what a meal!

In the news the other day was a story about a guy who was 'cut-off' in his all-you-can-eat dining experience at some restaurant somewhere in America. Apparently, the restaurant felt that 12 slices of roast beef was more than enough for anyone to eat. And, apparently, the guy was embarrassed because this took place in front of all the other patrons (as opposed to some dark and dingy back room, where these occurrences usually take place). And, the guy was Samoan. So, the family has decided to sue the restaurant.

Now, as is the case with virtually every law suit, the family strongly denied it having anything to do with money. Naturally. Because who sues for money? No, the reason, as told by this guy's wife, was to do away with the stereotype of Samoans as being big eaters. To which I thought, "Huh?". Now, call me racially insensitive if you must, but I rarely (read never) give much thought to Samoans at all. Truthfully, the only thing I really know about Samoans is that I believe them to be one of tastiest type of Girl Scout cookies that you can buy. If memory serves, they have chocolate with toasted coconut on top. Very delicious. As for Samoans being some type of nationality...well, I'm not real sure, but if the TV says so, I'll take its word for it.

And being that I don't really know where Samoa is or that there are actual people from this place, I really wasn't aware of any stereotypes at all. So, basically, this family is suing the restaurant so that I'll un-believe a stereotype that I didn't believe in the first place nor ever even knew existed. All this because of some guy that decided a meal of 12 slices of roast beef (and probably some mash potatoes and ham, because what's an all you can eat buffet without these?) has decided to sue the restaurant that kicked him out. Not that he wants money, mind you, but because he wants to dispel the myth that Samoans eat too much. But this story has, in fact, led me to a conclusion that I had never really considered before...

...12 slices? These Samoans must be pigs! So thank you TV for helping broaden my horizons and giving me a better knowledge of our neighbors in different countries...where ever the hell Samoa is. Not that I really care...I'm just never having one over for dinner.

the week at work

One week done. Which leaves about 1,716 left until retirement. Things seem to be going well so far, though. Listed in the plus column is the fact that the girl who was hired with me on Monday has already been 'let go' (yes...fired). I have not. Which I am going to take as solid proof of my 'adequate-ness' on the job.

It's been educational, as well. In the course of a week's worth of background checks, I have come across a guy who was fired from his job for 'extra-curricular' activities...women and booze, a guy that listed his previous job description as 'hanged live chickens', someone who left their previous job because of 'daily verbal abuse', and a guy whose high school diploma I couldn't confirm. Upon calling the guy to get a little more information out of him...thinking that perhaps I had called the wrong high school...he told me, 'naw, I never graduated from high school. The application only asked what high school I went to, not if I graduated, and I went to that high school for two whole years'.

After seeing some people's resumes and applications, I'll never again question why the unemployment rate is so high in this country.

haven't i seen you before?

Lately it seems that everyone I meet reminds me of someone that I once knew. The cashier at the grocery store looks just like that girl Trish from high school. And that guy at my new job reminds me of that guy from my old job. And the little kid that I saw riding a bike in the street looks just like that kid I taught science to a few years ago.

And all of this makes me wonder if, when everybody reminds you of somebody else, it means that you've met all the people that you're meant to meet. A sign that, 'hey, you've reached your limit. You can stop meeting new people now. And congratulations on a life well done!'. If recently met new people are any indication, then I think that I've just about reached my quota.

Which actually works out pretty well, because I really don't like most of the new people that I've met.

and so begins the grind

First day, new job. This means early mornings, commutes, and no more day time tv while napping on the couch. Despite the sorely missed nap time, it wasn't too bad. And it seems that, perhaps, this may be a job that I can tolerate...for awhile anyway (three years remains my personal record at a single place of employment before I've fled from boredom, disgust and sometimes both.) And I say 'tolerate' because I have long since given up the hope of finding a job that I 'love'.

I think that background checks may prove to be at least somewhat interesting as an initial entry into the world of cubicle-ism. Yes, gone are the days of little desks in rows, cluttered, half strewn stacks of papers that need grading and spitballs soaring through the air. In any event, it'll be interesting to see if I can survive the dog eat dog daily drama that is the 'real world'. But with verifying backgrounds (or professional digging up of the dirt, as I like to think of it) still remains, in my mind, the ultimate 'get paid for reading blogs' type of deal.

