The Chair

When I was in college during my sophomore year I returned home during Christmas break to be with my family. Actually I went home for every extended break. While most of the people I went to school with were from out of the area, college was only an hour away from home for me. I chose the school because of my major, but its location was a big deciding factor. It was far enough away to be out on my own for the first time, but still close enough to be able to get home in case of emergencies. One of the things I'm proud of is that I never abused this closeness to get Mom to do a big load of laundry or eat a home cooked meal under the guise of missing my family. In return, Mom never abused the closeness by being a doting mother and checking on me at college. In fact, I think she was on campus twice during my time there. The first time was Orientation Day as an incoming freshman, and the other was Commencement Day four years later on the lawn of the Library.

That holiday break when I went home I filled in at the Champs Sporting Goods that I had worked at the previous summer. My boss was good to work for (and really attractive too) and the money was much needed for a college student. I knew the routine so I could jump in immediately without any training, and it wouldn't take too much time away from the family. One night after a long day/night of working to satisfy all of the holiday mall shoppers, I drove home and about four houses down from ours I saw a reclining chair out by the street to be picked up with the rest of the trash. Needing a chair for my dorm room, I parked and investigated. In the dark of the night, it didn't look too bad. The fabric was a bit worn but not ripped and the extending footrest was wobbly and somewhat disconnected from the arm. This had potential.

So I got up early the next morning to check out the chair in the light of day and to beat the trash truck if I wanted to keep it. It was perfect and the price was right. The owner must have seen me scoping out the goods, because he came out to talk to me. He explained that he just had back surgery and the chair was no longer comfortable for him to sit in because it didn't provide enough support. I asked if he was just throwing it away whether I could take it. He said sure and actually went to his garage to get a two-wheel hand cart so I could handle getting it home by myself. A little wood putty and a few screws took care of the wobbly footrest. Sweet.... beer money for next semester and a new recliner to dress up the dorm room. This was shaping up to be a great Christmas!

That chair was like heaven for me. I can't honestly tell you how many times I fell asleep in that recliner, watching TV, reading a book, or listening to music. I took that chair everywhere I went. It made two more round-trips to college for my junior and senior years. It made the big move when I packed up and headed for Colorado Springs, the first time I had ever lived on my own. I had virtually nothing and the Ryder truck was mostly empty. A bed frame with no mattress or box spring, a dining room set I bought from a co-worker, some pots and pans donated from my Mom, plates/silverware that were donated from a friend whose mother recently passed away, and my recliner. I slept in that recliner about a week until my new bedroom set was delivered.

My chair made the trip back to the East Coast when I moved to New Hampshire. It barely fit into my too-small apartment, but nothing would separate me and my recliner. I lived there for five years and never assembled the dining room set just so I would have room for my chair. Obviously I ate a good many meals from the coffee table and sofa. The recliner came along when I made the short hop from New Hampshire to Massachusetts. Now in a bigger apartment, I could have a dining room and my recliner. What a luxury... moving on up to the big time. Oh so many Saturdays and Sundays, plopped down in that recliner with a big bowl of chips and dip, beer at the ready in the kitchen, watching college and NFL football games.

Then a big life change... leaving the company I work at for 12 years and relocating to California. My therapist and I had many conversations prior to and during the change. She felt it was good for me, that I would grow and flourish. We talked a lot about it and at some point I mentioned the chair. It was her opinion that maybe it was a good idea not bring the chair along. The chair represented all the baggage and history since that morning during Christmas break that I had carried along. Moving to California was a fresh start, a new beginning, and the chair embodied the past and all the sometimes troublesome worries of years gone by. I gave it quite a bit of consideration. She was right about so many other things and had helped me through a turbulent time, maybe she was making some sense.

