Category: grindstone

All about breadwinning.

Posted on

roll your own

I am the winner!
I’m off vacation, I’m off vacation (read it again, as a funeral dirge). Yes yes y’all, it’s over. It was rad to the bone while it lasted, filled with relaxing days of blessed unproductively and unabashed laziness. Alas, the week is at an end and by the time this is posted I’ll be back at work, busily climbing the corporate ladder. It’s cool though, I’m refreshed and actually kinda ready to get back to things left cold on my plate a week past. I mean, I’m just sitting here on bellyful of tri-tip omelet, fresh off a splendid leisurely dump, ripping through my CD collection. What am I saying, this rocks. Work blows. Where’s that winning lottery ticket?

Somehow, we got to talking about the whole toilet paper discussion the other night – and my earlier entry about the mechanics of my wipe. People were in general agreement that the “kinda stand up and wipe from behind” technique which I employ isn’t that odd at all, which made me feel better – but then we delved into more detail and I was once again made to feel alone in my wiping style. See, we decided to discuss not just the “direction” of wipe, but the TP usage model as well. So, how to you use the paper? My answer brought forth laughter, shock, and mocking. However, like my previous fears about my strange wiping techniques – the internet helped me to feel a bit less “unique.” (Not that the internet is a good place to judge the weirdness or non-weirdness of your actions or anything).

According to this page, 20% of people admit to using TP the way I do: the “whole-hand wrap.” That’s right. I forsake the more popular “wad” and “fold” techniques for what I consider to be a far superior method. It goes something like this: take TP in hand and grasp the lead edge between thumb and inner palm, now spin roll around hand to get hygienic “mummy-like” coverage (if you cannot remove the roll from the spinny thing, you must unravel a long span and manually wrap). It’s best to cover from the top of the palm to about a half-inch below the fingertips. Now take the karate-chop edge of the hand and pinky and use as the primary wiping-surface. Once you’ve used this section of the wrap, and with a little practice, you’ll learn to rotate the entire TP glove to a clean spot and reuse – all with one hand. Usually three rotations’ll do it clean. At this point, depending on the tightness of your wrap, you can either unravel the TP into the bowl using a gentle circular shaking motion, or alternatively spread your fingers and break through the paper straightjacket ala Bruce Banner’s Hulk-transformation shirt ripping.


getting ready to wrap		        
a couple rotations to rule out any
single-layer bleeding
 

tightly wound, nice coverage		        
powerful, yet clean, hands bust through
the feces-coated paper sheath

And that’s it, no chance of poo on the hand as I would imagine you risk with either the “wad” or “fold” technique. Am I a savage for this? I mean, is this not more sensible than simply shoving a “wad” of paper up your butt? A wad which may or may not provide 100% hand-coverage? So, next time you’re at my house and you catch yourself wondering why all the rolls of toilet paper are loose and sitting on top of the spinny thing rather than inserted through it as normal – you’ll know why. Mock me if you will, I found what works for me and America tells me to embrace it rather than change it because society deems it “odd.” So to summarize – I wipe in a semi-upright position, from bottom to top, and with the paper wrapped around my entire hand. What a site this ritual must be for an observer, I shudder to think.

My upcoming travel plans have morphed so much in the past week not even I know what’s really going on. I think, that it goes something like: Houston to Taiwan, and scrapping the Japan visit for another week in Taiwan. I was kinda bummed that the Japan stint got canned, but there’ll be other chances I guess – I was just looking forward to the newness. The good bit, Pat and Anthony will be in Taiwan that 2nd week, so I’ll have some people to hang out with and whatnot. Also sounds like I’ll be headed to Oregon again next week to teach some kinda class. In other work news, my boss decided to take a different job – so in a short while I’ll be bossless and anxiously awaiting the appointment of a new good, or bad, leader. I have some concerns there, but it’s out of my hands – so I just do what bossman says (whoever bossman may be that day).

