My first job was at a Burger King on US 1 in Titusville, FL, when I was 18. As everyone who has done it, working at a fast-food place is hell but, like war, you’re in this hell with a bunch of other people just like you so it ain’t so bad.
And I still think the food at BK is far superior to McDonald’s. I’ve walked into McDonald’s in BFE at 9pm. The place is a ghost town yet there are 4-5 sandwiches in each chute, wilting under the hot lamps. When I was in the trenches at Burger King, the only time we had 5 sandwiches in a chute was when the entire front was completely slammed and people were lined up out the door. And maybe this was only at the place where I worked but if we left a sandwich in the chute over 20 minutes (we were supposed to toss them after 10), we got yelled at. I heard from a guy that worked there that at McDonald’s, “if it’s not sold, it’s not old.”
But, man, that place was tough. Working the burgers and the fry racks at the same time, your brain would go into some frenetic, hyper zone. Of course, running in the back to gulp down Mountain Dew from a plastic glass with your name Sharpied onto it likely didn’t help keep things calm and mellow. And changeover was the worst. That was when we’d switch from serving breakfast to lunch but there was an hour overlap where we served both. Once I was trying to get a bag of chicken patties open in a hurry and when I couldn’t tear it open, I hacked at it with a big knife. Only trouble was my little finger was in the way resulting in a pulsing fountain of blood.
Other mishaps included a dropped gallon of mayonnaise and a case of frozen Whoppers. I did toss the ones flat on the floor but all the rest went into the cleansing inferno that was the flame broiler.
But those fry vats… god I remember that sweltering hellhole… slunk over the boiling oil, a rabid slave to the beeping timer… hauling a basket of hot, dripping fries from the cauldron and slinging it under the high-intensity heat lamps then mechanically tossing salt all over’em. I remember several times doing this even though some ass asked for “Fries. No salt.” which of course I would remember 0.2 seconds after salting them. So I’d have to drop another basket and go through it again. I say “ass” because I figure that most of the time, people ordered like this to get a fresh batch. Ask for one then, dangit. Grow a pair!
When I’d get a minute, I’d lunge into the walk-in freezer with the giant bags of rock hard fries and sit in the cool blackness trying to get my head straight. Then I’d hear the cry go out that a busload of seniors was pulling up and it’d be back into the meatgrinder for me.
But then for lunch, my special sandwich would be a bacon-double cheeseburger deluxe (meaning with lettuce, mayo, and tomato) fresh off the grill. Mmmmm…… never got old.
To end on a pleasant note, one of the – no, it WAS the worst task was to empty the cans of old fry grease. Every night, the old grease would be slopped into this 5-gallon can that rolled on a little cart. When the level of grease got to the top, you were supposed to wheel the can out back and dump it into the 55-gallon drum. But nobody wanted to do this so the they would let the can get filled ALL the way to the very rim with rancid, chunky, slimy liquid which would, of course, spill all over the place when I wheeled it to the drum.
And let me tell you. If the grease in the can was rancid, the yellow-green slop in the drum was absolutely overpoweringly disgusting. I would literally hold my breath for each step of the operation. I would stand around the corner from the dreaded drum and take a few breaths of relatively untainted air, clamp my lips shut, and bound in to remove the lid…go back for another breath then haul up the can to the lip of the drum and pour it in. The putrid crust that had formed on the top of the sludge would break and waves of stench would billow forth from the depths, driving me back, retching and gagging. Once, upon removing the lid, I found the bloated black body of a rat congealed in the thickened grease.
Merry Christmas!
Monday, December 24, 2007
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Yacht Club
A recent post on a friend’s blog got me thinking about the Yacht Club, a dive in Little 5 Points that was one of the joints I used to hang out at (around ten, yes TEN years ago!) until my friends and I discovered East Atlanta.
Apparently, the place had great food but I never found this out until a guy hosting a SuperBowl party around the corner got take-out barbecue from there. I did have a reuben there once. We were having dinner and a few beers before heading over to Variety Playhouse to see some band and the waitress came up behind me and spilled the contents (a greasy reuben, for chrissakes, AND bar fries!) of the sandwich platter over my shoulder, down the front of one of the shiny retro-y shirts I used to wear, and into my lap. My table-horts erupted in laughter, of course, but it was cut off a little short. In it’s past life, someone must have washed the shirt in lacquer because when I plucked the disheveled sandwich and the fries from it, there wasn’t a single spot on it.
Usually I stuck with beer. Crowded around the dartboard were stacks and stacks of cases of beer which, as a borderline alcoholic, I found comforting. One night, Ashim, Travis, Matt, and I were at a booth discussing normal edible items that became disgusting with quantity… mayonnaise, sugar, etc. This resulted in Ashim betting he could drink a bottle of ketchup. The bottle we grabbed was only ¾ full and he cut it with Guinness (which I think is more nauseating than straight) but he got it down. Another night, reminiscient of the famous Duff Gardens scene where Lisa drinks the water on the parody of the Small World ride, Matt entertained us by drinking the water out of those plastic water games that had been sitting on a shelf in that place for years.
Ah yes.
Apparently, the place had great food but I never found this out until a guy hosting a SuperBowl party around the corner got take-out barbecue from there. I did have a reuben there once. We were having dinner and a few beers before heading over to Variety Playhouse to see some band and the waitress came up behind me and spilled the contents (a greasy reuben, for chrissakes, AND bar fries!) of the sandwich platter over my shoulder, down the front of one of the shiny retro-y shirts I used to wear, and into my lap. My table-horts erupted in laughter, of course, but it was cut off a little short. In it’s past life, someone must have washed the shirt in lacquer because when I plucked the disheveled sandwich and the fries from it, there wasn’t a single spot on it.