The movers arrived on a Tuesday afternoon. They worked their way from the back of the apartment to the front... bedrooms to kitchen to finally living room. When the place was nearly empty, they asked if the chair was coming along. The moment of truth had arrived and in a split second I said, "no, it's staying here." In that instant, I jettisoned twenty years of my life. But my therapist, this time she was wrong. Her logic made sense to a troubled soul looking for a new start; but in all of those years none of my problems, worries, and issues were wrapped up in that chair. That chair was my sanctuary, a place I relaxed... a place away from troubles... a place that brought me peace in doing things that I loved... a place I felt safe enough to let my guard down and sleep. I cried when a 46 year old Jack Nicklaus won his 6th Masters golf tournament from that chair. I cheered when the 86 year curse was broken and the Boston Red Sox won the 2004 World Series. I chilled to Van Halen and Led Zeppelin from that chair, and feasted on popcorn watching countless movies. My fears, issues and worries still trouble me. They did not stay with that chair, because they were never there. But now my sanctuary is gone.

Sara Smith writes just bob

So, I get this email yesterday...

Hi, I am the webmaster of (website address deleted). I find your blog very interesting to read. Your way of writing can magnet and lure a lot of visitors/readers. Would you be able to write about our product after visiting our site?

Or if you have a friend who is interested to try our product, we can send you one. From this, you can gain insights and share your friend's experience to us. I would really be interested to know if you would be able to post your findings/review in your blog http://www.justbobness.com, it may be a positive or negative one, with links to our site.

Regards, Sara Smith
greenAphrodite@gmail.com

How sweet of her. I don't know Sara, but I'm humbled and flattered that she thinks so much of my writing that she'd want me to review her product. What the heck... actors do voice-overs for advertisements and bands sell their songs for commercials. If it's good enough for Kiefer Sutherland and The Who it's good enough for just bob. Why shouldn't I whore my blog out for some quick cash and compromise my ethics and morals? Who knows, maybe I would like the product and be proud to help promote it. So here it is.......

Now you're asking yourself, what exactly is it? Well, let me tell you friends... it's a penis enhancement ring! It sort of looks like a "livestrong" for your schlong bracelet. Just wear it at the root of the issue and voila... you're John Holmes! Apparently, this thing is made up of magnets, tourmaline, and germanium which work to make things bigger and firmer. I guess magnets point due north so maybe it will work. I don't know what the Germans have to do with this, but obviously they're working on some earth shattering penis technology with this new germanium compound. At last the hopeless promises of all those other products have been replaced by the ultimate in science.

Now I'm sure friends you are asking, how much is this going to cost me? While it's normally $55.95, for a limited time only you can get yours for the low, low price of $39.95. That's such a bargain, I can't imagine anyone not reaching for their........... credit card to order one. In all fairness, the website is an absolute riot. It's so funny to read that you'll keep coming back for more laughs. IF you want the address, let me know and I'll be sure to send it to you. I don't want to advertise their website, but I also don't want you to miss out on the unbridled hilarity that is their product advertisement.

(product) is simple, affordable and really amazing.

Don't settle for an average penis!
Don't let your penis shrink!
Don't ignore it and deny it the healthy blood it needs!

Instead, fill it up with a lot more clean healthy blood.
Make it grow bigger and stronger.

Know what it's like to be hung and proud of your manhood. Know what's it like to really satisfy women.

It's so easy with (product)!

Everything is fine

Don't worry folks, things are OK with me. I've gotten all tied up in watching the Democratic Convention and haven't had much time to devote to cranking out the quality literary pieces you have come to expect.

I plan to return to normal programming this weekend. Needless to say, I won't be preoccupied with the Ass-Hat Convention next weekend.

No Way, No How, No McCain

Great speech tonight Hillary
Fantastic job from a fantastic person

This post means nothing

This post has no reason
This post has no rhyme,
This blog will be senseless
But only this time

This guy is an asshole
There are certain unwritten rules and courtesy when entering and leaving parking lots for highly attended events like football games, concerts, or in this case the Indy Car Race at Sonoma on Sunday. This guy broke virtually all of them. Just so you know "guy who doesn't see the other 30,000 people trying to get into the parking lots too," that finger didn't mean I was rooting for the #1 car in the race.

