Master of None

From Russia With Love

2006-06-19T23:51:00.000-05:00

Of all of my accounts of stupidity, I can believe I left this one out.

If you think back far enough, you’ve probably been guilty of wanting something you couldn’t have. I definitely have, and if you can guess what it is, I’ll rename this blog in your honor.

Okay, now that we’ve figured out that you didn’t guess it, here goes:

I wanted to be in the marching band.

I think I’ve mentioned before that I went to a small public school (same building Kindergarten through 12th grade) that was strapped for resources to say the least. As a result, this lack of resources led to no football team, which led to no school band. Actually there were only three extracurricular activities, playing baseball, playing basketball or watching one of the first two options.

So how did my marching band foray play out? When I started my freshman year of college, I continued taking piano lessons—I would finish with 11 years total when I figured out that an accounting degree and a minor in piano was not going to mesh. I actually auditioned for a teacher before school started, so I was on campus late in the summer one day right before band camp. The teacher asked me if I would be interested in the band. I quickly explained that I probably should not be considered because I thought it was a little too late to learn to toot “Stars and Stripes Forever” while marching in a straight line. He countered with that they needed another percussionist in the pit to play the xylophone. I could probably handle that; after all there would be no marching, and all of those years of piano lessons would probably translate well.

I had always wanted to play in the band. You could imagine my excitement. I only had a few weeks to learn the music that everyone else had been practicing all summer, but I put in overtime to master it. The show was a collection of songs from various James Bond movies. I loved it. I loved the music. I loved the geekiness of the bandies. Hell, I even loved James Bond. The first halftime show came a few weeks later, and I was great. I’ll admit it. Tina Turner herself could not have churned out a more moving version of “Golden Eyes.”

So, first week down and I’m really starting to enjoy this. Then Monday came.

It turns out that one of the members of the brass section got kicked out of school for drug use or something like that. Normally this wouldn’t be a big deal except that the guy was a tuba player. You heard me, TUBA. Apparently, the entire halftime show had been choreographed around eight tubas; so only having seven wouldn’t work. So, I had to learn to march that tuba in four days. I was so scared. Not only did I not know how to march, I didn’t know the show. These seasoned veterans in the band world had been rehearsing for weeks. The band director thought that my liability as a novice marcher was less than that of an unbalanced visual presentation of “Secret Agent Man.”

Showtime arrives at the end of the week, and I’m a nervous wreck. If you haven’t figured out by now, I had no intentions (nor any expectations from anyone else) of actually playing music. I was just the show balancer. Not an easy feat when there are 250 people (counting dance line) on the field and I’m carrying the tuba, which can topple me over if the wind blows strongly enough.

You can probably guess where this is headed. I got confused once the show started, and before I knew it, I was in the midst of a pack of flutists. I ran into one and she fell. By the time I found my place in line, the show was almost over. I was almost off the field before someone in the stands noticed that I didn’t have a mouthpiece.

I kept with it though, and before long I was marching—complete with mouthpiece—like a pro. I continued on with the tuba, and got asked to play the cymbals during Christmas parade season. You would think this would be easier, but just imagine me running down the street in Belmont, Mississippi looking for my cymbal after the leather strap broke.

After that one season I retired my marching shoes. I did have a good time though, as I usually do. As I have proven, you don’t necessarily have to know how to play a tuba (or even know what the mouthpiece is) to be a tuba player.

Coping with an all-out 5-alarm technological breakdown

2006-06-04T15:49:00.000-05:00

I’m convinced that my dependence on modern miracles--technology as we know it—was gradual. I cannot pinpoint an exact time that it happened. Now as I suffer through it, I can see how it has changed my life, both for the better and worse.

To give you a status update, here’s where I stand in the breakdown. I STILL have no cable or internet access. However, God-willing, we have an appointment for service on Tuesday. This comes after a customer service representative at Cox cable told my wife last week that it could be up to a year before our service could be installed. I promptly called the corporate office in Atlanta and spoke to someone in the Customer Relations department. We had our appointment by the end of the afternoon. This is 8 weeks after our promised service date. Anyway, on to the other ingredients in my breakdown.

Before we moved, we thought our monitor had gone out on our home PC. So, in anticipation of our reunion with high-speed internet service, I bought a new flat panel model on Ebay. When I hooked it up and realized that the monitor was not the problem, I was very scared. Fortunately, with the help of a techno-genius friend in Louisiana, I got the computer back and running and still have a new monitor. I still feel like I might be in a leaky-roof situation though and know that a computer upgrade is on the horizon. Plus, the speakers no longer work, but I can live with that.

After 3 ½ years of faithful service, I regret to say that our Sony digital camera passed away this week. This one is very disturbing. I cannot even estimate how many pictures we have taken. We recorded the moving to two new cities, two new homes, the arrival of our daughter and all of her milestones to date, plus tons of other photos that would not have been worthy of a photo if I had been forced to pay for processing! As with the computer, we knew that this replacement was coming. We were not ashamed that our camera was so much bulkier than the new sleek models that everyone else was sporting, nor the fact that the memory card door had broken off. So, I started the process of looking through sales papers today.

TiVo. Some might consider this trivial, but none of those people actually have TiVo. We cannot use this service because it runs on our home network, which is obviously out since we do not have internet service. It’s also pointless right now because we get 1.75 channels with our rabbit ears.

And today I find out that our VCR may too have gone on to be with the Lord. (We were only using the VCR as a backup to TiVo.)

What have I learned from my breakdown?

Before this breakdown, I brought the office home with me a lot. I didn’t realize how many additional hours I was putting in at my job from home. With a home network and a wireless card, I was almost as efficient at home as I was in my office.

I watch a lot of TV. I’m okay with this though. I could be doing worse things. Hell, I live in Las Vegas, I could be gambling all the time! I have also realized that local television stations have come to believe that their answer to cable networks is almost-continuous local news. Since I basically only have ABC, this one hits close to home. There are only so many local stories, and dragging them out over 10 hours per day is a recipe for absolute boredom. Last night I even tried to watch PBS!!!

I had forgotten that prior to the internet, we used newspapers, telephones and even maps to find where we were going and what movies were playing. This has been a crippling discovery living in a new town.

So where does this leave me?

I want my MTV. Will I even watch MTV once I have cable? Probably not, but I am very ready to return to my technologically enriched life, and hopefully I will be on the track to its return by Tuesday! I’ll keep you posted.

Is there anyone left in Ohio?—well, maybe Idaho too.

2006-05-12T10:47:00.000-05:00

Until my move to present career position, I was always traveling for work. It had its ups and downs, but I did get to see many parts of the US that I probably would not have seen otherwise—does anyone take pleasure trips to Muskogee, Oklahoma?

I’m also a noticer of details, despite my surroundings. When I say details, I mean the really minute things that really do not matter. For example, when I receive a forward, I rarely spend the time to learn about Bill Gates giving me a trip to Disney World or what some extremist Republican (or Democrat) is saying about all of the Mexicans hopping the fence. What I do read are the various distribution lists of who received the email with or before me. Every now and then I’ll recognize a name that I haven’t thought of in years. So, you will usually not hear me complaining about forwards.

Another one of my stupid little habits is noticing every car tag that ever passes me. I’m not sure why I do this, but I always have. One thing that has always stuck out to me is the number of tags I see from Ohio. This has been true when I was home in Atlanta, or even now home in Las Vegas. Those people from Ohio love to travel and they love to do it in their car!

(By the way, does anyone know what you call people from Ohio? Seriously, people from Mississippi are Mississippians, Georgia = Georgians, Nevada – Nevadans. What are the folks from Ohio called?)

Just last week I was going home for lunch (my new Thursday thing since (a) I now have a home again and (b) I get to see Mrs. MoN, baby MoN, and Jack Pete.) and I saw two Ohio tags in a row. They weren’t even on the interstate, but rather a surface street. This is not an isolated incident either. I see them all the time.

At first I thought I was just seeing Idaho tags, because they are very similar in their red-white-blue design, but no, for the most part they are still from Ohio. With gas prices soaring, I’m afraid that some of those Ohio people are going to get stuck somewhere that’s not Ohio.

Am I crazy, or does anyone else notice stupid things like this?

How May I Help You?

