September 29th, 9:38AM
Wednesday was exultant
What a great day Wednesday was for being a parent here at the Bickle household.
My daughter and I went to her parent-teacher conferences Wednesday afternoon. Instead of individual appointments, conferences were held buffet-style, with all teachers sitting in a multi-purpose room at the ends of long tables.
We made the rounds, and each teacher had nothing but good things to say. If she paid them off, she used her Fair money well. Even the haunting specter of Algebra (the subject, not the teacher) held no fearsome account of my daughter's conduct and performance.
The rest of the day held laughs, rewards, and communication. Often, I despair gloomily at my daughter's progress in life and our relationship overall. Wednesday splashed some sunlight into that gloom, and I reveled in it.
But Thursday was a mixed bag
Thursday morning was well enough. I usually catch a second shift of shut-eye after my morning rounds, which carries me, if only just, through the rest of the day. Because of an ongoing commitment, Thursdays short-change me on that transaction, and I muddle through the best I can without my second helping of rejuvenation.
Yesterday found my spirit waning around 3:00 p.m. I tried to nap for about half an hour a little later, and awoke feeling as I have more and more lately: sleep-deprivation burnout. These little tricks I play on my body catch up with me, and I am increasingly reminded of the jet-lag my wife and I felt when we went to Paris: a pervasive feeling of malaise, and an inability to do anything worthwhile but suffer from it. Yeck!
I was up to my ass in that anti-joy yesterday afternoon for hours, and this morning as well, but for less time. Now, it has passed, and I am ready to press my shoulder against the burden, and begin shoving anew. Onward.
September 26th, 8:07AM
Two deer, a frog and a baby elephant
More nocturnal wildlife sightings: As I've said, I really enjoy seeing the animals that skitter and skulk about when most of the county snoozes. Tonight, it was two young deer, nervously picking their way across a dirt road. When I approached, their ears sprung out to focus on my car like twin satellite dishes, and they were at full alert. They were otherwise unperturbed, and after a moment wandered dispassionately for a bit along the length of the dirt road that split the two fenced fields on either side. I kicked my brights on to get a better look, and it didn't phase them at all. They finally ambled on their way, and so did I.
Later on, I saw a big frog. What, it wasn't really a life-changing experience.
Finally, I was shocked as I made delivery to my favorite customer. He's my favorite because he's my last customer, and I am therefore always happy to see the place.
It's a bit unusual, because one must drive up a long driveway in the shadowy blackness, make a tight and blind U-turn, and release it to Fate that one doesn't bump into his shiny red Mustang whilst dropping his paper at its rear-left wheel. Today my headlights careened dazzlingly across the several cars and bric-a-brac, whatnot and sundries that reside in his open garage, and came to rest on the ass of a baby elephant, just behind the red Ford Mustang.
I could feel my face go lax as I tried to comprehend the four-foot high gray butt, and the ears, tusks and tail behind it. I laughed out loud when I realized it was a huge plush toy, and a very lifelike facsimile for the semi-black, 4 a.m. scene I wandered into. I was tempted to elephant-nap the little darling, as it would make an excellent mascot for my new business, LiberatedPachyderm.com. But, I knew it would be very wrong, and so little Jumbo still resides behind the Mustang, to my knowledge.
I wonder what I'll see tomorrow...
September 25th, 10:49AM
I can even find fault with feeling better
I've been sick lately, but have recovered. When I am freshly recuperated from a cold, feeling normal never felt so good! I have energy and optimism that is seldom a part of my regular, healthy, daily life. It occurs to me to wonder: Why does the first day after the recovery from a minor illness leave the sufferer feeling so buoyant, in as much as the following days thereafter do not?
Life's little mysteries...
In other self-centered news
I have invested in a jump rope and some other low-cost exercise baubles. I have had a little more success in exercising, and have given my body the excuse it is looking for to slip back to my normal weight.
September 20th, 8:12AM
Supersize me
I weighed in at 203 today, yet another tick upward. Something must be done. And yet, the ice cream, potato chips and other yummy things are sooo gooood.
I am weak, and must resolve to do better.
September 19th, 9:06AM
Fringe benefits
One of the few things I enjoy about running a paper route in the wee hours of the morning is the nocturnal wildlife. Rabbits abound, so much so that I have already become fairly indifferent to their scurrying appearances, and the real excitement is trying not to crush them under my tires. About one in every ten sit at the road's edge like runners on their marks, and at the final moment sprint like mad for my wheels' path. Usually I can avoid them, but sometimes I cannot. With a sickening crunch, we both fail.
