by Richard Timothy | Aug 30, 2010 | My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, When I Was a Kid
Work is, well, it can mean a lot of things really. It can mean employment, or house work, or labor, or manual labor, or wage labor. Some would say work is the amount of energy transferred by a force. In thermodynamics I believe they define it as the quantity of energy transferred from one system to another. In a religious perspective Christians refer to work as acts of charity. Regardless of what avenue you play on, a fairly safe generalization is that work is the process of doing something.
Now I have done a lot of something’s in my time, so in an attempt to create a bit more of a finite perspective on this topic, I’m going to be using the word work in the context of performing a function for a person/company in which they exchange the time I spend working for them for green paper, which are commonly referred to as dollars, bucks, cash, mula, dough, bread… well you get the picture. The common everyday word for this exchange is called a job.
Over the years, let’s just say I’ve had my share of jobs. Sometimes even two or three at a time, sometimes four or five different ones in a year. Not because I was a bad employee, but because I was in a perpetual state of change. A change which meant I would be moving in just a short amount of time. I always find it mildly entertaining to look back at all the jobs I’ve had in the past and to see what I’ve learned from them. I believe this will be in mostly chronological order… mostly being the key word there:
Worm Picker
I learned that pouring garbage can after garbage can filled water and a chemical that makes worms freak out and race to the surface is a creepy and disturbing way to make $5/pound for worms. I also learned that I really don’t like holding worms, they are kind of gross. Recommendation: Skip it, unless you enjoy pulling slimy, wiggling worms out of the ground with your bare hands.
DJ for School Dances
I learned it’s really easy to become a DJ at 13 if your dad has a side business where he owns a mobile light show and sound system for putting on school dances. I also learned that you will never be able to make everyone happy, and if ever stuck on what song you should play next, go with the song that makes the person you have a crush on smile. It won’t do any good in helping you score a kiss, or even getting them to agree to slow dance with your, but at least you’ll get them smiling because of something you did. Recommendation: Worth the experience, but stay away from radio. Besides, it is fun for a while.
Fast Food Peon
I learned that flipping burgers at a fast food place is just was horrible as selling worms to fishing shops. I also learned that at 15 I was willing to do a 3 hour commute every day for the summer just to make $4/hour so I could buy my own school clothes. Recommendation: Skip it, unless you are required to do 100 hours of community service and serving burgers is one of your options; or unless you are 15 and it’s the only place hiring.
Grocery Bagger
I learned I hate asking, “paper or plastic?” Likewise, waking up at 5am to unload groceries from the back of a semi and stocking the shelves as fast as possible before leaving at 8am to get to school is one of the closest things to hell on Earth I can imagine… or could imagine while I was in high school. Recommendation: If you do mornings well, go for it.
Ice Cream Scooper
I don’t mean I was an actually ice cream scooper used to scoop ice cream, but the scooper that scooped ice cream using an ice cream scoop for people who wanted to buy it. I learned that I really don’t like ice cream that much. I also learned that when your co-worker is the 15 year old grandson of the owners, you should never comment that the grandson just clocks in and leaves work for the day, getting paid to do nothing. Because at that point you are the one that gets yelled at by the owners for being a bad employee. Recommendation: Buy some Ben & Jerry’s and skip the job interview.
Resort Jack of all Trades
I worked at a small resort where I cleaned room, mowed the lawns, tended the gift shop, took dinner and room reservations, waited tables, was a prep cook, was the breakfast and lunch cook, did construction… and served the occasional drink. I learned that if you have no friends in the area to distract you and have a boss that does not believe in overtime, but will let you work as much as you want so he doesn’t have to hire more people. It is possible to work close to 80 in one week. Recommendation: If they are good people and have an endless supply of stories and treat you well, it’s really not a bad way to spend the summer when you’re 18. Plus because you are working so much you end up saving most of your money instead of spending it during your free time… mainly because you don’t have any free time.
Day Care Worker/White Power Ranger
I learned that when you are working with a bunch of three to five year olds and you have long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, and it’s the mid 90’s, you are going to play Power Rangers every single day at work and you are always going to be Tommy, the White Ranger. I also learned more about the Mighty Morphing Power Rangers than I ever thought was acceptable for an adult to learn… I even found myself watching some of the episodes for “homework” purposes. Recommendation: For a semester, definitely… little people are always a good resource for making you laugh, especially when they don’t mean to.
College Dorm Room RA
I learned that working at a college day care was much more worthwhile than being in charge of babysitting a floor of college students that were only a year or two younger than me. The kids were much easier to deal with… plus they never arrived at the day care drunk. Unlike almost everyone on my dorm floor. Recommendation: It was a lot more work than I expected, but it wasn’t that bad. Besides, being an RA meant that I did have my own room, so in that regard I’d say yeah, it was worth it.
Assistant Pastry Chef
I learned that in resort cities you don’t need any experience to become an assistant pastry chef; you just need to be willing to wake up at 4am each morning to get to work by 5. If you were reliable enough to do that, you were reliable enough to be trusted with baking things in the ovens. Recommendation: Definitely a fun summer job. You meet an endless supply of crazy people, most of which think you are more nuts than they are because you work as a baker. Also, if you’re lucky, you have a job waiting for you when you go home for the Winter break before the new semester starts again.
Clothes Seller and Human Eye Measure-er for the GAP
I learned that the prospect of meeting cute girls diminishes quickly when they demand they are a size 4 and you know that they are a size 6… or 8. Recommendation: As a second job for the summer months between college semesters, yeah it’s really not that difficult. Plus you get a great discount on school clothes. Also, if you become friends with the window decorator, you can actually help create a Smirkable window display every now and again. My favorite was when the mannequins had a snowball fight using rolled up boxer shorts.