In other news, the last class of the semester...which was supposed to be tonight...was cancelled, and I was so very prepared for tonight's presentation. How prepared you ponder? So so very prepared. I was ready to knock socks off and then kick ass to boot. And all for nothing. This now gives the other four students in class two extra days to beef up their projects, thus diminishing the sock-knockingness of mine. Not that they will do this, but they now have the chance. Sad, but yes, I think about stuff like this. And, after tonight, the class should have been OVER! And now it remains. Lying in wait. Hiding in dark corners. But perhaps the very worst, most terrible thing about the cancellation is the rescheduling....which is now Wednesday night...which is when another youngster will be ousted from American Idol. And this I will miss, sitting instead in a class that should have ended.

But thank God for VCRs.

excitement abounds...and then bounds some more

Two job interviews transpired, one phone interview which I missed because I was waiting by the wrong phone (I'm quite sure that I didn't give them my cell phone number to call...my minute usage is way over the limit this month, which will undoubtedly leave a nasty hole in my wallet). In any event, the week culminated with a call on Friday with *gasp* a job offer. They called on Monday to schedule an interview. I interviewed on Wednesday. Job offer on Friday. I accepted (money really does talk) and start tomorrow. The thing is, I really don't want to work.

It's not the job, which is doing background checks (not at the under ground bunker). I've become quite content not working and have found that I really don't need it for any feelings of self worth. You may call this laziness, although I prefer to think of it as having reached a state of self actualization. So I'm back as a cog in the machine, and while the money will be welcomed back with open arms, I have no real desire beyond that.

I read somewhere that people who remain unemployed for over a year rarely return to the work force. I completely disagree with this statement. I think the time frame is probably more like three months. So for now I work. But for tomorrow...well, we'll see.

curse you, george!

You know, there are few nights that I truly look forward to anymore on a 'must see tv' basis...but Tuesday is my exception. Now yes, on Thursday I'm all about the Apprentice and on Sunday I've got to have Arrested Development. But Tuesdays? American Idol and 24. Could you think up a better night of programming for tv? Of course you can't, so don't even bother trying. So you can only imagine my utter horror when I find that G.W. cuts into my viewing pleasure to give a speech! And during this speech not one snide comment from Simon, not one C.T.U. operative in dire peril, just Mr. Bush talking. George, you made a bad mistake messing with my Tuesday nights! So because of your bad decision (keep in mind this has nothing to do with the war, just Tuesday night programming...priorities you know), I will now officially not be voting for G.W. in the election this year. It's your own fault George. Think about it next year when my vote puts you back on your ranch in Texas instead of living it up in Lincoln's bedroom in the White House. You really have no one to blame but yourself.

footnotes of recent events

Advertising* class tonight*. Still unemployed*. Cash flow problems continue*. Dating sucks*.

*1...Once I found out that the final grade doesn't depend on any textbook reading whatsoever, I stopped reading the book. It was incredibly dry anyway, so I doubt that I'm missing much*.

*2...The final project is due in a week and I have yet to start. Mental note: start very soon. Of course, it's all in my head, I just have to go through the process of actually 'doing it', which remains the major stumbling block in the whole assignment process. I'm very much looking forward to the day when we can stick a disc straight into our brain and download information that way without all the typing, writing and working.

*3...I recently heard that my first choice of employers will most likely be a bust. Here's the brief version; two openings, four candidates called in for second interviews. But, two other people were granted first interviews. The hr guy said that if they liked either of the two 'first interview' people, they would be granted second interviews and that would push the whole decision making process back three or four weeks. It doesn't sound like someone will actually be hired for these positions until well into 2006 at this rate*. Of course, it might just mean that they were less than impressed with the four 'second interview' candidates...except for me, of course.

*4...Was out Saturday night. Needed money. Went to the ATM machine and realized that my mac card was no where to be found. I remember getting it in the mail months ago (new city, new bank, new mac card) and stuck it in a drawer somewhere (to prevent the easy access to my rapidly depleting funds). Left with three bucks in the big city, I had to hit my buddy up for a 'loan' (which I hate to do). The next day, after a strenuous search of the house, the card had seemingly vanished from my possession. I am now mac cardless until a trip to the bank to beg and plead for a replacement card takes place. Hopefully, no charge will be assessed but, for some reason, I doubt that I'll be this lucky.