The district manager who trained me for this route had good anecdotal advice, and it wasn't the first time I'd heard it: when confronted with a suicidally stupid road pizza-to-be, don't take heroic corrective action. Slow if you must, but jerking the wheel to save the life of an unwitting wretch is very likely to ruin your vehicle and leave you regretful on the side of the road, only to see the object of your generosity smashed in the oncoming lane by another driver.
Another cool thing I got to see: dead center of the road two nights ago, I rolled up on an owl ripping the ass out of a limp, unfortunate bunny. Luckily I was in a residential area and wasn't hauling ass. I drove right up in front of the grisly and nutritious scene, and for a long moment he imperiously stared me down. I gawked for a few seconds, and then he launched into the unseen night.
I've seen flapping wings several times on the edges of my headlights, but never got a front-and-center view like that. Cool.
September 18th, 6:54PM
Winewatch
Just for the record, I am enjoying some Brie cheese, Danish Blue cheese (I wish genuine French Roquefort cheese were available here at a reasonable price - I hate being a hypocrite by buying non-French cheese solely on price), and Mirassou Cabernet Sauvignon 2003. I rarely remember which wines I liked, so I make a note here for my future self. It's like time-travel, only more possible.
I would describe the wine, but I'm no connoisseur, so it makes me feel like a pretentious jerk to describe wine flavors. You should try it, and if you're looking for a reasonably priced gift for me, this is a gimme.
September 18th, 3:43PM
It's turning out to be a helluva week
My son woke up from his nap on Sunday evening wheezing like an extra from Dawn of the Dead. Like, constant, not-even-funny respiratory noises. So, we freaked out a little bit and called an ambulance.
We spent the next six hours or so fucking around at the emergency room in San Andreas, and brought him home, where everything has been fine since.
We also learned that "croup" is very common, potentially hazardous, and nearly impossible to treat. We further learned that the nurses at the hospital dispense as much nonsensical, homespun, superstitious, bullshit remedies as they do solid medical advice. Listen to the doctor, but the nurses are suspect.
A penny saved is over a hundred bucks spent
My car's electrical system gave me the big Fuck You again last night, rendering quiet entire circuits quiet and cloaking many dashboard and running lights in oblivious blackness. I took the thing in today, ready to bitch and moan about my previous visit and the mechanic's incompetence, as well as resist all attempts to extract service fees, as nothing was amiss until after my last maintenance, and things have been shit ever since.
90 minutes into my visit, the Service Manager approaches me with an extracted gob of plastic and electronics. It is a disembodied chunk of my dashboard, and my recently problematic stereo. ServMan informs me that we may have found the problem, and gives the composite hunk a shake, producing a distinct rattling sound. As he explains the cause of the rattle, it is also evident to view: between the ventilation slits, there are visible several coins, mostly pennies. Apparently, my son had made a little deposit into the singing Honda bank at some point, and the jostling of everyday car life jiggled them into a position where they could and did randomly make electrical connections that neither God nor Honda Motor Company ever intended, shorting out the entire works.
I made no mention of the alleged illiterate wrench bender whom I had earlier posited may be responsible for this mishap. I also made a mental note to either hide the change in my car, or never let my son play in the cab of the vehicle again, although he does love to do so. Or both.
Laugh if you must, but it will take me a little while to get over the frustration of unexplained system failures and the expense and inconvenience of finding the problem. Maybe I'll laugh tomorrow, too.
September 15th, 11:06AM
I ate, I slept, I let the rest go
It's a busy life lately. This morning, I took the easy way out, and spent the morning gorging with my son, gorging on bacon, eggs, toast and cereal. We ate for a solid 90 minutes, and I never felt like I was stuffing myself. I musta been hungry...
Under the crushing weight of nutritional overload, my metabolism kicked into hibernation mode, and I lay around the house for an hour or two. After that, it was housework time.
Pool report
Our pool has become a (relative) flurry of activity. Gunite is in place, most of the tile is done. It's starting to look like a pool. People are swarming all over the thing now, setting up forms for decking, which should go in next week.
Barely-related thoughts about Swan Pool's employment choices
My friend and pool salesman, Greg Lewis, found himself a man without a pool company, through no apparent fault of his own. A few more projects to finish up, and he is free to apply his excellent craft with another company. Also, I called in today to find that our project manager, Sharnell, is also abruptly gone. Hunh.
One thing - Swan Pools and their subcontractors employ an unusually high proportion of Mexican workers. I am amazed that there have been no white (or black, Asian, etc.) guys on the job who carried more than a clipboard or a cell phone. One exception was the excavator operator early on. Other than that, straight outta Meh-hee-koh.
