As I was writing my rants about my family’s vacation to Omaha this summer, I was posting links to the posts on my Facebook page. One of my friends mockingly challenged me to write a list of 20 POSITIVE things about our trip to eastern Nebraska. It’s like she doesn’t even know me… and we’re friends on Facebook! How could she not know me? Well, then another Facebook friend piped-up and said that she too would like to see me make a positive list.
Seriously?
Who do these people think I am? Tony Robbins?
Well, the first friend who made the insane comment about my need to do this positive list ended her comment with, “I know you can do it!!!” She really did use the exclamation points — three of them — kind of like a mother encouraging her little boy to make poopie on the potty. My Facebook friends love and respect me so much…
Well, I actually started thinking about trying to poop on that potty. You know, go against the grain of everything I believe in and actually come up with a list of crap that is positive. I wasn’t planning on limiting it to the vacation in Omaha, either. I was planning on trying to scrounge up 20 things in the panhandle of Nebraska that add some sort of pleasure and/or meaning to my life. I hadn’t even really started thinking about the 20 things yet, just the fact that I was going to try to come up with 20 things, and my head was already staring to throb.
Okay, so I thought about the church I attend. Following is the attempt I made at listing the church…
1. I go to a good church. The people are all pretty non-hypocritical, the pastor really knows the bible, and the family and I all feel pretty welcomed there. The music is all pretty old-school hymns and whatnot, which I don’t really care for, and there are no drums or guitars or synthesizers or anything. We say the Lord’s Prayer and the Apostle’s Creed during every service, which seems a little ceremonial to me, and I’m not a big believer in religious ceremony. And did I even mention the old people always complaining about the temperature in the sanctuary! For crying out loud, it’s always 150 degrees in there because grandma is a little chilly and had to complain to one of the deacons! AND DON’T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THE RUDE DEACONS…
… and then I realized that this wasn’t probably even really close to what my Facebook friends were looking for as far as positive goes, so I decided to skip mentioning my church. I thought I should try something else. At this point, my head has moved beyond throbbing and is more in the solar flare category.
1. There are good schools here. Well, the schools are okay. There are some issues with the schools here. Scottsbluff Public Schools used to have a strong HALS (high ability learners) program, but the new superintendent of schools put the kibosh to that program and replaced it with some program that he had “great success” with back in Colorado. The new program involves hours and hours and hours of extra homework for the students… and the student’s parents. Good call, superintendent. I have tried taking advantage of some of the offerings at the local community college. At one point, when I was really feeling like I wasn’t supposed to be doing what I was doing for a job, I took one of those tests through the college that are supposed to tell you what you would be good at based on your personality and skills. Well, I paid like fifty bucks to find out that my calling is to be a file clerk. A FLIPPING FILE CLERK! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO SUPPORT A FAMILY ON THE EARNINGS OF A STINKING FILE CLERK…
And, once again, I got off topic. Being positive is hard. Being negative seems natural to me. I enjoy writing about stuff that pisses me off. Writing about positive stuff is boring and I don’t enjoy it at all. Writing about negative stuff is easy and fun. Writing about positive stuffs sucks. Writing about negative stuff is like a hobby. Writing about positive stuff is like work… and I like to get paid for work… so I don’t think I will be trying to write too much more positive stuff. I can’t handle the headaches.
Besides, there are plenty of positive people blogging about the panhandle of Nebraska. There aren’t too many of us who show the other side (and I know that not everyone loves life here, so I have an audience). Want something positive? Try:
These are just a small sampling of the many blogs about how great life is in rural Nebraska. These are usually written by women, and the women are usually either avid photographers or very artsy-craftsy (i.e. have talent of some sort). More power too ’em. I don’t know how me struggling to write positive crap about life in rural Nebraska would fit in with these fine bloggers. Positive just isn’t my thing. Besides, I kind of like people being able to find my blog. Do a Google search for “Scottsbluff, NE” or “rural Nebraska”. You won’t find any blogs on the first page of these searches.
Now, try Googling “Scottsbluff, NE sucks”.
Go ahead… Google it… or use Yahoo… or Bing…
That’s right, baby!
Looks like I might know which pot I’m supposed to be pooping on…
Our final day in Omaha was capped with another night in the camper. This was kind of sad, because we knew that our vacation was slowly coming to an end.
Day five was to be our shopping day, so we hitched up the camper, left Mahoney, and drove to a mall in Lincoln. We ate lunch at the mall food court (so everyone could get what they wanted… my family all got Chinese and I got a gyro). We spent a few hours doing some back-to-school shopping, and then we decided we better head for our next destination.
The plan was to camp at Johnson Lake south of Lexington, but they wouldn’t let me make a reservation because we were just staying for one night. They only make reservations for two nights on the weekends, so I wanted to get there before dark in case we needed to hunt down another camping spot for the night.
We swung into Grand Island to search for some place for supper. I spotted the billboard for USA Steak Buffet and remembered seeing that billboard on other visits to Grand Island.
“Hey, let’s go to USA Steak Buffet,” I said.
So, immediately, the oldest son starts looking at reviews on the wife’s smart phone. Needless to say, the reviews aren’t good.
“Uh, Dad, the reviews suck,” said the boy.
“Oh, you can’t always trust the reviews,” I said, thinking about how a really crappy dining experience would make for a humorous addition to my blog. “I think we should try it anyway.”
“Dad, look at these reviews,” said the boy. So I looked:
A Google Userreviewed 5 months ago
Overall0/ 3
This place sucks. Way over priced. Found hairs in the food. Tiny steaks. Do not come here.
A Google Userreviewed 11 months ago
Overall0/ 3
Waaaaaay over priced for what you get. Steaks are small and chewy. Family of give can’t go without paying over 60 bucks. Everytime you back, the price goes up. No group rates either… All you get for a group of 10 or more is 10% gratuity added to your bill. Poor value.
Liked: Food
Disliked: Service, Atmosphere, Value
A Google Userreviewed 4 months ago
Overall0/ 3
Way over priced for a not so great buffet
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“Oh, come on,” I said, “that’s only three reviews. If it was that bad, there would be more.”
“But, Dad, the one dude found a hair,” said the boy, and I knew I was fighting a losing battle. There was no way I was going to be able to talk the entire family into eating crappy food just for the sake of my blog, so we pulled in beside Olive Garden.
Olive Garden is not even close to one of my favorite places to eat, but the wife loves it and the boys don’t mind it, so I thought we’d give it a shot. There was, however, like a 40 minute wait to get in, so we turned right back around and headed to Buffalo Wild Wings across the parking lot.
There was no wait to get in at Buffalo Wild Wings, and there was no hair in our food. I really don’t have anything interesting to write, but I’m almost positive that USA Steak Buffet would have given me something to complain about. But, sometimes you have to take one for the team at the expense of something to bitch about in a blog. Although… this was only the second time I had ever been to a Buffalo Wild Wings, and I can honestly state that they are the noisiest restaurants on the face of the planet. Apparently they are where you are supposed to take people you don’t actually like and want to talk to, because carrying on a conversation in a Buffalo Wild Wings is nearly impossible… especially if you are old and can’t hear very well in the first place. Also, who in the hell came up with the idea of frying a part of a chicken that used to be disposable (because it’s almost all fat and no meat), covering it with a spicy sauce, and charging caviar prices for it? That person should be shot. Seriously, the prices for chicken wings are absolutely dented! I guess if I think about it long enough, I could come up with a bitch about most anything…
So we eat and we drive and we drive and we drive and, before you know it, it’s dark. We turn off at Lexington and try to find this state park that we’ve never been to — in the dark.
“We are so screwed,” I informed the family.
“Why?” asked the wife.
“I bet we get there and they have no open spots,” I said.
“What makes you think that?” asked the wife.
“Because that’s just my luck,” I said. “Then, we’ll be driving around in the dark trying to find some place to spend the night.”
“If worse comes to worst, we can always get a hotel,” says the wife. “You need to try to see the bright side of things.”
“There won’t be any open hotel rooms and we’ll end up parked in a rest area,” I said. “So we’ll crawl into the hot camper with no air conditioning. Then, a serial killer who frequents rest areas will find us and he’ll be all It’s like Christmas, time to open the present. Then he’ll tear off the camper door and shiv us all to death as we groggily try to figure out what in the hell is going on. It’s gonna be horrible.”
