NE – Page 4 – HappyStinkingJoy

The Life Cycle of Having Friends…

Remember when you were a kid and you had all kinds of friends? Well, unless you were the kid who accidentally pooped the pants in 3rd grade during math and everyone knew about it; then you maybe didn’t have so many friends. Maybe you were the girl who had her first “Carrie” moment during 6th grade English, and none of the kids understood why you left school early, upset and crying; until someone spotted the evidence of the early dismissal on the seat of your chair… your adolescence may have been a little rough. Or you were the boy who got caught enjoying Baywatch just a little too much when you thought no one watching… you may have had a few rough years. But aside from those few sad instances indicative of the cruelty of other children, many kids have lots of friends. And as you grow from adolescence into high school and up through college, you make more and more friends. By the time you get out of college, you probably have tons of friends… and I’m not just talking acquaintances, but real friends… you know, the kind of people you wouldn’t hesitate to call if you needed a good bailing out of jail.

At this point, we’re set! We have a plethora of friends and a brand-spanking new education just waiting to be developed into a life-long career of happiness! Guess what happens to many of us then. We pack up our belongings and move half-way across the country and start completely fresh in a community where we don’t know a single soul! Sounds exciting, right? Sounds like a true adventure, doesn’t it? Yeah… not really. It sucks, and years later, you will find yourself pretty much friendless as you roll through mid-life.

When I first moved to the panhandle of Nebraska (almost 20 years ago), I figured I would fast make new friends. And right out of the gate, I met a few people my age and we became buddies. Considering that the people in this community are very cliquish (which is something I didn’t discover until later), I was lucky. One of these buddies actually introduced me to the woman who is now my wife. So, yeah, I thought I was on a roll. Now see, where the problem comes into play in my example is the fact that I moved to a community where the young people are anxiously leaving in droves. In the small town of Glasgow, MT where I grew up, all of the kids always talked about how they wanted to get the hell out of Glasgow and actually do something with their lives. Scottsbluff and Gering Nebraska are much the same. Kids see what their parents have accomplished living here, and the kids want nothing to do with it. The kids want to actually find some measure of success in their lives, so they bail on the communities at pretty much the first available opportunity. My problem: I moved in as everyone else my age was trying to get the hell out. I escaped from one community where all the kids and young adults wanted to get away to another community where all the kids and young adults wanted to get away. The destination of my escape was another destination from which to seek escape. Most of those original friends that I made when I moved here have long since found more fruitful paths in other areas of the country. There are still a couple in the area, and I really enjoy hanging out with them, but the second thing to come along and disrupt the friendship cycle is kids, and I’ve got them.

Having children is one of the most rewarding things that a person can do. I don’t want to make it seem otherwise. However, having kids puts a huge crimp in any sort of social life that you may desire. You aren’t able to go out in public nearly as much once you have kids, especially while they are young. You’re at home trying to catch some sort of rest and instill in your kids the basics of being a functioning member of society.

Then the kids hit school, and through school and other extra-curricular activities, you are forced to confront other parent of other kids who are pretty much in the same boat as you. Once again, you start forming some relationships. Maybe you find a church or other civic organization, and you begin attending regularly, and you form some relationships there as well.These relationships, however, are more along the lines of “strong acquaintanceships” than they are the true friendships you had in your youth. In other words, these are people who are fun to hang out with while the kids are off playing and whatnot, but these aren’t people you would feel comfortable calling to bail you out of the joint.

Even these strong acquaintanceships you have developed through the parents of your kids’ friends and through your civic activities (and maybe even co-workers from your job) soon seem to slightly dissipate as your kids grow even older and their activities seem to encapsulate more and more of your free-time.

My wife is from the panhandle. Once she finished college, she really never had a strong desire to leave. However, neither does she have a strong desire to stay. She is constantly telling me that if I can find us a life somewhere outside of the panhandle that would make me less… uh, “grumpy” would be a polite way to put it, I guess… she would be more than happy to make a move. She, however, actually has some of the friends from her past here. Not many (most moved away), but she is occasionally able to have a “girls night out” or get together for coffee with a friend or two. I still have a lot of really good friends, but, for the most part, they are spread out all over the nation. If it weren’t for Facebook, I probably wouldn’t even know where most of them are. They sure in the hell aren’t close enough to bail me out of jail, if the need were to arise.

So, what’s next? You got me. My kids actually have some true friendships, and they are doing well in the local schools (even though the schools tend to piss me off from time to time). I’d hate to disrupt their potential growth in a selfish effort to find some sort of friendship or contentment in my life, so moving isn’t the most attractive option at this point. Doesn’t mean that it won’t happen, just means it’s not the most attractive option. I try to keep in touch with the friends of my youth… at least those on Facebook.

I’m guessing that once my kids have joined the mass exodus of young people who leave the panhandle of Nebraska to better themselves in different areas of the country, the options for the wife and I will increase. We will be free to move wherever on God’s green earth we want to live. We will be short two mouths to feed as our college-educated boys head out into the world to try to figure out how in the hell they are ever going to repay all of those student loans. Of course, our bodies will have deteriorated even further, and God only knows what the status of our health will actually be in 10 or 15 years. I’m guessing that will be the next point in the cycle where new friends are made. We will probably find them at the clinics and doctor’s offices and pharmacies and, later, in the retirement communities. We will all sit around and reminisce about our kids, about the friends of our youth, and about all of the opportunities we probably missed by living in the panhandle of Nebraska.

Google Sucks

Stinking Google. I recently wrote a post about stupid Google and how they were giving away free netbooks for people to test their new Chrome OS operating system. Well, I never received my netbook. Apparently I’m not the kind of person that Google felt was right to test their netbook. I am, however, the kind of person that Google feels is right to purchase the new Samsung Chromebook. I believe Google may be mistaken.

I received an email from Google that read as follows:

Be the first to get a Chromebook.

Since we announced the Chrome Notebook Pilot Program back in December, we’ve been humbled by the amount of interest that we’ve received from users like you.