Usually I stuck with beer. Crowded around the dartboard were stacks and stacks of cases of beer which, as a borderline alcoholic, I found comforting. One night, Ashim, Travis, Matt, and I were at a booth discussing normal edible items that became disgusting with quantity… mayonnaise, sugar, etc. This resulted in Ashim betting he could drink a bottle of ketchup. The bottle we grabbed was only ¾ full and he cut it with Guinness (which I think is more nauseating than straight) but he got it down. Another night, reminiscient of the famous Duff Gardens scene where Lisa drinks the water on the parody of the Small World ride, Matt entertained us by drinking the water out of those plastic water games that had been sitting on a shelf in that place for years.
Ah yes.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Thirty-nine-and-a-half foot pole
Oh wait, besides the Charlie Brown soundtrack, of course there are two other Christmas CD’s that are pretty decent. This one has all the songs from the TV specials except for Snow Miser which is on the 2nd one… damn! And this one has got a lot of older, be-boppy versions that you don’t hear often except for Feliz Navidad… double-damn!!
Friday, December 14, 2007
Up on the roofies, click, click, click...
I was going to go another little rant about Christmas songs but it looks like I’d only be repeating myself. But I must throw out something… ok, two things…
Winter Wonderland is a treacly number right out of Bedford Falls but that “we’ll say ‘no man’” bit in it brings up a sudden discordant image of Chong and Randy of the Redwoods hittin’ a spleef behind the snowman.
I still like Baby, It’s Cold Outside but in this day of rohypnol and kidney-robbing tales the line “Say, what’s in this drink” comes across just a little creepy.
Finally, unrelated to holiday tunes, telling a bunch of kids about how Christmas falls in the summer in Australia loses a bit of it’s impact when it’s 75° outside!
Winter Wonderland is a treacly number right out of Bedford Falls but that “we’ll say ‘no man’” bit in it brings up a sudden discordant image of Chong and Randy of the Redwoods hittin’ a spleef behind the snowman.
I still like Baby, It’s Cold Outside but in this day of rohypnol and kidney-robbing tales the line “Say, what’s in this drink” comes across just a little creepy.
Finally, unrelated to holiday tunes, telling a bunch of kids about how Christmas falls in the summer in Australia loses a bit of it’s impact when it’s 75° outside!
Saturday, December 08, 2007
What.... again?!
My friends and family have always known me to be one for misplacing things, most commonly my wallet and keys. I stress “misplacing” because, other than a single incident, the objects have always turned up. For some reason, I almost never place my stuff in a consistent location, choosing instead whatever horizontal surface is handy.
My Dad and I do this thing where we make a big deal over “The Checklist” whenever I leave after a visit where I physically show him the location of each of my belongings.
“Wallet?” “Check!”
“Keys?” “Check!”
“Glasses?” “Oh... wait a sec…”
I once lost my geek-famed HP-28S calculator in college and lived without one for 6 months. I was literally 2-3 days from buying a new one when someone finally noticed it in the back of a filing cabinet and called the number I had written on it.
In Puerto Rico for work, I left my pack in the middle of a public square after sunset and had to get the guy I was with to drive an extra hour and a half to go back and get it since my passport and wallet were inside. We knew it was going to be gone but no, it was there with $30 in cash inside.
Once, in the Keys, I lost my own when some friends and I were snorkeling. While we waited 3 hours for a locksmith to come, we swam around looking for them on the bottom of a flooded quarry. We finally found them inside the car.
Anyway, this week I went to Minnesota to visit a window factory, a window equipment OEM, and a refrigerator plant. I gave myself 2 whole “non-rush hour” hours to make the flight but because of a wreck on 400, I got to the airport with minutes to spare before the 45 minute check-in cutoff. I knew I was to late to go to the park’n’ride that I usually use and I knew I wasn’t going to make it to the desk in time to check-in bags so I ended up in the economy lot one row away from the last rummaging through my suitcase so I could leave my big bottle of contact lense solution in the car. I hurled it inside and a shuttle pulled up. I was about to get in when I realized my keys weren’t in my pocket. I started frantically searching my briefcase, my suitcase, both my coats (I had worn one for Atlanta but had my heavy coat on for Minnesota), and even my car. The shuttle drove off and I somehow ended up bumping the cardoor closed and still no keys.
I knew I was going to miss the flight if I didn’t get moving so began running to the terminal with my luggage and briefcase, wearing big, clunky boots, topped off with a heavy coat. No matter that I’m a runner, when I lunged up to the kiosk I was a mess. The time was 44 minutes before the flight… I had missed the cutoff! I frantically entered my info and made it on! It turns out (I think) that the 45 minute cutoff is only for checking-in bags.
Then, nearly 2 hours outside of Minneapolis by snow-scattered highway at the hotel lounge (apparently quite a hot spot of the St. Cloud scene) where a pretty decent (especially for no cover) blues band was playing, I ended up leaving my coat. The next morning, I walked through the now cleaned-up club without finding it and the staff couldn’t find so I headed coatless to the refrigerator plant.
The factory was only a few blocks from the hotel so I returned after. One of the clerks brought me in the office so I could look at the coat rack. No coat. And it was my nicest coat: a dark green pea coat kind of affair with kind of a Soviet look to it. Damn.