Why Jimmy Page last night?
Why in the world did the Olympic organizers select Jimmy Page to perform with Leona Lewis last night? I love Led Zeppelin and always will. But come on the guy is almost as old as John McCain. He couldn't have been the first choice of British musicians. Don't Paul McCartney or Phil Collins need to make a few Yuan to pay their ex-wives and their divorce attorneys?


Can you like BBQ too much?
I personally don't think it's possible to like BBQ too much. Pork, beef, chicken, turkey, sausage, almost anything grilled over an open fire with a tangy sauce is heaven.




I don't really miss caffeine in the morning
Too much stress and a heart racing a few beats more than appropriate prompted me to give up caffeinated coffee in the morning. I always used the crutch that I need it to wake up and start the day. Now I know that I don't need it first thing. Decaf tastes just as good. I'm going to have to see a doctor about that heartbeat.






Tonight's fortune cookie read: "You have an important new business development shaping up."
If I had only one fortune cookie come true in my lifetime, this would be it.

One for the Inner Voices

This one is for Inner Voices just because I'm guessing it's probably true!

There is Hope Afterall

This post pissed me off. I don't generally read this blog, but got there via a blog roll. What can I say, the title hooked me. There are PLENTY of people, myself included, who are watching and enjoying the Olympics for ..... wait for it...... the sports, athletes, and games. If you are to believe this blog, the entire male population of the world is fixated on Beijing, China with one hand on their remote control and the other on their "baton." I won't deny there is a certain portion of viewers luridly watching the lycra and spandex clad swimmers, divers, and gymnasts for prurient reasons. Where I differ is that I believe a VAST majority of viewers are watching to cheer on their home country athletes or are enthusiasts of a particular sport or game. To dissect the entire post would take far too long and bore most of the readers (and this author), therefore I'll pick out the most aggravating piece to me:

That these women train for years for the opportunity to represent their countries is overlooked because of course everything women do is about selling sex to every [sic] ready males.

Are viewers really overlooking the fact that beach volleyball pair of May-Treanor/Walsh haven't lost in over 100 consecutive matches? Are viewers really overlooking the years of training, lap upon lap of pool time, endless therapy sessions, and number of Olympics that Dana Torres has competed in? Are viewers overlooking the fact that the U.S. Women's Softball team had won every gold medal in the sport ever contested until this year? Have viewers not seen story upon story about the sacrifices that female marathon runners, sprinters, cyclists, and gymnasts have made for their chance to compete on the grandest of stages?

Getting back to all of that lycra and spandex, it must be a conspiracy by Nike, Addidas, Speedo, and all those other uniform manufacturers to objectify female athletes. They've all gotten together and decided the only way to sell their product to men (who purchase a great deal of women's sportswear) is to make it as tight and form fitting as possible. Could the beach volleyball players be wearing gym shorts and t-shirts? Sure they could. Could Natalie Coughlin and Rebecca Soni be swimming in bloomers? Sure they could. Could sprinters be competing in sweat pants and sweatshirts? Sure they could. However they all gain a competitive advantage, either real or psychological, by what they choose to wear. The fact that they are skin tight and a segment of the viewers focus on that is unfortunate. But to speculate the only reason the uniforms are designed that way and that the only reason NBC or any other network is airing beach volleyball, swimming, or gymnastics is for the sex appeal should be insulting to women. If that were the case, the female rowers, equestrians, and badminton players would all be clad in the skimpiest of outfits.

Having said that, U.S. Women's Soccer goalie Hope Solo can guard my goal anytime. She was fantastic in Thursday's Gold Medal Game against Brazil. Solo made over a dozen saves, many of them in spectacular fashion, throughout the 120 minute overtime game for the 1-0 shut-out and a Gold Medal. Sometimes there is beauty in both form and performance. Some viewers can appreciate them both.