*5...Dating sucks. The last few dates I've been on have not caused any blood to rush to any organs of note. And by 'any organs' I mean 'no organs'. Brain, heart or other, more pertinent, organs. So no further calling will be taking place from my phone to these women. Yes, it's the grade school solution to unwanted situations...ignore, and the problem will go away. And yes, I feel like a cad...but not enough of a cad to actually call them again.

*6...This is how I'm justifying the whole not reading thing.

*7...Actually, these people all seem like a bunch of idiots and I'm secretly happy that I won't be working for them*.

*8...Yes, I'm justifying again.

meatless fridays

Good Friday...the final meatless Friday of Lent. And while I like to think of myself as a good Catholic (well, alright, at least adequate Catholic) I've got issues with the no meat thing...and yes, vegetarian I'm not.

I can live for a day with the whole no beef deal. Lambs, pigs, cows...all animals, all beef. So for a day, fine, no veal, burgers, bacon, steak, pork, ribs, ham, roast or chops of any kind. No problem. So us Lent-en types are only allowed fish. Again, no problem. I can understand the whole fish thing. Fish are not beefy. Fish have no legs. Fish have no fur. Fish do not equal animals. Fine, I accept that. Fish get their own little category in the species hierarchy that separate them from our friends the cows, pigs, lambs and other furry critters by several degrees. You'll get no complaint from me. But who got to decide that chickens are animals but fish aren't? Chickens are birds...and I find it rather discriminatory to classify them as merely 'animal'.

Let's take a quick look at animal basics...animals = furry. Chickens, no fur. Animals = four legs. Chickens have two, plus wings which animals, if you need reminded, don't have. Chickens lay eggs and fly, and...according to many scientists, so I am told, are considered birds. Now, if fish get their own grouping as 'fish' are we really doing chickens (and turkeys for that matter) justice by lumping them in with the 'meat' animals? I don't think so. Chickens are birds and should be labeled as such, thus exempting them from the meat category. Which, naturally, would make them fair game every Friday throughout the year. No meat Fridays? No problem...filet that fish! Fry up that bird! But stay away from the burgers.

The point? Very simple...it's lunchtime, I'm hungry, and I'm really craving some chicken nuggets for some reason and I'm pretty damn pissy that I'll be stuck eating grilled cheese instead! So I'm putting all birds on notice...I'm planning on petitioning the Pope to classify you guys as non-meat munchies, so you all better start watching your backs!

on the job front

Many things are afoot in the job search. By some odd coincidence which is due to cosmic forces beyond my understanding (are the planets aligning?) in the past week I've gotten three calls for second interviews. Not that these are high paying jobs to be envious of, but each will provide me with some type of income...which is becoming an ever increasingly pressing issue as the days roll on by.

The job interview at Crappy Calls, where I was stood up by my interviewer Mark, actually called me in for a second interview. This interview was another three hour marathon which culminated in meeting the owner of the company. The guy, who is ancient by any chronological standards, seemed intelligent enough, though he speaks very quietly and with an accent. This resulted in my not really having heard half of what he said and required a lot of head nodded and agreeing...though I have no idea what I was agreeing with. And at times it seemed that he may have dozed off in his chair in the middle of the interview. I'm not sure if this will end up helping or hurting my case though.

The next second interview was for a position with CareerLink. The tag-team interview was conducted by two ladies who asked me questions based on which their 'favorite' ones were on the little sheet in front of them. One thing that I've found to be useful during all these interviews is to let the interviewer do all of the talking and say as little as possible. Case in point, the lady today spoke for about 80% of the interview with me only having to chime in for the remaining 20%. This made my job much easier, and in the process, I found out that 1) Sheila thinks that everyone should check their voice mail at least once a day. 2) That Sheila's mom doesn't like to drive. And 3) That Sheila's office is cluttered but she didn't want one with a window because the light hurts her eyes.

The criminal background check called for a second interview as well. Next week, I make my way north to an underground bunker that now houses the offices for the place that needs employees. Apparently it was once some type of army base and by underground we're talking several stories beneath the Earth. I'm not sure how much I'd enjoy working void of any natural light, but hey, in the event of nuclear war, I'll have pretty good odds of survival.

h&r blockheads

I really didn't want the headache of doing my taxes myself this year. Having spent half of 2003 in Maryland, half in Virginia and having at least some (very little) money in banks throughout three different states. I just didn't want the headaches of filling out 1040s, 1099s, adjusted state forms, the 1244s, b-52s and all those other forms so that the government can stake claim to their portion of my earnings from last year. So, with all this in mind, I headed off to H&R Block with all my forms to let them handle it for me.