2006-04-30T19:09:00.000-05:00

Most people I know have had “incidents” with customer service. I consider this to be normal for others. However, this is not normal for me. Let me give you a recap of my dealings with those in the service industry just in the past week.

Last Saturday: We decided to order pizza. My favorite chain-restaurant pizza is Papa Johns. We never ate Papa Johns in Atlanta because there was not one anywhere near our ghetto. Imagine my delight when I saw one just ten minutes away. I looked up the number and gave them a call. I gave my address, then the two major cross-streets out here in the desert. The salesgirl then told me that they couldn’t deliver to me because I am about ¼ of a mile outside of the delivery area. I’m okay with this and then proceed to say, “Then I need to place an order for pick-up. . .”CLICK. She had hung up on me. I call back immediately and get the same person. She starts the whole spill about needing my address. I tell her that I’m the same guy that she just hung up on. She quickly responds “No I didn’t.” Anyway, I picked up the pizza myself 25 minutes later.

Ongoing: We still do not have cable, thus no home internet. Every time I call the cable company, the customer service rep of the hour explains that my address is not in their system and that the lines have been not been run. Then, he is quick to tell me that it’s not their fault, but that of the builder of my community. So, I call the builder, he quickly blames the cable company. It turns out that it’s a contractor of the cable company that has not run the lines. Regardless, cable keeps pushing the earliest possible date two weeks.

(As mentioned above, “someone else’s fault”. I have encountered this numerous times since moving to Nevada. Most people I deal with here are very defensive about EVERYTHING. Everyone is quick to tell me that it’s not their fault. This was also evident at my workplace. It was so bad that I had to call a meeting to tell them that I never want to hear those words again, but rather solutions. And now, on with the story.)

Yesterday afternoon: The post office. I’m sure this is a shocker for everyone. As our condo is in a construction zone, our mailbox is inaccessible. As a result, our mail is held at the post office and we have to go pick it up. Keep in mind that I live in one of the fastest growing areas in the country. Many others are in my situation, so the wait at the post office to pick up the mail is about 45 minutes on average. We had put it off for a week and thought we might should see if there was anything pressing. So, I wait in the line. I finally made it to the front, and the clerk was gone back to get my mail when the fire alarm went off. A supervisor came running out screaming everyone out. I’m cringing because my mail was so close to being delivered. They would not let me have it and we all had to retreat to the parking lot. I waited in the hot sun (remember I do live in Nevada now and we are already in the mid-90s) for 10 minutes when the supervisor informed us that it could be a long time because she didn’t know what was going on.

Last night: We went to Wal-Mart after dinner to return a ceiling fan that I had bought that was complete with stripped screws. (I’m not very handy anyway, so you can imagine how pissed I was over those screws). So, we get in to Wal-Mart and the line at the customer service desk is unusually short. I tell Mrs. MoN, “I’m just going to get a refund then we’ll buy another one so I don't have to stand in line again.” The customer service manager convinces me not to do this because it will be easy to do an easy swap-out. I reluctantly agree, and leave the ceiling fan in pursuit of another one. Of course, they were out of the fan that I originally bought, so I had to get another one that was $4 more. By the time we get back to the front of the store, there are 20 people in line. We wait forever. I’m kicking myself over this one.

I tell all these stories because this is the way of my life in any situation where I am forced to depend on others. This is not extraordinary, this is a typical week in my life. I’m scared to think about what we and the cable company will go through before we are actually hooked up. Plus next week we are getting new driving licenses and car tags, so I’m sure that will go smoothly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Other tidbits from my new life in the desert.

Our dog, Jack Pete made it in Thursday night. He arrived via air cargo, and it’s good to have him back. Our backyard is just dirt though, and he couldn’t do his business out there. So, I try to find some pine straw to put on the ground because that’s what we had in Atlanta. After calling every home improvement store and nursery in the area, I realized that you can’t get it in the desert. Further more, most of the people I talked to did not even know what it was (I guess that comes from there being no trees out here.)

One day this week the weather man on the local news said that the humidity was a “whopping 15%”. Obviously someone who has never been to the South.

Kroger is known as “Smiths.” But don’t worry, you can still use the Kroger card there. (As if you were worried about my grocery savings!)

Even incorrect grammar here is different. The big mistakes that I hear are “these ones” and “those ones”. I had never heard that before moving out here. Oh, and several of my co-workers say the term “inputteded.” I assume they are trying to convey the past tense of input.

Tidbits

2006-04-14T13:47:00.000-05:00

Move status: Almost all boxes are unboxed. The piano got a small ding, but moving insurance should cover the repair. The dishwasher and oven both are not working, but Sears should be out today to fix.

We have no cable yet, and it will probably be weeks because we have new construction. As a result, I have a flat screen television with a pair of rabbit ears hanging off of it. I can get three channels well and I can watch one more if it is a show that I really want to see. It brings back horrible nightmares of my growing-up days in Mississippi before we had cable. We had the large pole antenna above our house. To get certain stations (the selection was all of five) my dad would stand outside twisting the pole while one of us screamed, “a little more, a little more, wait, no, a little more, stop. You missed it, go back a little. . . . . . . .”.

Injuries: I missed the bottom step yesterday with a box full of books. I may have twisted my ankle, but I’m figuring out that the worst part is the massive carpet burn I sustained. One good thing is that Mrs. MoN let me have the couch last night and waited on me hand and, well, foot, literally.

Baby MoN and Jack Pete (you didn’t forget my dog did you?) arrive next week. Then this relocation from hell will finally be over.

ION

If you are one of my faithful readers, you’ll recall how I compared my Mississippi home with my more recent one in Atlanta based on the stores. Mississippi had a “Discount Shoes and Gutters” store while Atlanta had “Wigs and Beepers.” Well, apparently this is not just a Southern thing. Last week there was a robbery here in Las Vegas at the “Exotic Birds and Batteries” store. The combinations are endless. . . .

Have a good Easter weekend.

The end of the marathon is near; I’m tired, the finish lines keeps moving and I’m afraid my toenails are about to fall off!

2006-04-07T00:55:00.000-05:00

The catchy title has bits of truth in every word. I’ve heard that many runners lose their toe nails after a marathon. I’m having feet problems that I’m sure stem from the week-to-week hotel I shower in, but that’s a different story.

Okay, I’m sorry I left. I needed time to have 27 mental breakdowns. It will take me a while to catch you up, I’m not sure if it will be in this post or not. I have to get up in a few hours but I can’t bring myself to go to bed. I’m not sure if anyone still checks here for a post—but I’ll do this as a trial run to see.

The house closing was today. I say the closing, but it really wasn’t. Nevada has some crazy rules for buying a house. Here are the highlights:

Final walkthrough: Dented refrigerator, which I was going to let slide until I kept getting pissed off so I told them it had to be replaced. At one point when I was pointing out paint touch ups the guy told me that “over 100 hands worked on your house” and we can’t be sure of everything that happened. Very consoling to a new homeowners. Plus, the pre-wire for two ceiling fans in the other bedrooms was missing. I pointed out that this could have been avoided if they had scheduled my pre-wallboard wiring walkthrough AFTER they had finished the wiring.

Funds: It took me 30 minutes to get a bank certified check because I finally had to call my bank back in Atlanta to temporarily raise my ATM limit so my new bank here could give me the money.

Title company: The signer (what they’re called in the business) came in and never even introduced herself. 10 minutes later she was in a shouting fight with my realtor. We almost walked out. The realtor actually did walk out and hunted down this woman’s supervisor. She was pulled out for a few minutes and came back in with a different attitude. PLUS, the lending company tried to sneak in an addendum that was not discussed. At that point I refused to sign until it was taken care of.

Possession: We were supposed to have the keys Monday. Now they’re saying Tuesday or Wednesday. This was another huge fight between the builder and me. I was really pissed this time because of. . . .

The movers: I should add that they are not at fault here. I scheduled the movers for Tuesday after confirming THREE F#$KING TIMES with the builder. The movers are coming from Wisconsin because that’s where every possession I have is in storage (long story, don’t ask). So, we were able to put them off for 1 day, but Wednesday is all they have. If we don’t get the keys that morning, they have to pull out that night to be in Phoenix on Saturday. Yes, I’m still uncertain how that’s going to go.

So, that was my day. I got to the office at 3:30 because my boss had been calling my cell phone. Of course he’s in Atlanta, so I missed him.