Positivity

I can't bitch about it anymore. When it moves from unbelievable to surreal as it did this afternoon, I have to wave the white flag and surrender. I'll throw most of my eggs into the "current application outstanding with a hiring committee" basket and rely on my vast experience to secure my release from Alcatraz. The rest of the eggs are out on assignment, searching for another basket to fall into.

So what to do with this post? A couple of blogs (this one and this one) are asking for subject suggestions. I won't do that to the ten of you. Afterall, reading is fundamental, it is not work. In an effort to be as positive as possible, I put forth this partial list:

The positive charged element of an atom is called a proton

A positive pole of a magnet is called the north pole

The positive terminal of a battery is called the anode

A positive transaction into an account is called a debit

A positive trend on Wall Street is called a bull market

A positive vote in U.S. Senate during a roll call vote is called yea

A positive number is greater than zero

And the beat goes on...

I don't really know why, but this latest episode is hanging on much longer than it should have. The trigger wasn't too personal, at least I didn't think so. I worked on a few projects at my former employer before I left for the not-so-greener side of the fence that is California. Two of those projects have finally come to fruition with great results for them. One of them I knew was going to take a year to happen, if it ever did. When it finally came about after I had departed, I was happy for them and took a small amount of personal satisfaction that I had a small hand in starting the process. On another project, it was a longer shot of securing a certain piece of business. Literally about two years ago, I made a phone call inquiring about possibly working with this group. I sent them all of the pertinent information they needed but never heard back. It wasn't a great surprise. Two years later, they are doing some business. Much like the previous project, I smiled a small bit knowing without the initial call it probably wouldn't have happened.

Then came last week. I got an email from a former co-worker to let me know about Project "C" that they were going to start working on. Project "C" is something I had been pursuing since I arrived at my former workplace. Project "C" was something the company I worked for promised our new client at that location we would deliver. Unlike the previous two projects I mentioned above, Project "C" was something we had total control over. Our parent company owned the other entity that was necessary to make Project "C" happen. I asked my direct supervisor in year one about Project "C". When nothing happened, I asked the company President for help in year two. When nothing happened again, I asked the Chairman of the Board for help in year three. On each occasion, I was told that it wasn't possible that year. On each occasion, I reminded them it was something we promised we would deliver. I made sure our Contract Compliance Auditor included this ommission in their report hoping to get some attention from someone at corporate. Our client never mentioned it to me, the on-site manager, but I knew it was never far from their mind. It was one of my biggest frustrations.

All of the sudden, I leave and Project "C" miraculously appears. How in the world does that make me look? What must the client think about my ability? These are people I developed personal relationships with, people I very much respect and worked tirelessly for, people whose respect was important for me to have. Now I'm the guy that couldn't get Project "C" done. I never asked for much help in managing my location. I was fairly self-sufficient. The one thing I needed help on, the one thing we promised, and the one thing we had complete control over and I didn't get it. I got submarined by the company I committed twelve years of my life. And that is why I was "frustrated, upset, and infuriated all rolled up into one." It hurt me to the core, and I'm still not over it. ANY assistance in making Project "C" occur in year three and I might still be there and not in the situation I currently find myself in. So now I look bad to people I respect, was frustrated enough to have to leave, landed in a less than ideal situation, and get sucker-punched when guy #2 comes off as the hero for pulling off Project "C."

It may be a while before I can muster up any enthusiasm to find any humor or positives in life.

More ass than kick ass

She's a Ranting Catscratch Diva... and she gave me this last week.

I'm more of an ass than I am "kick ass" but thanks for the award.

I'm probably supposed to nominate others for the award, but I don't want to miss anyone and disappoint them. So, if you are kick ass feel free to grab it as your own.