Video Rental Store Clerk
I learned that when one of your coworkers is dating your sister, he really doesn’t care much when you meet his aunt at a bar and take her out a few times. I also learned that it’s helpful to have a co-worker related to the bar maid you’ve just taken a fancy to, to learn that she’s still married, but separated. (Yeah, I stopped asking her our when I learned that little nugget.) Recommendation: Yes, when you are going to school, having an endless supply of free movie rentals does come in rather handy.
Subway Sandwich Artist
I learned that when you work with a kid who smokes pot in the back cooler, he has a tendency to eat a lot of the food when things are not busy. You do spend a lot of time up front keeping an eye on things though, because of all his trips to the back cooler. I also learned that just because you wear a button that says Sandwich Artist, you’re really just some guy that makes incredibly mediocre sandwiches. Recommendation: If it allows you to keep out of the volatile living situation for eight or so hours a day, yeah it might be worth it. Otherwise, find a local sandwich instead.
Precook at a Steak House
I learned that working with your dad in a kitchen can be a lot of fun. But if you boss (which is not your father) is an unrelenting drunk that keeps disrupting your work and then yells at you for not working, it’s a job that you don’t need. Recommendation: I might be ok to learn a few things about working in a kitchen, but don’t be afraid to walk out on the drunk.
Door to Door Sales Man
I learned that people don’t like to be interrupted at their homes by strangers trying to peddle them something they really don’t need. I also learned that the truly crazy ones are the one that will actually invite you in. Recommendation: For the sake of having a lifetime of stories about really obscure people and situations, by all means yes, just don’t make it a life time vocational choice. The experience is worth it as long as it ends.
Coffee Shop Deli Boy
I learned a lot about a product that I hate… coffee. I also learned that I really only like customer service when I can make food for people I like instead of everyone who comes in asking to be fed. I learned that working with your best friend can be a lot of fun, but also make you want to put their head in a Panini grill every once in a while. I also learned that you can barter meals for a bmx bike or even hypnotherapy sessions. Recommendation: Yes, you meet a lot of great people, who, when they remember to tip, are downright sweethearts, also if you have a thing from baristas, you stick with the job long after you should have moved on to bigger and better things.
Banana Republic Stock-Boy
I learned that hanging out in a cool basement running closes up to the main floor for customers that you would not be helping in any way is a nice customer service job that keeps you away from the customers. I learned when it comes to spending the summer in San Francisco; there are worse places to be than at work in a clothing store. I also learned that San Francisco is the town of a thousand smells, and it’s a nice place see, but I wouldn’t want to live there. Recommendation: It’s an ok distraction and gives you some cash to buy sandwiches while you are spending the summer in San Francisco to write.
Newspaper Opinion Columnist
I learned that writing a liberal opinion column for a mostly conservative campus paper is a good way to get voted as the most hated person on campus. I learned that editors are very useful things to have access too. I also learned that some people do not handle negative criticism about their negative criticism well. For the record I only had to call the cops once due to threats. Recommendation: Definitely, getting paid to share your opinion is one of the sweetest gigs I think I’ve ever had.
Writer of Technical Documents
I learned that I can get a job with an English degree that doesn’t require me to teach a class. I also learned that when you tell someone that you are a technical writer, about 98% of the time they will ask you, “What’s that?” Recommendation: It’s definitely not for everyone, but if you can do it and after 8 years you feel fine towards it… I figure that’s a good thing… well, it’s not bad anyway. Also, if you’re lucky you just might meet that special someone that asks you to marry them.
Blogger
I’ve learned that for me creative and satirical writing is the cat’s meow, the marshmallow in my rice crispy treat, the Sangiovese grape that makes my favorite wines my favorite wines, the K in MST3K, the little crack you feel when stretching your back that makes everything feel better… I could keep going, but I think you get the point. Recommendation: Absolutely. If you enjoy writing, then write. I love it. Also, when others tell you that they love it as well, well then that’s a whole new sentence of obscure analogies which ultimately mean, “it’s pretty damn cool.”
And there you have it, my job list. I think that’s all of it. Nineteen jobs in 36 years… I’m not sure if that is excessive or pretty standard. Still, it has been a collection of life experiences… and well worth it.
What were some of your more outlandish jobs?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: work, high school dance, bagging groceries, day care, SNL GAP, sandwich artist, working at coffee shop deli, newspaper columnist, and blogging.
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by Richard Timothy | Jul 4, 2010 | Adolescent Shenanigans, Holiday Banter, I Think There's a Point, Lightbulbs and Soapboxes, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Utahism, When I Was a Kid
It is Saturday the 3rd of July*, which in Utah can only mean one thing… fireworks! Yes in the state of Utah any holiday that falls on a Sunday, save Christmas, is celebrated by the state on the Saturday before. It’s kind of a catch twenty-two though. (I would have included Easter in that, but Easter is a Sunday holiday so it’s not like it’s going to get celebrated in a different day for some reason.)
At one end of the spectrum it’s the power of the people controlling and choosing when to celebrate… at least it would be if there was a vote. I know it’s what the majority would vote for, which might be the rational for there not being a vote. At least I really don’t remember a vote, and democracy though assumption is not a government that I’m terribly supportive of. Hence part two of the equation, the perpetual and relentless lack of the concept, separation of church and state. I’m not saying that it’s like Vatican city… ok so maybe I’m saying it’s a little like that. There is a very strong church based control of the laws that get passed in this state.
It is getting better though, we even get the occasional alternate lifestyle supporter, and once we even had an a politician in office in Salt Lake City itself who was openly active in that alternative lifestyle. You’d never see it happen in the rural towns, still Utah is not a completely dark age state. Oddly though, the liquor stores are all run by the state. So all of these hard core religious politicians want to make sure they have control of the alcohol in this state, even though they are against the consumption of alcohol. I have heard, which may or may not be true, that it is the taxes on alcohol that helps pay for the schools, which to me means that if you want smarter children in the state if Utah, you really need to drink more. In fact I think for the rest of the wine parties we have each month I am going to start them off with a toast to the education of Utah’s children. It will be in good spirits and everyone will be drinking with intent and purpose.