ION. My baby turned 1 today. She’s in Mississippi where she and Mrs. MoN have been staying with grandparents since I’m living in a rathole. I’m devastated that I wasn’t there, but I’m flying back tomorrow for her big party on Saturday. Hopefully by next weekend we’ll all be together again. Mrs. MoN returns with me on Sunday so at least tonight is my last night alone.

Around the first of March I went off of the company expense account since I no longer had a house to pay for in Atlanta. So, trying to cut costs and save as much as possible, I now reside at the Budget Budget Suites. (Not a typo, that’s exactly how their sign reads) It’s a rathole, but what can you do? It was costing $5,000 a month to stay in real hotels, plus this is the busiest time of the year in Las Vegas. I’ll write a post later about my two trips (and hopefully only two) trips to the local Family Dollar to buy $15 cookware—yes the whole set cost $15.

Work is the only thing in my life that is calming down. I’m really starting to get the hang of the new job, and I’m actually enjoying it.

I wasn’t sure I would return to the blog. I have missed it, but a close friend told me a few months ago that he didn’t read it, because he didn’t need to hear someone else make fun of Mississippi. I hope people see this as something else. Why would I need to make fun of MS? My family and most of my friends still live there. It also just happens to be the backdrop of where a lot of my funny moments in life take place. Let me know how you feel about this.

Soon this move will be over and I will hopefully return to my usual material—although I could really go off on immigration reform right now! There’s probably a few more posts though that I will write to talk about the screw ups that are bound to happen as I complete this relocation. Honestly, have you ever known anyone to have this much trouble moving???

Someone moved my cheese, and I have a long list of the assholes that I found eating on it!

2006-01-31T23:59:00.000-05:00

Thanks to all three of you who have been checking back at this site only to find out that I haven’t posted. Here’s the scoop, and after reading it, you probably won’t blame me.

Most of the month of January was probably the hardest time of my life so far. This relocation has been much more difficult than I anticipated. 75% of my anxiety has been the result of our trying to sell our house in Atlanta.

I believe my last post was a month ago, so here’s what happened in between.

We were very optimistic at the first of the year. Lots of traffic during the holidays, and everything was bound to pick up right away. At least that’ what the realtor kept telling us (At this point it’s important for me to clarify two things: (1) We had an offer—not good, but an offer none-the-less—from my company if we didn’t sell our house after marketing it for 90 days and (2) if we took that offer, our realtor didn’t get a penny). So, the realtor is trying his best to keep our spirits up and his too. Mrs. MoN and I were certain that something would happen within three weeks.

Week 2: nothing yet. One couple keeps looking at it, but will not make a move. Still, we are getting lots of traffic. The company is putting pressure on me to lower my price—they really do not want to have to buy my house, and I don’t want them too. I try to hold out one more week.

Week 3: Bastard neighbors put their house on the market for $7,000 less than us. This is after they had already scoped out house at the open house. Next day: we lower our price by $5,000. This just screams weakness. Couple from above comes back again and brings parents. By Saturday, they made an offer. It was horrible. If there’s such a thing as rape in the real estate world, that’s what we got. We countered back.

Author’s Note: I’m really not just pissed about the neighbors putting their house on the market when mine was already there. They truly are bastard neighbors. Two summers ago when theft was flourishing in our neighborhood, I personally went to their front door to invite them to a neighborhood meeting at my house to discuss solutions such as neighborhood watch, etc. They laughed in my face and said that they generally weren’t interested in little things like that. From that point I wanted to steal their shit myself!

The counter-offering would go on for days. We finally got a fairly good deal, and more importantly, they gave up first. Our close date is February 27, but the company will take control before that, so we are finished once the movers take our stuff away.

I know what you’re thinking, that’s not enough to be considered the worst month of your life. And your right. NOW. . . factor in all of the following with the above:

WORK: The year end close out could not have gone worse. My staff accountant quit right before it started. We missed our big deadline by two whole days and a lot of people were pissed at our results. Not my fault mind you, but stressful to say the least. By this time I’m eating Tums and not much else. I was sinking at work. I was literally getting hours of requests per day in addition to the work that my short-handed staff was supposed to be doing. I logged over 500 emails that week.

LIVING: The second largest convention of the year came to town that week, and as a result, any hotel rooms to be found (not many) were $800 per night. To avoid this, I had to move hotels 4 times in one week. That’s hard to do when you’re dragging your whole life around in Rubbermaid containers.

BACK HOME IN ATLANTA: It seems that my stroke of bad luck has rubbed off on Mrs. MoN. Everything she does goes wrong. She doesn’t complain much to me because she knows that I’m just a few catastrophes away from an extended stay in the crazy house. But, I know that she’s struggling. While I’m battling my troubles out here, she’s working a full-time job, being a single parent to our daughter and keeping a house spotlessly clean to be shown by real estate agents at any moment.

In addition, Baby MoN learned to crawl. Imagine my guilt not being there. Enough said.

OUR NEW HOME HERE: Keep in mind that something was not going to work had we not sold our home in Atlanta. Our plan is for Mrs. MoN to stay at home once out here. We were going to have to choose between renting and this had the house not sold. We never really talked about it because I don’t think either one of us could bear the thought. So, I was talking to the builder here as if we had plenty of money and everything was right on plan, while all the time I knew that I might be about to lose the $2,000 earnest money I had put down, plus be back at square one.

MY HEALTH: I certainly didn’t count on this. The stress, poor nutrition and frequent travel on planes has taken its toll on me. I have been sick a lot. I missed two days of work two days ago because I had a fever of 102. I thought I might even have the flu. To add insult to my situation, my insurance would not cover me since I was out of state and we will not change it over until we have a house here. Their response to my 102 fever: “We only cover emergencies out of state, and BCBS of Georgia HMO does not consider a cold or even the flu to be an emergency.”

And so, that’s what was going on while I didn’t post. I kinda became a hermit all around. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, because it just made me even more depressed. I ate lunch most days and that was it. I was working 14-16 hours per day, and crashing in the bed when it was over.

BUT. . . . . . .Everything is looking up now. The house is under contract, the movers have been scheduled. We are ready and waiting for the new condo to be ready (yes condo, if you look at real estate, you understand why they say Nevada is the new California). Work is getting under control, slowly but surely. Our next month-end close begins Friday. I didn’t even get sick when I made another return trip to Atlanta this past weekend.

More to come, I promise. Here’s a teaser: My mom called tonight and told me the latest community gossip concerning a cemetery plot, a headstone and a divorced son-in-law who’s trying to guarantee his resting spot for eternity!

Happy New Year (brought to you by Rubbermaid)

2006-01-02T00:09:00.000-05:00

Happy New Year Everyone.

Mrs. MoN journeyed back to Las Vegas with me for the holiday. She went home today. For New Year’s Eve we had dinner with some of my co-workers, then went to see Celine Dion’s New Day concert at Caesar’s Palace. I must say that it was really good (despite making fun of Kimpossible’s New Day houseshoes earlier this year). Afterwards we went to the strip, and it was amazing. I haven’t seen that many people (nor smelled as much pot) since I went to Mardi Gras in New Orleans in college.

Okay, so an update as to where I’ve been since my last post and where I’m headed.

CHRISTMAS WAS WONDERFUL. 8 days with my wife and daughter and dog. We got tons of gifts and cash. I honestly get more now than I did when I was a kid. For any of you who are parentless, have a kid. You really reap the benefits at Christmas!

We have two cars, a Ford Explorer and a VW Jetta. My company had the Explorer shipped here to Las Vegas back in November. We didn’t think about trying to get to Mississippi for Christmas in the Jetta. It was horrible! We had the car so packed down that the dog had to sit in our laps. When we stopped in Birmingham to feed the baby, we had to feed her through the car window!

On the stop in Birmingham mentioned above, I was walking the dog when a man (he was stopped to air up a tire and get a turkey from his neighbor—don’t ask) stopped me to ask about the dog. He proceeded to tell me that he had 4 of his own, the last one being a “stud fee.” This is what I love about the South—strangers are friendly! It was then that I knew I was almost home.

Now I’m back at work, living in hotels (3 separate ones this week due to a big convention coming to town) and out of Rubbermaid containers. With all of my Christmas loot, I’ve had to add a shopping bag to the collection until I can buy more Rubbermaid.