Not quite gold

It's not quite gold, but it is something I'll value and proudly display. The picture is crappy, so here's the text:

Certificate of Appreciation
The United States Olympic Committee proudly recognizes
just bob
For your outstanding support of the 2008 US Olympic Team
during the games of the XXIX Olympiad in Beijing, China.

For a month leading up to the Opening Ceremonies, our facilities were used as the processing center for most of the U.S. Olympians. Athletes came from across the country, received all of their apparel that you have seen during the games, were briefed on procedures, policies, and etiquette during the games, and then departed for the airport for their trips overseas. It was their last stop in the U.S. and the beginning of the Olympic experience for all of them.

In most cases their stay was under 36 hours. Some teams however were here for a longer period of time. That's where my involvement came in. Some of the teams either trained or practiced in facilities I oversee. Everyone involved was honored to play a part in helping the athletes on their journey to their Olympic dreams. While most Americans are displaying a great deal of pride in watching the U.S. athletes compete, it's much more meaningful knowing you played a small role in their successes. It may not be gold, silver, or bronze, but that single piece of paper makes me as proud as Michael Phelps.

All the world's a stage...

... and I'm "Extra #3" that
gets sprayed by the passing car.

Wednesday

It's going to be one of those days. The slide began about 5:00 last night when I got an unexpected email. It was frustrating, upsetting, and infuriating all rolled up into one. It opened up old wounds and delivered a virtual slap in the face. It is the latest in a long line of trigger events. I drove home from work after receiving it, forgetting all about the stuff I needed at the grocery store. I devoured my dinner, trying to seek solace in food as I always do. I sat on my couch last night, alternately staring blankly at either the television or the laptop monitor.

As I sit here at work on a Wednesday morning, I can not concentrate on anything. I am on edge, waiting for the next shoe to drop. The dull headache has returned, my patience is short. I'll have to fight to keep this in check so I can function. The fragile truce has been broken, the battlefield in my mind has erupted, it's time yet again to go to war.

Independent to a fault

I've always been fiercely independent. I had to be. This was instilled early in my life as a member of single parent home. I shouldn't use the word instilled, as it implies someone taught me to be this way. It was actually self-learned. Living with just my mom and brother, I had to grow up quickly. Mom worked split-shifts as a telephone operator. She'd get us off to school in the morning, then head to work herself. Then she'd pick us up from school, spend some time with us making sure homework was started and dinner was eaten together as a family. Then she'd head off to her 4-hour evening shift while we were left to tend to things like dishes, laundry, feeding the dogs, etc. She's was always home at the end of the night to tuck us into bed. She's a great mother and now you know a little more why I'm so attached to her. You can also see she wasn't around a great deal during the formative teen years.

But this lifestyle left me to fend for myself. If I had questions, or needed help, I was sort of out there on my own. I had to figure out things solo, experiment and make mistakes until I got things right, and generally improvise to make things work out when they weren't exactly the way they should have been. I don't see this as totally a bad thing. In my opinion, many kids these days have too much spoon-fed to them, led through every little thing, and they don't learn how to think on their own. But in my own life, while I benefited from the experience of thinking on my own I also was hurt by not picking up an important skill... knowing when to ask for help. There was never anyone there for me to ask when I needed help, so I plowed on straight ahead and tried to figure things out myself. It didn't always work out (hence the plumber having to fix the shower after my "repair") but on average I did ok. Still, even if I knew I needed help, I wouldn't ask for it fearing I'd be admitting I couldn't handle it on my own and more importantly disappointing someone.

That's why it was such a big step when I finally saw a therapist in the early 2000's. I knew I was messed up. I knew that I had tried to help myself and nothing worked. I knew I had one major depressive episode in 1995 and in researching the subject knew the next one was going to be worse. I knew that if I didn't get help this time it could end with me in a box six-feet underground. So I took the leap and reached out. He wasn't great, but he got me through that time and referred me to a psychiatrist who got me on medication. Come to think of it, we never really addressed the whole subject of my reluctance to reach out for help. Like I said, I guess he wasn't that great.