Then, off in the far corner of the office, I saw the edge of something greenish hanging on a chair. “Is that it?” I asked pointing. It was.
My brother-in-law (a helluva swell guy) met me at the airport with a spare set of keys and, yes, my keys were in the car.
Then, today at lunch, I returned to the office after a filling, soulless meal at Taco Bell. Five hours later, the guy behind the counter passed me my jacket.
My Dad and I do this thing where we make a big deal over “The Checklist” whenever I leave after a visit where I physically show him the location of each of my belongings.
“Wallet?” “Check!”
“Keys?” “Check!”
“Glasses?” “Oh... wait a sec…”
I once lost my geek-famed HP-28S calculator in college and lived without one for 6 months. I was literally 2-3 days from buying a new one when someone finally noticed it in the back of a filing cabinet and called the number I had written on it.
In Puerto Rico for work, I left my pack in the middle of a public square after sunset and had to get the guy I was with to drive an extra hour and a half to go back and get it since my passport and wallet were inside. We knew it was going to be gone but no, it was there with $30 in cash inside.
Once, in the Keys, I lost my own when some friends and I were snorkeling. While we waited 3 hours for a locksmith to come, we swam around looking for them on the bottom of a flooded quarry. We finally found them inside the car.
Anyway, this week I went to Minnesota to visit a window factory, a window equipment OEM, and a refrigerator plant. I gave myself 2 whole “non-rush hour” hours to make the flight but because of a wreck on 400, I got to the airport with minutes to spare before the 45 minute check-in cutoff. I knew I was to late to go to the park’n’ride that I usually use and I knew I wasn’t going to make it to the desk in time to check-in bags so I ended up in the economy lot one row away from the last rummaging through my suitcase so I could leave my big bottle of contact lense solution in the car. I hurled it inside and a shuttle pulled up. I was about to get in when I realized my keys weren’t in my pocket. I started frantically searching my briefcase, my suitcase, both my coats (I had worn one for Atlanta but had my heavy coat on for Minnesota), and even my car. The shuttle drove off and I somehow ended up bumping the cardoor closed and still no keys.
I knew I was going to miss the flight if I didn’t get moving so began running to the terminal with my luggage and briefcase, wearing big, clunky boots, topped off with a heavy coat. No matter that I’m a runner, when I lunged up to the kiosk I was a mess. The time was 44 minutes before the flight… I had missed the cutoff! I frantically entered my info and made it on! It turns out (I think) that the 45 minute cutoff is only for checking-in bags.
Then, nearly 2 hours outside of Minneapolis by snow-scattered highway at the hotel lounge (apparently quite a hot spot of the St. Cloud scene) where a pretty decent (especially for no cover) blues band was playing, I ended up leaving my coat. The next morning, I walked through the now cleaned-up club without finding it and the staff couldn’t find so I headed coatless to the refrigerator plant.
The factory was only a few blocks from the hotel so I returned after. One of the clerks brought me in the office so I could look at the coat rack. No coat. And it was my nicest coat: a dark green pea coat kind of affair with kind of a Soviet look to it. Damn.
Then, off in the far corner of the office, I saw the edge of something greenish hanging on a chair. “Is that it?” I asked pointing. It was.
My brother-in-law (a helluva swell guy) met me at the airport with a spare set of keys and, yes, my keys were in the car.
Then, today at lunch, I returned to the office after a filling, soulless meal at Taco Bell. Five hours later, the guy behind the counter passed me my jacket.
Sunday, December 02, 2007
I'll have a large fries with that dust, please.
Today, I completed my last section hike of the Appalachian Trail in Georgie: Hogpen Gap to Unicoi, 13.6 miles in 3 hours, 47 min. Not bad but the guy I went with finished about 35 minutes before me. He's doing the ING Marathon along with me in March so any trash-talking I was planning on is out the window.
Saturday, December 01, 2007
The F’ing Tree
Tonight was the start of the Christmas holiday in our household. This is really just a concession to Scrooge McDad… we would’ve probably put the tree up November 1 if it was up to Kerry. She grew up in Syracuse and spent 11 months out of each year snowbound so there was not much else to do than celebrate Christmas.While some headed north to the noble tree farms to cut down a live tree, I headed up into the attic to bring down the four boxes containing our 9’ Empire Spruce, purchased at B.J.’s but hand-crafted with love by Chinese artisans.
Although I’m typically a traditional guy and put off by “modern contraptions” like cellphones, electric knives, and escalators, I like the plastic tree. I’ve never felt quite right about cutting down a tree just for a holiday prop in your living room them ditching it out on the curb a month later. I know, I know… “they grow them for that” and all the other reasons for justifying arborcide but I just know I don’t like it.
I also brought down all the other Christmas chrap… seven 18-gallon bins and numerous boxes! And we have a relatively small place. I can’t imagine where some of the folks around here keep all of it. I was at a holiday party once where they had 3 huge trees and the place was crammed with “festive accoutrements”. They must have rented a truck and a couple o’guys to empty a few off-site storage units! Maybe there are consultants that people hire to holiday-ize their house. I can just picture warehouses jammed with Santa Teddy Bears, mile upon mile of tangled Cristmas lights, snowglobes, and boxcars of tinsel that the service uses… much like the places storing the tin Nehi signs, old sleds, rustic picture frames, mounted deer heads and all the other assorted wall knick-knacks that populate the theme restaurants of the world, all itemized and catalogued, ready for instant ambiance-setting.
