Tagged by A Boxer

The Pacific Pugilist, Anonymous Boxer has tagged me with this meme...

What are the eight things you want to do before you die? (in no particular order)

1. Learn how to fly
I've always been fascinated by flying. The chance to learn how to fly and get a pilot's license would definitely be high on my list.

2. Take a golf vacation to Scotland & Ireland
The birthplace of golf, a trip to Scotland would be a pilgrimage of sorts to where the game began. St. Andrews, Carnoustie, Troon, and so many others. Since I'm already over there, a quick jump over to Ireland and the great courses there would be a must do.

3. Drive the Zamboni
Doesn't every real sports fan want to drive the Zamboni at least once? It's the most recognizable feature of any sporting event. It's nothing more than a truck that smooths out the ice, but it is so cool. Everyone recognizes the local Zamboni driver.

4. Get my handicap into single digits
Golf is a game that takes patience, practice, and skill. Getting your handicap below the mythical 10.0 puts you into a rare breed of golfer. It makes you "good" so it's a goal worth striving for.

5. Find someone to spend my life with
Likely unattainable, it's still something that would be on the list. I guess every list needs to have a dream or two that will never happen.

6. Lose 30 pounds and keep them off
For someone who has struggled with weight issues, if I could get the rest of that ugly baggage to go away forever would make me much more pleasant to be around. I've been down there before, but always rebounded back up. Difficult, yet attainable.

7. See Australia & New Zealand
Across the other big ocean, I'd love to see Australia and New Zealand. I'd bring my golf clubs with me, but the exotic beauty of these two countries calls out to me.

8. Write a book
This has got to be on the list of every frustrated blogger. I've got a few ideas rattling around my head, but I've never had the time or patience to make this one happen. Hopefully I'll get around to it before those ideas escape forever.

And that's it... my "bucket list." I'm not going to tag anyone else, but feel free to share if you are so inclined.

The Night of 1,000 turns

Sunday night of the conference is traditionally "client dinner night." The conference organizers do not schedule any formal activities after 6:00pm to allow the vendors in attendance to entertain their customers and potential clients. There are so many vendors and so many dinners or receptions that many times a person has to choose between all the invitations. I opted for my food vendor's dinner which was down at Newport Beach. I always enjoy going out with this group, and seriously who's more qualified to find an excellent restaurant to entertain than a food vendor.

So... my 120 closest friends and I pile into three coach buses to make the trip down to Newport Beach. After arriving, we made our way into 21 Oceanfront Restaurant. The view of the beach and Pacific Ocean was spectacular. The wonderful cocktail hour featured three new California wines that have not made it to market yet. This event was the first time they've been served to the public. I can't comment on the Chardonnay, but the Cabernet was fantastic. As the night wore on the wine continued to flow, the dinner was outstanding, and the dessert has heavenly.

And this is where the night got interesting. As a majority of the guests hopped back onto the buses for the trip home, a few intrepid warriors chose to stay behind. To be more specific, myself and the company's two Bay Area reps decided all the wine we drank just wasn't quite enough for a Sunday night. So Homer, Bart and myself stumble our way two blocks down to a little hole-in-the-wall bar while Homer's wife (and designated driver) Marge went to get the car. I'm guessing this was just a short stay as I can only remember drinking three beers. The plan from there was for Marge to take us all back to the hotel.

Let me backtrack a little. Homer and Marge used to live in Southern California. It had been a few years, so Marge was not as familiar with the route back home as Homer. Hindsight being 20/20, putting the highly polluted Homer in charge of navigating was clearly not the wisest choice. Anyway... Bart and I talked and laughed in the backseat while Homer was directing Marge. "Turn right" was followed by "turn right" and then another "turn right" had us hopelessly lost. I know we were lost because all I could see was trailer homes, plastic pink flamingos, and palm trees. Eventually, "turn right" ended us up on a dead end street. I think we ended up sacrificing one of those plastic flamingos when we turned around.

Eventually Homer kept up the "turn right" routine long enough for it to actually work and Marge found a road she remembered. So down the road we traveled when, "pull over, pull over, stop here" bellowed Homer at Marge. There we were at the doors of really sketchy Irish pub. This was the kind of place I would normally be fearful of going into, but a few bottles of wine and a few bottles of beer made this seem like a good idea. Walking in, the first thing I notice is the bartender looked exactly like Sully Erna from Godsmack. I tend to believe it wasn't actually Sully, but it was SoCal so you never know. Marge, obviously the wisest of the group, stayed with the car. This stay was even shorter and one round of black and tan's later we were back on the road.

At this point Homer was asleep in the passenger seat which left Bart and I to help Marge pick the right highway exit. For future reference, this is not an enviable position to place two drunken conventioneers. Well, we find the "convention center" exit so we decided we had to be close. At the bottom of the off-ramp, we chose to tell Marge to "turn left" as "turn right" hadn't worked out too well earlier in the night. We drive, and drive, and nothing is looking familiar at all. At this point, Marge is so pissed off at the whole situation that she pulls into a gas station to get directions. While this is a good idea to find the hotel, the stopping of the car awakens Homer who's now equally pissed that Marge stopped for directions. Bart and I were convinced we were witnessing the end of a marriage right in front of us. It ends up that we were on the right road, but should have "turned right" at the exit. A quick loop around and a few minutes later we arrived at the hotel. A stumble through an empty lobby and trip up the elevator landed me in my hotel room at the ripe hour of 3:30am. Needless to say, the 8:00am session on Monday was out of the question. And so it goes.... the Night of a 1,000 turns.

A shaky ending

I'm back at the Abode of Bobness after a week long conference. This is a national conference for a trade association to which I belong. As conferences go, this is probably my favorite one of the year. Due to the nature of my job, my travel schedule usually includes three or four big shows which require travel in addition to another three or four regional meetings which are a drive.

The reason I like this one is because I get to see many business associates who are spread throughout the country. It's also a great opportunity at the trade show to see the newest of products, goods, and services. Probably more to the point, like any big conference there are plenty of parties, receptions, dinners, and entertainment opportunities. Remind me to tell you a great story about one of those dinners and the adventure that followed.

