From a Deadbeat to an Old Greaser

 There was a tow truck in the parking lot when I got to work this morning. 

 

Since I’m the first one to show up, the lot was empty, except for the tow truck. It sat, idling, in the middle of the lot. 

 

When I parked, it made a long, graceful looping turn and started toward me. Its headlights were bright, even in the early morning sun. 

 

“Hey, buddy. Is this 417 Fifth Street?” He asked, through his open window. Cigarette smoke rolled out the window and up into the morning sky. He had a huge travel mug sitting on the dashboard.

 

“No, this is 23 Israel Street. Fifth Street is over that way, somewhere.” I said motioning toward the north. I knew my way to work, and back home, I could get to the grocery store, the liquor store, the bank and a few places to eat, but streets names and directions never really meant anything to me.

 

“I guess I should get one of them GPS things.” He said, looking at a folded map. He took the travel mug, worn and stained, off the dash board and took a long drink. “Mountain Dew, all the breakfast anybody ever needs.”

 

He burped, loud, a small amount of smoke followed the sound.

 

“I guess your car doesn’t need towing.” He looked at my car, a beat up Chevette, with mismatched tires, and fading, blue paint, rust spots bloomed in random places. “It could be a candidate for the repair shop.”

 

“Or the junkyard.” I added and we both laughed, an awkward chuckle, hollow and pointless, mostly just a formality.

 

He offered me a cigarette, and I took it, it was a Marlboro, I only bought the bargain brands. I really couldn’t tell much difference. It went well with my gas station coffee, though. 

 

“What do you guys do here?” He asked, looking at the old building, long, windowless, cream colored, dumpy and squat. It could have looked secretive, mysterious, menacing, if you didn’t know there was a women’s wear warehouse stacked in odd, messy piles inside. It was owned by clothes designers, young people, almost children, they had no idea about warehousing. They loved fashion, and clothing. 

 

There was no method to the madness, it was chaos, mixed with mindless neglect. One saving grace was everybody seemed to understand. If counts were off, nobody ever lost their temper. They just corrected the inventory until another pile was uncovered, and the missing skirts or jackets, or sweaters were found, when they would correct inventory again. All the customers were used to the on again, off again nature of ordering. It was one big happy, dysfunctional family.

 

“It’s a warehouse, or distribution center. I guess that’s the word we use know. Warehouse is old and out of fashion.” I said, inhaling the smoke, enjoying the burn, in my lungs, in my eyes. It was crazy how I enjoyed the pain. Hot coffee, smoke, touching all the right buttons.

 

“Yeah, I guess we’re dinosaurs. Hanging on to the edges. You know the other day I went a picked up a car, one of them hybrid things, down by the waterfront, some kid, really dressed, suit and tie, hair locked in place, was waiting. I was having a cigarette, and he asked me if it was hard to smoke when it was so hot. I told him it was still worth it, even offered him one. He was pissed.” He laughed, smoke coming from his nose. 

 

“We’ll, I’d better go find the car, it’s a 2012 Ford, Fiesta. Won’t start.” He said, looking at his map, his rheumy eyes looked tired and slightly out of focus. 

I pulled my phone from my pocket, found the address on the maps app. I showed him how to get there from our lot, tracing it with my finger on his map. 

 

“Hey, thanks, that’s pretty nice.” He said, putting his truck into reverse, and driving away. I went to work feeling better about life.

 

“From a deadbeat to an old greaser, here’s thinking of you.” Funny how little things are big things to a deadbeat.

Oh No, Not Another Blog Post

Recently I fell into a slump. I'm not sure what happened. I didn't exercise enough, writing became a chore, life was odd. I don't really know why. Sure, I hurt my knee, technically, my knee hurt itself, the doctor said it was tendinitis, I think he just didn't want to say "you're getting old and you weigh too much."

Also, I have spent way too much time reading about the current administration, and the "reality television" approach to diplomacy. Honestly, I worry that we are only a few foolish miscalculations from the war to end all wars, the war to end all humanity. And, if anybody is liable to make a foolish miscalculation and stumble into a nuclear exchange Trump seems as likely as any, ever. I watched the way he acted with our "allies" and our "enemies" and it made me recoil in horror. Here is a man with the theatrical sense of a professional wrestler in charge of the nuclear weapons.