It's not the race that troubles me - just the mathematical improbability of it. It's like flipping a coin, and getting heads 99 percent of the time. Noteworthy. As long as the work gets done well, I'm all good. I guess I'm just surprised. Although it would be nice if English were a linguistic option.
September 13th, 10:42AM
Horse sense
My wife took our brand new horse trailer out to Lake Hogan Reservoir on Sunday, taking several buddies and two borrowed-from-Daddy horses for a pleasant afternoon ride. When the time came to dismount, my wife's horse spooked, and dumped her on her ass, and then the mighty, massive beast stepped on her. Holy crap!
This ain't no circus pony, Jack. These are Gypsy Stallions, built kinda like Clydesdales with hairier feet. If ever there was a beastie that you wanna stay out from under, these are them.
My wife was lucky, and got away with a gruesome laceration to her shin and a frightful, swollen bruise on her thigh that looks like somebody snuck half a peach just under the skin. She toughed it out until she could bring her friends back to the house and bid them goodbye, as well as return the borrowed horses to their Mountain Ranch home. So several hours after her injury, I took her to the hospital for a looksee and some stitches. Getting home at midnight meant me going to "work" for the paper after 1.5 hours of sleep. That was tough, but I got it done.
After her Dad had one of these gi-normous hooved monsters do the "Nestea Plunge" into his lap, and now having one tap-dance on Michelle's favorite limbs, I wonder if someone should just tell these Confused Cunninghams that "the person goes on the horse," not the other way around. Maybe it just never occurred to them. Possibly a diagram is in order.
September 8th, 9:38AM
Ugh
I've been up since 1:30am, and I've been hurdling obstacles since exactly 1:38. Wanna hear about it? Sure you do...
It all started like every recent morning starts: with the hard part. I shrug out of bed, dress and warm up my car with the enthusiasm of a three-toed sloth with a hangover. It's usually not until I'm in the car that my internal organs boot up and begin to pump out the goo and chemicals that make carbon-based life possible. Until then, it's strictly autopilot, and every day that I don't mistake my daughter's small room for the john and foggily take a piss in her hamper is a gift.
I'm not halfway to the drop point for my newspapers when the lights on my radio's display unexpectedly flicker, and disappear. Dashboard instruments still work, but the other little doodads are dark. Ah well - I figure it's part and parcel of the electrical trouble that caused the speakers to go silent a few weeks ago now. This Honda is gradually and inexorably morphing into a Yugo. I easily resolve to soldier on without the clock on my otherwise useless radio. Screw it, I've got my cell phone for a timepiece. It's only a few minutes later that I reach up to illuminate my route sheet that I find my dome light and map lights are out, too.
I clench my jaw, and try to think happy thoughts.
Let me back up
It is worthwhile to preface the rest of the story by explaining just how important it is to the rest of the day that I get this damned route done on time or better. It all starts with the fact that we purchased a horse trailer last week. (Did I mention that we lost our minds, and bought a brand-new horse trailer? No? Yeah, well, if I blogged more regularly, you'd be up to date. C'est la vie, mon ami) Not a used trailer either, but a shiny new one! My first apartment should have been this roomy and well-equipped. Hell, my first house...
Anyway, we went absolutely fucking insane, and bought a gooseneck trailer for our bumper-pull truck. No matter: my wife arranged to have a gooseneck hitch installed in said truck. Easy. This installation is scheduled for ASAP this morning; before which, I have a special, Friday-morning meeting of BNI, my business networking group. Before that, I must finish my paper route (is it just me, or do I sound like a booger-flicking sixth-grader when I say that? Where are my comic books?), and hand off my Honda to my wife so she can go to work, leaving me to transport the Brick Shithouse 250 into Lockeford for the several-hour installation, and then drag home our new trailer, and collapse.
So, to recap: I must:
- finish this route, on the quick
- swap vehicles in time for wife's early-bird shift
- hit BNI and feign attention
- take truck to shop
- pick up trailer and drag it home without damaging anyone or anything
Let me resume
So, I learn that some cabin lights are out. My jaw clenches tighter, and I begin to curse quietly and often. No matter, I tell myself - I've got a brand-new Mag-Lite flashlight, bought just for the purpose of lighting up the darkness for this nocturnal endeavor. Less than a week old, this flashlight, and its batteries. I turn on my shiny new flashlight, and within a few minutes, the batteries wane and the light is so dim that I must press the illuminated paper directly against my eyeball for the reflected light to register the print with my brain. This is no good.
Something in my jaw pops, and I begin to sweat in the cool night air.