But anyway, this was shaping up as one of the better conferences in recent years. The educational seminars were actually interesting and informative, the trade show had a lot of vendors I needed start looking into, and most importantly I got to connect with so many people I wanted to see. A couple of other good things career wise happened too, but that again is another story for later in the week after I've caught up on some much needed sleep. So the conference was wrapping up with the closing speaker this morning when we all got a big surprise...



... 5.8 (later revised to 5.4) worth of surprise. Oh wait, did I neglect to mention the conference was in Anaheim, California? The second floor ballroom started to roll a little bit, then things started to shake, then started to shake a lot harder. About maybe 10 seconds later it was over. They never had to evacuate the hotel and there was no damage other than some small wall and ceiling fixtures which were shaken loose. Needless to say, the rest of the closing session was canceled although the afternoon committee meetings took place. That's what I would call a shaky ending.

The amazing thing is that this isn't the first time something like this has happened during a conference I was attending. Years ago, it was a Tuesday morning session at a smaller conference in Miami. Strangely enough, it was the last day of that conference as well. I was sitting in on a round-table open discussion with about 20 other people when this happened...


I'm beginning to think I should consider not attending conferences anymore.

Off to The Wal-Mart

Day one of Project Vacation started off with sleeping in late. How pathetic is it that 8:00am is considered sleeping in? In the days of my youth, I could sleep in until 1:00 or 2:00 in the afternoon. After two cups of coffee, Mom and I piled into the Saturn and it was off to The Sam's Club and The Wal-Mart. Are you going to drive? Mom kept asking. It didn't take more than three hints before I caught on that she wanted me to drive. Fortunately, I've visited enough times that I know my way around town pretty well.

Hard to believe, but it was my first ever time inside a Sam's Club. It's like a grocery store on steroids. Everything is super sized. You don't buy a jar of pickles, you buy a five gallon buckets of pickles. The jars of mayonnaise are so big they have wheels on them and you pull them like carry-on luggage around the store. The tuna cans were the size of missile silos. You put those three ingredients together and you could have made enough tuna salad to feed the entire state.

So anyway, that was just a quick stop to pick up what appeared to be a 1,000 pound bag of dog food. After the forklift brought it out to the Saturn, we walked across the same shopping center to The Wal-Mart. I'm not a fan of The Wal-Mart. Mom knows this and I swear she does this just to torment me and see if I'll cave into mass commercialization and give my money to the ultra-rich Walton family. Although I'll probably lose my lefty-liberal membership card for admitting this, I did have to avail myself of the cheap, cheap cost for a 12-pack of Coke Zero. I rationalize that it couldn't be a product made in China so I wasn't contributing to the export of jobs overseas.

Just inside the door, I deftly elude the 200 year old greeter and stumbled upon the in-store Premier Bank...

This is a sound policy to institute for a bank. Apparently you can bring the firearm into The Wal-Mart, you just can't take it all the way into the bank. I didn't see any rifles, handguns, or muskets on the gun rack outside the bank so I felt safe enough to use the ATM.


It was the once-a-month grocery excursion for Mom, so we did a lot of shopping at The Wal-Mart. Here's Mom looking for fabric softener.


This is Mom buying hot dogs for the dogs. No, you didn't read that wrong. Mom buys hot dogs to slice up and put in the dog's food once a week. You'd get bored too if you ate the same dog food everyday of your life, says Mom. She's got a point there. I give her a little grief because we didn't get them any tater salad to go along with the hot dogs. She laughs at my gentle ribbing, then proceeded to make potato salad for dinner that night just to make sure there will be left-overs for the dog's "hot dog day." Guess who got the last laugh on that one.... not just bob. One full shopping cart (and a 12-pack of Coke Zero) later, the shopping was done and it was back to the Saturn for the ride home. Guess who drove again? Yep... it was me.


There you have it.... our day at The Wal-Mart.

jb and The Brain, Act II

just bob (jb): What possessed you to think this was a good idea?
The Brain: It was all very logical and responsible
jb: And you were wrong this time weren't you?
The Brain: Nope
jb: Would you like to reconsider that?
The Brain: Nope
jb: Can I tell you what I think?
The Brain: Sure, go ahead. But don't expect me to change my mind
jb: Going on vacation until Tuesday, then turning around to leave for a conference on Thursday was stupid
The Brain: That's pretty harsh
jb: Were you actually lucid when you cooked up this idea?
The Brain: Yes, no alcohol and no Fog
jb: Shall I continue?
The Brain: Keep going, I know you're not finished
jb: Traveling is a pain in the ass, the airport is a mess, and I'm so tired right now I could pass out
The Brain: Anything else?
jb: Yeah, you've got to start running some of these ideas by me. I do have some good ideas too
The Brain: Of course you do. My turn?
jb: Yes, I'd love to hear this logic
The Brain: The two days between coming and going gave you some time to unpack and repack.
jb: That's it?
The Brain: Easy... it also allowed you to clear out all the work emails and phone calls before leaving again.
jb: So this was a work decision, not a personal decision.
The Brain: Yes it was
jb: Well it can't always be about work
The Brain: I see that now
jb: We kind of depend on each other and I need you to think about me once and a while
The Brain: You're right, I'm sorry
jb: Thanks for hearing me and listening
The Brain: You've got it
jb: Now are you going to work on those resumes and cover letters to get us both out of here?
The Brain: Right after both of us take a nap. I'm as tired as you are.
jb: Now you're thinking!

It must be over

I write this from an airport bar. There's no free internet here, so I'll post it when I get home...


Tuesday was time to resume what constitutes life as Bobness which means:

Monday afternoon I got a phone call to thank me for the phone interview last week but that I wasn't being invited in for an in-person interview. That's always a pleasant phone call to get. Although still away from home, that semi-officially ended my vacation and slapped me back into reality. My mother noticed a marked difference in my demeanor after dinner. I guess I didn't do a very good job of hiding it.