Once ol’Dad got all the stuff down, I have to admit it was nice to sit, sipping egg nog and watching the kids help Mom put up the tree, all to the sounds of Vince Guaraldi. And then I had to put up the lights.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
One thing that's great
about having a 20" TV with no cable and tinfoil on the rabbit ears as the only television in the house is that when you visit friends and relatives with the giant hi-def home theater thing, it's like a night at the movies.
Still, when you're done oohing and aahing over the DVD's and the stuff on cable that you never get to see, the most popular channel is always that dumb screen with all the channel listings.
Freedom of choice is what you got.
Freedom from choice is what you need.
Still, when you're done oohing and aahing over the DVD's and the stuff on cable that you never get to see, the most popular channel is always that dumb screen with all the channel listings.
Freedom of choice is what you got.
Freedom from choice is what you need.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Big Muffins
Well, I’m a little late in getting back to this and it’s a lot late for me to be getting back to it right now. But a promise is a promise so here goes.
Got in at 11 last night from our annual Thanksgiving pilgrimage to Florida. Pretty much the same as always (not that I’m complaining, mind you). Tasty muffins and hi-def movies at my sisters’ place, the movies being “Pan’s Labyrinth” and “Transformers” and the muffins being Poppy Seed and Orange/Cranberry. Gifts for the kiddies and the beloved turkey dinner at my Mom’s plus the always entertaining late November dip in her development’s pool. And we wrapped it up at my Dad’s condo with the requisite German beer, balcony crosswords, and walks on the beach.
Not too shabby.
Too bad it involves two 10-12 hour roadtrips in holiday traffic along some of the most boring highways this side of the Mississip. Speaking of wrapping it up, I need to get to bed so here is one highlight of the freeway fun.
11pm at a dubious gas station in north Florida with a few characters laughing it up in the parking lot. This must have been a milltown because everything reeked. Liam and I are shuffling into the restroom and Liam says “My nose can’t wait to get back into the car!”
Got in at 11 last night from our annual Thanksgiving pilgrimage to Florida. Pretty much the same as always (not that I’m complaining, mind you). Tasty muffins and hi-def movies at my sisters’ place, the movies being “Pan’s Labyrinth” and “Transformers” and the muffins being Poppy Seed and Orange/Cranberry. Gifts for the kiddies and the beloved turkey dinner at my Mom’s plus the always entertaining late November dip in her development’s pool. And we wrapped it up at my Dad’s condo with the requisite German beer, balcony crosswords, and walks on the beach.
Not too shabby.
Too bad it involves two 10-12 hour roadtrips in holiday traffic along some of the most boring highways this side of the Mississip. Speaking of wrapping it up, I need to get to bed so here is one highlight of the freeway fun.
11pm at a dubious gas station in north Florida with a few characters laughing it up in the parking lot. This must have been a milltown because everything reeked. Liam and I are shuffling into the restroom and Liam says “My nose can’t wait to get back into the car!”
Monday, October 15, 2007
Time Off
Hi ho, Jimmy the Blog here.
I just came on to a) notice that I had posted the same blog twice and left it up for a week, and b) announce yet another hiatus. I've got a lot of stuff to do on the house, Liam's birthday is coming up, and my new responsibilities as a Cub Scout denleader are keeping me from blogging.
Rather than having you, my rabid fans, tune in eagerly each and every day only to be sorely disappointed, depressed, and unable to face another Jimless day, I'll let you know that I'll be back online sometime during the Thankgsgiving week, ready to shepherd my faithful flock into the holiday season.
I just came on to a) notice that I had posted the same blog twice and left it up for a week, and b) announce yet another hiatus. I've got a lot of stuff to do on the house, Liam's birthday is coming up, and my new responsibilities as a Cub Scout denleader are keeping me from blogging.
Rather than having you, my rabid fans, tune in eagerly each and every day only to be sorely disappointed, depressed, and unable to face another Jimless day, I'll let you know that I'll be back online sometime during the Thankgsgiving week, ready to shepherd my faithful flock into the holiday season.
Friday, October 05, 2007
Jade Panda Buddha Garden... Palace... Thingy
We’re going camping this weekend so since Kerry was busy packing and getting things ready, I picked up dinner at China Panda or whatever the place is that is a shiny, happy Boston Market-version of a real Chinese restaurant.
Like all places nowadays, there’s a million combinations you can order, platter this…value meal that…etc., etc. Kerry had e-mailed me what to get so I ordered two large sides and an entrée… all ala carte., which is apparently kind of a weird order given the fact that the original guy behind the counter had to go get a more experienced one. The new counter guy explained to me that it would be a better deal to get the platter. I’d save about two bucks.
Now some may think I should’ve went for the deal. After all, Team K works tirelessly on every front in the effort to save money. Being a bit player in the glue business is not the way to riches.
But in reality, I didn’t think about it at all. After all, going with the list is the easy choice by far.
One, my wife is a no-nonsense combination of Clark Howard and Martha Stewart with the nose of a bloodhound for a deal. And me, although I constantly work through costs and discounts when I’m doing quotes at the office, when I leave the building, my brain refuses to stop and calculate the price of the side of fried rice versus getting it with the freakin’ panda platter. So chances are, my wife picked the right choice.
Two, it’s a no-brainer anyhow. If I trust the counter guy and he’s wrong, I’m royally screwed. If I stick with the list and the guy was right, it’s Kerry’s fault.
No way, Jack. Get me what’s on this printout.
