbed it because, "you could just push it over." Good enough.
Anyway, back to Dan. Keep in mind he did all of his work with a small hatchet and a pruning saw. But Dan is a tireless worker, especially when there's an addiction to feed. So he'd have his gigantic piles of wood - the tiny sticks, the larger sticks, and the logs - all sorted out and ready to go at all times. The strange thing about Dan though is that if the flames drop below 10 feet high, he'll start adding wood. Or poking, but this tends to diminish the fire because Dan isn't actually good at working with a fire, he simply excels due to the sheer amount that he burns. But when he adds wood, he adds the sticks. In order to avoid a brain aneurysm, I usually busy myself elsewhere at this point. Besides, would you want to mess with this guy?
Back to lesson #1. I love camping. The woods are a peaceful and wonderful place to recharge the batteries and remind me that there's a lot of distracting noise in my life. Getting away from that noise has a remarkable centering effect. Plus, our campground has a creek that's perfect for swimming in or skipping rocks (which pleases Oliver as much as it does me), a 1.9 mile trail that is beautiful, and a bathroom with flushable toilets. And oh yeah, I sprayed myself with bug spray zero times, once for every mosquito bite I got. Eat your hearts out, non-Oregonians.
The best part of camping is not having to do ANYTHING! Everything is based around meals. Prep breakfast, cook it, clean up. Make a butt-load of coffee, consume, repeat. That's it! The next thing on the to-do list is lunch. That is a huge chunk of time to be filled with nothing, and I love it. Don't get me wrong, I love having a clean house and clean clothes and clean dishes and watered plants and cats that are fed and chickens that are fed and watered and grass that's less than two feet high and laundry that's put somewhere other than on my floor, but sometimes it's great to NOT DO THOSE THINGS for two days in a row. Whew.
At one point, I put Oliver down for a nap. I read him some stories, and snuggled him because he's cute and I love him very much (and he's soft and smells good), and I got a little tired. This feeling happens at home sometimes, and I'm usually roused by the need to go help Nancy do something. However, when camping this happens:
The best part? I will never know how long I was in there. It could've been 5 minutes or an hour, but it didn't matter.
But sometimes it is great to get away. In fact, my family is so confident that we will like getting away from the city at least once a year that we have decided to hold an annual Trent Family camping trip. We recently wrapped up year number one.
This first of many camping trips involved the following: myself, Nancy, Oliver, Dan, Cortney, Nolan, Margo (or perhaps Margot, either way she's Dan & Cortney's dog), Kaytlin (Cortney's sister), Adam, and Kira. Nancy, Oliver and I had scouted out a campground a few weeks before and deemed it fit to hold such a group of wingnuts and entertain us at the same time. The campground is called Rujada, is about 45 minutes from Eugene, and it is the poop (I wanted to use a different word here, but I promised a long time ago to keep it clean).
I learned two very important lessons.
1. I love camping.
2. If Dan is responsible for bringing something to the campground, make sure he actually brings it. See exhibit #1 below. It is me using the "coffee grinder." Yes, Dan was responsible for coffee.
He was also responsible for wood, didn't bring any, but more than made up for it. You see, Dan has a problem. He desperately needs to burn things, and he will stop at nothing to do so. No firewood would normally be a problem when meals for two days are planned with fire in mind. However, the Lord of Camping provided Dan with a thing called the woods. These woods were teeming with things like fallen trees, loose sticks, and moss (all of which ran the entire wet/dry spectrum). And Dan's "problem" passed quickly to Adam. The two of them spent virtually the entire time either (a) procuring burnable matter or (b) burning what they had just collected. Basically they were either in front of the fire or in the woods. Seriously, at one point Dan had a fire going at his camp even though the food was being prepared at ours. When I asked him why this was, he said, "Why not?" Why not indeed.
I must interject a small aside here. The funniest part of the entire trip was when I was standing around minding my own business, and suddenly Dan and Adam appeared from out of nowhere carrying a freaking tree. Actually, a tree is not an accurate description of what they were carrying, just what it looked like. What they actually had was an ecosystem. Adam tried to burn a part of it for hours, and even though the fire was nuclear around it, this log was more water than wood and caused a dead spot in the kiln. When I decided to investigate the rest of the tree, it fell apart in my hands and crawly things I've never seen before emerged from every crevice. But they grabbed it because, "you could just push it over." Good enough.
Anyway, back to Dan. Keep in mind he did all of his work with a small hatchet and a pruning saw. But Dan is a tireless worker, especially when there's an addiction to feed. So he'd have his gigantic piles of wood - the tiny sticks, the larger sticks, and the logs - all sorted out and ready to go at all times. The strange thing about Dan though is that if the flames drop below 10 feet high, he'll start adding wood. Or poking, but this tends to diminish the fire because Dan isn't actually good at working with a fire, he simply excels due to the sheer amount that he burns. But when he adds wood, he adds the sticks. In order to avoid a brain aneurysm, I usually busy myself elsewhere at this point. Besides, would you want to mess with this guy?
Back to lesson #1. I love camping. The woods are a peaceful and wonderful place to recharge the batteries and remind me that there's a lot of distracting noise in my life. Getting away from that noise has a remarkable centering effect. Plus, our campground has a creek that's perfect for swimming in or skipping rocks (which pleases Oliver as much as it does me), a 1.9 mile trail that is beautiful, and a bathroom with flushable toilets. And oh yeah, I sprayed myself with bug spray zero times, once for every mosquito bite I got. Eat your hearts out, non-Oregonians.
The best part of camping is not having to do ANYTHING! Everything is based around meals. Prep breakfast, cook it, clean up. Make a butt-load of coffee, consume, repeat. That's it! The next thing on the to-do list is lunch. That is a huge chunk of time to be filled with nothing, and I love it. Don't get me wrong, I love having a clean house and clean clothes and clean dishes and watered plants and cats that are fed and chickens that are fed and watered and grass that's less than two feet high and laundry that's put somewhere other than on my floor, but sometimes it's great to NOT DO THOSE THINGS for two days in a row. Whew.
At one point, I put Oliver down for a nap. I read him some stories, and snuggled him because he's cute and I love him very much (and he's soft and smells good), and I got a little tired. This feeling happens at home sometimes, and I'm usually roused by the need to go help Nancy do something. However, when camping this happens:
The best part? I will never know how long I was in there. It could've been 5 minutes or an hour, but it didn't matter.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Section 5 - Part I
Yeah, I know, two posts in one day. But I've decided to split Section 5 into two parts due to its length and subject matter. It's almost frightening how fast the story is starting to move, and my main fear is that the momentum will be difficult to maintain. But oh well, that's a problem I'm ready to tackle. How about you other authors? Are YOU getting ready, because this puppy is moving fast! (I won't hyperlink this whole thing for fun, just the word McBubbins).
Happy Reading!
Happy Reading!
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