I received a phone call Tuesday morning from work that didn't need to be made. It was a very minor issue wrapped around more bitching and moaning about co-workers, how "A" never treats "B" with the respect that he deserves, yada... yada... yada. I realize I've said this before, but it bears repeating. I hate these people. I believe the word "hate" is a very strong one and I don't use it capriciously.

Taking the shuttle to the airport, I missed out on a chance to chat with a really attractive woman. I had it all figured out. I was the second to last person to get into the van. I slipped all the way into the back row of seats, leaving the only remaining passenger to be her and the only remaining seat to be the one next to me. The driver put her bag in the back and then offered her the front passenger seat. So much for that plan.

And there you have it. The best current chance to get out of the hellhole was dashed... I was reminded on the last day of my vacation of the hell I was returning to... and my never ending disasterous curse with women struck again. There will be happier posts to come about the trip to "The Wal-mart" and washing dishes with mom, but right now the respite I did have from the real world has come to an end.

I Feel Home...

Minnesota's great... I love my family dearly... I needed this trip more than anyone will ever know. I'll share it all when I get back... but right now I Feel Home

I Feel Home
O.A.R.
Released, 2000

There are few things pure in this world anymore, and home is one of the few
We'd have a drink outside maybe run and hide, if we saw a couple men in blue
But to me it's so damn easy to see that your people are the people at home
Well I been away but now I'm back today and there ain't a place I'd rather go

I feel home when I see the faces that remember my own
I feel home when I'm chillin outside with the people I know
I feel home, and that's just what I feel Home, to me, is reality and all I need is something real

We're feeling alright headin out tonight maybe off to a dark driveway
I say now, some feel bored, and some are looking for more, but we all just decide to stay
We got nothing to do, but when I look at you I see someone that I know and love
And with the crack of a smile we all stay awhile, we know from home their ain't nothin above Well in the end, we can all call a friend, well that's something that I pray is true
In a thousand years, and a thousand tears, I will find my original crew Cause to me theres no where else that I'd rather be except right here right at home
And on those long dark drives on that road at night in my heart I feel home

I feel home when I see the faces that remember my own
I feel home when I'm chillin outside with the people I know
I feel home, and that's just what I feel Home, to me, is reality and all I need is something real Home to me is reality and all I need is something real,

I feel my home, I feel home, I feel my home, I feel my home, I love my home
Its been so long I'm finally at home
I know you're gone But in our hearts you will always always live on
And all your friends They live in your smile There is no end
You will always live on No matter my age I swear to God tonight
I can see you on my stage

I feel home, I feel home, I feel home, I feel my home, I love my home, I miss my home
Oh late at night when we're driving all alone I feel my home
And all those nights when im lying all alone I feel my home
And in my heart I'm always at home And in my soul I feel my home

$25 and 3 hours of comfort

Woo-fucking-hoo..... my vacation starts at 5:00pm today. OK, it starts as soon as I can get out of this hellhole called work at an hour which isn't too early to be considered unreasonable. Is lunch too soon???

Anyway, due to the joys of traveling as cheaply as possible, I have a 6:30am flight tomorrow morning. Doing the now infamous TSA calculations, that means I need to be at the airport by 5:30am. With construction at SJC, that means 5:00am, which in turn means I need to leave home by 4:30am. Now I have two choices: 1) wake up at 4:00am and get out the door without a shower or 2) wake up at 3:30am and shower. Living by the motto "treat others the way you'd like to be treated," I'll get up at 3:30am so I don't smell like ass to my neighboring passengers. I hope to get the same consideration.

So, in an effort to save as many precious sleeping seconds as possible, I went to check in for my flight this morning. As shitty as airline service has gotten, this is one improvement they have made, online check-in. On the flip side, it's probably allowed them to fire a bunch of ground agents, but I digress. My first option is whether I want to change my seat assignment. There I am in BLACK 20E, the dreaded middle seat. I hate the middle seat more than I hate brussels sprouts but not quite as much as I hate the New York Yankees. For short flight, I can handle the middle seat. For this 3+ hour flight I'll go insane. There are two "free" seat assignments in TAN, but they are middle seats too so eff-that. That leaves me with the beautiful $25 or $30 upgrades in GREEN. Considering how much I've already paid for this ticket, I should be getting more than just a airplane ride (still waiting for that stewardess mile high club fantasy invitation). Now I get the privlege of paying to upgrade to a window or aisle. If this was a business trip and I didn't pay for the original ticket I would do it in a heartbeat. But having to reach into my own pocket, again, makes me think twice. Middle seat or window? Comfort or crowded? Sleep or psychosis? Ooh, those window seats are too tempting to pass up. Kind of like that plate of chocolate chip cookies in the break room after lunch.

I always cave in on the cookies.... and I caved in on the window seat too. Look at me now, $25 poorer but in 13F right there on the window. I get in, I fall asleep, no one wakes me until the flight's over. I rationalize the expense by saying I'm not checking a bag, so that's money saved to pay for the upgrade. I know it's a weak argument, like drinking diet soda with my cookies, but it's one I'm willing to live with to get me out of riding bitch in 20E.

Fear not readers, I'll be bringing my lap top along. I may not post everyday while I'm away from home, but I'll check in from time to time for y'all!!!

Review this

Today was annual performance review day. Actually I should have had these done two weeks ago but put them off until the very last moment. This is such a worthless exercise and I contend they exist only to give someone in human resources another mindless task to justify their continued employment. So, I spent a good portion of Tuesday filling out the forms on all of my department heads. This tedious endeavor includes a list of 20 attributes in which the employee can be rated "superior, above average, standard, marginal, below standard." Things like attendance, attention to deadlines, oral communications, appearance of workstation, care of equipment and resources are among the ridiculous categories to grade my employees. I seriously felt embarrassed having to check any of the boxes. I felt like a bigger idiot today having to meet with each one individually to review each of these little boxes. These are adults, not children or teenagers. This isn't some sort of report card. It's the basis of continued employment and I need to freakin' evaluate whether the appearance of someone's workstation is superior or simply standard. If "A" has done his job exceptionally well over the past 12 months, why should it matter if his desk isn't pristine? It's absolutely assnine.