I'm not really sure how much control the president has over targeting decisions, very little, I hope, it is not too difficult to imagine our president wanting to bring "fire and fury" down upon Canada for their aggressive trade imbalance. After all, between my wife and I we have had at least three cars, American cars, mind you, Chevy, Chrysler, those kind of things, that were assembled in Canada. That takes a lot of damned gall. Further, on Sunday, my wife and I stopped at Tim Horton's (a notoriously Canadian company) and had breakfast, I feel like such a traitor.

Plus, one of the guys I work with quit and moved down south to start a small, organic farm, one of those field to table kind of things, and the decision was made not to replace him. Which does lead to additional work for those of us who didn't quit, the survivors. I don't blame the quitter, not too much anyway.

Here I am toiling away.

Truth be told, I have quit a lot of jobs, (I was an awful job hopper) and I would have probably quit this job a long time ago if my wife hadn't threaten to kill me in my sleep if she missed another vacation. Now, I am so old and feeble (see paragraph 1) that I am probably lucky to have a job at all. So, we are stuck with each other, me and the company for whom I work, until that golden age when my wife can retire with her civil servant pension and I become a kept man. What a lucky girl.

So, life has been hectic, and I am pretty sure the current administration is going to drive us over the edge in a foolish, suicidal act of ignorant nationalism (see WWII for example), but until then you are not going to get rid of me that easily. Yes, that's right, declining health, extra work, toil, labor and paranoia will not deter me, it will take the destruction of mankind to stop me from having my say.

Days, not all of them, of the Week

Sunday, a day of reckoning. A gauntlet that must be endured before you can face Monday. A test to see if you are adequately equipped to endure a week of work, toil, drudgery. When Gandalf fought the Balrog in mines of Moria it was his Sunday. He came through, stronger, better suited to deal with the Monday facing him in Mordor. After a while, though, Sunday starts to take its toll. 

In your twenties the worst part of Monday is the pain from ill spent Sunday evenings. Headaches pounding on temples, roiling stomachs protesting hunger, and then food. Too little sleep, too much light, every noise an explosion. Monday evening and all you can think of is sleep, until work is over, and then a few drinks, some spicy food, and a lazy evening of televised re-runs and low level complaining.

Thirties and you start worrying about Mondays, all the weekends work in a big traffic jam on your desk, clogging up your inbasket, this was before email, piling up right behind your door. "Surprise!" It shouts, as you walk in, bashing you with to-do lists, envelopes, folders, orders that seem insurmountable, and overpowering. As soon as you wake up Sunday you start dreading Monday. Monday, the bane of Mankind, and Womankind. Alarm clocks, Mondays, television evangelists, and politicians, the modern day plagues.

Then you hit fifty, rapidly closing in on sixty, and Sunday becomes Monday's evil ally. Email brings evil reports, armies on the march, time running short. Monday is waiting, club in hand to bludgeon you with tasks. You are stuck in a programming loop, If Sunday, then Monday, repeat. Endless, infinity, no escape, no surrender.

Of course, if you can only hold on, Friday is coming. A reward for making it through the week, a glorious vacation before the weekend. Maybe things do workout.

See you on the other side, friends, together we can do this. Send me your best Monday or Friday picture and I will highlight them in my new movie. "Days of the week, explained."

A note about the week that was,

Sunday was our first day back from vacation. Monday was the 4th of July. Tuesday was my first day back at work. It is always hard to go back to work. But, this week was murder. There were inbound shipments, three of them in three days. Which is more than my tiny warehouse can manage. So, we are filled to the roof with boxes of product.

On Monday there was an item on a national morning show about one of our products. A spatula that is shaped like an American flag. It comes in different colors, three of which are red, white, and (you are never going to get this one) blue. The designer passed away recently from cancer and proceeds are being donated to research to find a cure for this terrible disease.

But, when you combine the patriotic imagery, the opportunity to support such a noble cause and the relatively small cost of the spatulas you create a hurricane of need, the perfect storm of opportunity. Orders poured in, buckets of orders. Which is why I may have missed posts from my favorite group of bloggers in the world, you guys.

We were buried under orders. Combined with the shipments it was an excruciating week. A relentless, harried, untrammeled barrage of work. Somehow we managed to tread water long enough we didn't drown, and now there is light at the end of the tunnel, or a train barreling down the tracks ready to crush our dreams of a pleasant weekend. Either way will be all right, change is good.