Like all places nowadays, there’s a million combinations you can order, platter this…value meal that…etc., etc. Kerry had e-mailed me what to get so I ordered two large sides and an entrée… all ala carte., which is apparently kind of a weird order given the fact that the original guy behind the counter had to go get a more experienced one. The new counter guy explained to me that it would be a better deal to get the platter. I’d save about two bucks.
Now some may think I should’ve went for the deal. After all, Team K works tirelessly on every front in the effort to save money. Being a bit player in the glue business is not the way to riches.
But in reality, I didn’t think about it at all. After all, going with the list is the easy choice by far.
One, my wife is a no-nonsense combination of Clark Howard and Martha Stewart with the nose of a bloodhound for a deal. And me, although I constantly work through costs and discounts when I’m doing quotes at the office, when I leave the building, my brain refuses to stop and calculate the price of the side of fried rice versus getting it with the freakin’ panda platter. So chances are, my wife picked the right choice.
Two, it’s a no-brainer anyhow. If I trust the counter guy and he’s wrong, I’m royally screwed. If I stick with the list and the guy was right, it’s Kerry’s fault.
No way, Jack. Get me what’s on this printout.
Monday, October 01, 2007
That's what I love about attics...
Most attics I suspect are filled with crap.
Mine is no exception but I think I’ve kept a pretty watchful eye on what goes in and out of it, a fact that is understandable considering the only way anything can get up there is clutched in my arms while I precariously ascend a painter’s ladder. And once within, I must cross over laid-down sheets of plywood making sure not to step near the edges or suffer something akin to the rake gag only with a hunk of plywood in the face not to mention a quick drop through the ceiling ala Inspector Clouseau.
After nearly falling through a dozen times, I ended up painting the edges with Day-Glo yellow which worked amazingly well… for about 3 years. One fateful day, I went though, smashing a hole in my garage ceiling and stopped only by my rear end impacting the edge of the plywood.
For some reason, the kids always want to go up there which is unfortunate because we keep some of the boundless extra toys up there… many of which are future surprise gifts. Liam pretty much goes along with the law of the land but Erin, on the other hand, can be very – “insistant” shall we say? - and she finally wore me down to where I told her she couldn’t come up because we had surprises for her up there that I didn't want her too see. Especially a plush Minty that sings a Christmas song that Erin loves.
Big mistake.
You see, I figured she’d completely understand the concept of surprise presents and why that was a good reason for her not to be allowed up in the attic. She did understand just fine and that is why her brain immediately switched into overdrive trying to work out how she could get her hands on those mysterious goodies up in the attic.
So she starts asking when she’ll get them. Christmas. No… sooner! Ok, just like when you picked up and threw away trash at the park when you hadn’t been asked to… when you do good things like that, maybe you’ll get a surprise.
Overdrive again. She starts talking about picking up pinecones and other chores.
“No, no Erin. I don’t mean now, “ I feebly implore. “Some time in the future.” As if she will suddenly chirp “Okay, Daddy” with a happy shrug and wander off to crayon and sticker-related pursuits.
Meanwhile, all this time as she’s trying the wheedle me into giving her a present, she’s on the phone with her Grandmother. It’s not uncommon for her to walk around for 10 –20 minutes with the phone on speaker mode gabbing away with relatives. It’s nice to live in the world of free long distance, eh?
Anyway, she’s spending way too much attention on the con and not on her own conversation with Grandma so I have her pass me the phone. So now I’m talking with my Mother-in-Law as I’m sweeping the pebbles off the stepping stones along the side of our house. Erin grabs the broom from me and goes to town on the sweeping and I praise her on her initiative forgetting entirely her scheme.
So, of course, upon finishing her task, she expects a surprise!
Surprised?
Mine is no exception but I think I’ve kept a pretty watchful eye on what goes in and out of it, a fact that is understandable considering the only way anything can get up there is clutched in my arms while I precariously ascend a painter’s ladder. And once within, I must cross over laid-down sheets of plywood making sure not to step near the edges or suffer something akin to the rake gag only with a hunk of plywood in the face not to mention a quick drop through the ceiling ala Inspector Clouseau.
After nearly falling through a dozen times, I ended up painting the edges with Day-Glo yellow which worked amazingly well… for about 3 years. One fateful day, I went though, smashing a hole in my garage ceiling and stopped only by my rear end impacting the edge of the plywood.
For some reason, the kids always want to go up there which is unfortunate because we keep some of the boundless extra toys up there… many of which are future surprise gifts. Liam pretty much goes along with the law of the land but Erin, on the other hand, can be very – “insistant” shall we say? - and she finally wore me down to where I told her she couldn’t come up because we had surprises for her up there that I didn't want her too see. Especially a plush Minty that sings a Christmas song that Erin loves.
Big mistake.
You see, I figured she’d completely understand the concept of surprise presents and why that was a good reason for her not to be allowed up in the attic. She did understand just fine and that is why her brain immediately switched into overdrive trying to work out how she could get her hands on those mysterious goodies up in the attic.
So she starts asking when she’ll get them. Christmas. No… sooner! Ok, just like when you picked up and threw away trash at the park when you hadn’t been asked to… when you do good things like that, maybe you’ll get a surprise.
Overdrive again. She starts talking about picking up pinecones and other chores.
“No, no Erin. I don’t mean now, “ I feebly implore. “Some time in the future.” As if she will suddenly chirp “Okay, Daddy” with a happy shrug and wander off to crayon and sticker-related pursuits.
Meanwhile, all this time as she’s trying the wheedle me into giving her a present, she’s on the phone with her Grandmother. It’s not uncommon for her to walk around for 10 –20 minutes with the phone on speaker mode gabbing away with relatives. It’s nice to live in the world of free long distance, eh?