We’re excited about the brand-new Samsung Chromebook that goes on sale on June 15. Fortunately, we’ve managed to get our hands on a few machines a little earlier, and we’d like to make these available to you, our biggest enthusiasts.

When you buy your Chromebook, you’ll also be getting a limited edition, custom-fit Chrome sleeve designed by Rickshaw so you can carry your new Chromebook in style.

Our good friends over at Gilt, the premier invitation-only shopping site, have agreed to put these Chromebooks up for sale — but only for a very limited time.

These will go fast. See you over at Gilt.

Cheers,

The Chrome Team

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A few months back, you asked to be notified about the availability of Chrome OS, which is why we sent you this one-time notice. You will not be emailed again regarding the availability of Chrome OS.

I don’t remember asking to be notified about the availability of Chrome OS. I remember wanting a free netbook. I don’t want to buy anything. Nonetheless, I figured I’d check out Google’s friends over at Gilt to see what’s up. In the back of my mind, I’m thinking a Chromebook may be pretty reasonably priced. After all, I don’t believe the computer is able to run non-web-based software… everything is stored in “the cloud”. You can’t download software to the computer (like an office suite or accounting software or publishing software or anything like that). There’s not even a CD or DVD drive on this sucker, so forget having the kids watch a movie while you’re driving across the Nebraska interstate. Sure, there are some decent free online aps that can be used online, but I like to have a hard copy of some files and applications on my computer so I can access them when I don’t have Internet access or 3G coverage (remember… this is Nebraska). I’m thinking that I should be able to pick up a web-only Chromebook for a couple hundred bucks.

Do you know how much these stinking Chromebooks are selling for? The Samsung Chromebooks were selling for like $500! Seriously!!! I could get a decent real laptop for $500… why in the hell would I buy a web-only Chromebook for that price? I’m thinking Google and Samsung may have a little bit of crack-smoking going on at their corporate offices. Plus, now I’m getting all kinds of stupid spam from Google’s friends at Gilt (notice how close that is to guilt… and jilt?). note to self: unsubscribe from ~~Jilt~~ Gilt…

Of course… who knows… maybe these Chromebooks do some pretty amazing stuff. If they did, I’d be able to go on and on about how great Chromebooks are. But in order to rave about them, I’d actually have to try a Chrome OS machine out… and I’m not going to drop 500 hard-earned bills just to see if a Chromebook is actually worth $500 hard-earned bills (which I highly doubt). If only Google would have sent me my free stinking netbook when I applied for it…

If You Don’t Volunteer, Keep Your Stinking Mouth SHUT!

I just noticed on a recent edition of the local newspaper an article. “United Way in need of volunteers”, the headline proclaimed. Ahh, volunteering! What a wonderful way to give back to your community. I’ve been volunteering for the past several years, and it is a great way to give of yourself when giving a lot of money is not an option… unless you are a volunteer for Boy Scouts of America, in which you can give your time and lots of money, ’cause, you know, there’s actually people who make money doing this scout stuff for a living, and we gotta get their salaries paid somehow.

I volunteer as an adult leader for both Boy Scouts and Cub Scouts. I started with my oldest son’s cub scout den, and progressed with him to Boy Scouts. Now, my youngest has started Cub Scouts, so I’m helping there too. I am also a deacon at the church I attend. I have a little under a year left on a four-year term, then I have to take a couple of years off. I enjoy all of the positions to which I volunteer my time, but one thing I’ve learned about volunteering is that sometimes, you need a break.

I am looking forward to the completion of my term as a deacon. I have really enjoyed serving the members of our church and getting to know them better, but it is a time commitment that will be nice to see go away for awhile.

I was really hoping that I was about done with scouts. I always figured that if I could get my oldest son through Cub Scouts and into Boy Scouts, he could take it from there. I was wrong. Some how I was conned into helping there too. Come on! Can’t I finally be one of the parents who always just drops the kids off for someone else to entertain? And I did everything I could think of to keep the younger son from wanting to join scouts.

“They eat puppy dogs on camp outs,” I said to the little guy.

“But Brother did it, so I want to too,” he replied.

“Yep, barbecued puppy dog with fried spiders,” I said. “It’s pretty gross, and you have to eat it really fast so the smell doesn’t attract the vampires. You can hear the vampires searching for blood outside your tent at night.”

“But, I really want to be a scout like Brother, Dad,” he said, crying now but trying to be brave and hold back the tears.

I really think I could have talked him out of it. I was about to go into the poisonous snakes that like to crawl into the sleeping bags with the scouts at night when the wife walked in and put a stop to it. She then proceeded to lecture me on the fact that it is only fair that we support the younger son’s decision to participate in an activity that has been such a big part of his older brother’s life.

Crap.

So, I agreed if the wife agreed to be the den leader… at least to start. She agreed, if I agreed to be involved and do the camping thing. I reluctantly agreed. I love camping… in a camper with heat and air conditioning and a refrigerator and a toilet and a BED. Any form of camping that involves a tent and sleeping on the ground is for those fortunate enough to be under the age of 40.

The wife volunteers even more than me. She is more active in the younger son’s Cub Scout pack, serving as den leader and holding a position or two on the board. She is also active on our younger son’s elementary school booster club. She has volunteered for other organizations in the past, including a local MOPS chapter, our church’s AWANA club, serving on the board of a local investment club. She is also volunteering for stuff any time the schools ask for parents to help with this or that.

Volunteering can be very fulfilling… or so I’m told. One thing that volunteering has taught me personally is that if you aren’t willing to donate your time to a worthwhile cause, you have no right to complain about much of ANYTHING!

“But I’m just way too busy.”

What a load of CRAP! Every single person that I know has enough free time to volunteer for something. If someone tells you that they are to busy to volunteer, what they are really saying is, “I am very selfish and my free time means way too much to me to give it up for something bigger than my own life.” I really want to believe that there is some sort of cosmic feng shui crap that is going to bite these selfish bastards in the ass some day, but I don’t think there is.