A quick note regarding water. Until my recent vacation in the lovely town of Holden Beach, I had always thought the ocean was this crystal clear, window to another world. A transparent look into the lives of marine animals.

Which made me wonder how people allowed a shark to bite them at all. In my fantasy you would see a shark swimming hungrily toward you, and have a few seconds to plan your move and get away free.

I, of course, had plotted mine well ahead of time. It was a Kiki Vandewehge juke move, like when he was in college and still able to pull move quickly. I would make the shark think I had panicked and was heading for deeper water. At the last minute I would turn and sprint safely to shore. Laughing all the way.

Turns out you can hardly see your feet in the pounding waves. Whenever the tide would drag something across my foot, a shell, a piece of seaweed, anything at all I would make a mad dash to the shore, hoping for the best. And, it worked. I managed to avoid sharks for 7 straight days. I laugh in your face, Mr. Apex Predator.

Now, I need to get back to work, we aren't home and dry yet.

Friday, not without its own demands.

Friday, the most glorious day, the reward for lasting through the week. Of all the days this has to be number two, following only Saturday in joyfulness.  But, it is not without it's dark secrets, too. Don't be fooled by the approaching bliss of two days of freedom, Friday has demands, and they are not negotiable.

Friday starts with an that most foul demon child of technology an alarm clock. Oh, the agony this device has caused in my life, the dreams it has destroyed, the indescribable suffering provided by this loathsome little devil, intractable, and unrelenting, is too painful to contemplate. It is no way for a polite, civilized people, like us, to start a day.

Further, it is so delightfully close to the weekend, but it is still the work week. And employers still, in all their self righteous, check writing, responsibility delegating dictatorial manifest obsession with productivity, expect you to do something. There are liable to be limits on the celebration, rules, dress codes, guides of conduct and behavior, to be followed in minute attention to detail.

Traffic is probably more dangerous on Friday. With the trauma of a weeks frustration and anger weighing heavy on commuters they are hell bent to get to work, a little early, so they can leave work,
a little early. Of course they are not willing to leave home a little early for the privilege. They are willing to drive faster, cut closer, risk theirs and others lives, for a few minutes of early weekend bliss. So, be careful, as bad as it was getting to work, it will be homicidal getting home.

But, hey, it is Friday, and that is good enough for me. I am going to talk to Bil for a while, and get some coffee, then microwave a burrito, and grab a bottle of water, and stop in and see how John is doing, and then maybe go to lunch, and check up on Steve, Brian, and Shirley. After a full day like that I may cut out a bit early. I am tired, but it is a good sort of tired.

New Attendance Policy Involving Attendance #FixThePlus

We, here at Life Explained, would like to point out Thursday has become the day of reckoning.  No longer will the staff be allowed to coast through the day, waiting as close as possible to the doors to dart out in anticipation of what has become lovingly known as Work From Home Friday.

Every Thursday employees will be required to provide their supervisor evidence of some sort of productivity for the week. This can be in the form of documents produced, spreadsheets constructed, scientific breakthroughs, or the performance of cooking, cleaning or organization of some type.

Initially we planned to have it signed in blood, but OSHA deep sixed that, and we had several managers faint, which led to some very amusing Instagram posts involving sharpies and "temporary" facial tattoos. Ink (on paper) will be sufficient.

Please prepare your documentation prior to your appointment, and remember performance art does not count toward your weekly quota.

Thank you, have a nice weekend, we will see you Monday.

Monday, time to get serious.

Monday, the day that starts the week. It is time to roll up the sleeves, and get to work. Shoulder to the wheel, nose to the grindstone, and all.  Though, most of us no longer have to put our shoulder to a wheel, wheel turning is probably almost completely automated these days. What kind of job requires an associate to put his nose to a grindstone, though? That sounds awful! There must be an amazing compensation package for anybody to accept that position. It has to be a very short career.

Anyway, the work week is here, and it is time to start getting serious, no more messing around.  In the words of David Byrne of the Talking Heads;

"This ain't no party, this ain't no disco,
This ain't no fooling around,
No time for dancin' or lovey dovey,
I ain't got time for that now."