I don’t believe there are any dry counties in Utah, so I don’t feel we are quite that archaic. I guess when it comes to Utah all I can do is quote the immortal words of one Bob Wiley from ‘What about Bob?’ fame and say, “Baby steps…” We’ll get there eventually, maybe not in my lifetime, but eventually. Until then I’ll keep celebrating Independence Day on the 3rd instead of the 4th during those years that the 4th falls on a Sunday. Likewise, I’ll continuing ignoring all state hosted New Years Eve celebrations that take place on the 30th of January instead of the 31st because the 31st falls on a Sunday… because that is just plain stupid and in my book utter sacrilege.
One of the things I learned today while out and about, going to a late movie during the same time that the official city run firework shows are going off is the perfect time to catch a movie. You can arrive five minutes after the movie has started and still get your choice of almost any seat in the house. We even caught a few colorful fireballs filling the evening sky on the drive home as well. It was like our own little double feature.
One thing about July in Utah is it is unofficially the official firework month. They legalize fireworks for the month of July for two different patriotic celebrations. The first is the 4th, which is the birthday party for the US. The second is the 24th, which is the day Utah officially become a state, hence the birthday of Utah. On both days there are firework celebrations and the state feels compelled to let the people of Utah light off fireworks during these three weeks without any legal repercussion… as long as you don’t set anything or anyone on fire that is. Granted these are only the state sanctioned and legal fireworks that are allowed, which are sold at the various firework booths that start popping up in grocery story parking lots throughout the month of July. For the more adventurous folks, they will drive about an hour out of their way to cross the state border over in to Wyoming were they can purchase illegal fireworks and bring them home… and quite probably
I have mixed feelings about fireworks, mainly because it’s a very literal variation of the old adage “burning your money”, which I’d like to think I’m against. Lighting off fireworks is more like lighting a hundred dollar bill on fire and watching it burn over an hour long interval, but this really only happens once or twice a year. Still, fireworks seem like a bad investment that I’m just not that interested in making.
Besides, I know that a portion of my state taxes are always going to help fund the state hosted firework shows each year, which does make me a little grumpy if I stop to think about it. Let say that the average firework show costs a hundred-thousand dollars (which is a made-up figure that I have no way of knowing is even remotely accurate). Ironically enough, well, hypocritically enough anyway, I always find it comical that it is illegal for any civilian to own or shoot off any illegal fireworks, which are the big ones that shoot into the air and make big colorful explosions in the sky. Yet, it is perfectly acceptable for the city council to bring in and light off thousands of these illegal fireworks each year. I guess that’s politics for you. The main thing I get grumbley about is that we could use that money to help people in the state that are living below the poverty line, that are homeless and hungry. Instead, we light all that money on fire so people can “Ooooh” and “Ahhhh” for about an hour.
Still, the little person inside me still remembers all of the fun I had based on bad decisions in the name of a good time. Things like holding firecrackers with my hands and throwing them into the air before the fuse ran out and they would explode. My favorite was the Roman candle wars we would have. Roman candles were twelve to fourteen inch long fireworks, about a half inch in diameter. One end had a stake that you would stick into the ground and then you’d light the fuse at the other end and ten to twelve little fireballs would shoot out of the end, burning a different color. They didn’t last that long and would burn out before it hit the ground, still you got ten of those in a row. My brothers and I would actually hold those things in our hands and then run around the back yard trying to hit each other with these baby fireballs. My dad just laughed at us and stayed close to the hose.
There is something hypnotic and inspiring about fireworks. I see it in the eyes of my niece and nephew when they watch them go off and fill the night’s sky with fiery colors. It’s kind of like watching them dream while they are awake. And there is my firework conundrum… inspiring and invoking imagination in the youth, and a huge waste of funds that could help those in need. Hopefully someday the state will find a happy medium. Until then I’ll try to keep this conundrum to myself and try to spend time with the niece and nephew when the fireworks go off and continue to donate to the food bank when I can. I guess that’s my happy medium for the time being. I hope everyone enjoyed, their 4th festivities, even if they happened to happen on the 3rd.
What are your thoughts on firework shows?
Image Source:
Google Images, key words: Utah fireworks, what about Bob, firework tent, watching fireworks, kids watching fireworks.
*I realize that I officially posted this on the 4th, but it was written on the 3rd. Sometimes things take a bit longer to post than I initially expected. Personally I blame hay fever and allergies, but the allergy medicine did play its role as well.
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by Richard Timothy | May 17, 2010 | Adolescent Shenanigans, I Just Don't Get It, I Think There's a Point, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Something I Know Nothing About, When I Was a Kid
So I walked into my office today, not necessarily with a case of the Mondays, but I was very aware that it was a Monday. I had spent my commute to working listing to Neil Gaiman reading his book, The Graveyard Book and pondering what I could write about today, but mostly listening to Neil. Then I walked into my office and the first thing my office mate said to me was, “Dude, its 80 degrees today. The fish are going to be biting!” And as simple as that, I had a topic.
I’m not sure what it is about fishing, but for some people there appears to be me some magical obsessionary mind control power associated to it. I believe it was Steven Wright that said, “There’s a fine line between fishing and just standing on the shore like an idiot.” Besides being obvious, I think there’s a lot of truth in that statement, especially coming from the idiot side of the coin. Still, today was a reminder that of what it means to be a fisherman.