What really twists my tighty whiteys all up-in-a-knot is those who don’t volunteer, but who somehow think they have some sort of right to complain about how those who do volunteer are doing things. You know, like the parent who never comes to the planning meetings and then throws a hissy fit because we planned the scout banquet for a night her son can’t come. Or the parent who is torked off that we aren’t having the scouts participate in some parade or another, but wasn’t willing to help as an adult leader at the parade… and the only reason we didn’t do it is because we couldn’t get enough adult volunteers.

Youth baseball is one of the areas where non-volunteering parents seem to think that because they were born with a mouth, they are entitled to open it without first engaging their brains. At my 7-year-old’s first game, the coaches were pitching. It is supposed to be a pitching-machine league, but somebody forgot to unlock the shed with the machines before the game. I’m not going to bitch, however, because I’m sure the person who forgot was a volunteer. Anyway, coaches aren’t always exactly the best pitchers. Not a big deal. These guys volunteer their time to teach our sons how to play a fun game. some of them take 7 and 8-year-old baseball a little too serious, and some of them take it not serious enough. I figure, as long as the kids learn something and have a good time, it’s all good. One of the boy’s dad on the opposite team apparently didn’t agree with me. His kid got up to bat and the coach started throwing balls to him. The pitches weren’t perfect. The coach kept trying and the kid kept swinging. Finally, the dad started to let his frustration show. He started hollering.

“C’mon, Timmy,” he yelled after his kid once again missed the ball. “Don’t worry about it.”

This parent and his kid were on my son’s t-ball team last year, and I remember this particular dad being overly vocal.

“Maybe if the coach could actually get one across the plate, you could hit it,” the red-faced father yelled. “Sooner or later he’s got to throw you one you can actually hit!”

Seriously?!? The coach is looking embarrassed and a little upset. Finally, little Timmy connects, and his dinkweed-of-a-father erupts into cheers and applause. Jackwads like this dad are one of the reasons I don’t volunteer for sports. There are too many parents who I would end up telling to “go to hell” in front of a bunch of kids, and that’s not pleasant for anyone. Meanwhile Mr. I-like-to-degrade-the-coach-in-front-of-all-the-kids-and-their-parents: why don’t you shut your pie hole and volunteer your time? I’m guessing because you think your “too busy” and you have too many other “very important things” to do that prevent you from putting your actions where your mouth is rampantly running. It’s just to bad that “business” and those “important things” don’t keep you away from the games as well…

So yes, in the world of volunteering (just like in the work-a-day world), you are going to be confronted with morons. The world is full of them.

To all of you who volunteer… thank you. Your sacrifice is not unappreciated, although at times it feels like it is 🙂

To all you too indifferent or selfish (I just don’t have the time) to volunteer… grow up and grow a set. As much as I bitch about it, volunteering is worthwhile, fulfilling, and proves to the world that you are not a vain, self-serving idiot.

To all of you who refuse to volunteer but like to complain when a volunteer organization doesn’t do exactly what you want when you want it… go suck a lemon, jerkwad!

Graduations! Ahhh, what a waste of optimism…

WARNING!!!

Recent high school or college graduates, please don’t read this post. I don’t want to be held responsible for harshing your mellow at this time of great accomplishment in your lives. As you travel the road of life ahead, you will have plenty of time to discover the truths held in my words for yourself.

The wife and I took our boys to our niece’s high school graduation this past weekend in North Platte, NE. So, we spent a weekend watching young people being recognized for their accomplishments. This all got me to thinking… thinking how much people could accomplish with their lives if the stinking real-world didn’t have to come along and jack everything up.

I remember graduating from high school feeling like the whole world was out there waiting for me to conquer it. I remember having the same delusions at my graduation from college. At my niece’s graduation, I could read the same thoughts in the faces of all of those graduates. They were imagining their futures filled with limitless opportunities. Give them a few years. They will find the limits. Actually, the limits will hunt them down and stomp many of them into the ground. I know. The graduating class speaker was a well spoken young woman who reminded the graduates that they were solely responsible for their own futures. Graduates and school administrators say that kind of stuff at graduations. Graduates and school administrators believe that kind of stuff at graduations. Now, with graduates being young and naive, such dreams are expected. School administrators, on the other hand, should know better but are extremely biased in their perception of the true value of “education.” Aside from the field of education, I can’t think of a single line of work in the United States of America where further education guarantees higher earnings, seniority, and advancement. A large percentage of people employed in the field of education seem to have lost touch with what it is actually like outside of the field of education, and those people probably should not be allowed to speak at commencement ceremonies; they paint an unrealistically-rosy picture.
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Well, I guess we want to give these young people hope for the future, right? No need having them give up when a very small percentage of them are going to accomplish those dreams. As for those who will not accomplish their dreams, they will have plenty of time to figure out what their futures hold.

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Soon enough, most of these optimistic young people will be just like the rest of us… wondering why everyone misled us about how bright our futures were. For the kiddos, when someone tells you that you may need to set “new goals” or dream “new dreams”, this is them gently telling your dreams and goals are unrealistic (see, they lied to you at graduation… you can’t accomplish anything you want). Pick something less-hard to accomplish, or maybe just settle for what you have. Less hard and settling are what most of us do on a daily basis…

People in Positions of Power Piss Me Off!

You ever get the feeling that everyone and their dog is out to piss you off? I’m sure I’m not the only one to have those kinds of days on occasion. Well, several days over the last couple of weeks have gone that way for me.

To start things out, the administration and board of Scottsbluff Public Schools seem to have recently inserted their heads squarely into their butts. I understand that times are tough and schools have to reign-in spending and all of that garbage. Still, cutting positions on the front line of education (i.e. teachers) doesn’t seem to make sense.