Now is the time to start planning for next weekend.  There are only five days left, and you can't waste a minute. Before you know it Saturday will be here, and you will be adrift in a weekend without an itinerary, or as we, here at Life Explained, like to say, "up relaxation creek without a paddle, like an idiot," or something like that.

Time is wasting, man, (here, I am using the term "man" as a neutral, all inclusive designation that encompassing all people, men, women, aliens, supernatural beings, anybody who needs to start thinking about the coming weekend) you don't want to get left behind. Put down the phone, drop the pen, let go of the mouse, or keyboard, or pen like stylus, and start thinking about the glory that awaits in only 4 days 4 hours, 17 minutes, and 29 seconds, approximately.

One thing on which most relaxation experts, and we have a whole staff of them, agree, "don't try to take on too much on the weekend," Try to keep it simple, something achievable, something that will allow the building of self esteem, like watching a movie on television.  Plan a little break in there, so you are not overwhelmed, you're not superman, after all.  Safety first, that is our motto.

Monday, Your Big Chance?

We, here at Life Explained, are going to start a new movement.  Starting now, next week at the latest, Monday is no longer going to be viewed as a curse, a despicable, reviled demonic visitor from the pits.  It is going to be welcomed as the gracious day that ushers in a beginning, a refreshing chance to start something beautiful.

Life does not often present mortals with opportunities for greatness, and Monday is the perfect chance to leave your co-workers, subordinates, and superiors in the vocational dust.  As they are holding their heads, praying for a quick end to a new day, you can embrace the challenge.  Charge into the midst of the chaos, powering through the doldrums, shining like a beacon of hope for all the company to follow.

Book 1 in the "Who needs 'em" series

Grab the biggest problem you can, wrestle it the floor, and make it plead for mercy, right in the entryway, so everybody can watch.  If sales are stagnant grab the phone, get some people on the hook, and sell some stuff, if production is flagging, grab some tools, some raw materials, and make something.  Rising transportation costs cutting into the bottom line, chewing up profits and spitting out mountains of rising debt, load some stuff up in your car, and make some deliveries. Remember, every little problem you solve is a chance to make an associate look incompetent, slow and foolish.

Use the first day of the week to rise several standard deviations above the mean.  As fellow employees trickle in, tales of two days of independence dripping from their paper coffee cups, look down your nose at them, turn your back and storm off, a trail of efficient, professional scorn settling slowly on their bewildered faces.  

Look, we just want to see you get ahead, that's all.  If the people who work with you can't see your potential that is their problem.  Don't forget our companion book, "Step all over the people your coworkers, it won't get you anywhere, but you will save a bundle on birthday gifts."

Vacation, what a great idea.

In one week and two days I will be on vacation.  There is something about vacation, something spiritual, something heavenly, something powerful, wonderful, and liberating.  People who have vacation scheduled are always a little happier, a little more cheerful, they smile more, are more liable to whistle.  

"Hey, Phil, can you compile a list of all known clients who have purchased anything with any value from anybody in the whole world in the last two centuries?"

"Sure can, Bob, have it done before lunch, and then I will buy you lunch.  Is pizza ok?  Bring your whole family, my treat."

People who have just returned from vacation are sullen, venomous, and range anywhere from manic depression to homicidal rage.  Angry, resentful, and incendiary, they are best avoided.

"Hey, Phil, how was your vacation?"

"Hey, Bob, how about you kiss my a$$!"

For the longest time we had to hire armed security to keep the two groups separated.  We opened a new break room, (it cut down on the fire fights in over coffee, and donuts) and designated a "vacation scheduled lavatory," and a "just returned restroom" with padded fixtures and stalls that will not lock.  People are required to wear slip on shoes or surrender their shoelaces before using that facility.

It was a good temporary solution, but then we came up with a great idea.  A vacation planner!  The minute you return from work you need to start planning for your next vacation.  On your first day back, the minute you walk in the door, our grief counselor vacation planner is waiting with brochures of potential vacation spots, filled with glossy photos or beautiful people having an extraordinarily good time doing all sorts of fun things, smiling, laughing and just vacationing the heck out of things.

It is an amazing transformation, crushed and defeated to delighted and overjoyed in minutes.  They start filling in dates on calendars, calling loved ones, and singing songs of joy.  We have saved a bundle on first aid supplies.