After a week of laid-back vacationing with Sharaun’s folks, and a semi-forced relapse into a slow southern drawl, I’m realizing how much I enjoy spending time with family. I mean, the in-laws used to be this intimidating bunch of people from whom I desired acceptance. After four years of marriage, it’s clear they approve of my union to their eldest, and even that we enjoy each others’ company. Much to my surprise, Sharaun’s dad and I agree on a great many things – more so than I ever would’ve imagined. The thing that probably floored me the most: he’s a die-hard Democrat and thinks Bush is making a mess of the good ol’ USofA. I dunno why I was so surprised by it, I just associate Southerners with conservatism or something. Actually, politically, he’s a lot like me. Not a rabid Dem, but not a rabid member of the GOP either – somewhere down the middle, and not afraid to vote for a dude regardless of party affiliation. Surprising, but nice.

Dave out.

Posted on

can’t get more american

So American...
That picture is of an American flag, a boy with a rifle, and a dog. Both the boy and the dog are waving miniature American flags also, and, my friends… you just can’t get much more American than that. America, where our children carry guns and even our dogs carry flags.

Friday and it’s a slow day at work, as a lot of people have taken the day off to get a jump on the three-day weekend. I thought about doing it myself, but there was some junk to take care of. I took the truck into the shop this morning, can’t wait to see what that bill is like. Stupid truck. At least it’s been good to me lately. Being as it’s getting on in miles, I’ve been treating it more like a “work truck” of late. Abusing it by hauling backyard-landscaping materials, poker tables, etc. What was I saying? Whatever.

I got my Epipen yesterday. Y’know, the thing on which my hopes of survival now rest? Yeah, that thing. It doesn’t have a visible needle or anything, it’s a lot like the thing they used to use on Star Trek Next Generation, where the doc just slammed a pen on your skin and it auto-injects. I just think about having to tell my kids that I can’t go swimming with them, because I’ve got the most obscure “disease” known to man. Hopefully I’ve got the variety that lasts 1-5 years, and this whole mess will go away before too long. OK I’m done talking about it, it’s boring.

No more writing, time to go on vacation. Three-day weekend, I’m comin’ for ya. Dave out.

Posted on

if you could sit here in this room

You won't believe this...
Honestly guys, could my life get any sweeter? I mean, I just took stock a minute ago. Sometimes it’s good to take stock, y’know? I was walking down the street in San Francisco, a chill in the air. I’m headed to my hotel, coming from a fine meal at a trendy open-air Spanish restaurant where I dined with managers two levels above me. Managers who I took beer for beer, letting them digest my name, an awesome guy to hang out with. The guy that tells jokes, the guy that gets by on his personality. So we bustle down the streets, talking of important business. And that’s how I end up here, typing on my laptop in my executive level 43rd floor hotel room. Where I have free access to the “executive lounge” and my room has a 30ft wall of windows which offer up the most stunning view of the San Franciscan skyline I’ve ever seen. I sit in my huge room, watching Aqua Teen Hunger Force in my boxers, the lives of millions of San Franciscans playing out hundreds of feet below me. Honestly, I’m on top of the world right now – cold urticaria and all. Now if they only have bloody mary mix in the mini-bar. Seriously, if you could sit here in this room and look over the city lights with me, you’d jizz. It’s that freakin’ awesome.

Not only that, but things are going well. I’m once again making visual progress on the backyard, with the work on the porch to commence in a week or so. My presentations went great today, I have a penthouse suite and nothing to do, and I’m three beers into a good feeling. Aqua Teen Hunger Force is over and I managed to find a new episode of Reno 911. Maybe I’ll make some coffee, because, see, I can do that. Right now I can do whatever I want. If I want to go downstairs and go out, I can. If I want to stay right here and sleep until 2am then wake up and watch the city for hours, I can. Come to think of it, I am kinda tired. But just to refresh – I don’t have to go to sleep or anything, because I am king of this hotel room. Maybe I’ll take a bath, I don’t think I’ve done that in years. I mean, I bathe, just not in a “bath” is all.