“Please don’t talk like that in front of the boys,” said the wife. I glanced at the boys, and they did look a little peaked. “That is never going to happen.”
“Mommy…” said the youngest boy, tears welling up in his terrified eyes, “are we going to die tonight?”
“Of course not,” said the wife, “you’re father is just an idiot tonight.”
So, we finally find the campground and they have an opening. Lucky for us, ’cause I’m pretty sure there was a serial killer with our names on the dull blade of his near-blunt object waiting for us at a rest area.
We wake up the next day and I take the boys out geocaching for the morning while the wife enjoys a relaxing shower back at camp. Geocaching is kind of geeky, but it is cheap fun, which is important when you are on a poor man’s camping vacation. We find a few caches, and we head back to grab the wife and then drive into Lexington for lunch.
I had never really been through Lexington before, and I was a little shocked at the town. There is literally a Mexican restaurant on every corner… and there are a lot of corners. Before we got into town, we passed a Tyson foods processing plant, which I’m assuming is the employer in Lexington. And apparently Tyson processing plants attract a lot of non-English speaking minorities. In addition to the Mexican restaurants, we passed two Islamic centers… in Nebraska?!? Who’d a thunk it?!?
So we settle on one of the Mexican places that has “buffet” in the window, ’cause we all like a good buffet (unless the reviews mention hair in the food, apparently). On this whole trip, I really didn’t take any pictures for the blog because, well, I’m kind of an idiot. However, Restaurant La Hacienda was so cool that I actually thought to get out my phone and snap a couple of pictures.
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See, Restaurant La Hacienda actually serves what I think is probably authentic Mexican food. Scottsbluff touts it’s plethora of authentic Mexican restaurants, and people who move away always clamor about how they miss the authentic Mexican food in Scottsbluff. Authentic in Scottsbluff means fried tacos. A flour tortilla filled with beef taco meat and fried in fat to make the tortilla look like a corn taco shell like you buy at the store. Then the cheese and lettuce and tomatoes are added, and that is authentic Mexican. Don’t get me wrong, I love fried tacos (anything dripping with grease has got to be good, right?), I just don’t really imagine a lot of Mexicans in Mexico eating these on a regular basis. I have a feeling fried tacos are a little more Tex Mex than they are Mexican…
So, anyway, at Restaurant La Hacienda, there was not a staff member (including our waitress) who spoke fluent English. How awesome is that? The small buffet was filled with things that were unrecognizable to me. Different meats in sauces, for the most part, with the obligatory beans and rice. The thing is, this wasn’t ground beef like in the fried tacos of Scottsbluff. These were chunks of inexpensive meat filled with fat and gristle, but they were cooked for so long that the pieces of meat literally fell apart in my mouth. An full of flavor? Of course they were. This is the kind of food I suspect the majority of Mexicans in Mexico eat — inexpensive, flavorful, fattening, and just down right delicious.
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This was soooo much better tasting than it looks...
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My favorite dish was the most bizarre (in American terms). If was like strips of pork fat cooked on a tomatillo sauce. The fat reminded my of pork rinds (same flavor, but mushy instead of crispy). It was absolutely to die for (and I’m sure my cholesterol levels after eating it had me near death).
And of course, there was flan for dessert. There is nothing on this planet that is more heavenly than flan done right… and this flan was done right.
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The above tray was actually full until I came across it. The Mexicans (I don’t think there was an English-speaking person in the place, staff or customer) looked at me like I was some kind of deranged, gluttonous gordo blanco… which I was. The Cheesecake Factory can kiss Resaturant La Hacienda’s hiney!
So, after our fattening, delicious meal (if you’re ever in Lexington, check Restaurant La Hacienda out!), we headed back to Johnnson Lake, loaded up the camper, and headed for home. We did a little more geocaching along the way. We stopped in Ogallala so the family could get some supper (I had overdone it for lunch and didn’t need any further fuel for the machine… plus, good Mexican food gives one gas, and I was so full of gas, I had no room for more food).
Our final leg put us getting into Scottsbluff/Gering about 8:30 pm on day 6, and we had to get our dog from the boarding house before 9:00 pm, so we were right on track. And then we get to the first set of railroad tracks in Gering… and we get stopped by a train. The train passes, and we get to the first set of railroad tracks in Scottsbluff… and we get stopped by another train. We get our beagle (who was intensely happy to see us 🙂 ), and we head for our house… only to get stopped by one final stinking stupid train… and I was reminded of one of the many reasons I need to get out of this area once in awhile. In fact, after the three back-to-back train delays, I was already ready for another vacation…
After our fun-filled day at the Henry Doorly Zoo and the disaster at the Cheesecake Factory, we drove back to Mahoney State park and our camper for another good night of sleep. So far, our family’s summer vacation was getting off with mixed reviews. The wife and two boys were having a blast. I was having a moderately good time, but the stupid apple cider incident at the Cheesecake Factory had left a bad taste in my mouth (which I’m sure a refill of apple cider would have washed away).
Day three of the vacation was designated as our day to spend in the state park. Just a day to relax and maybe enjoy the park’s water park. We actually slept in this day, which was nice. After a late lunch at the camper, we donned our swimming attire and drove to the pool.
Mahoney State Park has a very nice water park/pool. We actually spent most of the day there, and we all got a little sunburned. There was a crowded wave pool, a kiddie area, a diving board and like three decent water slides. All of the areas were fun, but I learned to hate people on tubes. The wave pool was a blast when you weren’t dodging some idiot on a tube, and I can’t count the number of times I had some tubed jerkwad’s feet in my face. Apparently, when you are on a tube, you don’t have to display common courtesy to anyone. Everyone else is responsible for getting out of your way. Guess I should have forked over a few bucks and rented a tube myself so I could have been a rude jerkwad.
After a cooling day at the pool, we retreated to the camper and enjoyed another camper meal. In the evening, we played a round of mini golf (which is the only kind of golf non-rich people play). Earlier in the day, a group of college-aged kids walked by our campsite with golf bags on their shoulders, obviously on there way to the driving range.
“There go the rich kids,” I snarled as they sauntered past.
“How do you know they are rich?” asked the wife.
“Because they’re carrying golf clubs,” I pointed out.
“They look like college kids, and they are camping, so I doubt they are rich,” said the wife.
“Yeah, whatever… it is obvious they have rich parents,” I said.
“How can you know that?” asked the wife.
“Because they play golf,” I stated. Sometimes I just don’t understand the wife’s naiveté.
“And we’re camping, and we don’t golf, thus we are poor?” asks the wife.
“You’re starting to catch on,” I said, smiling with the knowledge that the wife was grasping a major life lesson. Apparently, she rolls her eyes as she learns…
Another night in the camper was followed by our fourth day of vacation. This day was another to be spent in Omaha. After a light lunch at camp, we drove back in to Omaha and straight to Fun-Plex. Fun-Plex is a small amusement park with both amusement park rides and a small water park. It was so stinking hot that we tried to include some form of water activity on any day we actually spent a considerable amount of time outside. Even the zoo had water misters placed conveniently throughout.
Fun-Plex was pretty okay. We bumper boated and roller coasted and tilt-o-whirled and go carted before the heat started to get to us and we retreated to the water park. The water was a little dirtier here than at Mahoney, and the waves in the wave pool weren’t quite as ferocious, but there were just as many little old men and fat ladies in tubes sticking their feet in my face. Again, there were also slides, and a nice “lazy river” that was fun to swim in.
Two days in a bathing suit surrounded by young people in bathing suits made me realize something: I am old and fat… and I’m not too certain I was ever anything different!
I’ve always been a fatty, and I don’t remember ever hanging out with shapely people at a pool anywhere. I think that’s because the shapely people all hang out with other shapely people, and they leave us fatties to ourselves. It’s almost a form of discrimination, I think. I’d see a bunch of shapely girls in bikinis walk by with a group of muscular young men, and then I’d see two fat kids walk by the other direction. And it’s kind of funny, ’cause the skinny people are always looking around and laughing and talking, while the fat people pretty much just stare at the ground. I would probably have other observations about how the skinny people discriminate against (and have more fun than) the fat people, but I spent a lot of time looking at the ground, so I’m sure I missed a lot.