Anyway, she’s spending way too much attention on the con and not on her own conversation with Grandma so I have her pass me the phone. So now I’m talking with my Mother-in-Law as I’m sweeping the pebbles off the stepping stones along the side of our house. Erin grabs the broom from me and goes to town on the sweeping and I praise her on her initiative forgetting entirely her scheme.
So, of course, upon finishing her task, she expects a surprise!
Surprised?
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Have spatula - will travel
I’ve only seen SpongeBob a few times and yes, I’ll agree with all the adults I know who love it…or at least did… I’ve mostly been out of touch with these folks lately and now it’s basically my kids and I who think it’s a riot.The other day there was an episode in which Pearl, the cetacean daughter of Mr Krabs was turning 16 and wanted a special birthday… mainly one in which her incredibly cheap Dad did not embarrass her in front of her friends. Trying to make up for past disasters, Mr Krabs gave SpongeBob his credit card and had him follow Pearl and her friends through the Mall and buy her a present that she would like.
Later, Pearl was facing yet another social catastrophe, the birthday party at the Krusty Krab had stale popcorn, a banner with “It’s a Boy!” with the “Boy” crossed out and “Girl” written in, a dripping sculpture carved out of crabmeat instead of ice, and cardboard “with real frosting” for cake.
Mr Krabs was attempting to console his hysterically weeping daughter when SpongeBob showed up with a truckload of presents… instead of just one gift, he had mistakenly bought everything she had oohed and aahed over at the Mall.
“Daddy, you bought all this for me?!” the delighted Pearl exclaims.
“I did?!” says Krabs unbelievingly in a Scoobyish tone. “Errr… I mean – “
And here is where genius steps in. The standard cartoon, sit-com, or heck even the typical Hollywood comedy would follow up with a sly “Oh yeah, I did! Anything for my little princess!” Darrin did this in practically every episode of in “Bewitched” and I think I’ve seen Raymond resort to this a few times as well..
But Krabs is cheap… EXTREMELY cheap. He had Squidward sing boy band songs, for chrissakes!
”Err… I mean –
I did?!” he repeats in exactly the same incredulous tone.
Remember, it’s the little things that make life worth living.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
911: 12/31/01 Syracuse, NY
[Note again that this is not me writing now how I recall the events of 911 but is all basically verbatim from my journal in which I am typically furiously trying to get the facts down on paper so I don’t forget later.]
We meet up and after the touching reunion between the Kruels, we get to Alexis’ friend’s place, which is in one of the millions of 4-6 story buildings that dominate the city. For a while, we’re hypnotized by the TV. We haven’t seen the unbelievable footage that the entire world was witnessing. Absolutely unbelievable.
Then we went up to the rooftop of the place and had our first all-encompassing view of the calamity. The apartment building stretched out as a plain before us studded with antennas, water towers, and vents, and roof gardens. Like foothills before a mountain range, the buildings in the distance grew higher and higher before becoming the gleaming towers of downtown Manhattan. Like a massive, ugly inky blot, the center of the otherwise beautiful morning scene was absolutely dominated by the hulking column of black smoke and brown dust which was a part of us as well in the form of a scratchy throat and a charred, acrid stench in our mouth and noses.
Then we began the long walk back to Brooklyn. In a spurious moment of “Who’s going to care with all this going on” I picked up a tallboy of Budweiser. I managed to get in touch with Matt on my cell at this point and described the weird scene: streaming masses, confused faces, the ever present cops (a comforting thing with the chaotic situation). I can’t remember exactly why we went across the Manhattan Bridge (I think that’s the name… whichever one is directly north of the Brooklyn Bridge). Maybe the Brooklyn Bridge was too crazy or maybe the Manhattan Bridge was just closer from Devora’s place… but I’m glad we did because the view of the Brooklyn Bridge covered with refugees with an American flag on one of the supports all backdropped with the terrible cloud was unforgettable. It was very strange and surreal…. Again like a movie… with hundreds of people walking across the bridge with a horrible catastrophe behind them… like “Godzilla” or “War of the Worlds”. I took some pictures from the bridge but again felt funny and somehow ashamed to.
You’d figure everyone would be somewhat united by this experience but I think there was an irritability in the air. Once, while Kruel was taking a picture he bumped into a guy… he was pissed and words were exchanged… Kruel was apologetic for the bumping but wouldn’t back down to the guy’s increasing threats. At one point, the guy made a comment like “There’s no cops here, buddy”. Maybe I’m wrong or putting more into his words than there was but it just seemed to be a black versus white thing with that statement and the way he said it.
The situation diffused on it’s own and we continued our exodus from the battleground… well, not much of a battle… the scene of the attack… Ground Zero as it’s called now.
We meet up and after the touching reunion between the Kruels, we get to Alexis’ friend’s place, which is in one of the millions of 4-6 story buildings that dominate the city. For a while, we’re hypnotized by the TV. We haven’t seen the unbelievable footage that the entire world was witnessing. Absolutely unbelievable.