Fishing has been a topic that seems to keep coming up over and over again, randomly and without any real interest on my part. There is the daily discussion I have with my office mate. Then there was some strange that talked to me about fishing for about two hours the last flight I was on. Plus, the last time I was in my acupuncturists office there was a lady having a very loud and intense conversation about the fishing her and her husband had just gotten back from.
Still, talking to a fisher-person about fishing is a lot like talking to my niece about Scooby-Doo. They get this look in their eyes as they begin talking about it. It’s a combination of love, joy, reverence, and bouncy excitement. As my office mate said today as he was leaving work three and a half hours early so he could go fishing for the afternoon, “It’s like crack. I’ve got the fever. I’m twitching and getting out of my seat every five minutes to go look outside to see how the weather is. Don’t worry, I’ll be back in an hour if I don’t catch anything.”
I told him he wasn’t going to be back in an hour regardless if he caught anything or not. He agreed, and with that I had the office to myself for the rest of the day. He did ask me and anyone else that walked into our office if we wanted to go fishing with him. It’s not that I didn’t want to go… ok it was that actually. He did dance a little jig in the office when he did get off the phone, commenting that he had found someone to go with him. Apparently fishing is a “bring a friend” activity. I would have never guessed that.
This belief is mainly a result of the one and only fishing trip I took with my grandfather while growing up in Wyoming. My grandpa was an avid fisherman. He had four or five poles hanging on the wall in the entry way of the house between the garage and the main living area. Out of all the things that were off limits at my grandparent’s house, grandpa’s fishing equipment was the holy grail of them all. We’d sneak into the back yard and invade grandma’s raspberry bushes no matter how many times we were told to stay out. We’d sneak downstairs and look though all of grandpa’s old tvs. He was a television repair man so the house was full or old non-operating televisions saved simply for the prospect of possible used parts. But when it came to grandpa’s fishing goods, we would look at them from afar, but never dared get close enough to even touch them.
You can imagine my and my brother Mike’s surprise when one day, my mother informed us that grandpa would like to take us fishing that Saturday. I believe I was 7, so that would have made Mike 8. Self control and patience were words that had been said to us many, many times, but we really didn’t have a clear understanding of what they meant at that age. So you can imagine the concept of sitting quietly so as to not scare the fish did not last very long.
I mean for the first half hour to an hour it was all rather grand, we learned to cast, and reel in the hook, and then cast again. It was explained that we needed to reel in slowly so that the shiny spinning lure could attract the fish. This lasted about four casts. Being only fourteen months apart in age Mike and I were a bit competitive at this point in our lives, and soon the casting game began. We would take turns casting with all our might to see how far out into the lake we could make a splash. The second the splash was made we would reel in the hook as fast as possible so we could cast again.
Grandpa informed us we would not catch any fish that way and to just cast and leave the line out there. We were to sit quietly on the ground and wait for the fish to bite. This lasted maybe 10 minutes before I had a brilliant idea. It was clear to me that the reason the fish were not biting was because they were too far away from the hook and could not see the little worm, wiggling and calling to the fish to come over and have a snack. So I carefully placed the pole on the ground and started throwing rocks as far as I could into the lake.
When my grandpa yelled at me to stop throwing rocks because I was scaring the fish, I told him I knew that. I then explained that if I threw the rocks far enough then I’d scare the fish closer to the shore so they could seem my hook and I’d catch more fish. I mean it made perfect sense to me at the time, and Mike agreed wholeheartedly. It was a fool proof plan. I’ve later come to learn that it was proof that I was a fool when it came to fishing.
Grandpa just stared at me for a bit. Then shook his head and told us to stay around the lake. He was going to the river and would be back in an hour or two. Mike and I followed orders and stayed by the lake. After twenty minutes of throwing rocks and not getting any bites we decided that we needed to go around to the other side of the lake (it was a very small lake). Apparently the fish were swimming away from the poles instead of towards them because we were not throwing the rocks far enough. Once on the other side we started throwing rocks again. After half an hour we went back to our poles, sure that we would have a fish on the end. Elusive little buggers… there was no fish on either of our hooks, and there was no worm either at that point. The fish had picked the hook clean. So we took a break, and got out our sack lunches and enjoyed some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, a can of soda, and some homemade cookies, which I ate first.
After lunch we were both certain that grandpa didn’t know what he was doing. It was clear that there were no fish in that lake. We even spent about three minutes not moving and looking at the water and didn’t see a single fish! So we had a water fight instead. Soon we were both quite soaked and shivering and done with this crazy myth called fishing. We wanted to go home, so we started yelling for grandpa. A little while later he came up a small trail with one small fish on a string. It was an amazing thing to see. I kept asking to see the magic lamp grandpa had so he could wish for a fish. At the time it seemed like the only logical explanation there was for where it came from. I suggested that next time he should wish for a bigger fish. He didn’t smile at me once on during the drive back home, which only took about 10 to 15 minutes, but I would have sworn it was closer to an hour.
Once we got home we jumped out of the truck and ran into the house yelling for mom. Having grown up with her father, she was a touch surprised we were home so soon from fishing. She asked how it went and we told her all about our day, interrupting ourselves only twice to ask if there were any cookies left and if we could have some more. After the story of our day was finished, we went to change into some dry clothes and mom talked to grandpa. Once grandpa left, mom checked with us to see if we enjoyed the fishing part. We were honest, we enjoyed playing in the forest, but the fishing thing was not our favorite part of the day. Mom smiled and told us that maybe we could go back to the lake for a picnic sometime soon.
It wasn’t until years later that we learned that grandpa was so unimpressed by our first fishing outing that he had no intention on taking us a second time. It didn’t matter though, he still let up play with some of his old broken televisions when we’d go over to visit, and that was a lot more fun than catching a slimy old fish any day of the week.