Young people upset me. Especially young, fit people. Even my own kids are often the objects of my jealousy. Both of my boys are relatively fit and healthy. They are also pretty smart, and they aren’t ugly. Because of their fitness and intelligence, I’m sure they will have an advantage in life that my ugly fat belly and ignorance didn’t permit. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I want the best for them. I want them to be successful and happy with whatever they decide to do with their lives. I just wish that I would have been given the advantages of fitness and good looks and intelligence (or at least one of them), but apparently God wanted to put some hurdles in front of me to develop some sort of character trait that I wouldn’t have found if things had been easier for me. I’m sure God is now shaking His head as He realizes that I don’t learn from obstacles (I retreat like a Frenchman), but I think He’s still working with me….
So, after a fun yet somewhat degrading day at Fun-Plex, we let the youngest boy decide on what kind of restaurant to go to for supper. The youngest loves Chinese and Mexican, but he settled on Mexican. I found the closest decent-looking Mexican place and we ate. I don’t remember the name of the place, but it was pretty typical. We got chips and salsa, and the waiter was great at refilling our glasses. I had some sort of fajita-type-stuff, and it was good. Nothing out of this world (at least not enough to remember the name), but everyone seemed satisfied. And I didn’t get screwed on the refills…
As I last wrote, I was preparing for a wonderful week of vacation in and around Omaha, Nebraska. The wife and I packed up the kids and our travel trailer and headed east. We selected Omaha as our summer vacation destination for a myriad of reasons, all of which I touched on in my last post, but the major reason is: we’re poor and cheap.
The first thing I leaned about pulling a trailer to Omaha in an effort to save money on the old summer vacation is that pulling a trailer when gas is over $3.50 per gallon and you are lucky to be getting 8 miles per gallon is not really saving anyone anything. The second thing I learned is that summer on any interstate is going mean many, many, many road construction delays. So, yeah, our little drive, which should have taken around 7 hours, took more like 10. Ten hours in a vehicle pulling a trailer with outside temperatures of well over 100 degrees F and two kids who love to terrorize each other whenever they get bored spells F-U-N!
So, our first day ends setting up camp (or camper) in Mahoney State Park just outside Omaha. Neat place, except it looks to me like making a reservation was kind of like inviting the State of Nebraska to gently screw us. We made reservations to make sure we had a spot to camp, but the portion of the campground that was set aside for reservations was definitely the suckier part of the campground. If we would have just showed up and grabbed a spot, we would have been in the shaded area next to the bathroom/shower house and we would have been able to pick up the WiFi. Instead, we were in pretty much direct sunlight all day long and were like a quarter of a mile from the shower house (and nearest bathrooms). Sure, we have a toilet in the camper, but there were no sewage hook-ups at this park, and a camper with a sewage storage tank full of poop and pee sitting out in the 105°F sun isn’t somewhere anyone could really spend a week. Needless to say, we spent a lot of time driving to the pooper on the other side of the campground… you know… where the WiFi and shade were.
So, after a decent night sleep, we drive into Omaha and head to the Henry Doorly Zoo and Aquarium. The wife was there as a little girl, but none of the rest of us had ever been there. Heard it was cool, so we thought we would check it out. It was cool. Best zoo I have ever been to… not that I’ve been to that many. The Denver Zoo, a zoo in Memphis, and our local excuse for a zoo in Scottsbluff (which isn’t really too bad for a zoo in a town that is way to small to have a zoo). The Omaha Zoo was (according to one of the volunteers that wouldn’t leave us alone) recently named the “best zoo in America”. Apparently, Omaha’s Zoo is always in the top three, but this is the first time it has been named number one. I don’t know what agency ranks the zoos or how credible the volunteer was, but I will admit that I don’t have a hard time believing that the Henry Doorly Zoo is the best zoo in the nation.
For lunch, we ate at one of the cafeterias in the zoo. Overpriced burgers and fries, but not bad food. The zoo took us pretty much the entire day to get through, and it was a lot of walking. By the time we left, we were starving again, and I had special plans for supper.
My family members are big fans of iCarly, and there was an episode where the show kind of poked fun at the portion sizes at the Cheesecake Factory (although they gave it a different name). Ever since that episode, we have wanted to try out a Cheesecake Factory, and Omaha happens to have one. I didn’t tell the family where we were going, so when we pulled up, it was a surprise. We were all excited.
We got seated and the waitress took our drink orders. The oldest boy ordered a pop, and the wife asked if there were free refills on the strawberry lemonade.
“Oh, yeah, all the drinks have free refills,” said the waitress.
So, the youngest boy and the wife got the strawberry lemonades. I, after hearing the waitress make her statement about all of the drinks coming with free refills, decide on the $3.50 glass of chilled spiced cider. Usually, I would have just ordered a pop or an iced tea, but cold apple cider sounded kind of good.
The waitress brought the drinks, and the pop and lemonades are in these monster glasses. My cider is in a much smaller glass, but I’m thinking “guess that means she’ll just have to refill it more often.” The oldest boy and I finished off our drinks before the waitress returned to take our food orders (walking around the zoo all day in the heat makes a guy thirsty). She asked the boy if he would like a refill to which he replied in the affirmative. She then left. She returned shortly with a new pop for the kid and… a glass of water for me. She leaned over and whispered, “I thought you might like this. The cider is the only thing we don’t have free refills on.”
What the…
So I’m going to be drinking freaking water with my Cheesecake Factory meal? I must have had a look on my face that indicated to the wife my displeasure.
“Just order a pop or something,” said the wife.
“No, I’m good,” I pouted.
The waitress hurried away.
“Don’t get all pouty and ruin this for everyone,” said the wife.
“I’m not pouty,” I pouted. “They already got my $3.50 for that little glass of apple juice. They don’t need any more money for drinks from me.”
For your information, apple juice is the cheapest of the juices. I have no research to back that up (because I’m incredibly lazy), but I’m pretty sure it’s true. Whenever you buy a juice that is “100% juice”, it usually isn’t really 100% juice of the kind advertised on the label, especially if it has “cocktail” or “blend” in the title. Usually, it is mostly apple juice with a hint of whatever kind of juice you think you are buying. This is because apple juice is the cheapest juice they can add, yet they can still put “100% juice” on the label. Yet, I gotta pay $3.50 for one tiny glass of cheap apple juice with no free refills! Needless to say, my entire experience at the Cheesecake Factory was ruined at that particular moment. I don’t even really remember what I ordered (some kind of burger I think) or if it was any good (but I know it would have been better with free refills on the cheap apple juice).
By the time the waitress had come around to take our dessert orders, I was so pissed that I skipped dessert entirely. Everyone else ordered cheesecake (because that’s what you do at the Chesecake Factory, right?) and I just sat there being all kinds of pissed off. Myself excluded, I think everyone enjoyed the Cheesecake Factory. My youngest said it was the “best cheesecake ever”… and he doesn’t even like cheesecake… but I personally will never set foot in that particular chain again. Screw me on the apple juice, will you…
Last summer, the family and I went on a cruise for our summer vacation. It took almost 3 years of scrimping and saving to accumulate enough money to go on this cruise. It was an awesome experience and we had a good time. However, since we went on the expensive cruise last summer, our plans for this summer’s vacation are a little less… well, less.
I had really hoped that by the time I reached my forties, I would be in a financial position to be able to take a decent vacation every summer. Life and the panhandle of Nebraska had different plans for me, and we have to save up for a decent vacation every two or three years. But, with our oldest son entering high school this fall and our youngest not really that far behind, we want to do something fun over the summer to create some memories before the boys are all grown up and far away from the panhandle leading their own successful lives.
This summer, for our family vacation, we are going camping. Camping vacations are kind of our go-to vacation during the summers where we are saving up for a real vacation. Now, we have been camping in Yellowstone National Park and Tetons National Park in Wyoming. We have been camping in Estes Park, Colorado. This summer, we thought we might do something different than a beautiful mountain retreat. This summer, we are going camping near… Omaha.
Okay, we really didn’t plan on going to Omaha on purpose… not really. The oldest boy is in this AYSO soccer thing and the one tournament that it looked like he would actually be able to participate in was in North Platte, NE the same week we were planning our vacation. We still wanted to take a vacation, but we wanted the boy to be able to play in this tournament, so we decided to go camping in Mahoney State Park outside of Omaha. We figured we could visit the Omaha Zoo and whatnot and stop in North Platte on our way back so the kid could get his soccer on.
Well, it turns out that the oldest boy’s age group didn’t have enough kids that could go to North Platte… that and the fact that they didn’t really have a coach. I, being Johnny on the spot, already had made non-refundable reservations at Mahoney, so it looks like eastern Nebraska is our destination for this summer’s vacation.
