Can't Win

At work many years ago, I rode the elevator one morning in Florida, heading down to the ground floor. The elevator stopped at the sixth floor. Enter Bert, a sixty-four year old "work dinosaur" that wore the most outlandish clothes.. white cowboy boots, stone washed black jeans, a bullet earring, a flowered shirt and blue-blocker glasses.. He smelt like he just hit by the Marlboro truck.

Bert slams the button for the second floor and shouts, "Ahhh crap.. I have to go to Horowitz to settle this account. F*ckin' Horowitz, always counting every single penny!"

As he shouted the "H" in Horowitz I was inundated with stong tobacco currents. I begin to chuckle.. it was too early in the morning to see an old man all riled up.

Bert turned to me again, "You know buddy, if there is one thing I learned about Horowitz, it's that you can never trust a jew.."

I really wasn't faded as I expected nothing less from Bert. Normally I wouldn't care but I felt like making 'conversation'..

"But Bert, I'm Jewish.."

He turned to me again and with a straight face muttered, "Then don't trust yourself."

Rock N' Bowl !!

Very rarely do I get swept up in a moment, but this one was memorable. My old high school pals and I met up in the city of New Orleans, a simply magical city if you deviate from Bourbon Street. We went to MidCity Lanes, an amazing piece of American culture that seems to have been frozen for 30 years.

We downed some cheap beers, listened to the live music and hit the lanes. After a while, all I could remember was the blaring sound of ACDC's "For Those About To Rock (We Salute You)" and we somehow found ourselves in a heated competition against the girls one row over from us. I think we lost, but simply a memorable night! I actually saw my friends dance!

MidCity Lanes (Rock N' Bowl) is not located in the most decent neighborhood, but trust me, it is well worth the visit on a late Saturday night.

On Course

I am energized after suffering through three days of a long seminar titled something like "Executive Management Training." I am not a manager, nor an executive, just staff. I know they have plans for me in the future.. but this stuff doesn't interest me at all..

I work in the IT field. I do not deal with the issues that were being presented in this course. It seemed like a help desk management course and it is quite dry. Is it me, or are all of these seminars taught by the same guy?.. you might know him by these distinguishing features:

Attire / look and feel:

1. Ponytail (and balding in the front) -- Howard Hessman style
2. Enlarged tummy (aka "The Old Spare Tire")
3. Tie with a Dali print
4. Gold rimmed glasses
5. Cell phone clipped to his belt
6. Missing teeth on the side of the mouth (and multiple fillings)
7. Pen in breast pocket (usually a bic) -- but he's a bit dangerous not using a pocket protector

Mannerisms:

1. Lisp (especially with the letter 'S')
2. Always squats at eye level while monitoring group activities
3. Overexaggerated hand motions to prove a point when there is not enough evidence in his argument

Catch Phrases / Buzz Words:

1. "Robust"
2. "Quality Control"
3. "Change Management"
4. "Granularity"
5. "Black boxes"

So, the first day, we filled out our name plates with our first names on them with big markers and had to introduce ourselves and explain what we want to get out of this course and what we thought about our immediate managers. I was daydreaming that on my turn, when they asked me what my role is within the organization I would say, "Yea, ok.. Hi everybody. I'm just a fu*k chimp for upper management.. an overglorified secretary like everyone else!" ..but I opted for the more politically correct, watered down response.

This course started off with a blast and maintained that same power stride, characterized by half of the 30 attendees leaning their hands on their temples.. shaking their heads in disbelief and stretching every 20 minutes while seated -- oh, and the yawns!! Thank goodness they had a nice selection of teas.. the cinnamon tea was especially flavorfull. I was delightfully over-hydrated. That is where the fun stopped..

And, what's a seminar without the catch phrases and typical lines. Here are a few memorable quotes I endured (my thoughts in italics):

"If we can take one thing back from this course I hope it is that we can all learn from each other."
and how to stop payment on your check..

"Accept change, welcome it, make it fun."
If you could of only have seen the pure ecstasy in his face..

"No, you all should be on page 150.. What page are all of you on?"
Sounds of pages flipping everywhere.. madness!

"When you assume, you make an ass out of.."
I won't even finish remembering this old one..

"Change management is how we implement change."
Followed back-to-back by:

"Incident Management is how we deal with incidents."
Stop the press!

"IT (Information Technology) is also a customer of IT!"
I have no idea what that means..?

"In order to find out where we want to go, we have to know where we are."
Stop!! Please! For the love of...

(He was imitating tech support staff): "Hello sir.. How come you have Windows 95? (pause) Woa.. BIG questions!"
Even out of context, it makes as much sense as it did while 'in context.'