In my mind, a good manager of employees provides constant feedback on a daily basis. A manager shouldn't wait a full year to tell an employee how good or bad a job their doing. A manager shouldn't wait to do some coaching or mentoring if an issue is arising. If lateness is becoming an issue, I'm going to say something a lot sooner than not. If the messy desk has reached unbearable heights, I'm going to mention it. If an employee is showing marked improvement in a certain area, I'm going to give them a pat on the back and encourage it on the spot. If this is done employees always know their status and how you think they are doing. Annual performance reviews are crutches for bad managers and are merely CYA paperwork if you're looking for a reason to fire someone.

Having expressed my disdain for the performance review, I actually got something valuable out of my own review in the past. When asked by a regional vice president "what are your future goals?" I expressed that I would like to get out of doing "x" with the company and look to transition to do "y." I was told I need to do "x" better than I currently was. After a year of improving on "x," the same question arose the next review, and the same answer was given. So what I learned was: I wasn't being heard, my contributions weren't appreciated, and that I wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. So I left. I guess I reviewed the performance of the regional VP and his ended up being "marginal or below standard."

Truck Guy

It happens every day. OK, it doesn't happen on Sundays, but every other day. It happens at 6:00am. OK, it doesn't happen exactly at 6:00am, but pretty close to it. So on every day except Sunday at almost the same time Truck Guy starts his day. He's more reliable than my alarm clock. I'll give the guy credit, he never misses a chance to work and make a dollar.

Truck Guy parks his truck under my second floor apartment bedroom window. I don't blame him, it's his assigned parking space. Why he wasn't assigned a spot under his bedroom window I don't know. So before the roosters have even had their first cup of coffee, Truck Guy fires up his Ford F-250 pick up truck while he loads up the truck bed. I'm guessing he runs the truck to cool the cab in the summer and warm it in the winter. At least he doesn't blare the freakin' radio while he does it. Truck Guy is in construction, so every morning he loads his tools, supplies, equipment, drinking water, etc. into the back of his truck. I know this because I've come home while he was unloading into his storage closet one night. He does this with the truck running too, but of course it's no where near as annoying at 6:00pm instead of 6:00am. If the hoodlums and gang bangers around here didn't steal everything that isn't glued down, Truck Guy could leave his stuff in his truck and save 30 minutes every morning and 30 minutes every night. But alas that's not likely to happen anytime soon so the morning ritual carries on.

I sleep with the windows open on most nights. Having spent the past 10 years in New England, where all the windows were closed for six months of winter, it's a perk to be able to get fresh air at night year round. Unfortunately Truck Guy's late model pick-up is slightly louder than a 747 jumbo-jet so when he's up and about, I'm awake too. There's no sleeping in late around the abode of bobness, except on Sundays. Thank goodness Truck Guy doesn't take the Truckettes to morning church services or I'd really be screwed. Short of keeping the windows closed and broiling in the summer heat, there's not too much I can do but get on my blog and bitch about it. So that's what I'll do... tell the tale of the Truck Guy and a sleep deprived neighbor.

A modern day Steve Blass

Steve Blass was a major league pitcher for the Pittsburgh Pirates in the 1960's and 1970's . He was a talented pitcher, not to the level of contemporaries like Hall-of-Famers Tom Seaver or Bob Gibson, but a stalwart of the Pirates rotation. In his career he amassed a 103-76 record with a 3.63 earned run average. Blass pitched two complete game victories for the Pirates in the 1971 World Series over the Baltimore Orioles and was selected to the 1972 All-Star Game. For those not familar with baseball statistics, those are very solid accomplishments and indicative of an impressive major league career.

Then something happened in 1973. The once reliable, dependable Blass couldn't throw strikes anymore. The pitcher, not known for a blazing fastball, was known for his control and clutch ability to be around the plate. He didn't suffer an injury, no torn ligaments, no strains, no rotator cuff injury. For some unknown reason, Steve Blass could no longer do what he did best... get batters out. He struggled through that season, spent much of 1974 in the minor leagues searching for the talent brought him to the heights of his career, then retired from the game unable to regain the magic. The most common theory to explain his demise was that it was largely psychological. To this very day, when a baseball player mysteriously loses his talent and ability to play the game it is referred to as "Steve Blass Disease." More recently examples of this syndrome are Chuck Knoblauch, Rick Ankiel and Mark Wohlers.

I feel like a modern day Steve Blass. During a show Saturday night I stood in the middle of the administrative office and said out loud, "I can't do this anymore." I don't know if anyone else was in their office and heard me. I know I've recently mentioned the frustration that I have with the people working around me, but this isn't that. I don't think I could continue to do this job if I had an all-star team of my own working for me. I can't seem to wrap my hands around things anymore, like I've lost touch of knowing the right things to do. My thought process and preparation have been the same as the past, but the results just aren't there. I can't get the ball over the plate anymore. I can't get the batters out. There have been some stressful and difficult events in my career, but in those cases I felt I was able to handle things, make the right decisions, and the show would go on. That doesn't happen anymore. Like Steve Blass, every time I take the mound these days it seems like I'm throwing the ball all over the place, walking batters, and giving up more hits than Billy Joel.

These days, Steve Blass is a color commentator for the Pittsburgh Pirates radio broadcasts. He had been doing it full-time starting in 1986, but in 2005 announced he would only work home games in order to spend more time with his family. If one of the things I'm working on pans out, I'd get to work in an associated field and be close enough to spend more time to be with my family. There probably aren't too many people who would pick out Steve Blass as their hero. I'll be one of them if things work out the way I want them.

A Saturday Surprise

"You need to Slink on back to The Onion. There is a small surprise waiting there for you."