Omaha…
Nebraska…
Does anyone really take a vacation in stinking Omaha?!? Well, Adventurer Rich and his family are. We’re trend setters like that. Oh, who am I kidding…
Okay, so I’m sure we will have a good time on our vacation. Any time spent with the family is fun… until the boys start fighting… and I lose it and yell at everyone… but there will be good moments. Still, a vacation in Omaha seems a bit oxymoron-ish, but it is what it is. It is an eye-opening exclamation that I need to make more money.
So, Adventurer Rich is looking for a way to make some additional income. I need to do something so the family and I can take real vacations every summer. I’ve thought about delivering pizzas in the evening or something like that, but I’d like to make more money doing something that doesn’t completely suck. I’ve tried a couple of different multi-level marketing things, and I just don’t have what it takes to be successful with those (people who are successful with MLM seem, to me, to be a touch annoying). I don’t mind making people mad, but I really don’t want to annoy anyone…
I’ve messed around on Mechanical Turk, and the work there is kind of fun, but I really need to make more than a couple of bucks an hour or it’s really not worth my time doing it. I’ve thought about writing articles for eHow or about.com, but I don’t really know enough about anything to be able to write any articles that would benefit anyone. “How to Put Your Walmart Shopping Cart in the Cart Corral, You Flipping Moron” probably wouldn’t get a lot of hits and, thus, would not really be a money maker.
sigh
Well, I’ll keep thinking on it. Something will come to me, I hope. In the meantime, I need to go pack. Omaha awaits…
Okay, so the boy and I signed up for summer camp again this summer. We missed last year due to our whole family going on a cruise and me not being a doctor or a lawyer or some other rich dude who can afford all kinds of frivolous vacation expenses. In the past, the boy and I have attended Medicine Mountain in the Black Hills of South Dakota and Camp Laramie Peak in Wyoming. This summer, the troop had decided to go back to Camp Laramie Peak (CLP). At first, I was a little hesitant, because last time we went wasn’t exactly a stellar, a-plus experience. In fact, I blogged about it.
Now, I have written a couple of lengthy posts about scouting. They are some of my most-“Googled” posts. I want to make one thing perfectly clear: I love scouting. I love the leaders, I love the kids, I love what we are trying to instill in the young men. Between cub scouts and boy scouts, I have been an adult volunteer for around 8 years (and the last two years, I have been involved in both cubs and boy scouts). Let’s remember that I am a cynical smart-ass and I make fun of stuff (myself included) whenever I write. Every time I poke fun at BSA, I get some militant buttmunch who comments about what a horrible example I am, how I should quit scouting and pull my kids out, and how I’m just an all-around jerk with no business posting anything negative about scouting online. To those with no sense of humor about scouting, please leave now. I think you may have a more pleasant experience here.
So, I somewhat reluctantly agree to follow the troop to CLP to help with the scouts. A short time before we’re ready to embark on this journey, the Scout Master approaches me. He tells me that he has some work obligations, and because I have been with the troop for awhile, he wants me to serve as acting Scout Master while we are at CLP.
Crap.
Responsibility, paperwork, having to be the adult that wakes up early enough to get the boys up…
sigh
“I’d be honored,” I told him, and I actually think I felt my nose grow slightly longer.
I am not the kind of person who handles stress very well. I don’t have a high-paying job with with a large amount of advancement opportunity because those kinds of jobs usually involve a large amount of stress. If I deal with an upset customer on the phone, I usually handle it pretty well on the surface. I can usually make the customer happy. However, I have the knowledge that I will ultimately die of a massive heart attack while on the phone with one of these people because I get so stressed while talking to them. Either an upset customer — or having to deal with employees under my direct command and their issues… management material I ain’t… So, the inherent stress involved with being directly responsible for 20 scouts is not something I am really looking forward too, but I can’t imagine another leader that I am sure all of the boys of all ages will respond well to. Kids like me (probably because I haven’t really grown up yet myself… going to have to do that one of these days). Besides, there are a lot of other adults going with the troop, and I know there are a few of them who are going to be great assets with the boys.
Finally, camp time arrives and we load up the cars and take off. CLP is about 2 1/2 hours from Scottsbluff and the drive goes by quickly. My car consists of my boy and two other scouts that are my boys age. I’ll just call those boys Mada and Neb to protect their identities. I have been dealing with these scouts for years now and we all get along splendidly. I always crank up the stereo and blast some tunes when I have a car full of scouts. They usually enjoy it. On this trip, I got the Mumford and Sons blaring and I hear giggles from the backseat.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“What’s this crap?” says Neb.
“Yeah,” says Mada. “Is this folk country or something?”
“It’s… it’s Mumford and Sons,” I say. “It’s good stuff.”
“It’s Garbage and Sons,” says Neb. “It sucks.”
I turn the stereo down, blinking back tears, and proceed onwards toward CLP. It’s going to be a long week…
Our actual Scout Master did an excellent job of preparing all of the paperwork for check-in at camp, which made checking in once we arrived a snap. We were guided through the camp to our campsite. Every time we approached a sight, I could hear scouts mumbling, “this must be it,” or “maybe it’s this one.” Needless to say, the sites we passed weren’t “it” or “this one.” Our campsite was Pawnee, and it was about as far as you can get from the main activities of camp… it was always an uphill walk to get there. I think our Scout Master requested a site on the outskirts of camp… because I think our Scout Master may actually be satan. Old fat guys with high blood pressure and weak wills are not meant to walk long distances uphill — several times every day — for a week.
So we get settled in and start our camp schedule. Up at 6am, flags at 7:45am, breakfast at 8am, merit badges at 9am… etc, etc, etc. Life at camp is supposed to be pretty predictable. And for the most part, it was. I had a really good group of scouts and parents. Everyone seemed to get along. I was very proud of the boys of all ages. The older scouts included the younger scouts in most of their activities and fun was had by all.
I was duly impressed with the staff at CLP. The food, although pretty much like a school lunch and very high in carbs (although not a single bagel was to be found 🙂 ), was plentiful and none of it sucked (although I did hear some of the health freaks from Colorado make complaints like “I never eat like this — so much processed food — oh my — I’ll have to eat salad for a week after I get back to straighten out my digestive system…”, thing is, there was a salad bar served with every lunch and supper, but there was no gourmet lettuce on the bar, and Coloradans like to make themselves sound healthier than they really are…). The counselors were all relatively knowledgeable and seemed to enjoy what they were doing. The staff was, for the most part, friendly and willing to answer questions. In other words, CLP this time around was a complete turn-around from when we attended in 2010.
One of the things I always find amusing at every boy scout camp I’ve been to with the troop is, no matter which camp we go to, there is always at least one cute girl serving on the staff who becomes a topic of discussion amongst the scouts. We try to get the boys away from the normal things of this world and help them get closer to nature and developing outdoor skills, and they end up infatuating over girls, which is what a lot of them do as a normal thing in regular life. At CLP, there were “the twins”. The twins were two attractive, outdoorsy young women who most of the boys would go out of their way to get a gander at. Mada in particular (one of the scouts who rode to camp with me) became very fond of the twins. I don’t think Mada actually talked to either of the twins, but I think he had visions of dating one — if not both — of them at some point in the near future.
The week progressed nicely. All of the scouts seemed to handle being away from home just fine, and everyone seemed to be having a good time. Some of the boys weren’t showering quite as often as my nose would have liked, but that is just part of a week-long camp with boys. By the time Thursday rolled around, everyone was in high spirits. Thursday was the last day for the boys to complete any merit badges they were working on. Friday, we had planned on taking the troop on a hike up the side of Black Mountain to the fire lookout post at the top. It’s like a 3 mile hike uphill and it tests the younger scouts endurance. By the time the scouts hike up, check out the awesome views from the lookout post, and stumble back down, everyone gets a good night sleep before packing up camp and heading home on Saturday.
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Spending a summer living here would be pretty cool...
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Now, we had heard that there was a forest fire in the area, but it was a long way from camp and was in no way a threat to us. We all went about our scheduled business on Thursday. The camp director informed us that his wife had given birth to their son the previous evening and he would be going to spend time with the newest member of his family. He turned the reins of the camp over to one of the other staffers, and no one doubted her ability to get us through the remaining two days.
