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/
Monday, November 2, 2009
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!
Sunday, August 2, 2009
I Love to Write!
This blog has started something amazing, at least for me. I've discovered that I really, really like writing. A lot. I've had a lot of "hobbies" throughout my life, and I currently love music (see previous post), play both softball and basketball in leagues, watch movies and TV series on Netflix, and I even started playing Fantasy Baseball this year. But I have not felt so passionate about something as I have with writing since my attachments and desires were much less mature.
When I think about writing, the technical aspects that is, I am afraid. I am NOT a writer in any traditional sense. I took two writing classes in college, and a news-writing class (which is where most of what I know about proper sentence and paragraph structure comes from). That's it. Sure, I learned about business and memo writing at the U of O, but certainly nothing that would lead me to believe that I would be passionate about this endeavor. When I went back to school, I was going to be a math teacher, after all! And in the end I was a finance major. Something is not adding up.
I can spell pretty well, but I get confused as to when to use a colon or semicolon. I know that the comma or period goes before the closing of a quote, even though it looks wrong. But I don't think about adverbs and pronouns, or even adjectives. I just don't care about them. I use commas, but only to express how I want that sentence to sound, like the pauses in my head.
When I took a basic level writing class at community college, the teacher told me that maybe I should try a creative writing class because that would help me find my voice. Before her, I never heard one positive thing about my writing from any teacher I'd ever had. And even though she was telling me I was creative, all I heard was that I sounded generic. I never took a creative writing class, and I thought I'd be a journal writer at best for the rest of my life.
And then the blog idea came along. Mostly because I wasn't journaling, I had a new laptop, and I thought some of you may like knowing what Oliver was up to from time to time. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought it would turn into this. And by "this" I mean the level at which I would love it. Don't get me wrong, nothing else of great consequence has happened. I have a few confused "friends" on Facebook who think I actually won a Pulitzer, but alas I have not (yet!).
It is funny to contrast this post with an earlier one I wrote about fulfillment. At that point I thought that it was perhaps a career that I needed and I was wrong. It was simply something I love to do that I needed, and I have found it. The story that I'm writing with others may turn out to be slow, boring, sophmoric, juvenile, poorly done or all of the above, but I don't care at all! It is a thrilling ride for me to be on, and when it's done I will keep going. Because I have found my voice, and I don't plan on stifling it ever again. I can finally express myself without tripping over my words, or worrying what the other person is thinking.
I have found an outlet, and people are actually plugging in to it. Thank you to everyone who has encouraged me to write and don't care if I'm not "trained" to do it. Thank you for showing me that I don't need to be paid by something in order to love it fully. Thanks for taking a couple minutes, or many minutes, out of your day to care about what I've written. It is very flattering. Thank you.
When I think about writing, the technical aspects that is, I am afraid. I am NOT a writer in any traditional sense. I took two writing classes in college, and a news-writing class (which is where most of what I know about proper sentence and paragraph structure comes from). That's it. Sure, I learned about business and memo writing at the U of O, but certainly nothing that would lead me to believe that I would be passionate about this endeavor. When I went back to school, I was going to be a math teacher, after all! And in the end I was a finance major. Something is not adding up.
I can spell pretty well, but I get confused as to when to use a colon or semicolon. I know that the comma or period goes before the closing of a quote, even though it looks wrong. But I don't think about adverbs and pronouns, or even adjectives. I just don't care about them. I use commas, but only to express how I want that sentence to sound, like the pauses in my head.
When I took a basic level writing class at community college, the teacher told me that maybe I should try a creative writing class because that would help me find my voice. Before her, I never heard one positive thing about my writing from any teacher I'd ever had. And even though she was telling me I was creative, all I heard was that I sounded generic. I never took a creative writing class, and I thought I'd be a journal writer at best for the rest of my life.
And then the blog idea came along. Mostly because I wasn't journaling, I had a new laptop, and I thought some of you may like knowing what Oliver was up to from time to time. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought it would turn into this. And by "this" I mean the level at which I would love it. Don't get me wrong, nothing else of great consequence has happened. I have a few confused "friends" on Facebook who think I actually won a Pulitzer, but alas I have not (yet!).