My friend had H&R Block do his taxes last year and said that it cost him about $70. Turbo Tax charges $20 for the federal government and $20 for each state. Quick calculations told me that for an extra payment of $10, they could do the same thing that I could do myself on the internet. Quite a deal, I reasoned.

I got there at 9:50 for my 10:00 appointment thinking that maybe they could squeeze me in early and I could get on with the morning. My morning, unfortunately, would have to wait. By 11:00 they were finally ready for me. I sat down next to Ben, my assigned tax specialist for the day, who starts looking through my papers and typing the tax info into his computer.

Now I don't really know all that much about taxes or finances, but as I was watching the screen to make sure I'm getting at least the deductions that I deserve, I noticed that Ben made a mistake. So I asked him, "Um, isn't that supposed to be a 4?"

"Oh, yeah, gee where is my head today?", Ben says.

Now this is just great, I'm thinking. This guy is doing MY taxes, and I'm correcting him?! I must say, that it didn't fill me with a whole lot of confidence. And that level dropped even further when, once he was finished, he asked me if I wanted to pay $27 dollars for insurance... just in case he made a mistake while working my taxes.

I looked at him and ask, "Are you kidding? Look at what I earned last year...are you telling me that you think you made a mistake with numbers that small?"

"Well, er, no, I guess not", Ben reassured me.

"I think I'll pass on the insurance", I told him. And that's when the H&R fee was computed and appeared on the screen. Seventy bucks? Not even close. Apparently since there were two different states that had to be filed, there were multiple charges that I incurred. My bill was $200. I looked at Ben and said, "this is another mistake, right?"

"Well, uh, I guess there were extra charges because we filed for Virginia and Maryland..."

Needless to say, I'm never returning to good old H&R Block. If I'm going to federal prison some day, it'll be because I screwed up my tax return, not Ben. I figure that this way, I'll at least I'll be $200 richer going into the slammer. And my tax return? Well, the money I was hoping for...desperately hoping for...from my taxes is now going to H&R Block. And I hope that the bastards all get really bad paper cuts from all those dollars of mine as they count up their earnings for the day!

coffee shop smells

Class last night was not quite as bad as I feared. Though the common headaches made their usual appearance. Mr. Blackbox only mentioned his place of employment three or four times instead of the usual dozen. And Office Depot dude spent 15 minutes instructing everyone on the various functions that copiers can do nowadays (so many folds! binding! digitally scanning and rearranging pages!) but we ended up getting out an hour earlier, which constitutes a good class.
But the real problem happened before class.

Anticipating a boring Monday night, I headed to Starbucks prior to class in hopes that the coffee would help me stay in a non-sleep induced state while the fun occurred all around me.

Now, I love coffee, and Starbucks has the whole coffee experience down to a science. The atmosphere. The dark roast beans. And particularly the smells. There's nothing quite like the smell of fresh ground coffee. Upon entering a coffee shop, I always enjoy the first inhale...just taking in those enticing aromas. So, naturally, as soon as I was inside the door yesterday, first point of business was the deep breath. And what I was greeted with was an overwhelming stench of really funky body odor.

My whole coffee experience was ruined (not that this kept me from buying coffee, but I enjoyed it a lot less) all because someone doesn't like to bathe. You know, if you're planning on doing a quick run to the drive-in window at the bank or a fast food restaurant then sure, don't bathe. These types of places are bathing optional. There's enough outside air around you to carry the funk off into the atmosphere.

But if you're planning on going somewhere indoors and around other people then BATHE! I don't want your arm pit odor mingling with my coffee! Or, for that matter, with my bagel, burger, or anything else that I happen to be eating. So next time, if you're unsure how you smell, skip the coffee and purchase a stick of deodorant instead and let those of us who enjoy the soap and water experience drink our coffee in peace!

the stars at night

I've noticed that it's never truly dark anymore, even at night. It seems that every place is pretty much lit up. Marquees and big neon signs offering pizza and tacos, burgers and shoes, beer and pancakes, discount prices at Walmart and Target, high tech steals from Best Buy and CompUSA, tanning and nail and hair salons...all these bright signs making night very bright. It's almost to the point where it's hard to tell day from night.