Scottsbluff Public Schools is the only school district in the panhandle of Nebraska to offer an orchestra program. Well, it looks like the school administration plans on cutting that program. There has been a full-time orchestra teacher in the program for years, and the program has been available to kids beginning in 4th grade. The teaching position is being cut to part-time, is only available to those in middle school or higher, and they are considering getting rid of concerts for the students completely. Okay, so by cutting out the 4th and 5th grade participation, they are cutting off feeding the program. By cutting out the concerts, they will be cutting back on interest from students, parents and the community. Administration will not admit it, and they think we are too stupid to figure it our for ourselves, but it seems obvious that the orchestra program is being phased out. Just too darn expensive. Did I mention that our superintendent of schools makes $160,000/year? This is almost the same pay that the superintendent of the North Platte Public Schools makes, and North Platte has a much larger student and staff population to manage. I can’t figure out what exactly makes our school district so difficult that we would have to pay a superintendent the same as someone managing a much larger district in the same state. I have my own opinions about why it sucks around here, but none of the reasons have much to do with the schools. I guess it must have something to do with how much it just sucks to live here. We gotta pay top dollar just to get someone to live here. The last superintendent, upon retiring, immediately moved the hell away from the panhandle. He apparently hated it here and we had to pay out the wazoo to keep him while we could. He was kind of a pompous ass anyway (which seems to be the status quo for school superintendents), so the community is probably better off with his departure.

The second (more severe) cut that is really pissing me off is the board and administration screwing up the HALs program. HALs stands for High Ability Learners and is a program for students who aren’t challenged enough with regular classroom learning. We have had a coordinator for our HALs program and she has done an outstanding job. Her name is Merry Witzki, and she is not a normal “teacher”. Merry knows how kids learn. Her focus hasn’t been only on math, science and language arts (which seems to comprise the focus of our education system). Merry mentors the kids (high ability, normal ability, and low ability) she works with and focuses on creative thinking skills. She challenges the kids to think outside the box and the kids gain skills that will actually help them create a positive impact on the workforce once they join. I mean, it’s great to know that a water molecule has two hydrogen atoms and a single atom of oxygen, but how many people are going to have a career where that information is relevant. Good basic knowledge, but critical thinking skills and learning how to lead and be part of a team and all of the other things that Mrs. Witzki focused on were real-world skills that the kids weren’t getting anywhere else. Well, apparently the school district doesn’t believe real-world skills are important. Mrs. Witzki’s position has been eliminated. She will be a grade teacher. The HALs program will still be in place, but it doesn’t sound like the HALs kids will meet with their peers anymore for monthly workshops and yearly conferences. Instead, they will be assigned a “special teacher” who will visit them in their existing classrooms and make sure they are being challenged in their classes. What, make sure they are getting a little harder math homework in their math class than the other students are taking home? That isn’t going to encourage the HAL students. It may challenge, but it won’t encourage. What a crock of crap! The National Association of Gifted Students recommends this protocol, but our school district doesn’t want to follow this advice. The HALs program has been something that the HALs students look forward to: a fun and creative experience that helps them grow. I have a strong feeling that the HALs program is about to take a nosedive straight into the toilet. But whatever. At least the superintendent is still making $160,000/year. Hmmm… I wonder if the HALs program could still have a coordinator if the superintendent made what the average superintendent in a school district our size makes? Or if we didn’t decide that we need to hire a teacher to teach the Chinese language? Well, I guess since the US is pretty much owned by the Chinese now, we should probably start teaching our future national language.

One thing that really kills me is how the school board defends some of the stupid decisions it makes with, “If parents really cared more and came to the school board meetings, they could make their voices heard before we make decisions.” The school board meets normally once a month on Monday. Does the school board have any idea how many other groups meet on Monday night? My wife is on a booster club for an elementary school, and they meet on Mondays. I am at Boy Scout troop meetings every Monday throughout the school year. I guess if we all stopped volunteering in the community, we could monitor the school board that we put in office to help them make the decisions that we elected them to make in our students’ best interests. I know that I’m probably being a little hard on the school board, but I cannot for the life of me grasp why a group of educated adults would make a decision that is going to potentially have such a negative impact on our brightest students. I guess, for some children, being left behind is acceptable…

Alright, so those in power on school boards and school administration piss me off, but they aren’t the only ones. Other people with perceptions of power and authority piss me off as well. I know I have discussed my aversion to local politicians (especially small town mayors) before, but I keep coming back, don’t I? You know the types: county commissioners whose asses everyone kisses because of the hellfire of economic ruin said commissioners will rain down upon those who openly oppose them (or who don’t hook them up with free crap just because they are commissioners). Also, higher-ups in economic development-type organizations can be real jerks. Some of these people see themselves as “elite”, and I’m getting too far along in age to be talked down to by some jerk on a power trip. What really gets me is that the people who are supposed to be all about developing the local economy are the people you never see out supporting local businesses. If they actually do support local businesses, they constantly throw in your face how much your service “sucks” and how much better off they would be going with a non-local business, but they are supporting your business so you better do whatever in the hell they want you to do to make them happy. They are the kind of people who call in to complain that their toaster stopped working… and your business has nothing to do with the sale or service of toasters… and they want you to fix their broken toaster, because, “all of my smart friends tell me that I need to buy my products or get my service from someone other than you, but I keep my money going to you, so you better get someone out here to fix my toaster!” And, of course, you fix the stinking toaster.

I have never really held a position with any kind of real power, and I probably never will. People in positions of power will always talk down to me and make decisions that affect me or those I care about directly, and these decisions will continue to piss me off. There really isn’t anything I can do about any of this. Oh sure, I could always come up with an elaborate, diabolical plan to remove these pains-in-the-ass people from my realm of existence, but that sounds kind of messy. Besides, with my luck, I’d get caught. I have a feeling that the people on power trips in prison might make my life noticeably more miserable than the elitist jerks I have to deal with on the “outside”. Intimate relations with a tattooed child molester named Bubba, or a similar relationship with local people of “power”. I guess the figurative is better that the literal in this situation…

Scottsbluff Family YMCA

We have a local YMCA here in Scottsbluff, NE. I didn’t have access to a Y growing up in rural Montana. In fact, the Y here is the first one I had ever been to. I had heard of the YMCA as a kid, and I thought of the Y as kind of a place where a fellow who was down on his luck could get a cheap (or even free) room until he got back on his feet. Apparently, this isn’t what the modern YMCA offers (at least not in the USA).