It's this resistance that's gotten me into so many bad circumstances in my life. My current credit situation, a poor decision about retirement planning, and figuring out a way to dig my way out of those are directly a result of not calling on an expert. Of course, I haven't contacted a financial planner yet. It probably should not come as a big shock that I once contemplated going into court and represent myself for something more serious than running a red light. (I have won in traffic court on my own!) Fortunately, I came to my senses and got a lawyer. I've only taken a couple of golf lessons in my life, opting instead to teach myself what is one of the more difficult games to master. My scores probably haven't improved significantly in ten years. Do you think a few lessons from a professional might just get me over that hump? Do you think I'll seek out one?

This is just one of those things I don't think that I'll ever be able to change. It is too engrained in me on a base level to alter. No matter how many, and how big, the mistakes I make I likely won't reach out until I'm desperate... like my first therapy visit. Although, when I asked for help at my former employer and was roundly ignored and told I needed to work it out on my own it had an opposite effect. I took the snub as a signal that it was time to leave and that landed me out here. How's that working out so far? So much for asking for help!

Ponder Fonder

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder."
Sextus Propertius, Roman Poet, (? - 15 BC)

"Not Always"
just bob, hopeless adult (1967 AD - ?)

I spent a lot of the last two years getting up weekdays at 6:00am. I did this to listen to the Howard Stern show on Sirius. The show was funny at times, amusing at times, and much more worthy than anything on regular radio at that hour of the morning. Anyway... the show took its two-week summer vacation the first part of July. While it was in reruns, I slept in a little later and generally found other diversions in the morning. When he returned, I was off on my week vacation followed by week away at a conference. Of course while I was jumping around the country for two weeks the last thing on my mind was a radio show. Then last week, once I was finally settled back at the Abode of Bobness, I turned on the radio to find the show in reruns for another week. That made five straight weeks without the show. So this morning, I flipped on the radio when I woke up (not at 6:00am) to listen live for the first time in over a month. I couldn't make it through 30 minutes. I had absolutely no interest at all. It wasn't informative, it wasn't entertaining, it had me scrambling to turn on CNN.

As I thought about it more, absence doesn't always make my heart grow fonder. As much as I like the city of Boston, I don't have a compelling urge to return anytime soon. Ditto for where I grew up in South Florida. The further removed I am from them, the less I want to go back. Even with all of the people I know in both places, I'm plenty content seeing them outside of going back. The same applies for such things as television shows I've given up, great restaurants that I've visited, and other people/places/things that once held an important role in my life but didn't grow fonder being away.

Now that's not to say things never grow fonder for me. There are places I've gone and people I've known that I'd very much like to see again. The distance in both miles and time away from them make me yearn to be reacquainted with them. They become dearer because I had so little time with them but made a true connection. But those things are the exception rather than the rule. Maybe it's my general outlook on life, maybe it's my loner nature, but it takes a lot to make my heart grow fonder. I don't know if that's good or bad. I do know I get to sleep later during the week, and that's good.

What did I just eat?

I just finished my big meal of the day. It's 3:30 in the afternoon. So, here is my conundrum. What exactly do you call what I just ate? Those of us versed in the Americanized version of the English language have taken the words "breakfast" and 'lunch" to form the word brunch. Of course, brunch is used to describe a meal which falls between the traditional hours that breakfast and lunch are served. It is a late breakfast and early lunch combined into one.