Life Explained Explains Time

Time is the most perplexing thing.  Allegedly, it is a constant, never changing, marching forward, seconds passing in a monotonous parade of consistency.  Disputing this is difficult, because the devices made to measure time deal in absolutes, precise machines designed to record one unit giving way to the next.  While in reality there are many variables involved in the passage of time.

A dentist office slows time to a crawl.  Forty five minutes in a dentists chair lasts almost a life time, in fact a root canal procedure takes almost as much time as it took to build the pyramids.  Dentists should use a calendar to time procedures.  

A day at work, even if you love your job, is a lengthy proposition, dragging on, passing minutes hammering away at your will to live.  But, a weekend is over almost before it begins.  As soon as the final bell tolls on Friday sending you home, whistling all the way, you have to hit the snooze button.

But, it does not end there.  Assuming, for example your work day is divided between tasks, some of which are more enjoyable, some less, and most work days are cut along these lines, then part of your day will go painfully, slowly ants marching inexorably back to the nest, other parts will drag almost to a stop, tar covered turtles carrying bricks up the side of a mountain.

The same is true of the weekend.  For example, tonight Louisville plays Kentucky in the Round of Sixteen (the Sweet Sixteen) in the NCAA basketball tournament, one of the biggest sports rivalries in existence extending into the post season.  This is a huge game, and the winner will move to the next round (the Elite Eight), and they will get there by defeating their hated in state rival, and the loser will go home, to stew in inconsolable misery, and doubt themselves, and everything they have ever believed (sorry about your luck, Kentucky).  This is the biggest, most venomous rivalry since the Aliens and the Predators squared off in Alaska, thanks to those pesky kids...  (oops sorry about the sports rant, and the Scooby Doo reference).

Anyway, that game will be so intense and enjoyable it will be over before you can finish your bowl of chips, but installing that new heating element in the oven will take about 15 minutes that will last about two and a half hours. 

All we are asking is equity.  Unpleasantness is part of life, but it should be compensated for, if you have to carry out difficult work that seems to last all day you should be allowed to leave when it is finished.  If part of your weekend is so pleasant, and entertaining that it shrinks hours into minutes, you should get a little extra weekend, right off the top, on Monday morning, preferably.  

When man first devised the method to track time, things were brutish, life was short and times were difficult.  Keeping track of how long it took was just a way to avoid thinking about how awful things were.  Now we are more sophisticated, we have taken so many steps to improve life.  It is time to "improve life."

With that in mind we are starting the "Life Explained Equitable Passage of Time" movement.  Please sign below to help us push this through.  We suggest you not use your real name, in case the time police decides to squash our puny little revolution, they are everywhere, you know?  In fact, you might want to use an important, intelligent sounding name, we suggest Einstein, or Aristotle, something people will notice.  "Well, if da Vinci thinks it is a good idea, so do I."

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Monday, the Day of Joy.

Yesterday was the Ground Hog Day, and the Super Bowl.  How are we supposed to survive that much intensity in one day.  Several people in Ohio were rushed to the emergency room because of the excitement.  Of course, the real cause for concern, and anxiety, and the resulting heart palpitations, and stress related ailments that had Ohio EMTs running without break, was the fact that Puxsatawney Phil claimed there would be 10 more weeks of winter, and Buckeye Chuck (the lesser known, but equally Marmot Rodent furry meteorologist from Ohio) said there was going to be an early spring.

In Ohio it is very bad form to malign anything Buckeye, (particularly the peanut butter filled chocolate confections that are designed and produced to look exactly like buckeyes, but are especially delicious, unlike the real buckeye nut which is inedible, and used mostly for jewelry) and everybody wants winter to end.  And, after the Polar Vortex has invaded twice, leaving a trail of frigid, icy destruction, winter is even less welcome.  But, Puxsatawney Phil is the original, he was even in a movie, and has had years to refine he weather predicting skills.  Nobody wants to bet against that kind of legacy.

Obviously, the only antidote for this kind of dilemma is a hard fought, close football game that goes right to the end and could be won by either team.  An epic struggle between equally matched opponents, decided by the skill, or athletic ability, or coaching wisdom of one team in the final seconds.  A game both teams, winner and loser, walk away from with pride...

Oops, that bowl was not very "super" at all.