We are in the middle of year-end close at work, so it’s very busy. My accountant has quit, and his last day was Friday. So now on top of selling a house I have a job opening. I’m just a walking classified ad. Yes, we are still trying to sell that house.

This is a high-level summary of what’s going on. In addition, I’m shedding. I am losing the outermost layer skin on my hands, and I don’t know why.

Rubbermaid, Homelessness and Pillows

2005-12-18T15:40:00.000-05:00

Anyone who has ever done long-term travel alone knows that the weekends are the worst. Friday nights are not that bad because I’ve been so exhausted that I just crash. But by Saturday afternoon, it’s so boring. Any thrills that Las Vegas might have had have all been lost on me. And surprisingly, I haven’t really done that much in a tourist way. It’s just so depressing doing things by myself. This is quite odd if you know me, because normally I don’t mind time to myself. I guess 5 weeks is my limit.

I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this, but my car has made it out here. It took 10 days to ship and arrived a few weeks ago. It’s nice to have one familiar thing with me.

I think most of you know that we are under some pressure about selling our house. Regardless of how that turns out, I’m looking to be out here for 3 or 4 weeks (at the minimum) on no expense account. My “temporary living” expenses expire at 90 days, so beginning February, I will truly be homeless. It’s already bad enough; I have a Rubbermaid container that I keep groceries, laundry detergent, etc. in. Every time I check out of a hotel I pile my stuff in it and load it in my car.

The problem will be lodging. Currently I am in a no-frills extended stay hotel at which I get a deeply discounted corporate rate. Still, this room is around $600 per week. I don’t want to swing that when I’m on my own, so I may be going to shady hotels that give weekly or monthly rates and can be negotiated based on $cash$. I’m sure there’s going to be a story there!

Last night I finished reading Barbara Ehrenreich’s Nickel and Dimed. The book exposes the difficulty of getting by in America working unskilled jobs at entry-level wages. It was really good and insightful, especially at this time of my life. I originally read the review at The Infinite Abyss.

Last night I ventured out to find another book and to also buy some pillows because the ones at my hotel are bags of rocks. Honestly, who in hotel management would actually think, “We can skimp on the pillows because those never really matter to anyone anyway.” Now when I pack up, I can throw the pillows on top of my Rubbermaid.

ION

One of my employees gave his notice on Friday night. I guess he’s off to greener pastures or either hates me. Regardless, I’ve got an accounting position open if anyone’s interested in moving to Vegas.

I am going home for a week on Wednesday. On Thursday we will be journeying to Mississippi to be with the families. Then Mrs. MoN is coming back to Vegas with me for New Year’s Eve.

Extended Stay Hotels, The Termite Man, Disney on Ice and Strippers

2005-12-09T01:07:00.000-05:00

Random one tonight. I had to post about the most depressing thing I've seen in a long time. I'm staying in an extended stay hotel now, which is better for my situation because I have a kitchenette and more importantly, a refrigerator AND a place to do laundry (it cost me $34 for a pair of jeans, two shirts and some underwear my first trip out!). The only thing more depressing about checking in to this hotel and telling them that I would be here for TWELVE NIGHTS (on top of the 7 that I was at a regular hotel) was that two nights ago someone had set up a mini Christmas tree in their room and opened their blinds so that all the world could see. Need I say more?

Extended stays are interesting places though. Just a few nights ago I was driving up (9p.m.) when 12 or so guys ran out with laptops up and running, slapped about 10 antennas on 3 minivans and roared out of the parking lot.

Oh, and the thermastat in my room is either 80 degress or 60, there's no in-between. Tonight I'm having an 80 night so I'm quite warm.

I had a call today from my alarm company, the first time that has ever happened. I should have figured it would, because everything seems to go wrong when I'm out-of-town. It was just the termite man though trying to get into the crawl space.

My brother called tonight. He was just checking in because we haven't talked in several weeks. He told me that he and his wife had taken my neice to see "Disney on Ice" tonight. He finished by saying, "You'll be doing that soon too in a few years. Well, OUT THERE, you'll probably be going to some topless show on ice." I didn't know what to say. So I just replied with "Yeah, probably."

This is probably a sign of my brother's disapproval of our decision to move here. I've never mentioned my brother, so let me give a quick comparison of him and me. He's 4 years older and the most virtuous, moral, ethical man I know. For example, when he was in high school, he would come home at 8:00 on a Friday night and tell my parents that he left early because he thought his friends were going somewhere where there might be alcohol. When I was in high school, I was calling up my friends to remind them that I needed their $15 because we had found someone to make a run to the liquor store. We have nothing in common other than both being accountants. I think you get the picture. I'm anticipating one trip out to visit us while we live here, and I'm sure he will be thoroughly repulsed.

On a lighter note. . .I'M GOING HOME TOMORROW. I can't wait to see my wife and my little girl and my dog, even though Mrs. MoN says he really smells. Rumor has it that my daughter has said "mama" a time or two. And she's holding her own bottle now. I'll be home for the weekend and will fly back to Vegas on Monday morning.

This three week stint has been tough. I don't think I'll try it again. I'm hopefully on a two week maximum from now on.

Keep your fingers crossed about us selling the house. It showed today and we have another open house on Sunday.

Las Vegas Move Series, Installment 2

2005-12-01T01:01:00.000-05:00

Sorry for the delay in a new post. After you read this, you’ll see why I haven’t had any time.

In 1992, Queen Elizabeth II, dealing with many trials in her life, declared the year to be the worst of her life—I had the Latin phrase ready, but I can’t decide if it’s anus horribilis or annus horribilis, and I don’t want to be talking about a horrible anus incorrectly! While I haven’t had scandal with an heir-apparent child or a castle burn, or even a bad year, I sure have had one hell of a day!

Let me tell you about today, and then I’ll catch you up on the family’s transition to Las Vegas. Don’t worry, they’re intertwined.

Morning. I’ve now moved from traditional hotels to an extended stay hotel. It’s a little bit better now with a refrigerator and I don’t have to eat EVERY meal at a restaurant. I haven’t been able to get a reservation for the first week of January—actually the 3rd through the 9th. Apparently, the largest convention in the world comes to Vegas that week every year. The hotels that are not sold out are charging between $500 and $800 per night, non-refundable 100% deposit. I mentioned this at work, and a couple of people knew some people who knew some people and eventually got me a room. But as this was going on, two of the employees—one my direct report, were arguing about how I was mistaken. One is a native Las Vegan. You don’t meet many of these out here, and some of them feel the need to let you know that they know EVERYTHING about this town, and you’ll always be inferior. Their mission was not about helping me find a room, but rather proving me wrong.

Lunch. A disturbing call from my relocation consultant. I had been counting on a safety net offer on my house that my company extends at 90 days that is based on two appraisals. I hope to sell before, but it was nice to have that comfort. Anyway, their offer came in several, several thousands of dollars less than my house would appraise for. They failed to mention during this entire process that they instruct THEIR appraisers to discount their report based on selling the house quickly and to account for slow periods of the year, which we are in the biggest one of the year.

I was furious. I started my argument with her, and then just told her that she should call her appraisers and ask specific questions how they justified the lesser amount. I figured I should let it rest because I really tend to make an ass out of myself when I make such impromptu arguments.

(As a side note, no need to worry yet. Our house has shown 7 times in the past two weeks, fairly remarkable considering the slowdown and the Thanksgiving holiday. If we get our price or close to it, none of this will matter anyway.)

Afternoon. Mrs. MoN is sick. We think it might be the flu. Yes, she’s the only one at home to take care of Baby MoN, and we sure as hell don’t want her to get it. So, step-mother-in-law from Mississippi was dispatched immediately and our buddy Tex took the evening shift with the baby to keep my wife’s contact limited. (Thanks Tex).

Tonight I had to step in at the last minute for our plant manager at the Nevada Manufacturer’s Association annual dinner. He’s on the Board of Directors and was sick. It wasn’t a total loss though, because I sat beside another Controller from a neighboring company. I asked him where he moved from and he said, “Tupelo, Mississippi.” Thus the groundwork was laid for easy conversation for the rest of the night.