Oh man, this coffee is terrible. It looks like tea it’s so weak, and it tastes like hot water with a dash of coffee flavor. Yuk, I really wanted some coffee too. Man, you guys know what I should do? I should totally order room service. Like, some dessert or something. You guys wanna see what they have? Yeah, let’s check it out (let’s is short for “let us,” which sounds wrong). Holy crap guys, I’m totally drunk with power. Want proof? I just ordered a platter of chicken wings with bleu cheese dressing and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey ice cream. Why did I do this? I’m not even hungry, I only did it because I can. That’s right, I’m not even hungry. I probably won’t even eat it all, and I might even throw it away if I get tired of looking at it. Because that’s the extravagant life I live. Heck, I may even wake up in the middle of the night and make these fools bring some damn shrimp cocktail up 43 floors to my door, I’m not paying for it. Biatch.

It’s not that I don’t have anything more to say, I could go on like this forever – but I don’t feel like writing anymore. And going with the theme of me doing whatever the heck I want, I’m done with this blog.

Dave out.

Posted on

my illustrious career history

Oh man, those were the days... check out that hair!
Basketball, in high-def, a non-party party at Anthony’s. Got new tires on the truck today, six-hundred dollars of rubbery goodness. Shaine’s post about yesterday’s entry being my 200th got me thinking, it’s halfway through June now and the there’s only a couple more months before I mark a solid year of doing this site.

Sounds like I’ll have a rather long overseas trip this August, spending about three weeks in Taiwan and China both. More customer visits, speaking at some seminars, and then heading to Shanghai to train our “offshore” team members. I need to train ’em good, but not too good since I wanna maintain some job security. I’m excited about going again, mainly because I love the experience – but I’m bummed that Sharaun’s birthday falls right smack in the middle of the trip. We’ve talked about maybe using my sky miles to fly her out for a while, to hang out and experience the APAC (Asia-Pacific geography for those not in into abbreviation). I think I’ll have some spurts of down time that we could use to see some of the island I’ve yet had the chance to check out. Who knows.

I was thinking back on my illustrious career history, trying, nay, stretching, for something to write about. Anyway, it all started when I got my very first job as a sandwich artist at Subway. I was barely sixteen. We locked people in the walk-in freezer, ate all the food we wanted, and set fire to the joint twice. From there I moved on to Arby’s, where I worked as a cashier and fast-food jockey. We stole 10lbs bags of curly fries. I quit the job at Arby’s to take a position as a “go boy” for a local CPA office. I made copies, did data entry, fetched files, took out the trash, etc. I worked there for over a year, moonlighting over the summer as a bagger at the local Winn Dixie. Eventually, I quit both the bagboy and gopher job for my dream job – record store clerk at the local mall. I pushed music for nigh on two years, eventually winding up as the lowest paid “assistant manager” ever. It’s OK though, the steady stream of nubile female clerks hired by the owner more than made up the difference.

Omni Music in the Merritt Square Mall, I used to alphabetize those shelves
with the quickness. And who’s that in the background?

I only quit the record store gig because I was moving. After that I didn’t work for a few years, just used my scholarship money and student loans to live. Took the bus around town after my car broke down, and finally found gainful employment again sometime later as an ADA programmer for Raytheon. Since it was only an internship thing through school, the job only lasted about four months. A time later I actually managed to matriculate, and landed my current job of four years. Back in the tech industry, working on something that I actually earned a degree in. There were other spotty jobs in there, making funnel cakes at craft shows for a few hundred a weekend, tutoring a high-school friend’s mother in college Algebra, etc. – but nothing meaningful. I think it’s a pretty varied employment history – and what’s better, it filled up nearly two paragraphs so as to make today’s entry look all the more beefy.

I’m outta here, time to give the leaked Beastie Boys album a test-spin. Nite.