"Does anyone know the four P's of Quality Control?"
How could we possibly know the 4 P's.. a term you made up!?!

"I always say, the cost of education is expensive, try the cost of ignorance?"
I've heard that before.. it ain't yours!

"An eye for an eye.. taken right from Italian law.."
Hmmm.. maybe you missed that day in history class about that little place called Mesopotamia, or some reading material about creation..

"Problem control means we are controlling the problem."
Gold!

"Does anyone know the difference between a major change and a minor change?"
Hmmm.. Shall I go out on a limb here..?

So, you get the point. Furthermore, like any other computer talk, there were multiple three letter acronyms floated at us at an alarming rate. I thought it was additionally interesting to find the instructor having difficulty remembering what the last letter in the acronym meant on several occasions.. then venturing a guess..

After our free lunch (which I think some people think the food tastes better when it's free), we were all struggling to remain conscious. Eyes wide shut..

When we returned from lunch, a jazzified version of the 1812 Overture was blasting on the overhead speakers, followed by a musak version of the 2001 Space Odyssey. I thought I was going insane at this point.

And of course, we were promised to leave a half an hour early which never happened because the guy who always gets drunk at the Xmas party started asking tons of questions and making ridiculous comments to prolong the process. I should have checked his coffee for some 80 proof.

The climax of the day occurred when I was daydreaming about how George C. Scott was so cool for dismissing Hollywood commercialism by boycotting the Oscars, only to be dressed in a bunny suit right before his death for an Energizer commercial (probably for a rent check). I was set back to reality as I noticed that an another attendee was having difficulty trying to explain a situation and the instructor started making short, strange motions with his arms and feet, almost breakdancing moves (reminiscent of the robot).. He would make these actions and abruptly stop after each sentence the attendee made, almost in an effort to visually display that we need to communicate in a clear and coherent manner.. looked like he was playing twister on meth.. seriously! That was a first! Folks, I think we have a live one here!

Oh, and the cherry on top has got to be when a male manager squeezed my ass while we all left for lunch.. as a joke, "cause I was in the way..."

Yet, there are two things I did learn from this seminar:

One: We are all eventually replaceable. In a matter of one or two decades, monkeys could walk in the morning to our office with propeller hats with our names on them and do our jobs.

Two: Hearing the nonsense from this course and all the silly comments and debates from the staff with this instructor, I realized one old saying is very true: When you argue with a fool, so does he.

Thanks for hearing me vent.. It was a long few days...

Room for Rent: SWF looking for SWM 1/3 her age

Relocating to another city becomes exponentially easier when your grandmother lives there. Such was the case for me a few years ago. Our family calls her 'Oma,' the German word for grandmother.. even though she isn't German. She generously offered her guest room to me for as long as needed to get properly accommodated. For that, I will always be indebted to her unconditional love. Overall it was a wonderful experience, but I remember a few 'memorable' moments.

The pullout couch, became my bed. It had a wonderfully crafted metal bar that situated itself in the most thoughtful position to encourage poor posture the next day. At times, it felt like sleeping on a beach: a nice thought the night before, but one long, rough night. I felt like I was at odds with this beast every night before bed.

It was mid-summer and temperatures were intense at times during the night. I detest air conditioning, favoring a good fan any day of the week. So, I closed my door at night as my Oma pumped the AC on full blast. During the night, she would sweetly open the door thinking I would want to benefit from the cool air flowing down the hallway. I am usually an extremely light sleeper but those nights, I considered myself so lucky to beat the pullout couch bar that I was out like a baby. A few nights of the week, my dear Oma cooked fish at 3 am. This must be an Eastern European thing..? The smell carried itself down to corridor into the opened door leading to my room. Waking up in the middle of the night to the powerful fragrance of carp or bass was a unique sensation. Needless to say, my eyes remained wide open and fixated on the ceiling fan until it was time for work.

The second part of this story relates to the attire that an Eastern European grandmother sports at home. Casual wear one could call it.. it resembles a maternity dress of sorts.. like a big poncho or something. Definitely comfort over fashion. So, she wore this type of loose fitting gown, kind of like the bloomers of pajamas. It was light blue and that is all of the detail I care to recall.