Aha! I say to myself - all is not lost! From the back seat, I pull the shitty-but-suddenly-priceless, four-dollar flashlight that I had originally wanted to use for this paper route bullshit. It has an unreliable switch and not-striking beam that encouraged me to buy the Mag-Lite after my first night on the route. The less-beloved flashlight's stock immediately skyrocketed in this new, ante-meridian seller's market.
And for a while, I functioned. Hell, I strove! I made my rounds, continuing the gradual improvement that had kept me from dumping each morning's bundle of papers into the nearest Dumpster. Glancing at my clock cell phone, I realized I was making good time, even with my handicap. Just as this warm realization soaked in, I got more lights than I bargained for.
"Hello, officer"
I am just placing paper in plastic tube, when the cab of my Honda is helpfully lit from the rear by the flashing red-and-blue lights and stark spotlight of local law enforcement. I am immediately overcome with woe, surmising that any one of my many California-stops have been witnessed and are to be imminently punished. In other words, I expected to get a ticket for disrespecting a stop sign, pushing back the already-diminishing returns on this Goddamned paper route.
The youthful officer pointed out that I have no working running lights on my vehicle, rendering my Honda nearly invisible from behind in the pitch black that is the rural overnight landscape. I explained the improbable-but-true situation that: a) it had just happened minutes ago, and b) I had no idea that the running lights were boned. I don't expect Officer T. Law to believe me, but all I can try is the truth. Further, it is brought to my attention that I will not be allowed to operate this disintegrating, shambling excuse for a vehicle, and must immediately transport it home. Oh, and take this fix-it ticket with you, dipshit.
My eyes roll, and I think I cracked a molar.
Let me add that the cop who was driving was a gentleman, but Captain Shotgun was a real dick. When they advised me to go the Hell home, he added: "Yeah, I know this is like your job, or whatever, but..." Yeah, like I know you have to live your little life or whatever... Dismissive asshole.
So, I kick on my flashers (at this point, I am meekly fending off any more excuses for the universe to stick it to me wherever possible), and scurry home, alternately swearing, laughing, madly imagining logistical options, and waiting for a cruise ship anchor or grand piano to cartoonishly drop from the sky as God continues to fling abuse after unlikely abuse at his ignorant subject. At home, I feverishly swap out a couple of fuses in the accursed Civic Hybrid Shitbucket in an overly optimistic effort to reverse my putrid luck. Huzzah, the fucking radio-clock works again, and nothing else. Running lights still dead as disco. Shit. I abandon this doomed effort at restoring life in my running lights, and turn to the option I had most hoped to avoid: taking the Hulking Beast to finish the 'route.
To my continuing amazement, I rode The Tank into the night, and still made decent time in finishing the route. With a turning radius slightly better than a Boeing 747, I never made another U-turn all night. My still-reasonable time frame was made all the more surprising, as the Ford F-250 Four Wheel Drive Diesel truck is as nimble as a double-decker bus. It's like taking the Space Shuttle to the corner grocery. It's a fine vehicle for what it is; it's just a mismatch for this application. Then again, it beats the holy dogshit out of finishing up on foot.
Other than a shitload of five-point turns, nothing else unusual happened for the rest of the morning. I now bide my time at the trailer service joint, nervously anticipating my novice run at driving home a gooseneck trailer worth more than most any of my annual incomes to date, relying on a top-heavy ratio of cups-of-coffee to hours-of-sleep. I am inwardly intimidated, but sticking it out.
Hey! What could go wrong?!
September 4th, 11:47AM
Crikey.
Steve Irwin, aka the Crocodile Hunter, died doing what he loved. The world will miss him and so will I. He was one of those people who managed the hat trick of doing what he loved, doing it well on its own terms and riding that success to worldwide acclaim. How much less fun and exciting the world will be with him not in it. I imagine him annoying and unnerving God by dangling asps and razor-toothed reptiles in his face while he excitedly explains their defining characteristics.
Rest in Peace, Steve-o.
You don't have to have a disease to be a carrier
But it helps. One week ago, I took on a wee-hours paper route in my town to generate supplemental income. I haven't mentioned it before, as I had this weird twinge of embarassment. I suspect it is mainly due to the tacit acknowledgement that my little business endeavors haven't blossomed into unbridled success.
Even so, when I compare it to my own moral compass, I realize I have nothing to be ashamed of, so fuck it. Ideally, I'd like to ride the paper route out until Liberated Pachyderm overtakes it in income generation (and well beyond, God willing). After that, I'd like it to overtake my wife's income, and keep that sexy little Irish minx at home.
Speaking of which, I've got a few things to do before I can be minimally satisfied with this new venture, but I'm getting there. Much more to be done.