Posted on

make sure my beer’s not empty

How do you say en Francais?
No internet at my brother’s place means no entry for Friday. Now worries though, as I’m trying to get “back at it” and keep the juice flowin’. The weekend was really fun, getting to hang out with my brother and his wife (still sounds funny to me) was cool. On Friday night we stayed up late talking, kinda letting each other in on those “missing years” when I was away at school and he was a working-man back home. For more than two years there, I had no idea what he was up to – and him the same for me. I thought I got into a lot of trouble when I was a kid… but damn. Anyway, it was great. Even though Frank and I are about as different as two brothers can be – we still have a lot in common that we can talk about and agree on. I’m glad I got to spend some time with him, and he and Angela seem genuinely happy. I got a mini-tour of where he works on Ft. Hood, and a glimpse into what he does every day – it was great. My little brother ain’t so little anymore, all grow’d up with a wife and a job and everything. That shit still trips me out.

So now I’m sitting here in the Continental terminal at George Bush Airport in Houston, drinking a tall Shiner Bock in some airport seafood joint. It was the only non-food-court place where I could sit down and have my food brought to me, which is much more conducive to sitting here typing away on the laptop. Someone to come check and make sure my beer’s not empty, and no one to bother me while I wait for my flight (about three hours and counting, if you’re curious). Nevermind that I look like some nerd, typing on his laptop in a restaurant, while watching America’s Funniest Home Videos on the TV, nothing but a big ol’ beer in terms of sustenance in front of me. See? I certainly haven’t analyzed the situation.

I think I could get used to this solo traveling gig. I mean if I were unattached, of course. I kind of like the anonymity of sitting alone in a booth and just “observing” stuff. Not Sherlock Holmes type observing, just, y’know, checkin’ junk out. It’s kind of a good feeling to be wholly responsible for yourself, making sure you budget enough time to make your flight, return your rental car, eat some food, etc. Guys, I’m kinda buzzed right now? this Shiner was biiig, and I haven’t ordered yet because I still have like two whole hours before I can board the flight. When I do order, here at “Bubba’s Seafood Grill,” I think I’m gonna get one of “Bubba’s Favorites,” namely – the “Buffalo Popcorn Shrimp Platter.” I mean, I’ve been mulling this decision for a good twenty minutes now as I downed this beer, so I think I’m prepared to take the plunge and go with it.

Hey original Cyn… I heard you talking to your sister and your roommate at the pool party, I have super-hearing y’know. So for you, I finally cleaned it up and uploaded it – now I think you owe me sex (or at least something sexual in nature). (I know, the picture is broken). And thanks Benz for the praise on my last entry, I too fancied that paragraph as one of my finest… in a league with the desert island paragraph I’m so proud of.

Time to eat my scrimps, Dave out.

Posted on

feel the confidence in my firm handshake!

Think highly of thyself, dost thee?
Wow, like a dang week dude. Nearly a whole week without a proper entry. I guess there were some mitigating circumstances. One, I don’t work on the weekend; two, I’ve been busy as crap. So, the three day weekend took care of Monday, and Tuesday and Wednesday I didn’t have a second to breathe. So now it’s Thursday, and I’m sitting in a hotel room in Austin, TX. Business took me here, to meet with some customers, but I’m staying through Sunday to go visit my brother in Killeen. He ships off to Alaska next week, and my trip to Houston matched up with his last weekend in town – so I decided to catch a Sunday, rather than Friday, flight, and hang out with him. Should be cool.

I was thinking the other day, how much doctors much hate WebMD. I mean, that site can be a pretty dangerous place for those with a hypochondriac side. It’s so easy to search this huge repository of symptoms and see what crazy diseases you might have. They even have this handy “symptoms checker” page where you can pick from a big nice list of elemental problems to diagnose your ailment. I can imagine some dude going into the doctor with a ream of WebMD printouts, thinking the combination of his shortness of breath and numb toes is anything from West African Mandibulolitus to Fendabular Tindanation. And while I was over there, I found a funny page under the symptoms. The “symptom” is “fishhook injuries.” That’s a symptom? I looked for the microwave and tandem-bike injuries symptoms, but surprisingly they weren’t there.