So why has it taken so long to find a word to describe a meal that takes place during the hours between lunch and dinner? Certainly I'm not the only person in the history of civilization that has chosen to eat a substantial meal between the lunch hour and dinner hour. I'm guessing anyone who has done this in the past is either not as smart as me or too lazy to make the effort to find a moniker for this most rare of meals. Well my ten faithful readers, I have determined that this travesty of the English language can go on no longer. Therefore, I shall submit to you a number of suggestions that could eventually lead to the creation of a new word. Short of siring any heirs (which will never happen for obvious reasons), my sole legacy may be my contribution to the language.

lunner: In the tradition of "brunch," if you take lunch+dinner you have the best candidate for the dictionary.
linner: a variation of lunner, lunch+dinner would yield this option. In my opinion, both lunner and linner have great potential. I personally would opt for lunner as it most closely resembles brunch which has already gained worldwide acceptance.
lupper: For those of you not familar with southern hospitality, dinner is called "supper" south of the Mason-Dixon Line. Therefore, I feel compelled to offer this option (lunch+supper). I can't wholeheartedly endorse this one due to its only regional appeal.
dinch: While not chronologically correct, this approach does need to considered. This is dinner+lunch .
dunch: As above, it is a variation of dinch dinner+lunch. In all fairness, I don't believe dinch and dunch are appropriate because the contractions are in inverse order, placing dinner before lunch which is not correct.

So there you have it. A chance to make history and leave a mark on our society. To qualify for inclusion in any dictionary, a word must gain popular acceptance and frequent use. Therefore, I need you to literally "spread the word" and start using your preferred version of the words above. I'd ask that "lunner" be your choice, but I leave it up to you and your best judgement.

Guess who???

Somebody's birthday is tomorrow...

just bob needs...

The most random of Random Chick's tagged me with the following meme. Now realize this is two different meme's in one week, but this one is too delicious (after previewing the results) to pass up.

Rules: Google "Your name needs" and describe the first ten results.

1. just bob... needs a full time band - I'll take O.A.R.

2. just bob... needs a date - No kidding, is it that obvious?

3. just bob... needs to go - Especially after that first cup of Starbucks in the morning

4. just bob... needs a life - Now this is getting annoyingly accurate

5. just bob... Bob Planet to fulfill all your Bob needs - I thought The Essence of Bobness fulfilled all your Bob needs. Are you cheating on me?

6. just bob... needs a home - Make mine somewhere other than here

7. just bob... Robert Needs - What a name. Refer to #2, #8, and #9

8. just bob... Robert Needs Money - I'm all for that. Bring it on.

9. just bob... needs cleaner - I do need a cleaner, preferably this one

10. just bob... needs a fair trial. I was framed, I swear I didn't do it.

A Way to Say I'll Play Today

It started with a poem
by some Random Chick
a story of her ass
and how it was so sick.

The story struck me funny
I needed to reply,
but how to frame an answer
it made me want to sigh.

So I took it upon myself
and came up with this thought
I'll answer with a rhyme
and put her on the spot.

I took some quiet time
and made the words all fit
I sent them on their way
the comment was a hit.

I didn't think much of it
until her next fun writing
My reply did rhyme again
another poetic sighting.

What started a month ago
now has a life all its own
I can't seem to stop
the obsession has quite grown.

Every thing I write now
all comes out in meter,
I can not seem to waver
my devotion doesn't teeter.

It does not matter how
the words are to be written
I have abandoned prose
with poetry I am smitten.

It could be a report
a memo or an email,
It lately always rhymes
at this I do not fail.

Needing for this to end
I'm calling for a truce
between my conscious mind
and my inner Dr. Seuss.

I have but one more poem
to pen for a big fan
A birthday celebration
for Blottie dear Suzanne.

My rhyming style of writing
will then have a new look,
Unless someone pays me
To write a children's book.

So if they find the money
and assign me that great job
you someday may be reading
of an author named just bob.

Rekindled Professionalism

I frequently get this sense when I return from a conference. While these forums are designed to promote new business, provide educational tracks and gather as an industry to discuss the important issues of the day, I have always found this to be the most valuable thing I get out of conference attendance. Professionalism. Whenever I return from a conference, I become motivated to perform my job better and with a higher quality than when I left. Not to brag but I'm pretty good at what I do. I'm certainly no expert in the field, but after seeing some of my colleagues in action I believe that I'm a cut above some of them. Striving to set higher goals is never a bad thing in my book.