I’ve stayed pretty consistent about my lack of interest when it comes to fishing, but I’ll listen and encourage. Fishing folk really seem to enjoy having an ear around that will listen. I still don’t get it. It seems like a rather unrewarding time suck in my opinion. Then again, to be fair, they probably think that spending hours at a computer writing tangents and random observations is a lot like combing your hair with a cheese grater, slightly amusing, but mostly painful. And as that old Chinese proverb says… Give a man a fish and if you’re lucky you might get some sushi, but teach a man to fish who doesn’t want to learn and you’re probably going to get slapped in the face with a wet fish.
What are your thoughts about fishing?
Image Source:
Google Images, key words: fishing, gone fishing, throwing rocks, genie lamp, fish slap, and homemade cookies.
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by Richard Timothy | May 11, 2010 | Gratefully Grateful, I Think There's a Point, Life Characters, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, When I Was a Kid
There are some farewells that truly are events, were people wear dinner jackets, and sometimes retired space astronaut shows up because they heard there was an open bar, and they really had no plans for the weekend. At some farewells drinks are consumed with such exacting repetition that those drinking could give any synchronized swimming show in Vegas a run for its money. Point of clarification here, by farewell I do not mean… passed on, no more, ceased to be, expired and gone to meet ‘is maker, a stiff, bereft of life, rests in peace, who’s metabolic processes is now history, is off the twig, has kicked the bucket, is shuffled off the mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin’ choir invisible, or is an ex-parrot, err human, and thank you to the Parrot Sketch for their assistance in that explanation. No, by farewell I mean that person being farewelled simply has moved to a new location on this planet that is no longer a short drive away, but at least you can still talk on the phone.
Then there are some farewells, like the one I had this past Saturday, which consisted of the me, the fareweller, saying farewell to my friend Kyle, the farwellee. Kyle and I have been best friends since 7th grade. Now if we were both in 8th grade, it would really not be that impressive of a feat, but considering we are bother in our mid 30s some of you will think to yourself, “well done” while others will think, “what an old fart.”
It was the first day of school and I was standing in the lunch line, minding my own business, hoping that they would be serving tater tots for lunch, and the next thing I hear a conversation that sounds like it’s directed at me. I looked around and saw nothing. Then I look down, and there beside me was this little redheaded kid, in glasses, looking up at me waiting for a response. I half expected him ask, “Please sir, may I have some more?” But the second we make eye contact he instead said, “Don’t you just hate it when you are standing in line and some stranger walks up to you and just starts talking to you?”
I gave him an odd smile, and told him I really didn’t know… and so began the 25 year (and going) conversation that is my and Kyle’s friendship. As it turns out, I do not hate it when people walk up next to me when I am standing in a line and start talking with me, well unless it’s because they want to sell me a watch, or ask me for some money. I guess you could say I learned that from Kyle. There have actually been a number of things over the year I’ve learned from Kyle. Here are just a few of them:
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The only proper way to eat French fries it to dip them into your Wendy’s chocolate Frosty, or chocolate milkshake if the a fore mentioned Frosty is not available.
- The best way to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich is with a glass of chocolate milk… which you dip the sandwich into. He has always been a firm supporter that if something is good, adding a chocolate flavored dairy product to the consumption process is only going to make it better.
- A great deal of my musical education is thanks to Kyle. He introduced me to The Cure, Depeche Mode, The Dead Kennedy’s, Benny Goodman, Leon Redbone, Blues Traveler, REM, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Bob Dylan, The Grateful Dead, U2, Bob Marley, Concrete Blond, Patsy Cline, and Sigur Ros… just to name a few.
- He introduced me to The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran.
- He introduced me to the first girl I ever made out with. I was freshman, she was a senior… I was pretty sure I deserved a medal for it.
- He gave me my first Terry Pratchett book, Good Omens, even though it was a co-author project with Neil Gaiman… and he gave me my first Neil Gaiman book.
- He did introduce me to the work of William S. Burroughs as well, but has since apologized for that.
- He introduced me to the television series MST3K, for which I will be forever grateful.
- I went to my first concert with him, Ziggy Marley and the Melody Makers.
- He also introduced me to the work of Hunter S. Thompson… he may have apologized for that too.
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He was my proxy drunk for the many years that I spent not drinking. He would always make sure that for every New Years we celebrated together he would drink enough for two.
- He introduced me to Opus and Bill, aka Bloom County.
- He gave me a lot of advice I ignored when I was young, and that I look forward to now that I’m older.
- We would hang out in my basement and write really bad open-verse non-rhyming poetry, which in looking back was my gateway writing style. It was the beat poets that really got us breaking out of the conventional boring rhyme writing process that was the lyrical love child of Dr. Seuss and iambic pentameter. I do think that my love affair with writing started back then. Removing rhyme and playing with words opened up a whole new realm of creativity and appreciation in writing. I started writing longer poems and eventually moved over to short stories, and have never looked back. Except now, because I needed to look back and explain it a bit.
I could keep going, but I think the point has been made. It has been quite the adventure so far. The farewell arrived rather quickly. He’d only been in town a few months. Still, it was a really good few months having him within driving distance again. The thing about Kyle is that he is the epitome of a true Goonie, the adventure never really ends with that man. This farewell is, for now, a 9 month endeavor. I mean regardless of how long he’ll be away, he’ll be back for New Years. It’s a kind of ceremony if you will. We’ve only missed spending it together a few times in the past 25 years.
So where is he off to? I only bring it up because it is so inherently him. He’s going back to his roots, back to the path that his forefathers took. He has chosen to become a farmer for the next few months. The one small difference, instead of corn, or wheat, or barley, or chickens, or whatever it was that his ancestors grew, the crop he’ll be growing is cannabis. Yep, the man is off to California to grow about 50 plants for a local dispensary. I think he loves having that conversation with people as well, mainly because he can. He’s not doing anything illegal. He will be growing the crow within the guidelines of the state of California. Plus, it’s a good way to make a year’s salary in only nine months time. His degree in directing hasn’t really assisted him with where he’d like to be or what he’d like to be doing, especially when it comes to theatre. The thing is, there is a good chance that becoming a farmer is going to enable him to pay off all his student loans in one harvest. I do find that to be subtly poetic.