There’s something “grownup” feeling about being in a hotel room, even more so when you’re on a solo trip. Maybe it’s just me, but I’ve always kinda liked staying in hotels. I think because, when I was young, staying in a hotel meant we were on vacation or a trip. My brother and I always got to share a bed and we would all hang out as a family. Now that I’m all grown up and staying in hotels when I travel, I get some piece of that sensation every time. I like the feeling of being “important” enough to have to travel somewhere for someone. You know, someone is putting me up in a hotel and taking me out to dinner because I’m here to help them in some way. Makes me feel all yuppie or business-class or something.

Kinda like the “importantness” I feel waiting for the daily parking shuttle to the airport terminal in the morning. Rubbing shoulders with the other suits, all of us with our laptop bags and corporate-logoed Polos, getting ready to be flown to God-knows-where… and all these dudes looking at this twenty-something punk kid, wondering why he’s here. What the heck is so important about him that he needs to fly somewhere? That’s right other coach passengers, I think I will bust out my laptop and work on a PowerPoint presentation – just because I can. What? You’re surprised I’m taking an important meeting from my cellphone while I wait for my connection? Sound odd to hear me call shots into the little headset/mic combo dangling from my ear? Wise up old-money, here’s my business card – call me and we’ll do lunch; that is, if I have time to fit you in. I’ma come up in your world with my khakis and dress shoes and exude import – I wear a badge around my neck for God’s sake! Feel the confidence in my firm handshake! I own you!!

Goodnight all, blogging should resume as normal now that things have died down a bit. Until tomorrow, peace out.

Posted on

straightup buy a live chicken

Jetsetting yuppie.
On a plane to Oregon tomorrow, only gone for a couple days. Tonight was a pretty uneventful evening. Spent the time upgrading my RAID array to 240GB – since my “digital migration” project (ripping all my CDs to MP3) was taking up way more room than I originally accounted for. Surprisingly, the upgrade went off without a hitch, and I’m happily back to ripping songs.

Whoa, in the middle of writing that 1st paragraph about this being a rather uneventful evening, I decided to open today’s mail. Turns out we got another check from our home refi, for what seems to be more leftover impound account balance. Anyway, to me – it looks less like an impound account refund and more like a backyard. Yeah baby, it’s all there, every cent we need to hit yesterday’s targets by the arrival of Sharaun’s folks in July. I have changed my tune, and now think it’s entirely possible. I’m pumped.

Today Sharaun took her class on a field trip to Chinatown in San Francisco. They took a guided tour that hit some temples and other places of interest, one of them a traditional Chinese marketplace. The way she described it to me, it sounded a lot like some of the night markets in Taipei, lots of seafood and odd animals parts for sale? as food. Anyway, apparently this place has all sorts of livestock for sale too, frogs, turtles, chickens, etc. I guess one of her kids actually bought a live chicken.

One of the other students alerted her and she got back to the chicken hawker just in time to see a the saleswoman folding over a paper bag, stapling it shut, and poking four air-holes in it. When Sharaun asked the student what was in the bag, he replied with great excitement, “I just bought a real chicken for only a dollar fifty!” She managed to talk the woman into taking back the chicken, after explaining that it wasn’t going to be accompanying them on the two-hour bus ride back. For some reason that story had me cracking up, what kid tries to straightup buy a live chicken in Chinatown?! You got moxie kid, I like that.

Turns out the disks I wrote about the other day are unreadable. Yup, they either got the bit-rot, or there’s nothing on those mofos. You know, now that I think about it – I think Joey and I may have used those things on a PC sometime after we used them on the Mac? I wonder if we were smart enough to format them and store crap on them. Either way, I’m gonna try and get them back and see if I can read them on a PC 5.25″ floppy. Owell, it was worth a try.

That’s it, midnight-thirty and I have to be up around five. I’m off to bed, g’night losers. Dave out.