Well, at least the weekend is over, and we can all get back to work, and forget all of the troubles that  plague our time off.  Now, we don't have to worry about all of that decision making, free will, now we can just take it easy and let someone else do all of the thinking for us.

Thank God, for Monday!

Saved some money, but it might have been a mistake.

Business is pretty good these days.  But, there were some lean years, sales were slow, money was tight, and as a company we were scrambling for ways to stay afloat.  We tried turning down the heat, dimming the lights, and people were asked to wait until there were several passengers before using the elevator, kind of a car pool lane for the lift.  Briefly, there were talks about not providing coffee, but hey, we are not animals.

One of the suggestions floated was to hire illegal aliens, they work cheap, they labor night and day, and are dedicated, fearless, single minded beings bent on self preservation.

Things were going well.   We had a real sweat shop thing going, a facility full of laborers, toiling night and day, without break, for laughably low wages.  Things were beginning to look up.

Sure, a few people vanished, unexpectedly, without a trace, but that is part of running a company, right?  But, when that monstrous, little beast broke out of Bob's, the Head of Human Resources, chest at the weekly staff meeting.  Just popped right out, scampered across the table and vanished down the stair well, and into the janitor's closet, and none of us were going in there, it is dusty, messy and smells of disinfectant.

No one really liked the Human Resource guy, anyway, always going on about "labor laws," and "compensation," and "employee benefits," but when that slimy little thing ran through a dozen of the local bakery's finest ruining every donut that was too much.  Chocolate covered, cream filled fried gifts from the gods, ruined!  We quickly fired every last alien in the place.

It was time to evaluate our hiring practices.  We settled on humans, they cost more, but they respect the donut.

Here is a reenactment, not really the head of Human Resources, actually it is Jesse the sales person, who agreed to play the part of Bob, who was unavailable.  And the alien, who needed a job.

"Siri, save my Monday."

Though, a proud citizen of the 21st century (that is the right century, isn't it?) it is only reluctantly that I embrace new technology.  Yes, I loved my iPod, such a wonderful, useful device, and that love led to the purchase of my beloved iPad, what a glorious, useful, and transcendent piece of electronic equipment, (kind of a big iPod) which, in time, caused the leap off the fiscal cliff into the purchase of one of the most unique, glorious tools ever, an iPhone 5 (kind of like an iPod that makes phone calls).

This morning, however, on my drive to work, (yes, it is another story about my drive to work, sorry, but it is a very important part of my day, for one thing, I love my job, and my car, and my phone, which plays music right through my car, without being attached by wires, that still kills me!) I realized a very glaring weakness in the programming of all electronic music storage devices.  The shuffle function, sometimes, goes a little "buggy" (sorry for the techie jargon, I will try to be more careful) and plays all of the wrong songs. It spits out music that is completely inappropriate for the occasion.  It should know better than melancholy, sad, depressing music on Monday morning.  It should automatically pick something with some tempo, some back beat, something to get the foot tapping, and blood circulating.

Picking up my phone and quickly realizing that the "next" (again, sorry for all this tech stuff, please forgive me) option was useless, it was just going to pick sorrow filled, tear stained music, I started looking for a song.  I had a great one in mind.  But, I was driving almost 75 miles an hour (16 kilograms in Europe) and came very close to killing myself and the person in the Ford Fiesta next to me, sorry about that, you looked like a such nice little old lady, until you gave me the middle finger salute, and I can't read lips, but, you should be ashamed of yourself.  I had it coming, though.  Deciding that picking my own song while driving was not the best idea, I am a quick learner that way, I resigned myself to listening to "This Traveling Around," by Lyle Lovett, and try to snap myself out of it with extra coffee.

Then it hit me, Siri!  She was waiting in my phone, just aching to help me.  "Siri," I said, "how about we listen to "Supernaturally," by Nick Cave?"

Siri said, "Ok, let's listen to 'Supernaturally'" and it started playing.  Technology is great.  I love it!  And I love you, Siri.  I may leave my wife for you, she never lets me pick the song.

If my wife reads this, I am only kidding, you are still the girl in all my dreams.  And your lasagna is heavenly.

Morning commutes can be hectic.

Today's drive was a little hectic.  At 6:15 traffic is, generally speaking, pretty light, normally, really, just smooth sailing, mostly.  Not today.