A couple of older scouts had no scheduled activities, so they decided to take a hike up Black Mountain just to say they did it twice at one camp. Upon their return, they informed us that a new fire had started from a recent lightening strike and it may pose a threat to CLP. Throughout the day, we were given bits and pieces of information about the nearby fire, and the stream of smoke pouring over Black Mountain grew in intensity throughout the day. By evening, there was speculation that there may be an evacuation of the camp… just as a precaution.
Beside the Pawnee campsite, there was a hill that we figured would provide us with a cool view of the smoke coming over the mounatin. All of the scouts and leaders took a short hike up the hill and were amazed by the ominous black cloud that rolled right over the fire lookout at the top of the mountain.
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You can see a touch of the actual blue sky in the center. All of the dark is smoke coming over the mountain.
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Although the sky was filled with smoke, no one seemed to concerned. You really couldn’t even smell the smoke, and the fire seemed so far away… until the sun went down. As what little light that could be seen in the sky disappeared, the entire horizon over the top of the mountain glowed orange. I didn’t get any pictures of the orange glow because, at this point, I am starting to freak out a little.
We have the entire troop return to the camp site. By this time, it’s almost 10:00 pm and 10:00 is supposed to be lights out — everyone in their tents and down for the night. Well, because of the eeriness of that orange glow, one of the other adults and I decide we’re going to make the long hike downhill to the office to see what the plans are. We get to the dining hall and one of the staffers stops us.
“Can I help you?” she asks.
“Well, it’s lights-out and we were wondering if we should have the boys go to bed or what because the orange glow on the ridge is kind of freaky and I’d hate to have them get all comfortable just to wake them up to tell them we’re evacuating and that would probably freak them out more than if they just stayed up and …” I was settling well into freak-out mode before she stopped me.
“Listen,” the staffer said, “if and when… when (she looked me straight in the eyes)… we call for an evacuation, the fire bells will sound. Keep the boys up and listen for the bells. ”
“Okeedokee,” I said, and we started the exhausting hike back up the hill. We made it about 50 yards before another adult leader from another troop came running by.
“Did you hear?” he shouted. “They are going to evacuate! Get your boys ready to meet by the dining hall!”
Then he was gone.
Crap.
The other leader and I started to run — uphill — to our site. The other leader, being in much better shape than me (it doesn’t take much) soon had the lead.
“Screw… this…,” I barely was able to emit between grasps of breath. “I’m… calling… someone…”
The other adult kept running while I pulled out my cell phone and dialed one of the leaders back at out campsite. The smell of smoke that had been mysteriously absent earlier in the evening started to fill my nostrils.
“Yeah?” answered the adult back at camp.
“They… are… going… to… evacuate…” I stammered.
“What?” said the adult on the other end of the call.
I took a few deep breaths to try to catch mine, and I repeated the evacuation edict.
“What do you want us to do?”
Just then, the fire bells started ringing.
“Line all… line all… of… the boys… up…,” I stuttered while still trying to catch my breath, “and… wait… for… me…”
“Will do,” and the phone went dead.
I continued my brisk jog up the hill toward our campsite at the edge of the universe thinking about how much the real scout master must hate me for having chosen a site sooo far from everything. As I ran, I could feel my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest as my head felt like there was a balloon being inflated inside.
“I’m going to fall over dead of a stroke right here on this stinking trail,” I thought to myself… because talking to myself would have used too much precious breath, ” while I’m supposed to be helping a bunch of scouts to safety…”
When I finally stumbled into the campsite, the smoke was hanging heavy in the air, but there was a row of scouts and adults diligently lined up in a single file line, ready to head out for the evacuation instructions.
“Alright, guys, ” I said as calmly as I could, “they are going to have us leave camp early because of the fire. We are in no danger, they are just being overly cautious, which is a good thing, but I don’t want anyone to worry. We are all going to be just fine, so stay calm and let’s make sure ever one is here.”
From a nearby campsite, I could hear another adult leader screaming at his scouts, “Would you guys hurry up… there’s a fire coming and we need to meet at the dining hall to find out what we need to do to get out of here… HURRY UP… DO YOU ALL WANT TO DIE!!!”
I glanced at my scouts to see if they had overheard the other adult with the other troop — their faces all remained calm, so I couldn’t tell.
“We don’t need to overreact,” I tried to reassure them as that balloon in my head grew a couple of inches in size. I counted the scouts… and came up with 19.
“Nineteen,” I said, calmly at first. “There are only nineteen scouts here. We’re supposed to have twenty. Who are we missing?”
Everyone looked at one another and then back at me with blank faces.
“There are only nineteen scouts here… and we are supposed to have twenty. NINETEEN IS NOT TWENTY… WHY ARE THERE ONLY NINETEEN INSTEAD OF TWENTY… WHO IS MISSING?” The balloon in my skull felt like the Good Year blimp and my vision started to go all kinds of wacky, while I’m sure that my voice sounded like that of an 11-year-old girl.
One of the younger scouts at the front of the line looked at me and calmly stated, “Don’t you have a roster?”
Roster? Why yes, we had a roster. In fact, they made us have three copies of that stinking roster and I remembered thinking that was nothing more than overkill: two copies to the camp and one for the campsite.
We rounded up the roster and I performed roll call. When we I got to the name that didn’t elicit a “here”, a tent was checked and a sleeping scout was roused. Now we had twenty scouts and we headed to the dining hall for further instructions… all the way back down the hill.
A small group of leaders were taken inside the dining hall while the staff led the remaining adults and the scouts in some rousing campfire songs to keep their minds preoccupied. The fill-in camp director calmly gave us our evacuation instructions, which consisted of tearing down our campsites, getting everyone to their rides, and getting everyone calmly and orderly the hell out of Dodge. We were all to meet at Safeway in Wheatland, WY to make sure that everyone had made it out. There would be available locations for us to safely sleep in Wheatland once we arrived.
We went back outside and calmly gathered our troops and headed all the way back uphill to our campsite, which we promptly tore down and loaded in our trailer. Once loaded, we hiked all the way back down to the parking lot and loaded the boys in their appropriate vehicles. As each vehicle left the parking lot, CLP staffers stopped the vehicle and took a tally of who was in the vehicle and compared it to one of the copies of the roster that we gave them. We then started the caravan toward Wheatland.
For the journey to Wheatland, I chose Adele’s Set Fire to the Rain as our departure music. No one seemed to mind. As we traveled the dirt roads leading away from camp, the orange glow on the horizon gave us perspective on why we were leaving camp near midnight more than 24 hours early. After Set Fire to the Rain, I selected Someone Like You as our evacuation music. I noticed that Mada seemed especially upset during the Adele ballad of broken hearts and lost love.
We silently snaked along the roads all the way to the interstate and then into Wheatland. We arrived in the Safeway parking lot only to stand in another line while our names were once again compared to yet another copy of the roster that we had turned into the camp. We then assembled on the sidewalk next to Safeway and awaited further instructions. Finally, one of the twins came over to us and let us know where the city park was where we could sleep for the night. I glanced at Mada and saw the sorrow in his eyes as the twin walked away.
When we got back to the car, Neb whispered to me, “Please don’t play any more Adele. It reminds Mada that he may never see the twins again.”
“Okay,” I smiled gently as I put the car in drive and cranked Adele on the stereo.
By the time we arrived at the park and got everyone either sleeping on tarps on the grass or in the cars, it was around 2:30am on Friday morning. When we awoke a few hours later, we must have looked like a bunch of vagrants littering the park to all of the Wheatland residents walking around the park… and there were a lot of residents walking around the park. Apparently, there isn’t much to do in Wheatland, WY but walk around the park on a Friday morning 🙂 We received some strange looks and a few questions… and a lot of “we’re glad you’re safe” and “welcome to Wheatland”.
The drive back to Scottsbluff was a cheery one. Everyone seemed to be in a grand mood… even Mada. I later asked him if he was still upset about his missed opportunity with the twins.
“It’s not a missed opportunity,” he explained,” just postponed.”
The whole ordeal from our adventure at CLP gave me some perspective on scouting and the important lessons scouting teaches:
“Be Prepared” is not only a motto, it is a way of life.
Rosters are good and you can never have too many.
Boy Scouts of America trains it’s people well.
Always have some Adele on hand. You never know when it may come in useful.