Scottsbluff has a country club for the wealthy.

The Scotts Bluff Country Club is the kind of place where the rich can go to get away from the common filth of society (you know, the rest of us) and surround themselves with fellow rich people with whom to golf and dine and talk about what rich people talk about. I’m not rich, so I don’t know exactly what they talk about, but I’m assuming they talk about money… and how much those of us without a lot of money suck. At least, that’s what I’d talk about if I was rich.

The YMCA here in Scottsbluff is kind of like a country club for the middle class. Oh sure, they have some sort of reduced-rate program for those at a lower income level, they just don’t advertise it very prominently… and they don’t really tell you what it is. I guess you have to go in and ask so they can look down at you to convince you that you really don’t belong at the Scottsbluff Family YMCA.

My family has a membership to the Y; not because we can afford it, but because it is a benefit my employer offers. Hell, it’s almost $500 a year for a family membership. I don’t know if I could afford that on my own. Not only do they get you on the membership fees, they charge for everything extra that the Y provides. Want to have your kid play t-ball? Only $12 if you are a member. How about you and the wife doing the co-ed volleyball? Only $15 per person… if you are members. Yeah, I grew up thinking the Y was a place where those without a lot of money could socialize and get fit. I was wrong. The Y is a country club for those who can’t quite afford the real country club.

I go to our YMCA almost daily. I have done this for a few years now. I go and I get on an elliptical and I sweat and breath really heavy for about 30 minutes. I started doing this in an attempt to control my blood pressure and to lose a little weight. I burn 500 to 600 calories and get my heart rate up to around 170 beats per minute almost every day. I have not lost a single pound, and my blood pressure was 170/130 when medical people put me on blood pressure medication a few weeks ago. So, it looks like I go to the Y for nothing. Well, nothing except to see all of the skinny people and steroid-heads walk around looking at themselves in the multitude of mirrors that surround the circuit room. I hate these people. With a passion. Here I am, sweating my ass off (in theory, not in reality) and bringing myself to the verge of a heart attack almost every day for the past three years in an attempt to squeeze a couple more years out of my miserable existence, and I’m surrounded by skinny people in their designer work-out gear

and steroid-filled muscle-heads in their… well, their muscles and crap!

Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of fatties like me sweating at the Y as well, but why in the hell would I waste time looking at them.

If I wanted to look at a fattie all day, I could stay home and look in the mirror. No, I want to create the most severe case on envy imaginable. I want to look at the people who I will never resemble. I want to make myself feel as worthless and insignificant as possible. After all, hate is what drives me, so the more hate I harbor, the worse I feel, and the more I feel like I’m accomplishing what I was put on this earth to do… whatever that is.

Man, if being surrounded by the fit middle-class at the YMCA can make me feel this crappy, imagine what being surrounded by the snotty rich at the actual country club would make me feel like? Especially if I was in a position where the rich snotties could really talk down to me? Maybe like a dishwasher… or a janitorial position? Yeah, that’s it.

Some rich doctor would run into me in the hall and he’d be all like, “Boy, there appears to be a toilet clogged in the men’s room. Get on it, post-haste. Cheerio!”

And I, of course, would get right on Dr. Snotty’s clogged toilet!

And the hate would grow!

Man, I wonder if they are hiring? I put my current level of mid-life-crisis misery on par with about the 5th ring of hell. A servitude-type position at the country club could move me all the way up to the 9th ring, and the crisis could be complete!

Boy Scouts Are Like Cockroaches…

You know how you think that Boy Scouts would be just a slight cut above their peers? Maybe a little more respectful, a little more clean? I mean, c’mon, the Scout Law is as follows:

A Scout is:

Trustworthy,
Loyal,
Helpful,
Friendly,
Courteous,
Kind,
Obedient,
Cheerful,
Thrifty,
Brave,
Clean,
and Reverent.

Did you see “Clean” on there? Of course you did, ’cause it’s right there between “Brave” and “Reverent”… in the LAW. Yeah, you would think that Scouts would be just a small cut above their peers. You would think that… until you go on a camp-out with them.

I have been on many camp-outs with many different Scouts, and I can say without a doubt that they are filthy little creatures. Oh sure, not all of them. Some of them actually follow the Scout Law… even the “Clean” part. But a large percentage of them are dirty little grime-covered insects. They remind me of cockroaches. Don’t believe me? Go on a Scout camp-out where there is a latrine or port-a-potties and call me a liar.

I went on a Scout camp-out this past weekend. It was the annual tree plant at Fort Robinson. This is a great service project that Long’s Peak Council has been committed to for many years. There was a massive forest fire in this area in 1989. It’s Nebraska, so there wasn’t much forest to begin with. Scouting has tried to help ensure that Nebraska doesn’t turn into a desert. Funny how the “Arbor Day State” has so few trees, isn’t it? Well, that’s a subject for another post.

Now, this was a two-night camp. We arrived Friday evening, set up camp, and went to bed. The next morning, we got up at the butt-crack of dawn (which is the norm on a Scout camp-out). I guess we get up so early to try to teach the boys something. I have no idea what it is we are trying to teach them, but my best guess would be it has something to do with some kind of mental torture. We are trying to break their will and make them pathetic, crabby, miserable little boys before we start building them back up to help them with their self-confidence, turning them into men… or something. It’s kind of like basic training in the military, except for they’re just kids and not really men yet… and we can’t make them drop and give us twenty when they get all kinds of mouthy because they are in a bad mood because we made them get up so early. I know that the early mornings are about the only part of Scout activities that I detest. Well, the early mornings… and the inability to take a healthy poop.