Our farewell consisted of just him and me sitting in a booth at a restaurant, having breakfast for lunch and reminiscing about the past four months. Then it was time for the farewell gifts. What does someone like me get someone like Kyle as a farewell gift? It’s easy really, the first thing I gave him was the books he had lent me to read while he was in town. Second, I gave him a DVD of Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along-Blog, but it is just the type of thing that is going to make him happy to watch and it will give him some new musical songs to memorize through repetition, so the next time he visits we can watch it together and sing along to all the songs while we act it out in my television room. Also, it is a standard viewing staple in anyone’s DVD library.
Finally, I returned the favor and gave him a copy of one of my favorite Terry Pratchett books, Small Gods, which he has not yet had the pleasure of reading. And then we said, “See you.” and that was that. The farewell was done and I went home to mow the lawn. A bit anti-climactic I know, but sometimes that’s life.
What are some of the things that you have learned from one of your best friends over the years?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: Parrot Sketch, tall boy and short boy, fries in frosty, Opus and Bill, New Years, and Dr. Horrible.
by Richard Timothy | May 10, 2010 | Gratefully Grateful, Holiday Banter, Life Characters, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, When I Was a Kid
One of the problems that I find with Smirking on the day of a holiday is whether or not I am going to have some free time to get some writing done on that holiday. Some holiday’s works out great, some result in me getting a Smirk posted on the day of, but just before around midnight so it can still be technically posted on the day of. Then there are holidays, like yesterdays Mother’s Day, which takes all of my writing time for the day because the holiday requires me to bask in the celebration of the holiday. If I hadn’t been so exhausted from spending a few hours running around the back yard with my 5 year old niece perhaps I could have gotten something done. But between the water fights, 27 times we played use the lawn darts to hit basketball game (they were the plastic ones), playing house, having a tea party with two baby dolls and three Barbie’s and one of Barbie’s horses, and helping her climb a few trees, I was a touched pooped by the time I got home. So with all that being said, today gets to be my (post) Mother’s Day Smirk.
Contrary to popular belief, Mother’s was not originally a pagan holiday. Ok, so maybe I’m the only one who has ever assumed Mother’s day was at its origin a Pagan holiday, but it’s my fail safe explanation. If you don’t know the origin or a holiday, just blame it on the Pagans. It’s worked pretty will for me so far. I guess that’s what I get for assuming though. Of course, you know what happens when you assume? Apparently a spell is cast and you are turned into a donkey named Ume… or something close to that. Maybe, assuming is, at its origin, a pagan thing? It sure explains that whole shape shifting donkey thing. Actually, it all depends on what origins of the holiday you are after, if you look at all the Mother’s Day holidays around the globe, we really do need to give some credit to the Pagans… thanks Pagans! As for today’s information on the holiday it is based on the US version of Mother’s Day.
Mother’s on the other hand, are just like the heart, the brain, and the nervous system. We are all born with one and we would not be here without one. Despite all our differences, mothers are one of those things that make us all the same. That is, at least, until human cloning becomes a standard practice of human devolution.
The present day version of Mother’s Day was inspired one Ann Jarvis. Back in 1868 she set out to create a Mother’s Friendship Day, which was designed to bring families who had been divided during the Civil War back together. Before the movement gained any substantial momentum Ann died on May 9th, 1905. It was her daughter Anne Marie Jarvis that keep Ann’s work going. It took a few years, but on May 12, 1907 there was a memorial service held at an Episcopal Church in West Virginia honoring all mothers. The first “official” service happened a year later on May 10, 1908. Anne then started a campaign to establish Mother’s Day as a national US holiday.
In 1910, West Virginia officially declared Mother’s Day an official holiday. The nice thing about that is who is going to say no to a holiday celebrating mothers, especially in congress. I mean there are some things that are passed that people are going to rant and bellow against it. I mean how big of a gluteus maximus article of clothing that you place on your head do you have to be to vote against something like a day to celebrate your mom? I would assume and hope that it was a unanimous decision to follow suit, because it did not take long for the other states to jump on the Mother’s Day wagon. Then on May 8, 1914 the US Congress passed a law making the second Sunday of May Mother’s Day. The next day, Woodrow Wilson proclaimed May 9, 1914 the first national Mother’s Day… ok so that really wasn’t so much funny as it is educational, but I did find it interestingly educational as opposed to yawnishly education.
Now because mothers are people too, they are all different, unique, and simply put, human. Some mothers are good, some are not. Some are nothing more than incubators, and some are your best friend your entire life. Some share DNA with you and some do not, but one thing is universal about them, they are our mother.
My dad’s mother, well sadly, I never met her. She was gone before I made my grand entrance onto the planet, but I’ve heard stories and seen photos of her. Her photos always reminded me of the incarnation of Santa’s special lady, Mrs. Claus. According to the stories my dad has shared about her, I’m going to have to say that I am about 76% sure that she actually was Santa’s main squeeze, or at the very least related to the family in some way.