It started right on the first freeway ramp.  In front of my car was a Chevy Silverado, bright red, a big gas guzzling pickup, you could tell it never hauled anything more freight worthy than groceries, a real pretty boy thing,  Poking along, screwing up the whole works.  He merged to the left, perfect time to pass him.  Accelerating until I was pulling ahead a little Mr. Sissy man pickup driver saw I was going around him and decided that was not the best way to start his day, and sped up.  Driving defensively, and not wanting to cause any accidents, I put my foot to the floor, and passed him doing 85 miles per hour (Miles are like kilometers, only longer, or not as long, I don't remember, and an hour is like a minute times 60)

It was a great feeling watching the schmuck sobbing in my rear view mirror, until a car flew past on the left and took the lead, then one on the right. nearly causing an accident, lunatics anyway.  Whipping into the middle lane I drafted (drafting is a racing term and it means, driving right behind someone so close in order to create, to gather, to generate, never mind what it means, it isn't important) behind a Honda Odyssey going 120 mph.  I was so close I managed to catch the last few minutes of Scooby Doo on the DVD screen.  Did you know the Creeper was really the butler?

I looked out the drivers side window and who was there?  That's right, Jeff Gordon in the number three car.  He flipped me the bird and went to pass the minivan.  I double clutched and shifted into a lower gear, which was hard, since I don't have any idea what that means and my car has an automatic transmission.  Swerving over I managed, barely to clip his rear bumper and send him careening into the ambulance, whose driver was using the lights and sirens in a foolish attempt to get to ahead of me.

Only two cars left to pass and the lead would be mine, and one of them was a school bus.  Victory is going to be so sweet.  But, as the school bus and I were jockeying for position a state patrolman cruised by and I decided he should probably have the honor.  Brave public servant that he is.

The future of giving.

Today, we would like to thank those gentle, kind, loving souls who have pioneered unique and creative ways to provide assistance for those in need.  Those daring individuals smart enough to give more than money, to provide opportunity, to provide the means for the downtrodden to finally break the cycle of dependency.  Today is the time to thank those who are paving the way to a brighter, more prosperous future.

Our first example comes to us from the high tech world of computer programming and software development.  A place where one man took the initiative to reach around the world and offer assistance to a person who will never get the chance to thank him for his philanthropy.  We will let the internet news agency tell you about this selfless deed.

“What began as a company's suspicion that its infrastructure was being hacked turned into a case of a worker outsourcing his own job to a Chinese consulting firm, according to reports that cite an investigation by Verizon's security team. The man was earning a six-figure salary.

The anonymous company, identified only as a critical infrastructure firm, asked Verizon's Web security personnel to look into data that showed its virtual private network was being accessed from China — even as the employee whose credentials were used to log in from overseas was sitting in the company's offices, using his computer.

As Emil Protalinski writes at The Next Web, the company's security measures included a coded fob which, the investigating team learned, a code developer had shipped to Shenyang, China, so that a company there could perform his assigned work.

And it turns out that the job done in China was above par — the employee's "code was clean, well written, and submitted in a timely fashion. Quarter after quarter, his performance review noted him as the best developer in the building," according to the Verizon Security Blog.

It seems that Verizon has removed the page publishing this "case study" — either that, or it has merely become unavailable for some other reason. But a cached version of the storyoffers more details. The report, which assigns the inventive employee the fictitious name of "Bob," described him as a family guy in his 40s, with extensive software knowledge.

After they were called in to look for rogue software that allowed hackers to perfectly mimic an employee's log-in, and maintain an active and secure connection, the investigators instead found "hundreds of .pdf notices from a third party contractor/developer in (you guessed it) Shenyang, China."

The Verizon team even found that "Bob" kept a regular schedule at his office:

·         9:00 a.m. – Arrive and surf Reddit for a couple of hours. Watch cat videos

·         11:30 a.m. – Take lunch

·         1:00 p.m. – Ebay time.

·         2:00 – ish p.m Facebook updates – LinkedIn

·         4:30 p.m. – End of day update e-mail to management.

·         5:00 p.m. – Go home

And as they learned, his schedule also included sending less than one-fifth of his salary to the Chinese firm. Verizon's investigators say the evidence they uncovered suggests "Bob" might have had similar arrangements at several companies.