Prior to getting sick, Mrs. MoN joined me here in LV for Thanksgiving (Baby with grandparents). We stayed on the strip and did all of the touristy things as it was her first time here. She really liked it, and even liked the place I’ve picked for us to live. Timing was on my side when I showed her the community. I was explaining how it was supposed to be a real family-friendly place, and an ice cream truck drove by complete with the corny music.

When I flew out a week and a half ago, I got upgraded to First Class. Of all my years of business travel, I’ve never flown first class. I loved the extra room, but I thought all of the extras (warm, wet towels to wash your hands, etc.) were a little silly. But hey, if Delta can charge a lot more money for those towels, more power to them. Lord knows they need the money. I only got upgraded because I am now a Silver Medallion member thanks to my travel this year.

As I recap the move-to-date, here’s what has shocked me the most. I was totally wrong about what would be the difficult areas of this move and what would be the easy ones. I was concentrating so hard on the new job that I forgot about some of the details. While my company has a fairly good relocation policy, it’s still a lot of work, even if I’m not paying for it.

As for the job, I am adjusting fairly well, and more importantly, I really like what I’m doing. It has been difficult getting used to approximately 75 emails a day that require responses and the mini deadlines that accumulate hourly, but they day flies by. I like the environment too. It’s so different than the corporate structure I’ve been used to. Hell, I now wear jeans to work and I have a pair of steel-toed boots that I wear occasionally and a hard hat with my name on it (Everyone who knows me personally is busting out laughing at this thought)!

One of the weirdest things for me is being someone’s boss. I’ve been in a supervisory position for a few years now, but I have never been administratively responsible for anyone, let alone a whole accounting department—okay, so it’s not that big, but still. On Monday one of my employees came in and asked for a vacation day next week. My first thought was, “Why the hell are you asking me?”, but luckily I caught myself before I said that.

All that being said, I can’t write much more. It’s almost 10:00 here and I think it will take the permanent move early next year before my body fully adjusts to Pacific Time.

For everyone who’s still stopping by this site from time to time, thanks. Hopefully life will adjust one day and I can write more frequently.

Are you winning a lot in Las Vegas?

2005-11-17T15:50:00.000-05:00

"Have you won a lot of money gambling?"

"So, you're wife's not going to get a job out there, is she going to make her money at the slot machines?"

"I hope you don't lose everything while you're out there!"

I have been asked 20,893 variations on the above questions, or been given advice on how to combat the evils of gambling once I move to Las Vegas. Ever since we've announced the move, most people that we meet actually think that they are the first to make a cute remark about Las Vegas being a gambling town. Now I just look at them like I can't comprehend what they are talking about.

If I were moving to Florida (any part mind you), would people think that I would spend every waking moment at the beach?

Maybe the casino comments are just starting to get to me because everything else is too at this point. Most of these people don't realize that I grew up in Mississippi, the nation's third largest gambling state. I've been around casinos for a long time, but now that I'm moving to Vegas, I will probably try to cash out my 401(k) and see if I can really secure my future.

IN OTHER NEWS:

I've never really said much about my company, never even mentioned the name. I will at this time because I got the shocking news Sunday night that my company, Georgia-Pacific was being bought by private investors.

Within the next 24 hours I would contract the stomach virus which would land me in bed on Monday, and then Tuesday night I would come down with self-diagnosed nervous insomnia which left me completely awake when the alarm clock went off the next morning.

It's been a fun couple of weeks.

The MoN Move to Las Vegas Series

2005-11-06T00:52:00.000-05:00

Warning: This is a long post. It takes my blog in yet a different direction. I’ll try to keep giving you funny stories along the way, but primarily this will chronicle my family’s transition from Atlanta to Las Vegas. That should be funny enough in its own right. I’m not promising anything on the grammatical correctness, because frankly I’m too tired to re-read. And Kimpossible, I promise to email soon!

I know I’ve been gone for forever, but hopefully this post will catch everyone up to speed where I am with my crazy life right now.

I’m currently in Las Vegas, but let’s backtrack to last Saturday.

Saturday (October 29)

I finished the porches. As you all know, I’ve been working on them for about 2 months, moaning and bitching every step of the way. I got the last coat of paint on and there were no fall leaves sticking to it before it dried. Nothing like getting a house ready to sell to force you to finish a job.

The remainder of Saturday, we cleaned house all night trying to get ready to sell it. We also had to run out and buy our daughter her big-girl car-seat. She outgrew the infant carrier.

Sunday

Met with first realtor. My company is handling the relocation, so we have to play by their rules, one of which is that we will meet with two realtors. We didn’t have a problem with the guy, and we actually told him that we would pick him anyway. That’s before he turned in his “report” to my company stating that a fair asking price for my house was $10,000 less than what we had agreed. We continued cleaning. I left the inside for my wife and I started work on the yard. I cut the grass (hopefully for the last time), blew leaves and put out new pinestraw. I was blowing pinestraw in the back and bagging it up while I was buying new pinestraw to put out in the front. Now that I think of it, sometimes I’m not the smartest guy on the block. Well, okay, I probably am on my block because I live in the ghetto. And don’t forget, I stepped in dogshit in Petsmart.

Monday – Halloween

This would be one of the craziest days I’ve ever had in my life. I went in to work to only find out that it would not be my last week in my department. I’m having to go back for three days the week before Thanksgiving to wrap up a project. My boss is being very great about this whole transition thing. He told me that he understood I had a lot going on and if I needed to work from home for the rest of the week that I could. Bingo. Just what I needed.

I finally make it home around lunch. I’ve got the moving company calling for a preliminary discussion, two mortgage companies calling me to pressure me about locking rates as I get preapproved for a new house in LV, and the second realtor is calling too. On top of this, Mrs. MoN has to leave work early because baby MoN is sick at daycare.

Fast forward to 7:00 p.m: Dog is locked up in master bedroom, sick daughter is asleep (finally) in her crib, second realtor is sitting on the couch trying to give his pitch. Wife is trying to listen and cook dinner at the same time. Am I forgetting anything? Oh yeah, it’s Halloween, and I live in the ghetto. The one night of the year that it’s acceptable to knock on peoples’ doors and ask for handouts! As you can imagine, it’s a 3-ring circus, all I want to do is huddle in the corner and suck my thumb.

The trick or treaters were just too much. They were scuffing around ON MY FRESHLY PAINTED PORCH! We ran out of candy quickly. The next group that came after we ran out wanted me to compensate them in some way, asking “Can you give us a drink or some’in since you done run out of candy?” I slammed the door.

At this point, the realtor is about 2/3 through his spill, and I figure he’s about to run. I’m trying to hold on to him though because his preliminary estimate of what we should market the house was dead on what I thought.

We finally crash around 10:30.

Tuesday

A much quieter day. Our second realtor comes through with his original estimate so we choose him. The house will be listed on Monday.

I have another conversation with the mortgage guys. Their original numbers were wrong in our favor, but it’s still not good. I failed to take into account when I was preparing the projected budget that interest rates had gone up. This coupled with the fact that we’ve decided that Mrs. MoN will stay home with the baby means that we will have to scale back considerably. This does not even take into account that the Las Vegas home market is booming right now and prices are through the roof! We may be living in a tent!

Wednesday

Not much to report. My last day in the office in Atlanta for a while.

Thursday

Haircut, flew to Las Vegas. It was a long trip indeed because baby has now given Mommy and Daddy her cold.

Friday

First day of work at the plant. I FEEL LIKE CRAP. The cold really has me down. My nose is an ever-running spout. I am determined to make it through the day. I sneak out around 11:00 to find a drug store. I leave work at 5:00 because I just can’t take it anymore.

First full night in Vegas, and I’m asleep by 9:30. I was awakened at some point in the night because there was an apparent domestic disturbance out in the hall. Some woman was severely intoxicated and decided that she was going to use the occasion to let her husband/boyfriend know exactly what she thought of him. The she proceeded to tell his parents who were in the room next door. She was also telling the cops as they hauled her away. The hotel management kicked the whole family out about an hour later.

But on to the work stuff. I’m really going to have my work cut out for me. I think I’ve got a steep learning curve ahead of me. The people were really nice and receptive. That’s unusual since I’m from the corporate office. Only one woman made a comment about how young I look, but she’s not one of my direct reports. I did snoop through the personnel files long enough to notice that I am actually younger than all of those who work for me. Should be interesting.