That's what my comment page said this morning when I read it. I was thinking, oh that's nice, Cecile is going to promote my name change at The Wild Onion Cafe. That would be awful sweet of her to do. So, obeying orders from women as I usually do, I made my way over to the blog and found this shocker.

OK, my decision is final

Lo and behold, I was picked to be a bartender at The Wild Onion Cafe. OK, I hate that she went back and found a photo but it's my own fault for originally posting it. Anyway, I had no idea I was even being considered since I didn't fill out an application. I couldn't help but say yes. I suspect it may be that Cecile wants to be the second Blottie recipient. She's secretly been jealous ever since Suzanne was presented the initial award. I'm not sure her intentions are true, I'll have to wait and see.

Nevertheless, I'm honored to be asked. I've never been a guest blogger before, so I'm not too sure what to do. How many posts are too many? What type of topics should I address? More importantly what areas should I avoid? This is a new world for me, hopefully I won't step on too many toes. I'm sure Cecile will keep me in line if I do. I imagine her being a tough but fair boss. I just need to remember to keep listening to her and make sure the culture plates are kept clean.

So here I am. A guest blogger, bartender, and owner of my own website. I never would have imagined all of that when I started doing this back in April.

I guess this says it all....

Extra... Extra... Read all about it

My own place on the internet.
It kinda smells like stale beer and hot wings.
Someone take Suzanne by the hand so she doesn't get lost

Cashing in some chips

I've always been good at building working relationships. The people that I've worked with in my industry will generally tell you that I'm an honest, trustworthy partner who will work to make a deal that's good for both parties. For some strange reason, I've also been somewhat good at the "schmooze" part of the job. In my profession, the casual out-of-office interactions and meetings with others are at times even more important than the history of doing business. For someone who can't get out of his own way when it comes to his personal life, I can mysteriously pull it together when a job needs to get done.

Over the years I've formed a lot of close business relationships that have endured, even if we haven't worked together for a while. I've done favors, bought drinks, sent holiday or birthday cards, and generally worked very hard to foster and cultivate these business relationships. In a number of instances it has led to being able to close a deal that might not have happened any other way. I truly like these people personally and professionally and I've always believed they thought the same way.

Today I found out that I was right. I put out a couple inquiries to find out if some colleagues could help me out with a situation. Basically, I felt like I was calling to cash in some of those "goodwill" chips that have built up over the years. I'm not a person who feels comfortable asking for help, but in this situation the potential payoff is so appealing that I'll take all of the help I can get. I ended up contacting three trusted people. The first went above and beyond to help me out. I owe this guy a few drinks and a round of golf whether this works out or not. The second also is doing her best to help although she's leaving the industry and may not be of much assistance. I'm going to miss her at conferences and meetings because she's always been great to be around. I played phone tag with the third for most of the day, but in their message pledged to do all they could to help.

The response was somewhat overwhelming to me. They all wished me luck, offered all the assistance they could, and responded quickly in my time of need. Only time will tell if it pays off, but it makes all the effort that has gone into building these relationships worthwhile. In life you have to give a little to get a lot. Over the years I may have conceded a little in negotiating with these three, but I never felt taken advantage of. Some of those chips came back my way today, we'll see if they help me win the big pot.

Keeping Score 4.0

1. OK, I've been up since 4:30 this morning. I don't normally have problems sleeping except when my anxiety level is topping off the charts. So, I might not be my witty, entertaining self today.

2. I saw this bench on my way home tonight and took a picture. It's not a very good photo, but I only had a short time when the light turned green. The roses made me think of Suzanne immediately. Who knew she painted bus stop benches too?

3. I got the chance to meet Yoshihiro "Yosh" Uchida today. He is a living legend in the world judo, developing the rules that moved it from solely a self-defense martial art to a competitive Olympic sport. He is such a dignified gentleman. I am truly honored to have met him (and I'm not that way around too many people).

4. I'm thinking of changing my url to a less conspicuous name. It's kind of hard to stay semi-anonymous when you plaster your name in the url. Any suggestions on names and how to let the important people know when I make the switch?

5. I'll be on the road visiting family next week. I might bring my laptop along to keep my 10 readers up to date. Then again, I might not. The week after that I'm at a national conference for about a week. I'll definitely bring my laptop along for some drunken blogging to entertain all of you.

6. It didn't get to 100 here today. Oh boy, only 99 degrees... a virtual freakin' cold wave.

7. She had me worried
She made me sweat
She sent me reeling
She made me fret

No word had come
From this wee lass
Then we heard
About her ass

I'm happy now
Her butt ain't sick
That funny blogger
Our Random Chick.

My biggest mistake

This has nothing to do with the rest of this post but since we're all sharing our lives here goes. I finished a can of Edge Shaving Gel today, and of course tossed it away thinking nothing of it. When I got home from work, this is what I found.

In case you haven't figured it out, here's what happened. It must have been so hot in my apartment today while I was at work that the can exploded and what little gel was remaining in the can blew out through the dispenser. The warning on the can states, "Do not store at temperature above 120F as container may burst." Not really sure why the full can was fine. I surmise the fresh can doesn't have enough ambient air in it to heat up and raise the pressure high enough to cause an eruption.

Now to the topic at hand. Since I'm fairly certain none of my 10 readers are co-workers, The Brain says I can post this. It's become apparent that my move to California last June is the biggest mistake of my life. Now I've done some stupid things, made some poor judgments, but nothing compared to this. It seemed like a good opportunity, a chance to start new and make a positive move toward improving my overall life. It has turned out to be a monumental flop. Hindsight is always 20/20, but I look back to March 2007 and realize that things were very, very bad but if I had stuck it out would have improved substantially in a few months. The most significant issue would have played it's way out to it's inevitable conclusion. With that past me, the smaller things would have been much more manageable. I look back and see other more positive things on the periphery of my life might have come more into focus and opened up some exciting opportunities personally. One year later, those opportunities have been erased by time and distance which led to my semi meltdown last week. More about them on a different post.