After watching the stupid sunrise while trying to get Scouts out of their tents and making breakfast, we all stumble groggily over to a flag ceremony. We watch a demonstration on how to plant trees. We drive out over a bunch of rutted, washboardie roads to the middle of nowhere, park the cars, and then hike for like a half -mile to get some small trees to plant. With bags of trees and these spades that weigh like 200 pounds, we start hiking and planting trees. Several hours and a moderately severe case of spring sunburn later, we head back to camp for lunch. We mess around most of the afternoon, and then head over to a building for a group supper. By this time, I start to realize that I haven’t pooped since back in Terrytown the previous day. I’ve got yesterday’s supper in me, along with breakfast, lunch and diner from today. I’m starting to feel “the urge”.

Now, Long’s Peak Council has thought of everything. We have port-a-potty galore. There are a ton of those things scattered throughout the designated camping area. Well, maybe Long’s Peak Council hasn’t thought of quite everything. They apparently haven’t thought of the fact that a bunch of mostly 11 to 14-year-old boys are going to make a pretty big mess of every single stinking port-a-potty within hours of setting up camp. Even though port-a-potties have little plastic urinals mounted on the inside, many of the boys are going to pee directly into the pooper; and a large portion of these boys are going to pee all over the seat. These boys should be punished. I want to go to each and every one of these boys’ houses and pee all over their toilet seats. And then I want to make them sit in it… many times… over and over again. I think this is going to be about the only way to break them out of the habit of peeing all over toilet seats. If they are learning it from their fathers, those fathers need to be punished as well. This goes for any boy or man who has ever peed in a public restroom without lifting the seat. Each and every one of you should be forced to clean public restrooms. For every peeing offense, that is one entire restroom you must clean… with a toothbrush… your toothbrush… and then you should be forced to brush your teeth with your toothbrush. Seriously.

I know that you may be thinking to yourself, “I’m never going to poop on this toilet, so who cares if I pee on it?” Well, every person who may be in need of pooping on that toilet cares. Think of someone other than yourself, you smug jerkwad.

Or maybe you’re thinking, “I’m a really good aimer. I can get it all in the toilet bowl without touching the seat!” You are insane. When dealing with something that may touch another man’s (or woman’s) butt, now is not the time for delusions of grandeur. Lift the stinking seat.

Okay, so I have checked out almost every porta-a-potty at the camp. Those without poop or pee all over the seat that are actually clean enough to use are out of toilet paper. Wow, there is still all of tonight and tomorrow morning to go, and they are out of toilet paper. Then I remember that there is actually a heated restroom up by the building where we ate supper. So, I take the hike to the heated restroom and go inside. There is mud and water and (I’m almost positive) pee all over the floor. I immediately want to wash my hands just from touching the door… but both sinks are occupied by young Scouts feverishly washing their hands (a couple of those who obey the Scout Law, I presume) and there are no paper towels in sight. There are two toilets in the restroom, and one has a line going almost out the door. The second is empty with no line. Now, I know that there is something about that second toilet that is keeping everyone else away from it. There is no way all of these Scouts and Scout leaders are standing in line for one toilet if there is a second toilet that is perfectly fine. So I get in line… and I stare at the door to that empty stall.

The person sitting in the first stall is making all kinds of strange noises. There would be a low moan, and then a grunt, and then a little plfft noise. Just a little tiny noise. The younger Scouts in line would giggle. The older Scouts would roll their eyes and elbow the younger Scouts. I was making a mental note to make sure I didn’t moan or grunt when my time arrived. This continued for minute after minute: moan, grunt, plfft… moan, grunt, plfft. The poor dude on the toilet was making little progress, and the audience, once amused at his efforts, was becoming annoyed. Several of the boys were actually squeezing their butt cheeks together with their hands. One of the boys near the front of the line got an awful look on his face. His face got all squinchy, and I heard his stomach rumble. He squeezed his knees together and his hands went to his belly. His whole body tensed, he let out a soft “oh no”, and then he relaxed. His face burned bright red and he refused to meet the eyes of any of the other line-waiters. He slowly slipped past all of us, taking small, calculated steps, and made his way out the door.

No one said a thing. We all just bowed our heads in a moment of silence for the soldier who fell before us.

Not able to take any of this any longer, I went to the second stall. I didn’t care how bad that toilet was, I was bound and determined to…

FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING SACRED AND HOLY!!!

Oh dear sweet Jesus, how could You let something so hideous come into Your creation? The toilet was plugged. No big deal, right? I mean, we’ve all seen plugged toilets. Of course, this isn’t your standard “plugged toilet”. This sucker is filled to the brim with poop and pee and toilet paper. This sucker has been flushed so many times that part of the contents of the toilet bowl have spewed over the side and onto the floor. I quickly realized two things: that I was right about part of the wetness on the floor being pee, and that I was wrong about the brown muck on the floor being mud. With the slight taste of vomit in my mouth, I looked closer. There, sitting on the seat, was a lone pile of poo. It resembled the top of an ice cream cone, perfectly twisted up to a little point on top.

“How in the hell…,” I thought to myself, and then it hit me. Some poor soul had been so desperate that he had tried to use that plugged toilet. In an effort to avoid getting the mess from within the bowl on his hiney, he tried using the “hover method”. The “hover method” is… well, I think you can figure that out on your own. Apparently, he “hovered” just fine, but his aim was a little off. Instead of plopping his goods down into the filthy murk of the bowl, he laid it neatly on the toilet seat, ice-cream-cone-style, for all to see.

I turned from the horror in front of me and walked directly out of the restroom. I went back to camp, crawled in my tent, crawled in my sleeping bag and went to sleep. I dreamed of being chased across inescapably wet floors by monstrous brown ice cream cones. The next morning, we packed up camp and headed home.

Well, here we are now, several days after the camp out. I still haven’t pooped. Apparently, holding that stuff in makes it kind of… I don’t know… compress and back-up or something. It’s kind of neat, ’cause I have hardly any appetite. If I could poop, I’d almost bet that I’ve lost weight! But I haven’t pooped, so I have actually gained weight.

Anyway, back to my original point. Cockroaches are filthy creatures. They eat almost anything, they hide in dark, damp places, and they leave their feces all over the place in disgusting manners. Scouts truly are like cockroaches.