Saturday

So here we are at today—it’s still Saturday on the west coast. I’ve basically been a bum all day only venturing out for food. I thought I would be working today and tomorrow, but the people at the plant thought it best if I rested and tried to get well. They probably just thought I was contagious or had had enough of my wadded up tissue trail.

The rest of the week and beyond.

I’ll be here in Las Vegas through Friday, when I fly home to be there for 9 days. Then I return to Vegas for a 3-week stint, but the wife will be joining me during Thanksgiving as we try to find a house. I talked to the realtor today, and we hope to go out house hunting on Wednesday.

The house in Atlanta lists on the market on Monday morning at the price I wanted. Let me know if you want to buy it. I’ll knock $1,000 if you mention this blog.

I still haven’t told the story about breaking the news to my grandmother that we were moving to Las Vegas. Another time. For now, the OTC cold medicine is kicking in and I hope I can get this posted before passing out.

Irony

2005-10-31T09:41:00.000-05:00

This past weekend was consumed by cleaning and repairing. We met with a realtor yesterday, and we hope to have our house on the market by Tuesday. And yes, you'll all be glad to know that I finished painting the porches on Saturday, the project that I began in early September!

A realtor from Las Vegas called on Friday night. I'm not sure how she's going to work out. I told her OUR MAXIMUM PRICE. So what did she do? She added $50,000 to it and said she would start looking for houses in that range!!! I should meet her in person this weekend, so I'm thinking this might be a trial period.

I leave for Las Vegas on Thursday. Since I'm going on short notice, I'm coming back home for a 4-day weekend after I've been out there for 8 days.

And now to the irony.

I worked outside in my yard for 4 hours on Sunday. Keep in mind that I have a Jack Russell Terrier named Jack Pete who uses the backyard as his master bath. That being said, life has been so crazy lately that I haven't gone out with my plastic bag and picked up his poop for over a month. As you can imagine, my yard is a doo-doo land mine.

During this whole time I did not step in any dog crap. After the yard work, I had to go to Petsmart. While I WAS INSIDE Petsmart, I stepped in dog shit . . . . . . TWICE!!!. How does this happen?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

HAPPY HALLOWEEN.

My big news

2005-10-26T04:27:00.000-05:00

The MoN is moving to Vegas. My company has offered me a position at our facility there, and I just can't pass it up. I'll be going in the next few weeks, and my family will be joining me once our house sells and we can find a place out there--probably late January.

I've never lived in the desert, or anywhere that's not in the South. I'm excited.

The funny story that I promised deals with my breaking of the news to my grandmother. This tale will be up soon.

I promise I haven't vanished. . . .

2005-10-22T23:32:00.000-05:00

. . . .I've just been on the road non-stop with work, and now our cable modem is out at home. I'll be back soon with BIG NEWS! and a funny story to boot!

October 13

2005-10-12T21:52:00.000-05:00

In an hour, the date will be October 13. Four years ago on October 13, there were tornados and rain storms all throughout central and northeast Mississippi. I was a bundle of nerves and the phone was ringing off the hook with friends and family members telling me that they would not be able to make the journey to Jackson due to the weather. On top of this, one of my friends had started the journey from Birmingham, and I wasn't sure if he would make it due to the weather. As I'm continuing to freak out, I call the cell phone of the star of that particular Saturday and ask how she is making it. I'm anticipating crying or anger at her mother, but my bride to be in a few hours is calm as can be getting her hair and make-up done with some of her bridesmaids.

That's right folks, 4 years ago the wife and I were officially about to start the journey of marriage.

4 years and it seems that it could just have been yesterday. Along our journey, we got a dog, moved to a new city where we knew no one, bought our first house and just this year brought our beautiful daughter into the world. And with career progressions and the daily new tasks brought on by raising a child, it's good to have a constant like my wife around.

Happy Anniversary Mrs. MoN!

PS, to everyone else: Superstitious people will tell you that it's good luck to get married on a rainy, stormy day. You'll get no arguments from me!

What in the hell do the birds and bees have to do with it anyway???

2005-10-08T22:44:00.000-05:00

As I’ve mentioned before, I grew up in a household with strict rules about things “not talked about.” My parents were so busy teaching me those guidelines that they forgot to tell me what those things that we were not going to talk about actually were. Not that I was too anxious as a budding young man to have that talk with my father, but by the end it would have been worth it, as I felt like I was the last person on earth to know what sex was all about!

Figuring out early on that I was very unlikely to have the aforementioned heart to heart with my dad, I decided that finding out what this universal mystery was all about would be up to me alone. And so the journey begins. . . .

Fourth Grade

My curiosity with human reproduction is starting to bud. My first source of information: the school bus. I figured I had learned all kinds of unusual facts during my 30-minute afternoon ride home (everyone was too asleep in the mornings), so it was just up to me to pay attention. I had already learned that you could ignite a hairspray bottle stream with a cigarette lighter and that a very scary girl could eat half of a husky first grade pencil for $3, so why not give it a shot.

Just a few days later, I heard some of the older kids at the back of the bus talking about what I presumed was sex—I was too scared to go to the back of the bus, for God’s sake, there was a girl back there who ate pencils. So, I nervously looked back only to see them laughing hysterically and one of the guys making a hand gesture. Well, you can imagine what crazy theories this led me to. I went home to absorb what I had seen. After a few hours, I deduced that this could not be sex.

Fifth Grade

As school started back, my trek for knowledge was back on. It was fueled by hearing my older cousin who was in high school talking about some couple who “did it” five times over the summer. I eavesdropped all I could, but I could never quite figure out what “it” was.

My ambition led me to the great know-all source of mankind: The World Book Encyclopedia set. All 26 volumes were housed in my living room, so I went and checked a few out. I had to get several because I didn’t want anyway to wonder why just volume “S” was missing. Well, my search for sex, led to "Human Reproduction". Damnit, I had not gotten volume “H”, so I had to make a trade. I finally found it, and the tension was building. Despite the near end of my two-year search, I was still very slow and careful. After all, I didn’t want anyone to notice that the "Human Reproduction" page was wrinkled. All my research brought me was disappointment. Yes, the answer was there. . . IN TECHNICAL TERMS. This didn’t provide much help to someone who had only previously heard “boy parts” referred to as a tallywhacker!

Sixth Grade

Another school year starts and I figure at this point that I can probably lead a fairly productive life as someone who doesn’t know what sex is all about. I can’t really ask anyone. The only thing worse than not knowing is someone else knowing that I don’t know.

One weekend that fall, I spent the night with a friend of mine. It was Friday night, and his parents had taken us to the new Pizza Hut buffet. Once we got home, we found that there was a four-volume set of books in his room called The Life Cycle Library. After some careful investigation, I found out that my friend also was in the dark about sex, and his parents opted to leave this set of books for him rather than have “the talk.”

We both acted like we weren’t that interested, and were only trying to kill some time before Friday Night Videos came on (does anyone remember this?). So, we started glancing through the books. The first two volumes were just more about those birds and bees and pollen that no one really cared about anyway. About halfway through Volume 3 was the real scoop, complete with pictures.

So after three year of searching, I had finally found out what the big secret was. The first thing I wanted to do was to scream to everyone, “I know!” Of course I couldn’t do that because it was on the “don’t talk about” list. However, there was a smug look on my face the next time I saw my cousin and I knew what her friend had “done” 5 times the summer before!

The List

2005-10-03T15:16:00.000-05:00

My family had a list when I was growing up. I shouldn’t just say a list, but it was The List. It wasn’t about chores or other things to complain about. The List was what stood in the way of my brother and I becoming the envy of everyone around. The List was an unwritten account of all of those “extra” things that my family—mainly my brother and me—wanted. The List was our year-round Christmas list. It was easy to get an item on The List; all you had to do was tell my dad. He was the unofficial keeper of The List. For an item to be removed from The List would mean that my family had purchased it. Not matter what you asked for, he would put it on that List, even though you both knew there wasn’t a chance in hell that we would be getting it unless Ed McMahon showed up in the near future. If you haven’t figured out, The List kept growing and growing at a much fast rate than we were decreasing it. I think it was my family’s material possessions purgatory.