But here I am now. The people I work with are possibly the most dysfunctional group of individuals ever assembled. Unfortunately, it's one of those things I didn't pick up on during the interview and site visit. Kind of like dating (or so I've been told), everyone puts on the best face, smiles pretty, and all looks good. Even after a time, I thought naively that I would be able to make a difference to this group and change the culture that had been fostered over the past 10 plus years in the organization. Nothing is ever going to change these people. I can't work with them any longer. They're either going to be the death of me or drive me to an episode that will end up with me in a mental hospital. I need to get out, this is not the place for me.

The one good thing in California is the winter weather. It's far, far too expensive to live here. In moving here, I was able to improve my annual salary to what I thought would allow me to continue a comfortable life. I certainly wasn't going to get rich, but the plan was for it to be a lateral move financially and to reap the benefits of a change of perspective and weather. Now, the paycheck is spent as soon as I get it, with no opportunity to save or even enjoy some of the hobbies that bring me some enjoyment. All of that discretionary income has been absorbed by a rent increase and living expenses. I've played golf once this calendar year. That is my diversion, the thing that allows me to escape the stress of life's other things for 4 or 5 hours. Now that money is being used to pay the rising monthly rent and to escape things like hunger and an empty gas tank.

For my 10 readers, this post isn't about my depression. This is reality, not the imagined demons and shortcomings rummaging in my mind. This atmosphere I am surrounded by is only accentuating those feelings. Much like the money, I can't begin to improve mentally while I am here being dragged down by people and situation around me. I thought the grass was going to be greener here, but it turns out that it's brown and on fire in California. I'll eventually recover from this, but I can't do it here. My physical and mental health is deteriorating at an accelerating pace. Hopefully the latest flurry of resumes and cover letters will yield an opportunity to begin freeing myself from this predicament.

What a Sunday

This weekend at the Event Center was Tahiti Fête, a three-day celebration of Polynesian dance and music. The main attractions of the event are the competitions on each day in the Arena, but the courtyard is filled with Hawaiian and Tahitian food vendors, apparel, and all things Polynesian. It's a really big deal as San Jose has one of the largest Polynesian populations outside of the islands. It's a travel destination as well with four major downtown hotels sold out to house the participants, spectators, and vendors.

Friday and Saturday went fine with no major issues except the occasional power outage to the outside vendors. They're long days as apparently the entire culture runs on "island time" and schedules are merely a suggestion, not some thing to hold firm. But, we know this going in so a 6:00pm end time on the schedule ends up being 10:00pm.

Then came Sunday. Most of this is from memory, but the time line is pretty accurate...

• I got a free coffee at 7-11 on the way to the Event Center. Little did I know at 7:30am this would be one of the day's high points.

• Fast forward to 9:00am... people are coming to the doors with red "standing room" passes to enter the arena. Apparently the organizers gave these red passes to the performing groups for entry into the building. The performing groups turned around and gave them to their friends and family to watch the event. So, we've got 5,000 paying ticket holders (a sell out) and upwards of 1,500-2,000 more people expecting to get in to see their family/friends perform. Not a good situation with a lot of pissed off people who drove and in some cases flew many hours to see their family/friends. We explained the situation to these people, worked out a compromise which allowed them to see their family/friends without breaking the law and exceeding building capacity. Some of these people were very nice and understanding. Some were not so nice but tolerated our helping them. Some were not nice at all. Mr. Policeman got to deal with them.

• Fast forward to 11:00am... we lose power to all outside vendor booths. Right around lunch time, so really rotten timing. Too many vendors firing up at the same time, causing a surge and tripping the electrical breaker panel. Thankfully, this is quickly resolved with no further power problems.
  

• Fast forward to 12:00noon... the 10:30 performers are just starting their routine, which places us 1 1/2 hours behind schedule. The flow of red pass holders has slowed, but the surly attitude has risen as the temperature outside cranked up to near 90. We're dealing the best we can. There's a lot of people that are going to hate me at the end of the day, but the State Fire Marshall is not going to be one of them.
  

• Fast forward to 3:00pm... the paramedic (EMT) has been running ragged with multiple calls. Most are not from the guests, they are from performers who haven't hydrated properly and are fainting and passing out during and after routines. Having not been practicing what he was preaching, I search out and find the EMT a bottle of water and a lemonade before he goes down too.

• Slow forward to 3:30pm... some of the food vendors on our upstairs patio are dumping used water after the lunch rush down our storm drains. The flow is too much, too soon and a nice leak has come through the ceiling into our weight room. Destroyed ceiling tiles and a small pond in the weight room results. We'll see if the water ruined any of the lighting fixtures.

• Fast forward again to 4:30pm... the 2:15pm act is just starting. The police and event organizers chase off an "unauthorized creepy photographer" who is trying to zoom into outdoor dressing tents and take pictures of the women dancers as they change costumes. Campus police alert the Library, the only other building open during the weekend, for this guy. Apparently he's a regular around these parts.

• Slow forward to 5:00pm... red pass holders have slowed considerably to a trickle. One of the bigger performances just ended and everyone got up simultaneously to use the restroom. The sudden and immediate loss of water pressure from all of the toilets flushing at once empties the reserve holding tank and trips the water pump alarm, shutting off all water to the public restrooms. The holding tank can not fill fast enough and the alarm keeps tripping to shut off water until the tank refills. So I spend the next two hours babysitting the water pump, resetting the alarm so we have water for the public. Eventually, people return to their seats to watch the next group of performers, giving the water tank time to fill.
  

• Fast forward to 7:00pm... the 4:30pm act takes the performance area. This means the 6:00pm awards ceremony will likely start around 9:00pm. Also, I got a hug from a sweet girl who lost her purse that we were able to return. She was so happy, probably the first truly joyful person I got to deal with all day. This hug easily surpasses the free coffee and becomes the highlight of the day.

• Fast forward to 8:30pm... updated schedule, awards ceremonies likely to start at 10:00pm. I finally stop to have my first food of the day. It's Thai BBQ and it's damn good. I squirt soy sauce out of the little packet all over myself. Fortunately I'm wearing black slacks.