A big part of attending these conferences for me is the networking with other industry professionals. In our everyday lives, we often become bogged down in the monotony of the tasks at hand and the people with whom we work. It very quickly can become the same people, the same faces, doing the same things, day in and day out. It's a joy to sit down with your contemporaries to talk about issues and successes, get feedback on some of the ideas you are working on, and receive advice on problems you may be encountering. Immersing myself in five days of this environment is much like a Fountain of Youth for me. Even though I might be exhausted at the end of these conferences from the trauma of traveling, late nights, bad food, and excessive alcohol consumption, I am always inspired to bring back the newest and best ideas to my workplace. I relish the chance to convey this rediscovered attitude to an awaiting staff.

Then I come back to this... the childish drivel, infantile behavior, and destructive environment of my current workplace. I swear to you Internet, it's like moderating a group of five years old that can't play together without fighting over the toys or kicking sand out of the sandbox. I greedily cling to the professionalism of those people I just left last week while I struggle to bring some sense of it to the people to whom I've returned. My personal career growth this past week has been impressive. While my week vacation relieved at great deal of stress and angst, the week at the conference rekindled the faintly flickering light that was my affection for what I do. It has fueled a confidence that I haven't felt for quite some time.

In a better world, all of this would spur me onto greater heights where I work. Instead, it pushes me to search elsewhere for the professional environment I need to thrive. I know there is no way I can adequately improve the atmosphere of my current workplace enough to make it worth the effort. There will never be that type of professionalism in this place. The guiding force for this dramatic shift would have to come from the top, and I don't believe the will or ability to foster that kind of change exists with my boss. But the freshly renewed aura of professionalism resides inside of me. I'll nurture it the best I can, share it in small doses with those people who will cherish it, and stockpile the remainder for my next stop. The next organization that employs me will get a much better version of the person that left for Anaheim just over one week ago.

Sunday night update

I'm proud of myself. I made a last minute push at the end of the night but by 9:00pm Sunday my weekend to-do list ended up looking like this:

1. Clean the bathroom, except the crud on the shower doors (need more cleaner)
2. Clean the kitchen, no sparks, no explosions
3. Do the dishes, both machine and hand wash because my dishwasher sucks
4. Sweep the patio
5. Vacuum, dust, and straighten the living room
6. Reorganize the den
7. Buy groceries
8. Do laundry

* - added for Sunday
* Sent out resume and application
* Watched NASCAR race from Pocono

So much for planning

As many of you know, I've been away from the Abode of Bobness for about two weeks now. First was the vacation to see the family, then after a brief respite I was off again to a work conference in shaky Anaheim. Therefore, there are some things back here that definitely needed my attention. Being the semi-organized person that I claim to be, I made a list chores that I wanted to tackle this weekend before heading back to the office on Monday. Here's what that list looks like:

1. Clean the bathroom
2. Clean the kitchen (without blowing it up)
3. Do the dishes
4. Sweep the patio
5. Vacuum, dust, and straighten the living room
6. Reorganize the den
7. Buy groceries
8. Do laundry

It's a fairly aggressive list, but spread over two days completely reasonable. So, it's 8:30pm and this is the what I've actually accomplished so far:

1. Woke up at 8:30am
2. Drank a whole pot of coffee
3. Completed a backlog of online crossword puzzles
4. Read blogs, replied to blogs, read the newer blogs from today
5. Played Flight Simulator
6. Watched the NASCAR race from Montreal
7. Bought groceries
8. Shortened the to-do list for Sunday
9. Wrote a blog

(not an actual photo, but a fair representation)

Looks like I'm off to a good start. No sense jumping into these things too quickly.