It is funny to contrast this post with an earlier one I wrote about fulfillment. At that point I thought that it was perhaps a career that I needed and I was wrong. It was simply something I love to do that I needed, and I have found it. The story that I'm writing with others may turn out to be slow, boring, sophmoric, juvenile, poorly done or all of the above, but I don't care at all! It is a thrilling ride for me to be on, and when it's done I will keep going. Because I have found my voice, and I don't plan on stifling it ever again. I can finally express myself without tripping over my words, or worrying what the other person is thinking.
I have found an outlet, and people are actually plugging in to it. Thank you to everyone who has encouraged me to write and don't care if I'm not "trained" to do it. Thank you for showing me that I don't need to be paid by something in order to love it fully. Thanks for taking a couple minutes, or many minutes, out of your day to care about what I've written. It is very flattering. Thank you.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Pearl Jam
I know that there are at least a couple of you out there who like to read what I write. And it is to you that I apologize that the Oliver McBubbins story has consumed me lately. However, it is a very exciting project that also involves writing, and there's only so much time for that with a family that I love so dearly.
But I'm back. And if you're anything like me, you like to know some things about the author. When I like a book, I'll read the "about the author" many times as I wrap my reading up for the night. I'm not really sure why, but it makes me feel closer to them. Just know that once the story that is being written is done, you'll know plenty about (at least) one author.
As an aside, one of the reasons I love the story so much is that it is letting me express what I believe to be universal truths in a way that is enjoyable to read. I am determined not to beat people over the head with what I believe, but I feel a strong need to express in words what I think everyone feels deep down inside yet cannot explain.
Which leads me to the point of this "story." I am made up of many things; my mother, father, environment growing up, influence of friends, experiences, interests, aptitudes...the list can go on for a long time. But a certain band has recently announced a new tour and is releasing an album soon, and it has reminded me that I most certainly would not be Who I Am without their influence. I would like to share with you the importance that music can have on a person.
Of course, I am talking about Pearl Jam.
It may be interesting to think that a band best remembered for flannel shirts and grunge music can be so important. Many people don't know that they're still around. I for one sometimes wonder if I'm becoming that old person watching their favorite band at the county fair - that the times have completely passed me by.
I don't think that's possible, in this instance. I'll explain why that is.
Pearl Jam has always paralleled my life. At first, they were raw emotion and I was 17. Enough said. But they were right on the heels of a generation of meaningless lyrics, and Eddie Vedder was introspective. It was like a light bulb went on for me. I thought they were speaking for me, and amazingly they were popular. Which meant a lot of people felt like me.
But that emotion quickly turned to anger. The band was angry about their loss of privacy, while I was simply rebelling against my mother. This lasted from 1994-1995, at which time my mother and I (coincidentally?) had our biggest fights. It's when she had the grace to kick me out of the house. I had somewhere to go though - Vitalogy. Nice and angry at the "establishment" while being musically excellent. It was like a mirror for me.
But then I moved to Seattle, started reading about a variety of beliefs, and looked inside of myself for a source of strength. I started taking things slowly, controlling my emotional state. I meditated. I wrote. I listened to the Grateful Dead and I explored some things that I probably shouldn't write about here (but you may be able to guess). I actually started growing up. And that concerned me with regards to Pearl Jam.
They had an album, No Code, coming out in 1996. I hoped against hope that it would not be angry, because I didn't have that much anger left inside of me anymore. I was in Seattle at the time, and that's (fittingly) where I bought the album. I took it to the hotel I was staying at, apprehensively put it in my discman, and pressed play. The first thing I heard was this.
I was completely blown away. For the first three albums I was the student. This time, it felt like the band had caught up to ME! Ironically, this was the first album they put out that didn't sell a bazillion copies, but I didn't care at all. We could still be friends.