And the result? It's virtually impossible to star gaze anymore. You look up and all the light from the flashy neon and halogen make seeing the stars very tough. But I've found an excellent way to overcome this. I find that if I lie down in a grassy area and close my eyes real tight that it gets very dark. Then I simply start smacking myself about the head until I see little flashes of light. It's just like star gazing but without the need to turn off all the lights that seem to be coming from everywhere. Then I'll try to find the constellations in the little pin-pricks of light that flash before me. Sometimes I'll even make up my own constellations. And as I lie there, in varying states of consciousness, I'll marvel at the wonders and expanse of the universe.

i need to find a passion

I overheard Donald Trump on the television today talking about how you need to have a real passion for your job if you expect to love it and do it well. I left teaching because the passion had been drained. But where does my passion lie now? I don't want to shuffle papers, add figures or balance books. Nor do I really want to supervise, serve, or manage people or property. And nothing that involves blood. So let's take a look at some possibilities...

I could create gourmet meals in a restaurant. I'm sure that, given the time, I could create fabulous meals that would be like heaven to the palate. Any time spent around food, though, always makes me hungry...even if I'm not really hungry...and I'd end up eating as much as I cooked. Within weeks, I'd be losing croutons in the folds of the blubber that would encompass me.

I could build houses. Construction might not be too bad. One large problem with this, however, is the last thing that I made in a 'construction' sense was a small stool back in eighth grade woodshop. The other problem being the physical demands of the job which would surely cause back aches, headaches, swollen feet, aching shoulders, hernia and possibly even a groin pull, so let's move on.

Maybe something tangible but not in a 'building' sense. Janitor? At least there would be a direct sense of accomplishment. I'd see that the floor getting cleaner as I swept it and that the grass was getting shorter the more that I mowed it. Except I'm quite allergic to grass and all that green stuff that tends to live outside.

And the cleaning thing might not be bad, but no windows, kitchens, vacuuming, trash collection and definitely no bathrooms. Dust is mostly dead skin cells. I really don't want to be wiping that stuff up. Kitchens you're dealing with moldy, smelly, rotting food in many cases. I can look in my own refrigerator if I want exposure to that. I don't need to deal with other people's as well. And no bathrooms. Beyond the usual bodily fluids that you have to scrub, wipe and scrape off of porcelain and tile, you always end up having to pick up all those little pubic hairs that end up on the floor around the edges of the tub and toilet.

Which leads us back to food. Namely burger flipping. This I could do. Poised by the griddle, spatula in hand, ready to create the most magnificent burger you've ever laid eyes on. And then collecting my $5.50 an hour once I'm done.

a cosmic april fool's joke

Years ago, I had a pretty good idea of where I wanted to be in life by the time I hit 30. Well, 30 has since come and gone and I can honestly say that I'm nowhere close to where I thought I'd be when I was 20. At 20, I was sure, that by now I'd be married, own a house, have kids, have a job that I loved and that paid well. I'm zero for five.

I decided during my freshman year that teaching was what I was going to major in. Originally I had wanted to go into advertising but. after taking a few business classes I knew that there was no way that I could withstand four years of exceedingly dry material. Having volunteered in my little brothers' kindergarten classroom during winter break, I decided that education was a better choice.

Oddly enough, I'm now working toward an MBA, so I guess I've come full circle.

After a few years of teaching, I came to realize that the buzz phrases that were used in college 'hands on learning', 'student involvement', 'creating lifelong learners through engaging lessons' were just that...buzz phrases. Most schools adhere pretty firmly to the notion that 'children should be seen and not heard' and most of the teachers that I worked with felt this way too. Students quietly in rows working on ditto sheets was the norm, not the exception. To me, this has always been the equivalent of death by boredom, both from a teachers perspective and a students as well. I was more interested in getting them excited while they were learning. Needless to say, I didn't fit into the system all that well. It took me nine years to do what I should have done long ago. I left.

In a way, I suppose it's better that I don't have a wife and kids at this point. It's easy to pick up the pieces of your life, throw them on the ground and then start trying to put them back together in a more interesting arrangement than they were in before when you're single. Never could I have done this with family. See? Here's my silver lining.

So where do you go when nothing seems to be leading you in any direction? And just how old do you have to get before you figure out what you want to be when you grow up?