The price tags on The List’s items ranged from a few hundred dollars to well into the thousands. Most of the items were probably common desires for low to middle-income families living in rural America. As I ramble on about this list, it’s important to keep in mind that it is circa 1984. Here are some of the more memorable items:

The satellite dish. For those of you young’uns out there, this is before Dish Network or Direct TV. I’m talking about those 8 or 10 foot semi spheres that were off-white or sometimes black mesh. I never understood the black mesh thing: If I had a satellite, I would have wanted the whole world to know, so the off-white number would have been the most conspicuous. Some people would incorporate the satellite dish into their yard by making a flower bed around it or hanging some Christmas lights on it during the season! We never got this item on The List probably because they cost thousands of dollars, but it didn’t help that my mother had heard that when you pointed the dish straight up that you could pick up those “nasty channels.”
In-ground swimming pool. This was the mother of all List items. I knew we would never get this one because a) it cost a fortune, b) our yard would not have accommodated it, and c) my father would never have made the commitment to keep it up with the chemicals and such. I know this last statement is true because a few years later we would end up getting a second-hand above-ground swimming pool (don’t be envious) and we only kept it for a year because of all the up-keep.
VCR. We actually got this one when I was in the 3rd grade. It was one of those fancy models that loaded from the front, not from the top. It even had a WIRED remote. It was so great not having to get up from the chair to turn it on—as long as you had moved your chair to be within 5 feet of the thing.
My 3rd grade year was a biggie because that’s the year we also got a microwave. I didn’t really care about the microwave—it was more of a status thing for my mother.

There were many other items on the list, but I think you get the idea of where I’m going with it. At the time I couldn’t understand why my parents didn’t buy everything on The List. Now I understand they were probably piddling their money away on things like clothes and shoes for two growing boys.

Weekend in the Woods

2005-09-26T15:29:00.000-05:00

I’m now apologizing for my lack of new material lately. For both of you that follow this blog, I’m sorry. I’ll blame my absence on recent travels, both for work and personal. My wife, daughter and I spent this weekend with friends from MS at a cabin. Here are some of the highlights:

I discovered that I am the last person on the planet to not have Tivo. I hope to remedy this sometime this week.
I witnessed quite possibly the best redneck small business advertisement t-shirt ever: The shirt read:

"Tan your buns and trade your guns!"

Nabe's Gun and Tan

I learned that after a 4-year absence, I can still shoot tequila.
The cabin where we stayed did not have an internet connection nor cable television. I didn’t think much of this when we were planning. Of course, how was I to know THAT ANOTHER hurricane would develop? I was in withdrawal by Saturday mid-morning, as I usually spend my catastrophe-stricken Saturdays with a pot of coffee and Miles O’Brien. Who knew I would miss him so?
My friend Be almost converted me to a Democrat.
Two of my friends are high school teachers. They told me about one of their seniors last year who had the phrase “Got R Done” printed on his graduation announcements. They are concerned that this “Get R Done” mentality has been taken a little too far. Maybe I should call Miles O’Brien and ask him to do a special story on it.
My daughter reached for me the first time this weekend. It happened on Friday night when we arrived and everyone wanted to hold her. She started crying and started reaching for me. This is very significant, because it’s the first time that she has reached for anyone.
I now how to play Texas Hold’um assuming that my teachers knew what they were doing. Losing all of my chips is the event that led to my realization about tequila (see bullet number 3 if you have already forgotten).

We had a great weekend, and it only cost me $3,867 in gas to get there!

You Can Do It, We Can Help. . . .

2005-09-20T21:16:00.001-05:00

Ah, the slogan of the mighty orange, Home Depot.

As I’ve mentioned earlier, I am in the middle of a front porch makeover. No, it’s not by choice, but a necessity because of a questionable paint job by my builder. We have a front porch across the front of our house, and a matching balcony off of the second floor.

I enjoy some home improvement projects. I like to paint interior walls when it’s only one solid color. I don’t mind landscaping tasks when the weather cools off and grass cutting is not involved. I prefer to keep it to one day projects, a weekend at the max. The porch/balcony saga is a different story.

Considering our upcoming weekend and business travel, I am hoping to finish the porches by the end of October. After much debate, I rented a drum sander on Saturday from Home Depot. The guy at the rental counter asked if I had ever used one, and I replied no. He attempted to demonstrate, but he wasn’t too convincing considering that the sander was not even plugged in. In hindsight, I can’t believe they rent these things without requiring a license.

A buddy (Penn) went with me, and we drug it home and finally got it upstairs. I told Penn that he could leave and enjoy his Saturday as this was surely a one-man job. The first 20 minutes found me being slung around by this monster. For those of you who have never seen a drum sander in action, you have to balance the movement of the pad with your own body, hopefully creating a hovering action with the sander. This is not easily achieved by an amateur. I ripped 3 of the sanding pads to pieces within minutes and almost took out an exterior wall. This was frustrating me terribly considering the pads are $7 each. After exhausting every curse word known to man and a short cooling off period, I tried again. This time I got it to work, and in no time I was on my way. I sanded all day and was convinced that I had gotten the good out of my rental. I went through 7 pads in all, counting the 3 from the first 20 minutes.

I returned the sander and had to buy a belt sander to finish the project. I forked out another $70 for the tool, plus $25 for sanding pads. I hope to finish the edge sanding in another 2 weekends, but who knows. I am thinking that I am going to have to replace some boards because of water damage.

Anyway, back to my story. As I was sanding on Saturday, I saw the Home Depot label on the sander, which quickly prompted me to start humming their theme song, which led me to thinking about their slogan. They claim, “You can do it, we can help.” Let’s think about this in reality. I had to drive to the store, give them a credit card to rent the sander. Then I went home, where I—no one from Home Depot showed up in their orange apron to help—had to sand the entire floor on both stories by myself. Afterwards, I hauled the sander back and settled the bill. Before I left I had to give them more money for another sander and more sanding belts. I still will have to pay for caulk, more sanding belts at the rate I’m ripping them off, and paint, and who knows what else. All of this really makes me question how much “they” are helping out. It seems like I’m just giving them a lot of money. A more truthful slogan would be “You can give us a lot of money, we’ll take it and let you do all of the work yourself.” I think I’m on to something. Does anyone have a contact in their marketing department?

The man in the attic

2005-09-17T06:30:00.000-05:00

When my wife or I are out of town and our household becomes a single parent home, our dog, JP, gets extra-sensitive. Near bedtime he barks at every little sound, which is unusual for him. He tries to get about 18 hours of sleep every day, so this leaves little time for senseless howling. This week was no exception, as the wife was gone a few nights for business.

I was exhausted Thursday night after a full day of work and then coming home to play the role of sole caregiver to my daughter. Once she was finally asleep, I hopped into bed with a good book, hopeful that I would pass out in 15 minutes or so. JP soon found his way to the bed, but I could tell he wasn’t going to sleep easily. He started a low growl and then proceeded to bark. I couldn’t hear what was upsetting him. After a few minutes I figured out that he was hearing the air conditioning unit in the attic.

At this point, my child-like imagination goes into action. This is odd for me, because I usually do not have such crazy, vivid thoughts. I either go right to sleep, or have deep thoughts about whether we are saving enough for retirement, etc. Hey, I’m an accountant, so naturally most of my “imagination” ventures are about money.

I got to thinking, what if someone was in our attic. I wasn’t scared because (a) I live in the ghetto, so being scared about noises in the night was something I had to get over a long time ago and (b) it would be impossible for someone to get in our house without our alarm system going into celebration mode. However, a man in the attic, was good food for thought. I guess I’m being sexist here, but if there was a seedy criminal living in our attic, I would just assume it was a man.

It would be fairly easy to live in our attic. We rarely go up there, and while our alarm system covers all of the entrances and windows to our house, it doesn’t detect internal motion, due to our dog. If you lived in our attic, and did not want to be detected, I think it would be very doable. Boring as hell, but easy to do.

You would just have to learn to be quiet during the evening. Everything else would be simple. You would have our whole house to yourself during the day; use of our cable television, use of our high speed internet and so on. We wouldn’t notice if you took a little food. Our dog is not a biter, he’s a licker, so it would take about 16 seconds for him to get used to you. I think it would be a fairly good life.

So, the next time life gets too hard, and you need some truly private time, just consider our attic, we won’t even know you’re here!