Never — I repeat, NEVER — select a campsite as far away from everything as possible to try to teach some sort of lesson to the scouts. You (or your designated substitute) may actually have their head explode (which I’m pretty sure mine almost did) in case of an emergency…
Jimmy John’s sucks, and residents of Terrytown and Gering, Nebraska need to boycott it. (I wrote this intro sentence after I actually wrote the blog post because I’m working on my SEO 🙂 )
A couple of days ago, the wife was looking for some fast food for supper. It was one of those crazy hectic evenings where there really wasn’t a lot of time to cook. She had a rough day and was looking to have something (other than the standard pizza) delivered. “Hey,” she says to herself (because she talks to herself when she is losing her mind), “Jimmy John’s has good, relatively healthy food and they deliver!”
So, the wife calls Jimmy John’s, orders some grub, pays for said grub with a credit card, and then (thinking it strange that delivery was not offered) asked to have the order delivered.
“Uh, you live in Terrytown,” says the fast food genius on the other end of the line.
“Yeah,” says the wife.
“We don’t deliver out of Scottsbluff,” says the minimum-wage-earning superstar at Jimmy John’s.
“Huh?” says the wife.
“Yeah, we don’t deliver anything south of Beltline,” says my new favorite person in the whole entire world.
“But we’re only like 1 mile south of Beltline,” says the wife.
“Uh, you are gonna have to pick up your food,” says, I believe, Mr. Jimmy John himself, and can’t you just imagine him picking at a pimple as he’s talking?
So, the wife rubbed down the horses, pulled the irrigation line, pulled the milkers off the cows, rounded-up the sheep, put down our rabid family dog, pulled the fevered baby from his crib, loaded the crew into the sled and mushed the dogs all the way to Jimmy John’s. Okay, that may be slightly exaggerated, but it was a pain in the ass. Thanks for being a buttmunch company, Jimmy John’s!
Jimmy John’s does not deliver to Gering or Terrytown?!? How have the noble citizens of Gering not taken to the streets en masse to demonstrate against this monstrosity? How has this not made the cover of the Gering Citizen (a Gering-based tabloid that is pro-Gering… so extremely pro-Gering that its reporting often makes FOX News’ reporting on anything conservative and the Huffington Post‘s reporting on anything liberal actually seem fair and balanced), or at least the topic of a scathing editorial? I cannot comprehend how one of the loud-mouthed, opinionated citizens of Gering (and Gering has a plethora of those) hasn’t started a boycott of some sort against the tom-fool shenanigans of Jimmy John’s! Let me say that, as of this point in time, I shall lead the call for a boycott of the ridiculousness that is Jimmy John’s!
For those not from the panhandle of Nebraska, please let me explain the ridiculousness of that which I just wrote. See, Scottsbluff and Gering are two communities separated by the North Platte River. Terrytown is a village that occupies a sliver of land between Scottsbluff and Gering and is only a “village” at all because some guy named Terry with a lot of money wanted a town named after himself. For all intensive purposes, these three municipalities are one community.
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Terrytown is so stinking small, it isn't even on this map...
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Most everyone in this area would agree with that except for the residents of Gering — they tend to be anal and think they are better than everyone “north of the river” (which is how they refer to the unwashed masses in Scottsbluff).
See, part of me blames the residents of Gering for the whole Jimmy John’s debacle. If Gering would merge with Scottsbluff, we would become like the 7th largest “city” in Nebraska. Instead, we are two puny little communities (three, if you count Terrytown… which no one does) who have issues attracting not only decent-paying employers (wanna work at Walmart, anyone?), but we have issues getting in amenities and businesses that many in the area would like to see come in (Red Lobster — the lower-middle class’s fancy seafood place). If we were merged, I bet Jimmy John’s would deliver to Terrytown and Gering.
However, I’m not going to blame this one on Gering (mostly because I wouldn’t rule out a vehement Gering resident trying to murder me in my sleep). I blame this one on the cheap-ass who owns the Jimmy John’s franchise. I’m guessing one of two things is happening:
The franchisee only bought the rights for the Scottsbluff zip code and is therefore contractually prohibited from delivering outside of the stated franchise area. See, the franchisee doesn’t really care about the residents of Gering and Terrytown (whom I’m guessing provide a significant amount of business to the restaurant). I guess the franchisee wouldn’t care if we all just stopped supporting the business? I say we give it a try!
The franchisee or management of the restaurant all come from an alternate reality where people in Scottsbluff look at people “south of the river” with the same contempt that Gering residents currently look at “northies” in our reality — because I could see some diphole actually opening a business in Gering and making deliveries to Gering only just to spite people from Scottsbluff.
It’s almost like the Hatfields and McCoys around here… except Gering is the Hatfields and they are out for blood, and Scottsbluff is the McCoys and they gave up on stupid, ego-driven feuds years ago.
I can almost guarantee that some ninny from Gering will read this post and think, “Adventurer Rich, as smart and well written as he is, just doesn’t understand the ramifications of a merger between Scottsbluff and Gering and how that merger would diminish the “voice” of the people of Gering. Our opinions would be lost in the cacophony of noise coming from north of the river. Not too mention the fiscal determent to our community and the … blah blah blah. Come on, folks, we all (by choice or not) live in Nebraska. Nobody gives a rat’s sittin’ spot about any of our voices. The least we can do is try to come together with a unified voice so that we can all grow together.
Of course, I live in Terrytown. Neither side of the river gives two cares about what Terrytownians (dibs — I claim credit for making that word up!!!) think.
Residents of Gering and fellow Terrytownians, let’s show the powers that be in the world of Jimmy John’s that we are not going to be subjected to their abuse. I propose that all Gering and Terrytown residents refuse to purchase anything from that despicable restaurant until the day when we can have our orders delivered to our doorsteps. All three worthless little communities making up the Tri-Cities of the panhandle of Nebraska deserve equality!!!
I’m on a hunger strike! I have been on a hunger strike since yesterday. The last time I actually ate anything was Sunday evening, and it is currently Tuesday evening. I am approaching the 48-hour mark. I felt a little light-headed last night. Tonight, I’m feeling okay.
Why, you may ask, am I on a hunger strike? Well, I figure I’m going to do the hunger-strike thing until Nebraska quits sucking. In other words, I’m going to starve to death.
Last year, about this time, I posted about my experiences with the wonderfully craptastic County of Scotts Bluff. See, the county commissioners and the county assessor are in cahoots and regularly pull random property valuations out of their asses in order to charge more for property taxes for the abused residents of Scotts Bluff County. Last year, my taxes inexplicably went up. I filed a formal protest and appeared before the county commissioners. I intelligently stated my case and was quickly talked-down to and brushed off. I wrote a post about my experience last year.
Well, last year’s increase was like 2%. I filed my protest, appeared before the commissioners, was shot down and humiliated, and wrote a blog post about my experience. This year, the jackwads at the county decided to increase the value of my property by 6%. SIX FREAKING PERCENT! How can they keep doing this?
They can keep doing this because they are government — and government sucks! All forms of government suck, which is why I can’t understand liberals. Liberals want more government. Liberals think the government (through more taxation of those who work for what they have) should take care of those in need (those who don’t work for what they have). Screw that noise! I used to be a conservative… until along came Bush Jr. Seems to me Bush Jr. talked a good conservative game, and his tax cuts seemed like the conservative thing to do… then he created all of these billions of dollars in debt with all of these stinking bail outs. Bush Jr. was nothing more than a liberal in a Texan’s clothing.
All politicians suck. Period. There is not one person who is serving in politics who is doing it for 100% the right reasons. Every politician alive is doing it for:
Money
Power
Influence
Personal agenda
Attaching his/her name to a legacy
People will disagree, but people are idiots. There is not a politician alive who is serving for the good of all people. There is not a politician alive who truly puts the best interest of whatever he/she is representing (country, state, city, county) based on his/her actions. These jerkwads always have an agenda. These jerkwads are always looking to help either themselves or help whatever constituent provided the most kickbacks. I hate politicians. And Scotts Bluff county commissioners are politicians.
So, let’s see, what new and great things are happening around Scotts Bluff County that would justify a 6% increase in my home’s value (and, of course, the obligatory tax increase associated with that hike):
New employers with great new high-paying jobs? Hell no! Walmart may be hiring… The only people making good money are people in the medical field and trust-funders. Even teaching is considered a good paying job in the craphandle.
