Customer Care and Wow! Did that just Happen?

   Have you ever noticed that it is almost impossible to go back to an old job and just be a customer? No matter what type the business is, it's always a hassle in one way or another. But what happened to me yesterday still has me baffled as to what to do. Maybe the 4.73 people who read this will be able to provide me with some insight.
   I worked at a Toyota dealer here in the area, a very prominent one actually. One that truly does have a different business model than any other dealership in the country. They really do strive to maximize their customer service and satisfaction, and they are somewhat successful at it. But Toyota has a very organized customer feedback design in place and when things don't go the dealerships way, it tends to get nasty.
   When I worked there, I bought two new cars, the newest being my 2013 Camry SE. I took it in for one of the free services, compliments of Toyota Care, about three weeks ago. A couple days later, I got an email from Toyota with the link to their customer service experience survey.
   Now, having been a Toyota dealership employee before, I realize the significance of these surveys. I understand they carry a lot of weight with them, and most of the dealerships use the results of these surveys to determine employee performance based salaries and/or bonuses. I've even seen people lose their jobs over a couple bad surveys. (One in particular was a service writer who was fired after receiving two bad surveys in one day. They came from two older gentleman who got stellar service, and their cars were fixed perfectly the first time and on time. But they got into an argument  with each other, which lead to pushing and shoving in the waiting room over the presidential debate which was on television the night before.)
   I was honest on this survey, and included some very detailed explanations of my observations in the comments section. I included all the good with the bad, and I didn't lie or exaggerate about anything. When I finished, I hit the send button, returning the completed survey via cyberspace back to those individuals at Toyota that analyze the surveys, just like I've done before at least 5 times.
  This time was different. Within 20 minutes, my phone rang. It was the service director at the dealership. Let me note here that he was NOT in this position when I left this dealership before. But I have worked for him in the past at a couple different places. A couple years ago, he had a little run in with the law. He did some rehab time, made good on a career somewhere else, and then he started where he's at now about two months ago.
  It wasn't the type of phone call a service director should be making to a customer who had sub-par service experience. In fact, it wasn't the type of phone call that a service director should make to a customer at all, and expect to keep his job. (I've seen managers loss their job for less offensive conversations with customers.)
   It took several minutes for me to realize just what happened. And I don't think it really started to sink in until this morning.
  Who knows... maybe he's right. Maybe I am just an asshole.

Thankfully... it's over

Yes, it's true.

   The year 2013 is almost over, and I for one, couldn't be more happy. It started off as being this "year of change" for me... continuing my education, expanding my career in a new direction (Not nude erection... say it out loud.)
   It turned out to be a mediocre year of waste for me. A year that reminded me the hard way that not all businesses are as tactful or as ethical as they appear to be from the street. I was reminded that an employer will tell potential new employees anything in an effort to make a buck. They do their best to make it appear that they have their best interest in mind, and they even occasionally make a half-hearted effort to make it look like they give a crap. But the truth is that so very few do. It's really sad, but it also explains a lot of things too.
  I'm not going to go into a rant about the economy, the employment rate, etc... I'm not mad. I'm disappointed, but not mad. I will tell you all (The three people that may or may not still be reading this) that I was the fool who believed in them. In fact, I did it twice. In one year.
 
   Is it 2014 yet?

Downhill Doors

We were all young... fourth grade at the time I think. It took all 8 or 9 of us to carry the 60 lb. door up the snow covered hill, which took most of our lunch hour.  At that age, we all walked clumsily and probably looked awkward in those big rubber boots and the coats our parents bought us so big they would last three seasons. I can only imagine the trouble we would have been in if Sister Ellen Marie found out where we were and what we were doing. Holy crap...