Then we went up to the rooftop of the place and had our first all-encompassing view of the calamity. The apartment building stretched out as a plain before us studded with antennas, water towers, and vents, and roof gardens. Like foothills before a mountain range, the buildings in the distance grew higher and higher before becoming the gleaming towers of downtown Manhattan. Like a massive, ugly inky blot, the center of the otherwise beautiful morning scene was absolutely dominated by the hulking column of black smoke and brown dust which was a part of us as well in the form of a scratchy throat and a charred, acrid stench in our mouth and noses.Then we began the long walk back to Brooklyn. In a spurious moment of “Who’s going to care with all this going on” I picked up a tallboy of Budweiser. I managed to get in touch with Matt on my cell at this point and described the weird scene: streaming masses, confused faces, the ever present cops (a comforting thing with the chaotic situation). I can’t remember exactly why we went across the Manhattan Bridge (I think that’s the name… whichever one is directly north of the Brooklyn Bridge). Maybe the Brooklyn Bridge was too crazy or maybe the Manhattan Bridge was just closer from Devora’s place… but I’m glad we did because the view of the Brooklyn Bridge covered with refugees with an American flag on one of the supports all backdropped with the terrible cloud was unforgettable. It was very strange and surreal…. Again like a movie… with hundreds of people walking across the bridge with a horrible catastrophe behind them… like “Godzilla” or “War of the Worlds”. I took some pictures from the bridge but again felt funny and somehow ashamed to.
You’d figure everyone would be somewhat united by this experience but I think there was an irritability in the air. Once, while Kruel was taking a picture he bumped into a guy… he was pissed and words were exchanged… Kruel was apologetic for the bumping but wouldn’t back down to the guy’s increasing threats. At one point, the guy made a comment like “There’s no cops here, buddy”. Maybe I’m wrong or putting more into his words than there was but it just seemed to be a black versus white thing with that statement and the way he said it.The situation diffused on it’s own and we continued our exodus from the battleground… well, not much of a battle… the scene of the attack… Ground Zero as it’s called now.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
911: 12/29/01 Syracuse, NY
Ok, so after a while of hanging out at Alexis’ office listening to the radio and watch her instant message the Eastern Seaboard, Alexis decided to leave. We would meet up with Kruel near a friend of hers place up near where the Beastie Boys used to hang out (Garment District? Lower Eastside? Something like that… where Katz’ Deli is). Alexis was pretty intense… she cut up pieces of expensive fabric samples for us to breathe through (turns out we didn’t need them) and we brought the pair of scissors as a potential weapon. Looking back now it seems silly and I still think it was a bit paranoid of us even then but nobody really knew what was going on nor what could happen.
So we went down the stairwell and emerged out into chaos… crowds streaming north, cops everywhere, speculation, wild theories, some facts: no subways, bridges closed to vehicles. So we head off to meet Kruel.
So we went down the stairwell and emerged out into chaos… crowds streaming north, cops everywhere, speculation, wild theories, some facts: no subways, bridges closed to vehicles. So we head off to meet Kruel.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
911: Christmas Eve 2001 Atlanta
Sigh… again not continuing the whole war thing… Osama’s still not found although they’ve pretty much wrapped up the war in Afghanistan. I wouldn’t be surprised though if we go after Iraq or elsewhere. I’m sitting here in the airport… we got here 2-1/2 hours before out freakin’ plane takes off. And I used to swear I’d never get to the airport earlier than 30 minutes. Because of the 911 thing mostly… well, mostly because of Kerry’s insistence. I’d like to grab a beer at the Sam Adam’s schlocky airport bar behind me but the Team K spirit keeps me from paying airport prices.
[Two paragraphs of my usual praise of airport bars]
Security is, of course, tighter now especially since a few days ago a guy on a Paris-to-Miami flight got nabbed with explosives in his shoe. I saw two soldier guys in camouflage gear at the atrium where Liam pushed a luggage cart all over the place charming the waiting denizens. Oh well, we’re boarding soon. We’re sitting in the tail of the plane where they seem to put all the young families which works out great because no one feels bad when they’re rugrat’s cryin’.
[Two paragraphs of my usual praise of airport bars]
Security is, of course, tighter now especially since a few days ago a guy on a Paris-to-Miami flight got nabbed with explosives in his shoe. I saw two soldier guys in camouflage gear at the atrium where Liam pushed a luggage cart all over the place charming the waiting denizens. Oh well, we’re boarding soon. We’re sitting in the tail of the plane where they seem to put all the young families which works out great because no one feels bad when they’re rugrat’s cryin’.
911: Thanksgiving 2001 Atlanta?
I need to continue the 911 story… Liam, I know you’ll look back on the day we lost the Trade Center towers like I think of Vietnam or something but right now everyone’s still talking about it all the time, screensavers are full of flags along with every other car on the road, and I guess they’re going to get Osam Bin Laden soon… according to the “America Fights Back!” news stories.
911: 9/22 Lexington, KY (continued)
Since I didn’t have Kerry’s number, I called my Dad & Mom… Yes, yes, I’m ok… What?! You’re in New York? Oh my God! No, it’s fine… crazy but I’m fine blah blah. I listened to my message on my service and hear a calm-spoken Kerry say something to the effect of “Hey Jim, it’s Kerry… umm, anyway just calling to see how you’re doing down there. Give me a call. Love you… oh, we see that the World trade Center is on fire so we’re just wondering if you were down there - love ya - bye!” Talk about understatement! Apparently, this was after the first plane hit and the news is coming in saying the WTC is burning… they were watching it live when the 2nd plane came on the screen and impacted the other tower and the insanity was revealed and the world was changed. Right after this, Kerry was frantic and tried to call and sent out a mass e-mail telling everyone I was in NYC and had they heard from me.
Then Alexis got the above e-mail and sent a reply making Kerry feel better.