New amenities? Are you kidding? I suspect the newest round of tax-gouging is just to maintain the infrastructure at its current level. I guess there may be a new drug dealer in the trailer park in my neighborhood. Drug dealers = idiot drivers looking to score = a not very safe neighborhood for my kids to play. Yeah, increase the valuation of my property based on that…
Strong existing economy? I don’t think so. Gering recently had a new grocery store open, which replaces the grocery store that Walmart drove out of town years ago. I don’t know how long that new store in Gering will stay open, but if it were publicly traded, I wouldn’t buy its stock. In just the last couple of months, our local bookstore (Copperfield) has gone out of business, as has a pottery store downtown (Create Away). JC Penney recently announced they will be closing their store in our joke of a half-dead mall. I know about businesses closing. Closing businesses don’t seem to be the kind of indicator that point toward the kind of strong economy that would justify a 6% increase in a property’s value, does it?
The county figured out a way to block the wind, filter the allergens, get rid of the feedlot/sugar beet smells, or make the stinking old Germans drive faster? Of course not.
The pile of crap that falls from some county administrator’s mouth and gets printed in the local newspaper is that we aren’t being hit as hard by the housing crash as the rest of the country. We don’t have the big rises in real estate, and we don’t have the big crashes in real estate.
Really?!?
Yeah, I guess if my property value is increasing with me making no improvements to my property, it would be hard to say the market here is crashing. Stupid Nebraska.
I know, I know… I should be happy that the value of my property is increasing. A small part of me is happy. The rest of me is afraid that (if the local economy continues to sucktastically slide, and my wages remain stagnant while the cost of everything — property taxes included — continues to rise) I will find myself in the near future not able to afford my stinking house. That thought pisses me off beyond all comprehension.
So, I am not eating. I am not eating as a way to protest the suckiness that is Nebraska. I am not eating to showcase my displeasure in the idiots who run stuff around here. I figure I will probably make it about 2 to 3 weeks. And I will happily die knowing that my tombstone will read:
Here Lies Adventurer Rich.
He Died Because Nebraska Sucked…
The Life Right Out of Him!
Oooh, what’s that smell? Is that chocolate chip cookies? Damn it, I think the wife made chocolate chip cookies! She knows I’m on a hunger strike! Can she not stand behind just one of my attempts to show my displeasure at life in Nebraska?!? DAMN IT!!!
Crap…
I’m gonna go get me a cookie. Then, it’s off to McDonalds and its dollar menu… ’cause that’s what we have here for affordable fast food that allows me to STILL PAY MY FREAKING PROPERTY TAXES…
A friend of mine recently lost his father-in-law. Well… he didn’t actually lose his father-in-law. He knew exactly where his father-in-law was, which happened to be at home dying of cancer. It’s funny how cancer ravages an individual and leaves tattered survivors behind. No… not really funny, but, you know, devastating. Kind of strange how some of our ways of stating things make absolutely no sense, isn’t it? Why yes — yes it is. Stinking English language.
So anyway, my friend’s father-in-law retired not that long ago. Shortly after retiring, he was diagnosed with cancer. Shortly after being diagnosed, it looked like treatment was working. Shortly after the prognosis looked positive, the cancer got worse. Shortly after the cancer got worse, my friend’s father-in-law was given two weeks to live. A couple of days after being given two weeks to live, the father-in-law died.
The end.
… but this entire scenario has been playing with my head for the weeks that have passed since the father-in-law passed. And then this week, a nice lady who was not that much older than me had a relatively routine surgery and, due to complications from that surgery, she passed away. She left behind a loving husband and grown children who now need to find a way to their futures without her. Of course, she was warned about the dangers of the procedure before she underwent it, but there didn’t seem to be a lot of available options. Can anyone say, “Life bites”? She was actually someone outside of my immediate family who had read this blog and thanked me for doing what I do. She enjoyed it and got a chuckle or two from the experience… and now she is gone. Well, looks like my dad and my brother are, once again, my sole readers…
I’ve been thinking to myself about what I would do if I knew I had a determined amount of time left. Would I continue working if I knew I only had a month left to live? I’d dare say I would not continue working. I would want to enjoy as much of the last of life as possible. I’d quit my job and sell as much of my stuff as possible to make my final days an enjoyable memory for the family I’d be leaving behind. But then… people who are in the end-stages of life-ending disease rarely want to do little more than be as comfortable as possible and die in a timely manner, right? These people aren’t usually in any shape to tackle that European adventure that they kept saying “some day” to. So fantasizing about what one would or would not do during the final stages of life is a sick little game that will lead to nothing more than severe disappointment, I’m sure. And this really got me to thinking. Aren’t we all, in one form or another, in the final stages of life? For some of us, the prognosis is decades, for others, weeks, days, hours? And something can always come along and screw everything up, right? I wonder how many people who are given weeks to live due to disease die in automobile accidents every day…
We are all dying.
Period.
Dying is the only thing we are assured of in this life. Death is the only goal that will be reached by every individual on the planet, regardless of race, gender, creed, social status… or whatever. From the moment we are born, our bodies begin the various functions that will end up using us up and spitting us out.
We are all dying.
So why don’t we act like we are dying? We have precious little time on this planet, yet most of us still are avoiding the things that we really want to do; the things that, on our deathbeds, will end up being missed opportunities and fill us with regret. We keep telling ourselves, “Someday, when I have more time,” or, “Someday, when I have more money.” Wake up, folks. More time and money are things we may never have. If you have stuff you want to get done, you better get to getting after it. You could be dead tomorrow, so don’t delay. Think of all of the wonderful things we as a species could accomplish if we started living like our time here is limited. Think of how few people would be in a job or a relationship that wasn’t fulfilling to them if they started living like they didn’t have eternity to do something with this life… because no one does. What we accomplish in our short time here is the only shot we get.
Of course, realism always sets in when I start thinking like this. Gotta put food on the table, right? Gotta pay them bills. Gotta put gas in the car. You can’t just try to do whatever you want with your life without being destroyed by the consequences. My mind always quickly changes back to: maybe someday when I have more time and money… maybe then I can try to accomplish something enjoyable with my life. I can make the boredom of everyday life disappear once I have a little more time and money… Well, I’m coming to the realization that I need to say…
Screw that noise!
This is my life. Your life is your life. I have a deep desire to do something I am passionate about with my life… to figure out my purpose and pursue it.
When I was a kid, I used to think that when I grew up and started making money and got a family, that would be when life really began. Well, having a family is great and gets me through from day to day, but I soon realized that not everyone can make good money. So, I started thinking that once I can get to retirement, that’s when life really begins. Of course, to get to retirement at a decent age, you have to make good money (or sacrifice much of the comfort from current life to stick it all away for retirement)… and “good money” isn’t easy to find. So retirement (if I live to see it…we are all dying, after all), is close to half a lifetime away, and half a lifetime (when you are 42) is way too long to wait for life to begin.
I know that I need to appreciate the little things, or I will prove to the world that I can’t comprehend a platitude. But focusing on the little things, as fulfilling as that can be, does not seem like a very redeeming purpose. I know that our purpose is supposed to be God’s purpose for us, but I highly doubt that God’s sole purpose for me on this planet is to appreciate the little things… that just sounds too boring; I would hope that God has given me more talent than that.
The only non-family activity that I do that feels rewarding is volunteering. Boy Scouts, church, whatever. Time spent volunteering (as much as I usually dread actually going to do the work) always leaves me feeling fulfilled. You know, like a job has been well done (whether it actually has or not). It feels good. I do not, nor have I ever, felt the same kind of satisfaction working a job. It’s this whole big Catch-22. If I could actually make enough money to meet my needs by volunteering, I would probably be semi-satisfied with life. But if I made money, it wouldn’t be volunteering… it would be a job… and like most jobs, it would probably suck. So maybe I just need to volunteer more of my free time to find more satisfaction and purpose, but I am usually so drained after 8+ hours of working a job that the last thing I want to do is take more time away from my family than my current level of volunteering already takes.
See… damn it… this is why I should win the stinking lottery:
I enjoy volunteering; it leaves me feeling fulfilled.
I have financial needs.
If I win the lottery, my financial needs would go away.
If my financial needs went away, I could spend 8+ hours a day volunteering.
By spending 8+ hours of my day volunteering, I would be helping causes that need help and I would feel fulfilled at the end of the day (instead of just too tired to fulfill my current obligations to family and the organizations I volunteer time to).
This is a win/win situation. Nobody loses… so why can’t I win the freaking lottery?!?