As for my mom’s mom, she was a product of the great depression, a little hard, and very set in her ways, but we always had a grand time when visiting, which was about 2 to 3 times a week, and we were always welcomed. I’m not sure why, but one of my first thoughts about her is always her unexpected and always entertaining use of colorful metaphors. They were always said under her breath and when she didn’t think anyone was listening. It was more of an involuntary thing for her than anything else. It was a result of everyday “oops” type situations. Things like dropping a fork from the dinner table, accidentally pricking her finger with a sewing needle, or dropping a washed dish while she was drying it by hand. Each of these situations would trigger an automatic cursing expulsion. This whispered flurry of words would always give my siblings and me a fit of the giggles, which we would blame on the cartoons we would be watching. I never dared repeat any of the words I learned from grandma until I was at least in junior high school. For the record, it wasn’t your standard back ally, drunken sailor profanity either. It was just your standard, run of the mill, ok-for-70’s television profanity.
Then there are the Karen’s. Both Angela’s mother and my mother are named Karen, which is of Danish origin meaning pure. As far as mother’s go, actually as far as people go, I’ve never met a woman so devoted, concerned, loving, worried for and unconditionally loving and supporting as my mom. My only gripe is that she is one of those older generation mothers who believe serving others is what a large part of life is about, which is fine, but she does have a difficult time receiving anything for herself and accepting how amazing she truly is. Interestingly enough my new, second mom, Angela’s Karen is a bit similar in this behavior as well.
There is a song by Natalie Merchant that, from the first time I heard it, reminded me of my mom. It very simply, accurately, and beautifully put into song the way I feel about her. It was the song that I dedicated to her, and dance with her to, on my wedding. I suppose you could call it my official Mom song. So for this Mother’s Day, and for every Mother’s Day to come, I dedicate the song Kind and Generous to my mom’s, Karen and Karen, and to all the secondary mother’s I had growing up, Anson’s mom Helen, Kyle’s mom Carol, and Buck’s mom Nan. To my mother’s… (Note: There are two songs in the attached video, the first song is the one I’m referring too. I would have linked the official video, but I think it takes away from the message I find in the song.)
Thank you and I love you.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A89kgQK3pfU&feature=fvw]
(Click here if video did not play. Click here to see the lyrics.)
What song would you dedicate to your mother?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: dad spinning daughter, pagans, mothers day, mrs claus, and mom hugging son.
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by Richard Timothy | Apr 12, 2010 | Adolescent Shenanigans, Confessed Confidentially, I Think There's a Point, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Something to Wine About, When I Was a Kid
So I had one of my best friends visiting from out of town this weekend, which is always a grand time. We have known each other since I broke his collar bone during recess in kindergarten and we’ve just sort of been friends ever since. Look, it wasn’t my fault. Ok, it was, but it was not intentional. I was 5 and I had just recently been introduced to the magical devices known as slides. It was a big slide too. It was your standard straight run slide with an accelerator hump half way down. It was steel, shiny, and obviously a gift from the gods. Apparently Zeus had shagged one of the locals and at some point blessed that child and all generations of that child with this brilliant gift of sliding perfection.
One of the things you could always count on in kindergarten was the b-line all the kids made to that slide once the recess bell rang. Kids would like climb up the two story ladder, which was probably about 6 feet up, but when you are only half the size of an adult Ewok a ladder that high is only about three steps shy of being able to grab the moon so you can use it to play catch. This slide was Mount Olympus, and then you got to the top you would look over all of the known world.
Apparently, on the day of the event I was a little imaginationly blinded. I saw the top of the slide as the one place on the planet that had to be at, as soon as humanly possible. If I was not on the ladder platform, the world was going to explode. The off switch was on the top of the slide platform and I was the only one who knew exactly where it was. I had to save everyone on the planet. So I pushed and stepped and climbed over, around and on the other kids climbing the ladder to the top of the slide so that I could get to the top. Once there I pushed the Cancel World Destruction button and saved the planet. Then I had to slide down before the platform dissolved making it impossible for anyone to ever push the Earth Self Destruct button ever again.
As my feet hit the ground I made an explosion noise and jumped away from the slide. I was safe! But something wasn’t right. There was a congregation of kids gathered around the slide, but none of them were trying to get on the slide. No, this was a group of kids trying to get a look at something that had just happened on the ground. When I got closer to see what was happening, I was greeted with a flank of little fingers pointing at me yelling, “You did it!” This was not the “Hooray you just saved us all” meaning of “You did it!” No, this was the “It’s all your fault.” translation accompanied by the finger of blame. I had no idea what they were talking about, but I did notice there was a kid lying on the ground a little dazed and a teacher was picking him up and rushing him to the small school building we had class in.
As I faced the horde of my peers taunting me with blame, and telling me I had just pushed Anson off the top of the slide, and that my teacher was going to find out, and that I would going to have to go to the principal’s office, and was going to get a spanking, and that they were going to call my parents and tell on me, I did what any hero who had just save all those people and the Earth would do, I started crying. Then I tried running away. The problem I discovered with being 5 and trying to flee the scene of a crime is… short legs. You can run has fast as you can, but you really don’t get that far.
Because I was the unintentional assailant of the whole affair part of my punishment was to face the person I had so carelessly pushed off the slide and apologize. I still claimed that I didn’t do it. I mean I honestly did not see him. The 30 eye witnesses saying contrary sealed my blame. So when my mom took me to see Anson and told me to apologize to him, I did it. No questions asked, whether I agreed or not.
Anson responded in the only way a 5 year old wearing a new cast knows how when confronted by another kid of the same age. He handed me a marker and let me draw on his arm sling. Our parents took this as a good sign that the apology was accepted, and we, not sure what apology really meant, were way past talking about broken bones and were now discussing the finer points of spaceship themed Legos. And it just sort of kept going from there. Now, 31 years later we’re still going strong, and I always try to make sure I buy him Legos for his birthday.
So now, since we has moved to Iowa to teach 3D animation, he has a sort of yearly ceremony where, when spring break rolls around he takes advantage of the off week and pops by Utah for a week of play, party, and possible parental visits. Meaning he possibly visits his parents if there’s time and not that he visits people that might possibly be his parents. He does have a lot of family in the area, so it’s always a good trip for him to catch up with friends and family. During this time my brother and I will always take at least one day (sometimes more) off of work to hang out and catch up.