People were running around in the office… Should we get out? What’s going to happen? Will the dust come in the ventilation system? The other building collapsed and all this was repeated… people were walking the ashen streets covered in thick gray powder with ton cloths wrapped around their faces… it was like Mt. St. Helens or Pompeii. More surrealism.
I felt along with a few others (note, never did someone ask me who the Hell I was… par for the course, I guess) we should stick around till all the dust cleared then walk away when we could breathe normally but when fucking buildings are raining down around you, people tend to want to vacate… but the stay-faction won out for a little while.
Then Alexis got the above e-mail and sent a reply making Kerry feel better.
People were running around in the office… Should we get out? What’s going to happen? Will the dust come in the ventilation system? The other building collapsed and all this was repeated… people were walking the ashen streets covered in thick gray powder with ton cloths wrapped around their faces… it was like Mt. St. Helens or Pompeii. More surrealism.
I felt along with a few others (note, never did someone ask me who the Hell I was… par for the course, I guess) we should stick around till all the dust cleared then walk away when we could breathe normally but when fucking buildings are raining down around you, people tend to want to vacate… but the stay-faction won out for a little while.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
911: 9/22 Lexington, KY
Continued from here.
Alexi’s office… nutty! Phone calls: Hey, I’m ok, a plane hit the Trade Tower! Internet: (yes it was already up): Hey, the Pentagon got hit. Rumors and fast-smashing crap… 5 planes are hijacked, the Washington Mall is on fire, they assassinated the head of the CIA last night! Madness, fast-paced “what the Hell is going on” insanity. For all I knew, this was it, the end… massive waves of attacks, aliens and suicide bombers!! But for some reason, I’m calm. I really don’t think I panic or will ever panic. Although it may border on calm stupidity sometimes, I think I’d rather be calm in an emergency situation than act rash. Although, if the cops hadn’t shoo’ed us away and/or Alexis hadn’t wanted to get in touch with Kruel, I would’ve still been up there watching the Towers burn when they collapsed. Anyway, screams were heard, people were running around outside, and then a huge cloud of brown dust moved in, blanketing the area in a mud-colored fog… then it filtered into the office through the various information sources – people on phones, people huddled around the spuriously-working Internet, a radio in the other room – one of the Trade Center Towers had fallen.
I didn’t believe it… maybe a big section fell off or maybe there was another explosion but FALLEN? Impossible, couldn’t happen, they’re too big, too solid, too constant, too real… things like that don’t happen. The world doesn’t really work like that.
I was stuck in a movie… maybe that’s why I’m calm… pass the popcorn.
It’s true. I wasn’t even urgently rushed to get a hold of Kerry or my family. I don’t know why. Oh, I tried to find the paper I had written the Delaware phone numbers on but when I couldn’t, I simply stopped. My cell phone didn’t work anyway.
When Alexis looked away momentarily from her frantic instant messaging, I asked quietly if I could maybe, if it was ok if I used a phone to call long-distance. Even then she didn’t hear me and I repeated the request the next time she paused. The fucking skyscrapers are toppling… even worse, being toppled… and I’m worried about charging Alexis’ company the price of a phone call! Oh well, that’s what I do.
Alexi’s office… nutty! Phone calls: Hey, I’m ok, a plane hit the Trade Tower! Internet: (yes it was already up): Hey, the Pentagon got hit. Rumors and fast-smashing crap… 5 planes are hijacked, the Washington Mall is on fire, they assassinated the head of the CIA last night! Madness, fast-paced “what the Hell is going on” insanity. For all I knew, this was it, the end… massive waves of attacks, aliens and suicide bombers!! But for some reason, I’m calm. I really don’t think I panic or will ever panic. Although it may border on calm stupidity sometimes, I think I’d rather be calm in an emergency situation than act rash. Although, if the cops hadn’t shoo’ed us away and/or Alexis hadn’t wanted to get in touch with Kruel, I would’ve still been up there watching the Towers burn when they collapsed. Anyway, screams were heard, people were running around outside, and then a huge cloud of brown dust moved in, blanketing the area in a mud-colored fog… then it filtered into the office through the various information sources – people on phones, people huddled around the spuriously-working Internet, a radio in the other room – one of the Trade Center Towers had fallen.
I didn’t believe it… maybe a big section fell off or maybe there was another explosion but FALLEN? Impossible, couldn’t happen, they’re too big, too solid, too constant, too real… things like that don’t happen. The world doesn’t really work like that.
I was stuck in a movie… maybe that’s why I’m calm… pass the popcorn.
It’s true. I wasn’t even urgently rushed to get a hold of Kerry or my family. I don’t know why. Oh, I tried to find the paper I had written the Delaware phone numbers on but when I couldn’t, I simply stopped. My cell phone didn’t work anyway.
When Alexis looked away momentarily from her frantic instant messaging, I asked quietly if I could maybe, if it was ok if I used a phone to call long-distance. Even then she didn’t hear me and I repeated the request the next time she paused. The fucking skyscrapers are toppling… even worse, being toppled… and I’m worried about charging Alexis’ company the price of a phone call! Oh well, that’s what I do.
Sunday, September 09, 2007
911+6
All right, ok, now for a pause from mindless drivel and let's open up the window, stick our heads out, and take a quick peek at the real world.Last year, for the 5th anniversary of the attack, I transferred some of my journal entries made during and after 911 to this blog. I didn't finish and I know I won't finish for the upcoming 6th but soon I'll be putting more down.
For those who didn't read it last year, here's some background and the journal entries begin near the bottom of this blog page.
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