Best McDonald’s Story EVER!

Okay, true story. 100% true. I was going to wait to post it until after April Fool’s, but it’s just too good to not get out right away.

Yesterday, a coworker of mine comes back from lunch and has the most amazing McDonald’s story I’ve ever heard. Actually, this is one of the most amazing customer service stories of all time!

The coworker’s name is… well, I don’t want to use his real name, so I’ll just call him Ron. Ron goes to the drive through at the McDonald’s in Gering, NE to order a little lunch for himself… as is his wont for lunch. “Wont”… not “want” or “won’t”… look it up. I’m all fancy-languaged and whatnot. He orders his grub and is told to “Please pay at the first window.”

So, Ron drives to the first window. Inside, he sees the middle-aged cashier-dude who informs Ron of the total due. The dude appears to be of Hispanic decent. I know that mentioning race seems a little silly, but it will have relevance a little further along in the story. The cashier gives Ron his change. I know, I know, this all seems pretty boring right? We’ve all been through this same experience probably hundreds of times. Typical McDonald’s experience. Typical, until the cashier decides to go completely insane.

“I’ve always wanted to say this to someone before I quit,” says the cashier. He looks Ron right in the eye. “F$%k you, you fat white f$%*&r. Don’t eat here. Don’t bother telling my manager, ’cause I’m going to quit right now.”

Ron, stunned, watches the window close and then pulls forward. Still in amazement, he is handed his food by another McDonald’s employee who closes her window before Ron has a chance to say “boo.”

Back at the office, Ron is finally laughing as he relays the story to the rest of us. Ron has already gotten over it and thinks it’s funny. Some of the other coworkers feel the same. I, like with most things in life, get a little pissed off.

First, who is stupid enough to speak to a customer like that? It’s not like this guy was some teenager who still has the reason of being young, immature, and ignorant. The dude was just a middle-aged wash-out who is immature and ignorant. Even if you are planning to quit, why would you talk to someone in that manner who has done absolutely nothing bad to you in any sort of way other than try to support the company that pays your wages?

Second, imagine if roles were reversed. Imagine a white dude saying to a Hispanic person, “F#$k you, you fat brown f$%*&r.” McDonald’s would be looking at a lawsuit like no other. “Racism” and “hate crime” would be thrown around and the white dude would have to go live in the hills in Idaho for the rest of his adult life. The cashier from this incident will probably just get another job at another fast food restaurant.

Third, what kind of middle-aged dude works as a cashier at McDonald’s? And the fact that he said “I’ve always wanted to say this to someone before I quit” makes me think that he has had a sting of drive-through cashier jobs… all of which he’s quit. I’m thinking this dude needs to knock over another convenience and land himself back in prison, which is apparently where he’s spent most of his life up to this point. Can you think of any other reason a middle-aged dude would be working a string of fast food drive-through jobs… all of which he’s quit? Neither can I.

So I’m just steamed that this punk had the nerve to talk to someone like that, right? I go home and I’m still all torked out of shape. And then I really start thinking about it. I’m almost ashamed to admit it, but other than the whole racist-aspect of the ordeal (the punk needs a little bitch-slap for that), I kind of respect the dude. Here is this loser who is in a really crappy, dead-end job, and he goes out with a bang. He gets off his chest something that has been building up probably forever. I mean, I feel for poor Ron, ’cause he didn’t do anything but try to buy some lunch (and he really isn’t what I consider to be fat… although he is the whitest dude I know), but you have to hand it to the punk. He did something that most of us only dream of doing… every waking hour of every day of our lives. Good for him.

Now this middle-aged dude just needs to find a career where he can utilize his skills, where he can find peace, where he can fit in. Like I already stated, knocking over a convenience store…

Social Etiquette… Sucks!

The worst thing about being an adult is not being able to speak your mind at all times. There is a certain social etiquette that dictates times when we have to internalize our thoughts. I don’t know who came up this social etiquette, but he or she and all of their relatives should be flogged with wet noodles throughout eternity. Social etiquette sucks. In fact, many aspects of our current society suck. At least to me, and that’s all that really matters. See, we all feel pretty much the same, but we aren’t allowed to say so, because social etiquette dictates that it isn’t proper to say that you only want what’s best for you. We have to think of the good of the whole. Did I mention that social etiquette sucks?

Oh sure, I care about others. I don’t like children suffering around the world, and my heart goes out to the people of Japan. I wish that everyone had a decent job, and I wish poverty and war could be eradicated from the face of our planet. But none of this changes the fact if I want to send out a smart ass email at work, I shouldn’t have to worry about who I offend. I’m a smart ass. Period. When I send an email, having to hide my smart-assness only limits me from being who I really am. But social etiquette dictates that I cannot be a smart ass in business related email… or with coworkers… or with customers. Screw that. Life is too short to have to pretend you are someone you really are not. But, I will continue to be polite and try to hold back on the smart ass comments while at work. We all need a job, right? And social etiquette dictates that we have to behave a certain way in order to perform that job, right? Did I mention that social etiquette sucks?

Part of the training for social etiquette begins when we are young. Schools, at times, seem to like focusing on social etiquette more than teaching things of real value. I have a son in middle school. That son recently fractured his foot in PE. So, he can’t participate in actual PE activities until his foot heals. In order to pass PE, he needs to show up and pay attention. Sounds pretty fair, right? Well, the son recently was docked points in PE. Was he docked because he didn’t show up on time? No, he arrived in a timely manner. Was he docked because he wasn’t paying attention? No, he was paying as much attention as could be expected from someone sitting on the sidelines and not able to participate. He was docked points because he didn’t have his shirt tucked in. Seriously, because he didn’t have his shirt tucked in, he lost participation points for that day. Social etiquette dictates that if your teacher makes a rule, you must follow that rule, even though the rule was put into place so that middle school boys can’t look up the shirts of middle school girls during various middle school PE activities and said rule really doesn’t apply to you… because not only are you not participating because of an injury you received in PE… but because you are not a girl. But, of course, social etiquette dictates that you can’t have a rule for girls that you don’t have for boys; that wouldn’t be fair. Social etiquette is all about fairness for the masses and doesn’t really allow for individuality. The whole incident hasn’t really led me to question why my son didn’t have his shirt tucked in. This incident has got me to thinking about why I had to pay my son’s medical expenses. I mean, if I were hurt at work during a work related activity, my employer would pay my medical expenses. My son was hurt at school during a non-optional school activity, shouldn’t the school pay for it? Just wondering.