• Fast forward to 11:00pm. As expected the 6:00pm then 10:00pm awards ceremony starts to close the weekend of Tahiti Fête. I'm outside helping the crew break down some tables and chairs when someone throws a mostly empty gallon water jug over the patio railing hitting me in the left shoulder and showering me with the water that was in jug. I'd be lying if I didn't say the water felt good. It ended up being some 8 year old kid who didn't look below before tossing it.

• Fast forward to 12:13am when the award ceremony concluded. I got home at 1:20am and relayed to you the events of the day. I smell like ass and taro leaves, but I'm too tired to shower. If I hide that stench under the covers I should be able to sleep ok. Kind of like a Dutch Oven but a Hawaiian Oven instead.
  

Obviously I've been in event management, damage and crisis control mode all day and too busy to remember how much my life sucks. At least I didn't have fire threatening my home and I didn't get stuff shoved up my ass. Fear not my 10 readers, my life still sucks sweaty camel balls so the angst will return at some point. Stay tuned in the coming days for topics like: Beating myself up on the outside, Running, The Truck Guy, a possible return of a former character and anything else that may arise that's noteworthy.

It's crazy here

Craziness on the job right now... full report sometime in the future, not likely until Monday.
Don't fret my only 10 readers, I'm too busy right now to be engulfed by the darkness.

JB and The Brain, Act I

just bob (JB): That's a good blog topic
The Brain: You can't write about that
JB: But it's honest
The Brain: Is it too honest?
JB: Nah, I think it's fine
The Brain: Would you tell me if it wasn't?
JB: I wouldn't have brought it up if it was too honest
The Brain: OK, it's fine but you still can't write it
JB: I need to get it off my chest
The Brain: It's no picnic up here either with it rattling around
JB: Good, we agree
The Brain: But you still can't write it
JB: It will quiet things up there for you
The Brain: True
JB: And the rest of me will feel better too
The Brain: Good point
JB: And maybe someone will read it and have some advice
The Brain: You're starting to make a lot of sense
JB: Thank you
The Brain: You're welcome, but you still can't write it
JB: You are getting on my nerves
The Brain: I control your nerves, don't start with me
JB: Alright, sorry
The Brain: That's better
JB: Why can't I write it?
The Brain: They may read it
JB: Who?
The Brain: You know, t-h-e-m
JB: You mean wwwww and xxxxx and yyyyy and zzzzz right?
The Brain: SHHHH!!!!!
JB: Would it be that bad if they did read it?
The Brain: Of course it would
JB: Really?
The Brain: Yes
JB: Why?
The Brain: Do you really want them knowing that?
JB: Well, um, maybe
The Brain: It would change everything and not for the better
JB: You think?
The Brain: It's my job to think, so yes
JB: But it's already changed things for me
The Brain: Well they don't need to know that. Listen, it won't help things
JB: Hurt?
The Brain: Yes, if they read what you want to write it would do some harm
JB: I don't want to do that
The Brain: I know you don't
JB: So I can't write it
The Brain: No, I'm sorry you can't
JB: And I've got to keep feeling this way?
The Brain: Unfortunately yes for a while
JB: My blog buddies would understand
The Brain: I know they would
JB: They would try to help
The Brain: I know, I like them too
JB: Can I ask a question?
The Brain: You are so full of questions today, go ahead
JB: Are we really going to go through this every time?
The Brain: Pretty much
JB: That sucks
The Brain: Pretty much

I'm such a lightweight

There used to be a day, not too long ago, that I could drink... a lot. One of my favorite places back east would serve big boy 22 oz. beers and I could down two before I'd even start to feel the effects. I'm not talking about light beer now, this was fresh, full octane micro-brew straight from the brewhouse. It didn't end with those first two on many nights.

Turn the calendar forward one year and one regular bottle nearly knocks me out. Now, it doesn't give me a buzz or anything like that but it makes me want to take a nap. Seriously, I get really tired after only one. I know it's not very manly to admit that, but for some very strange reason I feel it's kind of an accomplishment.

I was a late bloomer when it comes to alcohol, not getting drunk for the first time till I was in college. It was at a really sketchy dive bar in Fort Lauderdale called Skip's Cobra with the guys from my dorm floor. Some of you may remember those days, when Fort Liquordale was still a hot spot for spring break. The bartenders and wait staff all wore t-shirts with the slogan "No Fat Chicks ever at Skip's Cobra." No wonder a bunch of college guys picked that place. Another reason was probably that it was so easy to get a fake i.d. past the bouncer. I still can't drink rum and coke after that night.

That first night of bed spins and projectile vomiting led to years of drinking to be sociable and part of the group. Somewhere along the way the motive for drinking went from feeling good to not feeling at all. It was the easiest and cheapest way to drown all of my negative, hurtful, and painful emotions and thoughts. It wasn't so much to fit in with the others, it was to fit in with myself. I don't believe I was (or am) an alcoholic, but I do realize now that I abused alcohol. Sure it's probably a big dose of self-rationalization on my part but you've got to cut me some slack. Then a hard life lesson slapped me in the face and woke me up. That's another one of those things I won't go into here, but needless to say it changed a lot things.

I took a pledge that I wouldn't have another drink when I "needed" one, only when I "wanted" one. For some unknown reason, all of those resolutions to lose weight, exercise, be more organized, yada yada yada have fallen by the wayside but this one has stuck. If I was going to waiver, it would have been last week but it never happened. In fact, the thought of drinking never even crossed my mind. It's been a long journey from Skip's Cobra and I'm not proud of some of those days and nights, but I'm pleased that trek is over.

Where shopping is a pleasurable memory

Queen Goob said the magic word in her blog today and made me feel warm all over.


I loved Publix, I still love Publix, I yearn for Publix. For those of you that don't know, Publix is a supermarket chain located mainly in Florida but also throughout many Southeastern U.S. states. Just reading the word this morning brought forth a flood of thoughts and memories of my youth.