There are always three things that always happen when he visits. One is that we go out and eat epic amounts of sushi for dinner one of the nights he in town. Second, we always watch at least one MST (or MST subsidiary). And last, we have a party. As it worked out, we were having the monthly wine party the same Saturday that he was going to be in town. Granted it worked out that way because we planned it that way, but when given the opportunity to go with a “happenstance” explanation vs. a “we planned it that way” explanation, I’m usually going to go with the “and it just so happened that…” version of the story.
The Anson wine party was brilliant, and I’m tickled with the new people that are becoming more regular wine party attendees. Although, I did experience a wine party first this past party. We actually had some wine left over. In the four or five years we’ve been doing it, it’s never happened. I mean sure there have been cases were there was one or two half bottles left by the time people were sober enough to drive home. But as it turned out, we had 5 unopened bottles left! When I got up Sunday morning I walked downstairs and saw the dinner table covered with wine bottles. Then, I noticed it. There was only one at first, but as I started examining the collection of empty bottles I found that there were 2, no 3, no 4, no 5… yes 5! There were 5 bottles of unopened wine. Ha ha ha. (Count von Count would be so proud.)
Traditionally the recommendation for our wine party is to bring a side dish to share and bottle of wine for people to try. This applies to couples and singles, meaning that if you come as a couple you bring a bottle and if you come alone you bring a bottle. What happened is that people were in a “let’s try wine” mood. Instead of one bottle per couple, we had each person bring a bottle. We even had one friend bring three bottles just from him, the little sweetheart. I tried too. We were all for trying every wine that graced our presence that evening, but I’ll tell you, after 16 bottles of wine, and one small bottle of 12 year old scotch we reached a universal “I’m done” point in the evening 5 bottle shy of completion.
As for the wine of the month, I believe I’m going to have to go with the 2007 Trapiche Broquel Malbec, although we did have a 2008 there as well. Both were yummy, but if given the choice, I recommend the 2007 over the 2008. It’s an Argentinean red wine that upon the first sip, asks your mouth if you’d like to dance the tango. I recommend that you speak for your mouth when this happens by nodding yes and then take another sip. After the third swallow of this wine your tongue will stop prancing around your mouth and begin to get the hang of the rhythm the wine and tongue need to make together to fully enjoy all of the flavors and depth that this wine brings to the table. At only $14 a bottle, it’s a fabulous wine for a very reasonable price.
I did have one kind of, sort of epiphany like thought during the night. One friend brought me a wine in hopes that I could save it. He claimed it was one of the worst wines he has ever tasted, ass wine if you will, and wanted it out of his house forever. He thought it was sacrilege to just dump it. So he was hoping I could work some of my drink mixing magic and get it to a point where people might actually enjoy drinking it. Well I do love a good challenge and after 2 lemons, some strawberries and pineapple, a hint of honey, and a handful of a cinnamon and sugar the wine abomination did become quite drinkable, in a “no too bad” kind of way.
Well when my little sister arrived someone handed her a wine glass that had a tiny bit of the pre-surgery ass wine. Her face, after tasting the wine, announced to everyone in the house that she agreed that it was one of the worst wines every made. The thing was that every other wine she tried that night was “fabulous” according to her. So this was my though, if you are sharing wine with someone who is trying to work their way up to drinking and appreciating more wine, a tiny sample of ass wine might be helpful. For the sheer fact that anything else you try the rest of the night is going to be so monumentally better that you sort of shock a struggling palate into appreciation. I think it could work, then again it just might be one of the “seems like a good idea at the time” ideas, and we all know how those usually end.
As with all my wine reviews, what are some of your wine suggestions? I’d love to hear them… the good I mean. Thanks.
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: Trapiche Broquel Malbec 07, playground slide, running kid, save the world, broken collarbone, bad taste face, and bottles of wine.
Work is, well, it can mean a lot of things really. It can mean employment, or house work, or labor, or manual labor, or wage labor. Some would say work is the amount of energy transferred by a force. In thermodynamics I believe they define it as the quantity of energy transferred from one system to another. In a religious perspective Christians refer to work as acts of charity. Regardless of what avenue you play on, a fairly safe generalization is that work is the process of doing something. 
I learned it’s really easy to become a DJ at 13 if your dad has a side business where he owns a mobile light show and sound system for putting on school dances. I also learned that you will never be able to make everyone happy, and if ever stuck on what song you should play next, go with the song that makes the person you have a crush on smile. It won’t do any good in helping you score a kiss, or even getting them to agree to slow dance with your, but at least you’ll get them smiling because of something you did. Recommendation: Worth the experience, but stay away from radio. Besides, it is fun for a while.
I learned a lot about a product that I hate… coffee. I also learned that I really only like customer service when I can make food for people I like instead of everyone who comes in asking to be fed. I learned that working with your best friend can be a lot of fun, but also make you want to put their head in a Panini grill every once in a while. I also learned that you can barter meals for a bmx bike or even hypnotherapy sessions. Recommendation: Yes, you meet a lot of great people, who, when they remember to tip, are downright sweethearts, also if you have a thing from baristas, you stick with the job long after you should have moved on to bigger and better things.
I’ve learned that for me creative and satirical writing is the cat’s meow, the marshmallow in my rice crispy treat, the Sangiovese grape that makes my favorite wines my favorite wines, the K in MST3K, the little crack you feel when stretching your back that makes everything feel better… I could keep going, but I think you get the point. Recommendation: Absolutely. If you enjoy writing, then write. I love it. Also, when others tell you that they love it as well, well then that’s a whole new sentence of obscure analogies which ultimately mean, “it’s pretty damn cool.”