The journey of self-discovery wove its way through the next two albums, Yield and Binaural. This was the era when I saw them the most, traveling as far as the UK to do so. (Brad and I also drove across the country and did a mini-tour as soon as I settled my priest/molestation trial. This saved my sanity). The thing about Pearl Jam is the live experience. First off, they're really freaking good. Second, Eddie is obviously connected to the fans. And each show gives another glimpse into what he stands for and what they are all about as a band. By now I have put together a pretty nice quilt made up of patches of belief and connection gathered at each show.
Which brings me closer to the present. I need to say that I don't like war. At all. This isn't a very strong statement viewed in a vacuum, and I understand that the world does not operate in one. That being said, there were plenty of people who thought that war was a good idea because it was packaged in a box of fear and sold by some pretty convincing cowboys. Since I am not a moron and I remembered how not-in-any-way-threatening Iraq was in the early nineties, I felt like perhaps a coalition to remove Saddam Hussein from power would be better than "shock and awe" wrapped in an American flag.
So I was pissed.
By now you may have guessed that Pearl Jam was too. Check out Riot Act if you don't believe me. Green Day and Radiohead got more publicity for their anti-Bush efforts, and that's because they were more direct. What I love (and sometimes am frustrated with) about Pearl Jam is that they barely ever go after people. They simply state their truths, and you can take it or leave it. There is some anger, and there is always hope. Perhaps it's ignorance, or maturity, but at least it's hope.
And in the midst of all the crap, Pearl Jam quietly gave us this. I know Eddie can be difficult to understand, so here are the lyrics if you need them. (And for those of you who email me and wonder what it means, lbc stands for Love Boat Captain).
The next album, which was self-titled, further questioned our go-it-alone strategy and offered a voice of support to the average working person. This is one reason I love them so much - in spite of all the success they are still grounded. They still relate.
And now that I am searching so desperately for what to do next, I wonder what gift I will receive on September 20th. I wonder if they will reverse what happened with No Code and somehow, some way, show me what to do next. I know it seems implausible and immature to rely on a band for direction and I'm really not. But would you blame me if I did?
Friday, June 19, 2009
Section 3
So here we are. And not without some difficulty. First, Derrik is currently busy, so Kira and I decided to tackle this section as a team. Second, this blog is terrible for formatting. Therefore, to see the story please click on the title of this post or here. Feel free to come back here to comment, or do so at the other site, or on Facebook, or nowhere (although feedback is preferred).
There are a million things I want to tell you before you read it, but I'll keep it short. First, copy and paste it to Word if you want. Maybe print it. It is LONG and this may make it easier to read. Also, it is the beginning of a story. We desperately want you to like it, but it's tough to make the beginning of a book overwhelmingly amazing. So we settled for pretty solid. Hope you agree.
This is NOT the final edit, but we just want to get moving so here it is. Choppiness and mistakes are sure to be found. There are multiple chapters here, plus a variety of stopping points that aren't labeled. And italics are dreams or thoughts, you decide which is which.
Think of this as a book please. I (we) understand that the computer is not the normal place to sit and read anything longer than two sentences. If you want to check this out, please treat it like a book and set aside some time for it. Otherwise you'll skim and stop reading after 5 minutes.
I'll hold the rest of my thoughts. If you like it, Kira's up next with Section 4, and I'll be right behind her with Section 5. They are already progressing nicely.
We hope you enjoy it!
There are a million things I want to tell you before you read it, but I'll keep it short. First, copy and paste it to Word if you want. Maybe print it. It is LONG and this may make it easier to read. Also, it is the beginning of a story. We desperately want you to like it, but it's tough to make the beginning of a book overwhelmingly amazing. So we settled for pretty solid. Hope you agree.
This is NOT the final edit, but we just want to get moving so here it is. Choppiness and mistakes are sure to be found. There are multiple chapters here, plus a variety of stopping points that aren't labeled. And italics are dreams or thoughts, you decide which is which.
Think of this as a book please. I (we) understand that the computer is not the normal place to sit and read anything longer than two sentences. If you want to check this out, please treat it like a book and set aside some time for it. Otherwise you'll skim and stop reading after 5 minutes.
I'll hold the rest of my thoughts. If you like it, Kira's up next with Section 4, and I'll be right behind her with Section 5. They are already progressing nicely.
We hope you enjoy it!
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