I remember going to Publix with my mom and brother, going up and down each aisle in the weekly ritual called family grocery shopping. It was always a battle between me and my brother who got to drive the cart. We started by getting the cart and going to the front customer service desk to buy mom's cigarettes (thank goodness she quit many years ago) and get her check pre-approved for her purchase. Later in life and before debit cards, buying lottery tickets replaced the cigarettes but you still needed the check pre-approved. It was such a big deal getting to push the cart to us. Mom softened the blow by letting the losing boy sit in the front seat of the station wagon on the way home.

I remember the front of every store had a big professional scale next to the 25-cent bubblegum machines for people to weigh themselves. You could see through the dial and watch the levers and springs move as you stood on it. It was cool when both my brother and I got on at the same time to see how high we could get the scale to go. They used to break down some of their shipping boxes too and leave them up front for people to take for free. Looking back, this now strikes me as one of the first efforts of recycling.

I remember getting to the checkout line and the miles and miles of S&H Green Stamps we would get for a cart full of groceries. Maybe the highlight of the trip, we would get home and help mom put the groceries away just so we could start working on the Green Stamps. They came in different denominations and you pasted them into books until each page of the book had the sufficient number of points. Get enough completed books together and you could redeem them at the Green Stamp store for merchandise. Where I grew up the Green Stamp store was right next door to Publix so you could always look in and see the coolest new stuff they had or pick up a catalog so you knew how many books to collect to get what you wanted. I don't think mom ever used them on toys for us boys, but it was fun going with her to help select the new digital alarm clock, lamp for the nightstand, or other household need. For a middle class family, those Green Stamps really helped out.

I remember Publix had THE BEST southern fried chicken at the deli. It kicked the crap out of the Colonel and his special mix of herbs and spices. This chicken was made by genuine genteel southern women in white smocks and hairnets cooking the way their mothers taught them. I can't tell you how much Publix fried chicken I've consumed in my lifetime, but it may be enough to fill a good sized chicken coop.

Publix has had the slogan, "Publix, where shopping is a pleasure" forever. What they don't know is that the pleasure lasts long after you leave the store. Queen Goob thank you so much for stirring up so many good memories with just one word.

My BFF

OK, enough about me. Time for the tens of people who actually read this blog to learn about others involved in shaping The Essence of Bobness. Today’s featured profile... my best friend.

I met this guy about 13 years ago in Florida. We were introduced through a mutual friend, the girl I was dating/not dating at the time (you’ll have to check here to get up to speed on that). Anyway, there seemed to be some sort of immediate kindred spirit between the two of us and we’ve been close ever since. In the years since we met I’ve lived in Colorado, New Hampshire, Massachusetts and now California. Somehow, even with all of the relocating for both of us, we still find the time to connect on a regular basis.

I’m a fairly low-key guy, but his energy is electric. Every time we get together he always gets me in a better mood. That’s probably why we hit it off. For someone who needs a boost on occasion, you can see why he is a good friend to have. One of the things I like about him is his transparency. Not a game-player, you always know how he’s doing and never have to guess. But the thing I like about him most is his dependability. Whenever I’ve needed him, he’s always been there for me… day or night. Like any friend, you have to overlook some of his flaws and help him out when he needs it. It doesn’t take much to get him overheated. It’s like you flick a switch sometimes and he’s immediately fired up. I can usually get him to cool down after a while, but it isn’t easy. He’s also a little warped upstairs if you know what I mean. Other than that, I can’t say anything else bad about him. He’s been a true friend, loyal, and giving. He has been a big part of my life, and always will be. One of the people in this world I’ve always been able to depend on.

My BFF... Mr. Coffee

An update

To begin, thank you to everyone for the past week. I can't really offer a proper dedication to all of you right now, but I hope to be able to soon. Just know that I am sincere and the sentiments & thoughts you expressed are much appreciated.

As episodes go, this one has peaked (I hope) at around a 7.5 on a scale of 10. I've had worse but there's a shaky truce in place right now. Some day when the synapses and serotonin in my brain are working well enough together I'll fill everyone in the best I am able. I don't mean to make light of the terrible circumstances that Inner Voices and others are battling with all the fires out here, but suffice it to say that same kind of turmoil was going on (and still is) inside my head. Fortunately, I've gained ground in my struggle and can write a few words. These words won't win any prizes and won't be humorous or enlightened, but they will be spelled correctly.

Sunday afternoon was interesting. When I am going through an episode, I punish myself in a variety of different ways. One of them is forcing myself to do things I don't want to do, like super clean the kitchen and bathroom. Not normal cleaning or even extra "mom's visiting" cleaning, it's more like "I want to get all of my security deposit back before leaving" cleaning. I finished this and the last task was to start the dishwasher (my nemesis). As I sat in the living room, I heard some loud noises coming from the kitchen. I suspected something wasn't loaded correctly in the dishwasher and was banging around. It happens on occasion so I didn't think much of it. The noise persisted and became annoying enough for me (already with a short fuse) to get up to reload the machine. I get to the kitchen and there are small explosions coming from the electric oven/range, which was not turned on, with sparks and smoke flying around inside it. The very strong smell an electrical fire puts off was starting to fill the kitchen. Surprisingly, even with my mental condition, my instincts and training took over. I ran to the circuit breaker and cut all power to the apartment, which would stop any further sparks. Back to the kitchen with the fire extinguisher, it looked like nothing inside was on fire. Not leaving the kitchen (in case an undetected fire flared up), I called building maintenance who arrived very quickly. Indeed, there was no fire.

After pulling the range apart, he found a circuit board that had totally fried. It was scorched darker than burnt toast, with one of the brass conductors completely melted and a diode blown off the board and laying inside the range. The best we could guess was that some of the soapy water from the cleaning seeped under one of range dials, hit the circuit board, and started the incident. He changed the board in less than 30 minutes and was out the door while I spent the rest of the afternoon worrying about what would have happened had I left after cleaning and no one was home. The wayward electrical shocks bouncing around the oven seem to form an appropriate metaphor for what is going on in my head. If only it was as easy a fix as a simple circuit board.