The issue being, that while I was preparing for work, I would meet her in the kitchen first thing in the morning. The gown seemed too loose fitting in the wrong areas, probably due to extended wear. The chest area was way too exposed and the blue was not blue enough to shun the morning light from revealing a top heavy silhouette. Trust me, this is the last thing any young man needs to deal with before work. For this, I had to mentally divide her body in horizontally sectioned zones:

Zone 1: from the top of the head down to the lower part of the neck
Zone 2: from the solar plexus down to the waist *
Zone 3: from the waist down to the knees
Zone 4: from the knees to the feet

* Danger Zone

This system came in handy as I would look at only zones of her body. My line of vision would never have a flowing motion, but rather possess a choppy action. Zone 1 was the primary target. If my eyes were to drift (naturally), they would go straight to the 'safe' zones of 3 or 4. Intermittent blinking was also an integral aspect of this technique. So, as a ray of light pierced through while a southern wind blew in from the open window, I would hear a robotic voice in my head exclaim, "Zone 3 -- Stat!" It was the perfect system for the most imperfect situation.

Well, those were some memorable moments during my three month stay with her. I loved our long talks about her youth and we took some long strolls atop the mountain; she really loved that. We never had a negative moment throughout the duration of my stay and I will never forget what someone so special did for me. The best part of the experience, was that I stopped calling her 'Oma.' Her new name, which still places a huge smile on her face, is 'Pal.'

Thanks for everything Pal.

So, How are You Feeling Today?

I have left the city of people and random interactions to climb the mountains and lend myself to becoming a statue, overlooking where I once lived before.

Make Me Wanna Holler

I try to listen to music with a different focus. To me, the music lies in the bass and the peripheral sounds. I would always concentrate on the bass scales and the rhythm guitar more than the lead vocals or lead guitar -- sometimes I feel treble is a distraction.

One fond memory came when I was six and for some reason I was always attracted to Motown music. On my family road trips I grew increasing bored with the monotony of long car rides. My younger sister would begin to sing songs from popular radio stations and barely get the words right. Sometimes, she would loop every two sentences of the song over and over again. Usually those two lines were not even accurate.

Since I never paid attention to the lead vocals, I would simply hum music, except this one time. During Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get it On," I knew of only one verse. A little more than halfway through the song, the background singer starts singing, "My body wants it.. My body wants it.."

Two red lights lit the back of the car and all eyes were on me.

when reality finally sets in

Would the cold of winter make us stronger?

It seems the quiet coldness of winter brings a sense of grounded reality to any situation. Each day and each second is a struggle in the winter; you earn every sliver of your memory. The warmer seasons lend themselves to dreamlike sequences where memories blend into each other.

Winter memories are cold and real, but you never remember the cold, just the real. Constricting pupils force a sharp perception of everything during our frosting. This in turn, allows one to notice all of the fine imperfections that are so excusable in the pleasant warmth. Is it winter when I'm awake and summer when I'm dreaming?

Would have loved to have caught her in the fall.

A Slice of Humble Pie.

I am finally beginning to realize the difference between work and labor. When I was a child, to my parent's dismay, I aspired to become a toll booth collector. I watched the portly gentlemen sitting down all day, collecting money, without a care in the world. That was the job for me! Where do I sign? But now, I am caught in a world of unpaid overtime and unrealistic goals. I also find it strange to be so thankful to have the opportunity to get up in the morning and go to work.

Two years ago, my old pal in New York got fired over Labor Day weekend. Think about that for a second. He has relived the episode over and over countless times, telling me that he thinks he is suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. I actually believe him. Even I memorized the encounter of the canning:

"N, step into my office.. close the door behind you. Look, I might be wrong.. hey, prove me wrong.. I just don't think you are suitable for Industrial Design.. Prove me wrong.. Listen.. I'm going to let you go after work today. I wish you well, but you should consider another profession. But, prove me wrong.."

In his left hand, N was holding a dry cleaning stub for the boss's wife and in the other hand the cappuccino that the boss told him to fetch. Every morining when he wanted his yuppie coffee, he used to shout, "Hey N, Crap me!" and giggle senselessly to himself.

That weekend, I remember taking my pal to his favorite restaurant, 2nd Ave. Deli, and then we whisked off to Brighton Beach to take his mind off things. We watched the garbage collect on the shore and a humongous woman flashed him as we strolled by barefoot.

His company actually wound up hiring him on a contract basis for another two months. I remember how low he felt when he returned to the office, everyone aware of his situation. Then, they actually let him go earlier than what his contract stipulated. To continue this painful story even more, he was actually asked to return on contract yet another time. He finally said, "What the hell, I feel like Billy Martin!" and told them to shove it where the sun don't shine.

Until you've danced with the Canman at Midnight, that slice of humble pie is just waiting for us under that glass case on the counter. Oddly enough, the worse the job is, the worse it is to get that dreadful visit from the Canman.. most likely 'cause you're working at that job since you have no options... and like everything else in life, you're only as good as your options.

In the beginning..

The Eskimo has fifty-two names for snow because it is important to them; there ought to be as many for the word "setback"..

... I wonder how many other blogs commence with this title..?