Social etiquette is all about learning the rules and learning to do things in a manner so as to not upset someone else. Often, following social etiquette prevents someone else from being upset, but it leaves you really pissed off. In my 41+ years of life, I have usually tried to follow the rules of social etiquette. How has it benefited me? Well, high blood pressure and a constant upset stomach seem to be about the only things I can think of that have been the result of following social etiquette. In other words, social etiquette sucks. I haven’t made a fortune following social etiquette. I don’t have a plethora of adult friends because I have followed the ways of social etiquette. I don’t feel personally or professionally fulfilled because of the wonders of social etiquette. I haven’t gained respect through following the mystical ways of social etiquette.

I desire for my kids to think outside the box… to be independently successful on their own terms… to never have to answer to someone they have no desire to answer to. I want them, if someone is pissing them off, to be able to tell that person to take a flying leap. In my mind, this is the way to true happiness in this life. Selfish? You betcha, and each and every one of us would like to be able to do it. The schools are going to keep right on teaching social etiquette. The schools are going to keep enforcing the same rules that I thought were stupid when I was a kid… and I still, as an adult, don’t see the value in. I guess if we all want the same cookie-cutter society that we have had for the last century, this is fine. But we aren’t given the same promises in life that our parents were offered. My employer doesn’t offer a guaranteed pension, does yours? Social Security isn’t looking like it’s going to play much of a role in my retirement (even though I’ve paid into it every year since I’ve started working). I have a retirement plan, but not much is going in, and it sure isn’t growing too fast. At the current rate, I will not be able to retire (which, as far as I can tell, is when you can tell the whole social etiquette thing to take a hike). I want to be the crotchety old man who always speaks his mind and doesn’t give a crap what anyone else thinks. I may never get to that point, so at least I can wish that for my kids.

The Dreams of Our Youth

Ahhh… remember back to the days of your youth. These were magical years where your future seemed so bright. Remember? From the end of August to mid-May, you learned and played sports and hung out with your friends all day. But summer was when the true magic happened. Summers were a seemingly endless period of long, hot days and cool, enchanted nights. You could ride your bike with your friends day after day and it never got old. As young boys, my friends and I would ride bikes and play catch and start a pick-up game of kickball of football and hike paths and climb trees and hang-out at our favorite stores (… uh… it was Fort Peck, Montana, so there was only one) and swim at the pool or at the lake and, as we got older, appreciate the way our rapidly-maturing female friends were filling out their bathing suits in spectacular new ways… and the summers seemed to last an eternity.

As we got older, some of us started getting summer jobs, and some of us got jobs year-round. School got harder, and we had to start really thinking about our futures. Then, college called to some of us, and some of us went straight to full-time, real-world work; but we still held tight to our dreams. Those of us who went to college soon joined our working friends. During these years, many of us fell in love, got married, started families; the dreams were still there.

Our kids started to grow up. Soon, we could see our kids enjoying many of the same things we enjoyed in our youth, and we were starting to feel a little old. The dreams were still hanging on, but we began to wonder how we were going to accomplish them with a full family life. Oh well, maybe after the kids are grown and on their own.

Soon, we start living vicariously through our kids. Maybe we want our kid to be that great sports star we never were. Or maybe we want our kid to be the genius we were never smart enough to be. Or perhaps we want our kid to be the singer or actor or musician we never had the confidence to attempt to find within ourselves. Our dreams migrate to the purgatory of our consciousness, awaiting the day when they will either realize the joyous fruition of heavenly accomplishment or be cast to the inescapable torment of hellish failure. We start trying to help our children with their dreams, which are merely extensions of the dreams we had in our youth. We start to realize that our age is actually catching up with us.

We become obnoxiously proud parents, praising the accomplishments of our children as if they were our own… often to the major annoyance of most other adults around us. Soon, we find that other adults begin to avoid us because they really don’t care how good little Jimmy’s baseball team did… or how excellent little Susie’s dance recital went. We become monsters who seem intent at driving everyone away from us… everyone except our families. We scream at the umpires or referees at a game because their calls made our kid’s team lose. We badmouth the teacher who doesn’t truly see our child’s intelligence. We harbor ill-will toward the second-chair trumpet player who screwed up during the concert and made our first-chair child look bad. We become bearers of vehement hate toward every single person or thing that interferes with our child’s success. Our age is no longer catching up with us; it has caught us and is a driving force in our lives.

Our children, meanwhile, are oblivious. They are focusing on having fun and creating their own dreams.

Soon, the kids are off to college or work, and we have the houses to ourselves again. We are still focusing on the dreams of our kids. We give career advice. We warn them of the mistakes we made along the way. We tell them what they should do to be happy, which is really what we should have done to be happy. Our hindsight is, for the most part, ignored by our children.

Our kids are now adults, they are working full-time, many of them are happily married… and before you know it, we’re grandparents. Our kids seem to have put their dreams on hold in an attempt to help their kids create new dreams. Finally, there is time for us to focus on our dreams once again, so we search. We search our consciousness for those dreams of our youth. We search for the motivation to once again bring them to the front of our minds. Funny thing is, when we search for our dreams, the smell of brimstone becomes overpowering, and just the thought of trying to accomplish those dreams makes us very tired. We have moved beyond old and are now ancient.

Ahhh… it was nice to have dreams. Too bad we never found the time or will to accomplish them. What to do now? Ooooh… looks like the grand kids could use some help with their dreams…