   I heard that one of the older kids got the idea after seeing someone else take a car fender down the hill at incredible speeds, but apparently that didn't have the optimum shape, or the durability that was needed. But a Kelvinator refrigerator door was perfectly shaped, and durable as a freight truck. It really was the perfect sled for high speed downhill action, and this group of 10 year old hooligans was about to find out what high speed sled riding was really like. In fact, I highly doubt any of us have traveled that quickly on a sled since that day. The added weight that the refrigerator door had over the cheap red plastic discs when sent down a very steep hill (nearly 45 degrees in one place) really got it and its occupants moving!

   The foot long horizontal handle was removed which left a small indent in the door and two small holes... minor and insignificant given the size of the door. The smooth painted surface was slightly curved which made it strong enough to hold us all in the snow without denting. It didn't have the optimum seating arrangement. I barely remember what the thing looked like now, but I do remember clearly that it didn't have anything to hold onto.

   We nearly accidentally let it go down the hill by itself as we tried to get everyone on. It's slick surface on the compacted snow moved as easily as marbles on a granite counter top. Once we got on and a couple people started saying they were ready, it was game time... and little hands in big mittens started paddling us to the edge of the hill in what is now Gutknecht Arrowhead Park in Bel Ridge, Missouri. Back then it was still private property, and we would have surely been asked to leave if we were seen in this large front yard with two large ponds. But since the owner was gone was gone at work during the daytime, we were somewhat safe.

   Once we got the door over the edge, the rate at which we accelerated was unlike anything we had experienced. I can still remember the sound of the air rushing past my face as we went from 0 to get-me-off-this-thing in just a few seconds. I can still remember thinking "This is way too fast" immediately followed by "We aren't even close to top speed yet!"

   The steepest part of the hill, which is more down than it is flat, is only about ten feet long, but on this off-white behemoth of a sled, that was plenty of room to get moving at speeds that no child should ever endure on his catholic grade school lunch break. I remember at one point, just about when I thought we couldn't go any faster, I realized that there were no brakes, and no driver. We were now at the mercy of gravity, and I didn't see any sign that this was going to be good.

   At the bottom of the hill is one of two ponds on the property, and the winds had blown most of the snow off the thick ice on this day. When we got to the bottom of the main part of the hill, heading for this place I routinely fished in the summers, I expected us to slow down a bit, but we didn't. I almost think the wind was with us... we kept going at what was surely several hundred mph. One or two of my classmates had jumped ship near the top of the hill, and there were 6 or 7 of us left on this flat rocket and heading straight for the thick ice where I learned that I don't play hockey well. The bank of the lake is about 24" above the water level on this side, and the snow drifts added to the difference. When we hit the edge of this rise, we all left the surface of the door, and nothing kept it flat as it traveled through the air with its passengers hovering above it. The door landed on the ice on one of its edges just before we all bounced off it as our butts slammed down from outer space. Bodies went flying, screams rang through the air, and I can still remember the sound of the thick nylon winter coats as we all skidded across the icy surface like human curling stones. The only brakes we had were our cotton gloves and mittens, far from sufficient.

   I think we left the rocket ship there on the frozen lake surface, not far from where we found it before we drug it up the hill. We all laughed, compared notes verbally about how amazing that was, told each other repeatedly about how far we flew while we were in orbit, and assured each other that "I" was the fastest of all.

   We knew our time was running out, and we need not push our luck any further. I'm sure some of us actually thought that Sister Ellen Marie could hear our screams from the school playground, two blocks away. If she was paying attention, I really think she could have. We made our way back through the short stretch of woods and sneaked back up the small uphill driveway onto the school property. We all brushed off our catholic school uniform pants and our jackets to make sure we weren't wearing any signs of having just made sled riding history.

   From my mother's kitchen window I can see this particular hill... and I think about that ride often whenever the topic of crazy sled rides comes up. I just wish I knew where I could find a Kelvinator.

Great guy... but glad he lost...