The year that Christmas moved to the dining room

2005-09-09T23:25:00.000-05:00

The house I grew up in was strange. I’m not talking about my family and their antics this time, I’m talking about the physical house. Typical of many 3-bedroom ranch homes built in the early 1970s, our house had no sensible layout. The kitchen was in the front, and the living room just seemed to be whatever space was left. For many years my parents tried to justify the living room/dining room combo, but our hodgepodge of furniture and such a crazy floor plan didn’t allow it.

These conditions attributed to my parents’ ongoing crusade to make our home flow better. The obstacles were those mentioned above and strained resources. The outcome would eventually lead to the sale of the house in disgust, but not until years later after I had moved out on my own.

This mission seemed to always gain steam every year when it was time to put up the Christmas tree. We would drag the same old tree out of the storage shed every year because my mother was much too finicky about a clean house to indulge in the messes that live trees brought. To hell with nostalgia and an evergreen scent.

Our problem was that we didn’t have room for a Christmas tree. As our kitchen was in the front of the house, there was no sweeping front window in which to pluck the tree. Most years the best we could do was in front of the window unit air conditioner in the back of the living room. This worked out okay since the unit was in hibernation for the winter.

I’ll remember one year in particular though. It was the year that Christmas tree placement changed my thought process forever.

As Christmas rituals go, I would get all excited about decorating the tree. While I was busy getting the ornaments out, my mother would start complaining about how our house just wasn’t built to host a Christmas tree. I guess my father had heard this for as long as he could stand it, and he vowed to fix the space limitation problem. He proceeded to drag the frame of the tree out onto the carport, gather up some hand tools, and he got to work. Thirty minutes later he came back in, tree in hand, with a gleam on his face, like a scientist who had just developed a cure for cancer.

At first we couldn’t tell what was different. My brother and I were all over it trying to guess what had changed. Mother was standing back with a very skeptical look on her face. We all figured it out very quickly when my father threw a sheet over the dining table, put the stand in place and hoisted the tree up on the table, knocking the glass ceiling light cover off of its mount in the process. He had sawed the bottom off of the tree, so now our 6 foot tree was more like 4 ½ feet, with the top curved over under the naked light bulb ahead.

It was a sight to behold. I wasn’t sure what to do because everyone was silent. The silence wouldn’t last for long though as my mother launched an attack against my father as to how this might be the silliest thing he had ever done. She claimed our new midget tree was an embarrassment and we did not have the money for a new tree. He countered with that she could not be pleased. This went on for some time, and I was just left standing there holding an ornament of baby Jesus’s manager that I had constructed the year before out of popsicle sticks and Easter grass.

For the record, this might be one of the top three fights I ever heard in my house. It was a real gem. The accord finally reached was that we would endure this Charlie Brownish tree for that year and budget for a new one the next. The following day found us all standing in the dining room chairs around the table decorating the tree. There was no room for the gifts, so they were stacked neatly in the same chairs.

The sawed-off tree did solve the space issue that year, and by Christmas we all were laughing over the whole thing. To this day, some twenty years later, we still laugh about that tree. And, to my knowledge, my father learned his lesson that hand tools and artificial Christmas trees do not mix.

Letter to the Editor

2005-09-08T13:16:00.000-05:00

I sent this via email today to the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. I should note that this is my first letter to the Editor. I don't think it will be published because I'm about 200 words over the 150 word limit, but I didn't feel like editing. Enjoy:

Like most Americans, my indulgence in the media coverage of Hurricane Katrina has caused me to focus on those things in my life for which I am grateful and also those taken for granted.

I have never been an environmentalist. I have never had great opinions one way or another over the treatment of land, wild animals or natural resources. I could try to list excuses but it all comes down to my lack of concern. The effects of Katrina on the energy industry have made me realize how vulnerable our country is when faced with the possibility of a reduced stream of our vital natural resources.

As a result, I decided to research recycling programs. I had recently read about such efforts in other parts of the country, such as the West Coast and the Northeast. Some local governments in these regions make such programs mandatory. Enforcement of the rules includes auditing random bags of trash to make sure that they contain no more than ten percent recyclable material.

I am a resident of Dekalb County. As such, my research soon took me to the Dekalb website. Once I found the correct department’s homepage, I was delighted to see that a new recycling program had just started this year. This was going to be easier than I thought. Further reading of the brochure led me to the price. The cost is $55 to start the program. $55—almost half of which is a generic administration fee!

Correct me if I am wrong, but does charging residents a fee (a substantial one at that) to participate in a plan favorable to the environment make much sense? I understand that increased services call for increased costs, but this is definitely an expense that deserves to be spread into our taxes. We are taxed for my other things that are much less worthwhile than this.

A hurricane caused me to open my eyes to issues facing my family and my world, and to think about ways to be part of the solution. Then an expensive recycling program, one that almost discourages residents from doing the right thing, has made me lose sight of the real issue.

Master of None's Advice on Demand

2005-09-05T23:47:00.000-05:00

Today I began the process of stripping the peeling paint off of my front porch floor. My house is only 2 years old, so I should not have to do this. However, the builder of my house painted the porch after I had signed the contract, and in his effort to save every penny once the house had sold, he didn’t use primer. Now I’m outside of the ~~bitching~~ warranty period, so I’m responsible.

Anyway, the paint has been peeling for sometime now. The front porch has become quite an eyesore considering the abnormal amount of rain that we have received this year. I decided that it should be fixed while the weather is warm, so considering our busy fall weekend schedule, it was time to start.

Someone had told me that the paint was peeling so badly that I could probably avoid sanding and just use a pressure washer. So, I borrowed one from a neighbor and got to work. This technique worked somewhat, but I’m not going to avoid using other means. I have about a fourth of the paint gone now. The pressure washer was a good idea for the paint that was loose, but couldn’t do much for the areas that had remained out of the elements. The pressure washer did do a mean number on my bare big toe when I got bored and decided to see if it could really hurt me. It did.

Now I must decide what the next step is. I have too much exposed wood to just let it go. Should I use a chemical remover? Should I buy a sander? Should I rent a sander? So many questions. I’ll solve this by calling on one of a number of my personal consultants. I have many who over the years have given me great advice. These guys are ready on a moment’s notice when I need home repair remedies, broken-down car advice, career move guidance, computer support, and the list goes on and on. They are always ready to help me out. I even emailed TAH’s mom tonight about baby feeding advice. My wife and I can’t decide if the princess is ready for solid foods.

This got me to thinking how fortunate I am to have such a wide variety of friends with so much expertise. As I was pressure washing (bored out of my mind—at this point I had not decided to point the washer at my big toe) my mind started wondering as to why no one ever calls me for advice. I truly am a master of none. I know about a lot of things, but nothing so detailed that I can give advice or guidance. I have a master’s degree in accounting and I am a CPA, but I’ve never done taxes. I can barely do my own. Taxes are the only reason any individual ever calls a CPA.

So, what problems could people have in which they would call on me for deliverance? Here’s the list I’ve come up with so far:

If I must toot my own horn, I make the best chocolate cake of anyone I know. Anyone who is not a professional at least. It’s a layered cake from scratch that takes 4 ½ sticks of real butter. Delicious.
Wedding music. During the last 13 or 14 years I have played the piano at approximately 50 or so weddings. I guess that would deem me as an expert in that area. Well maybe not an expert; I had a string of 4 weddings in a row in the late 1990s that ended in divorce 1 or 2 years later.
Speaking of the 1990s, how about the fashions from that era. I really can help here because just today I wore a pair of shorts that I bought in 1995. Wait, am I really telling this?
Conning your father-in-law out of a free AAA membership. To do this, just be out-of-town on a business trip EVERY TIME your wife—and his only daughter—has a flat tire. I came home the next week to find a membership kit in the mail. Okay, so he only covered her and did not elect to pay the $12 extra dollars to cover me, but at least we got something.
Conning your ghetto apartment complex into knocking $67 off of your monthly rent payment. To accomplish this send a letter of complaint about roaches in your kitchen and a used condom outside of your front door. To make sure it works, send it to every member of the board of directors of the holding company in Chicago. I had a less than 24-hour turnaround on the results!

Okay, so I’ve exhausted my list. My hope is that you are as impressed with the list as I am depressed about it. Is this really what my life has amounted to? But hey, if you have a flat, are getting married or need a chocolate cake, give me a call and I’ll tell you what to do.