"All told, it looked like he earned several hundred thousand dollars a year, and only had to pay the Chinese consulting firm about fifty grand annually," according to the Security Blog.

It is that kind of sacrifice that will save the world, and free the masses, bringing light where there was darkness, hope where there was despair, food where there was hunger, money where there was a person willing to do the job for significantly less.  Thank you, faceless, nameless pioneer of the new charity movement.

This Life Suck? Don't take chances with the next.

Reincarnations Control, Inc.

Don't wait for life to give you what you "deserve."  Life stinks, and it always has and it always will.  Unless you take control.  Unless you are willing to invest a little in your future, your future life, that is.

Now is the time to take control of your next life, with Reincarnations Control, Inc..  Don't wait, who knows how long you might have.  We are the leading supplier of next life preparation, and option planning.  We know what it takes to get you the life you deserve!

Don't put something so important in the hands of fate, or chance, they are fickle, cruel and cursed with a wicked, bizarre, twisted sense of humor.  They will have you shoveling out horse stalls in the heat of the southwest, they brought you this life, is that what you want?

A little planning (with a minor outlay of capitol) will make sure when you come back you will have looks, wealth, charm, wit, fame, respect, popularity, happiness, personality, shiny lustrous hair, all of the things you lack now.

There is no point in spending your next life toiling in a dead end job, living in a hovel, friendless, ridiculed, scoffed at, discarded, ignored, struggling to scrape together enough for a decent funeral, that nobody will attend. You tried that in this life, and look how miserable it made you.

Remember our motto, "Don't let your next life suck as much as this one!"

Reincarnations Control, Inc. a division of Kraft Food.

Today’s Concern is the Plight of the Working Man.

 When the alarm clock rings in the morning it shortens a life by a few seconds.  It reaches it’s cold, heartless fingers into a healthy sleep and pulls the last 5 or 6 seconds of a life and throws them in the waste bin of eternity.  Not much, just a few seconds, but it adds up.  A person has no choice but to climb out of bed, after hitting the “snooze” button at least once.  Scientists are still debating if the snooze button alarm has the same effect, and experiments continue but it may take years.  Comfortable and warm the bed is like a loved ones hug, and life, once again, rips a person away, and throws them into the world.  Barely awake, hardly breathing, heart just warming up to it’s daily job of pushing blood through the body, a terrible thought races through the mind, “what if the coffee maker quit working?”  It is in those moments that the ability to pray returns.

Teeth brushed, hair combed, deodorized, anti-perspired, dressed, and ready for the day, sort of, the world calls.  But, it is a siren’s call, it lies in ambush, silently outside the door, barely able to suppress an evil giggle.

On the way to a car that won’t start are puddles, some of which are bottomless, barking dogs, which ones will

bite, rain, hail, sleet, and snow.  Is it Monday, again?  It is a windy, chilly, wet walk to the bus stop.

Finally, against all odds, work begins, daily toil, responsibility, the stuff of legends, sort of.  Except, the printer is out of toner, shoot, how does this always happen? 

Well, might as well get some coffee, see if there are any treats in the break room, yesterday there were bagels, and cream cheese.

Dang, no treats, and no coffee, either.  Why is the stupid thing always empty?!?!?!?!?  It doesn’t take long to make a pot, so, just wait there until it is finished, no cheating and taking the pot and letting it run right into the mug, either, screw that.  Just wait, right there, until it is done.

Lunch time is special, there is magic in lunch time, it passes more quickly than other time, but it carries power, and it is wonderful.  Unless someone steals your lunch.  Son of a bitch!  A pastrami and swiss with Dijon on marbled rye, salt and vinegar chips and a greek yogurt for desert, and someone took it.  Lunchtime from the vending machine is not the same, it doesn’t sparkle, it glares.   Those cookies had to be a year old, they looked like Dali’s clocks, and tasted like dust. 

Everything has to get better now, this has already been as bad as it can be, right?  Maybe not, the only seat left on the bus is right next to a person who smells like a corpse, and is eating something that has the pleasant aroma of carrion.  Curse the luck.

Walking home a ten dollar bill floats blissfully in front of you and clings to your leg.  Now that is some good luck.

“Hey Mom, I had a great day.  I found $10.00!”  And the phone call just gets better, the smiles are contagious.