I can’t win the lottery because God’s purpose for me isn’t to volunteer all of my free time. I can dig that. But if my purpose involves a future of life-draining 8-5s, I most definitely cannot dig that.
“Well, nobody said it was going to be fair!”
Yeah, and nobody asked my opinion before putting me here, so that doesn’t fly. Thus, the search for purpose continues.
I actually recently read “The On-purpose Person” by Kevin W. McCarthy… and I got excited. It’s a narrative about a guy (who sounds a lot like me… but who makes a crapload more money than me) who feels purposeless. Through a series of referrals, the man in the story visits various on-purpose people who volunteers their time to help the man find his purpose and start living his life on-purpose. Whoa… that sounds pretty cool. So, I check out an introduction to Kevin McCarthy’s web-based program that helps people find their purposes. The first lesson was free and didn’t really provide too much useful info. In order to get the good stuff, you need to pay for the seminar series… and it’s like 200 bucks. And it sounds like you have to stop having a lot of fun and grow up and stuff, so I’m not exactly sure this program is for me.
“But… in the story, all of those on-purpose people gave their time and advice for free to the man,” I point out.
“But that was a story,” says the voice of reason.
“So, in real life, people aren’t willing to give their time to help others find their purpose?” I ask.
“Of course not,” says the voice of reason. “In real life, people, including Kevin W. McCarthy have mortgages and life insurance policies and the need to eat.”
“Well,” I say, “real life kinds of sucks when compared to the story.”
“Nobody ever said it was going to be fair,” says the voice of reason.
Sometimes, I hate the voice of reason. So the search continues.
I’m kind of thinking a more self-sustaining lifestyle may have some rewards…
I originally started writing this blog to capture my journey through turning 40 and the pain that journey entailed. I wanted to, at least somewhat humorously, document how much turning 40 sucked. Well, I turned 40, it did suck, and now here I am at 42 and things get no better. People always say crap like, “Just give it time, things will get better,” or “At least things can’t get any worse.” Well, I have come to a realization: people lie. The only thing my future potentially holds is turning 50; I’m sure that will be a joy ride.
If you are down in the dumps or have a touch of the blues, people say ‘things will get better’ to prevent you from jumping off of a bridge or walking through the local Walmart with your hunting rifle a’blazing or something. There is no real guarantee that anything is going to get any better. In fact, things run a pretty substantial risk of getting worse. Still, you should not jump off of a bridge or take out the entire population of a Walmart (believe it or not, there may actually a few good people in there).
When I start feeling down about the suckiness that life often dishes out, I blog. It makes me feel better. It might piss some people off, but then maybe they need to start their own blogs. A small part of me has always thought that if I sit down and practice writing on a regular basis (i.e. blog), I might improve my writing skills to the level where I can actually making a living writing.
“Why would you want to make a living writing?” you may ask.
I don’t like dealing with people. Any form of conflict stresses me out to a degree that I can barely function, and you cannot deal with people and avoid conflict. What really amazes me are people who seem to thrive on conflict. You know them, the people who can take a completely calm situation and turn it upside down by inserting a touch of drama… which always leads to conflict. These people need to be locked away on their own island… hey, Total Drama Island!
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Good cartoon... I miss it 🙁
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I have not always been like this, but over the last several years, the degree of my anti-social thoughts and feelings has multiplied to the point that I really am pretty miserable a lot of the time. This is mostly related to time when I am actually earning a living. At home, and even in the occasional social setting, I am happy and pretty comfortable. I have tried to think of a job where I would have very little personal contact with people in the realm of the method I use to earn an income, and writing seems to be an excellent choice. There are additional choices, but none of them seem to fit quite right:
Methamphetamine Manufacturer
Oh sure, making the meth sounds like a great way to make a living.
*You can work at home.
*You make a very high (no pun intended) return on investment.
*All of the simple instructions are easily accessible online.
*The only people you would have to deal with would be your dealers.
*I’ve seen some of the people who make this stuff… you don’t have to be a rocket scientist.
*You are making a product that is in demand and makes people feel better about their miserable lives.
However, if you really look at the consequences of making meth, you find that there may be some drawbacks.
*You can burn down your home.
*Meth may make people feel better, but it has been discovered that it may not be good for them.
*Apparently, making meth is illegal.
*The only people you would have to deal with would be your dealers.
So… meth is out.
Pornography Actor
Okay, so you would have to deal with people, but I’m sure there wouldn’t be much conflict. Even if there is conflict, who cares?. Three words: female porn stars! This doesn’t sound like a bad choice…
And then reality sets in…
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Yeah... no one is going to pay to see that...
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Crap! I think the wife may have an issue with me being in porn… as would God. Porn is out.
Let’s see… what are some more jobs that would either be enjoyable or have limited conflict…
Bookstore Owner/Employee
I love books and used to think working in like a Barnes & Nobles would be a blast. I mean, who in their right mind would be unhappy in a bookstore. I used to think that way, until I saw some poor information booth employee at Barnes & Nobles get chewed up one side and down the other by some jerkwad who was bent out of shape because the store didn’t have a copy of some obscure philosophy book. Jerkwad was upset that he would have to wait a couple of days for the store to get in a copy of Larry Fleitzerhinie’s Mans’ Walk on an Impartial Plain of Reason in the Twilight of the Mountains of Contradiction… or something like that. “What kind of bookstore is this,” Jerkwad yelled. Seriously… is there not a job on this planet where jerkwads are not present? So the bookstore idea is out.
Working with Children
I used to work at Discovery Zone (a Chuck E. Cheese-like place with tubes and tunnels and ball pits and video games and birthday parties etc. etc. etc.). One would think that a fun place like that would be reasonably stress free… but one would be wrong. Parents become absolute imbeciles when it comes to the happiness of their children… especially when they are paying for it. And these imbeciles love to yell at whatever employee is closest to them when their child is for one second not having the ultimate in fun (like the kid just got reprimanded for biting another kid in the butt).
“You have no right to discipline my child, you minimum-wage piece of $@#&!”
Meanwhile, the parent of the child who was bitten is screaming, “You need to keep better control of the kids in here. I should sue!”
Of course, neither of these parents say a word to each other… let’s just take it all out on the minimum-wage piece of $@#&!
So it is becoming relatively clear at this point that there is no such thing as an enjoyable job… or at least a job that is stress-free. I understand that stress is supposed to be a good thing in small amounts because it helps us make decisions and whatnot… but I’m getting too old to deal with the stress crap anymore. You know, if I had the money flowing in that I expected to be making in my “prime income-earning years”, the stress probably wouldn’t get to me as much. Sounds silly, but it’s true. If I was making six figures, I think my tolerance for all things stressful would be a little higher because I’d be able to put a sizable amount of that away for retirement and I’d have the knowledge that I would not have to deal with the crap forever. However, given my current situation, I will be dealing with some sort of crap for every single workday for the rest of my natural life.
Go ahead, say it. I know there is someone out there who is wanting to say it…
“Suck it up! Quit your whining and do what you need to do!”
“Nobody ever said life was going to be fair, so shut your mouth and get busy working!”
“People who complain like you need to be thankful they aren’t a starving child in Africa!”
“If you worked as hard as you complained, you’d be making more money!”
“Quit feeling sorry for yourself! We all gotta deal with it and you don’t hear us complaining, do you?”
Oh my… if I had a nickel for every time I was the recipient of one of these comments, I’d already be able to retire. I have never stated that I am not thankful for what I have. I just want more out of life than being a working stiff who begrudgingly works a job until the day he dies. I think it is best stated by Drake in Nikki Minaj’s song Moment 4 Life:
“I’m really tryna make it more than what it is, cuz everybody dies but not everybody lives!”
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Apparently, one needs to look like a pink blow-up doll to be living life right?!?
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Word! … does anybody really say “word” anymore? Yeah, probably not. I’m kind of out of the loop. I am 42, after all…
Good gravy – I’m quoting a Nikki Minaj song?!? ‘Bout time to wrap this post up.
Anywho, writing is about the only job I can think of that would have the limited public contact necessary to eradicate a large portion of the work-related stress from my life. Of course, I only enjoy writing as a way to bitch. If I had to write how-to manuals or reviews of laundry soaps or something like that, writing would suck.
So, if anyone knows of a good writing gig that requires a whiny writer who loves to bitch, give me a shout out. Word!