  I know... I'm a hypocrite, but I'll be honest here, since no ones reads this anyway.
But as much as I loved seeing Alabama lose to Auburn, I hated seeing AJ McCarron losing. This guy, as much as I dislike the Crimson Tide... he's one of the finest human beings to walk this earth. And he will no doubt go on to do great things in whatever career he chooses.
  It's one thing to overcome the odds as a child, and excel in a sport as physical as football when you weren't supposed to be able to walk again as a kid. But to do it, with the integrity and the unselfishness that he has is awe inspiring. I'm man enough to say that I couldn't do it. Not the way he does.
  If you know who AJ is, but don't know what I'm talking about... do a quick search of him and add the name Starla Chapman to your search. Grab some tissues, sit down and read about what an incredible human being he is.
  And just for the record... I'm still going to be backing Auburn in the BCS championship game next month.

Pencils and Pickups, and the Tapping Finger

   I was that guy in grade school that was always just a little too good at math. Like... better-than-the-teacher good at math. I admit, it does help that she was a bit on the stupid side, but what do you expect from a catholic grade school in a depressed neighborhood in 1975 middle america? It was a job to her, and she did okay. But I can assure you she didn't have a degree in math.
   I really did enjoy drawing at that age, and I was fairly good at it. And most of my teachers up until that point never did mind that I was drawing all the time, because I did fine in all my other subjects. But on this particular day, me and that witch with the short dark hair butted heads. I vaguely remember that she walked over to my desk, and I'm nearly certain she influenced her shadow to make that oh-so-dramatic entrance over my paper, littered with no. 2 lead. Her longer than normal index finger made two quick taps on my drawing as her voice accompanied in rhythm "What's that... put it away". Of course, all 44" of my hooligan frame was not about to just put it away. After all, she couldn't just say something like that in front of the whole class and expect that I would just jump. Who was I? Her whipped husband?
  So, I did the next best thing that any 5th grader would do... "Why, I already know this stuff better than you."

  Steam rolled from her head like a pipe that just burst... her face turned colors that weren't human, and her eyes quivered and her lips trembled as she fought to not hit me. She inhaled deep... and tried her best to be stern with me as she said "I want you to add the numbers... 1 + 2 + 3 + 4 + 5 + 6... " at this point, she opened her eyes widely, and raised her jaw, to make sure she drew the exact reaction she was looking for from the rest of the class "all the way to 100. Add them up. Now.... go!" The whole class Oooohhhed and heads turned quickly, everyone looking at one another, verifying that she did indeed just say the "H" word.
 
   Before the hush that had just been laid over the room became quiet again, I looked at my drawing and without missing a stroke of the ol' no. 2, I blurted out "It's 5050."
   "No, I want you to add them up! Not guess." she yelled back, not realizing that I was serious.
   "I just did" I replied.
   Now at this point, I have to tell you that I probably wouldn't have been able to do this the way I did had it not been for a trip to the bowling alley just a few weeks earlier. My sister, a fellow math nerd, had mentioned that she had noticed that a rack of pins in consisted of four rows. 1, 2, 3, and 4 pins in each. 1 + 4 is 5, as is 2 + 3. 2 X 5 is ten. Then she showed that it works for all numbers... if their were seven row, there would be 3 combinations of 8 (1 & 7, 2 & 6, 3 & 5) plus the remaining 4. 3 X 8 is 24, plus 4 is 28. That made perfect sense to both of us. It runs in the family... numbers just make sense to us. Even to this day.
   Now back to Mrs. Morgan...
   She looked at me for a second, and I continued to explain in a how-could-you-be-so-stupid tone... "1+100 is 101 so is 2 and 99, 3 and 98... all the way up to 50 and 51. 50 times 100 is 5000, 50 times one is 50... answer... 5050"
   I went back to drawing... probably a pickup truck or a horse... those were my two favorite subjects in that era.
   She did eventually acknowledge that I was right, but she wasn't happy with me, I do remember that well.
   And for some reason... I'm pretty certain she's still not any good at math.
 
 

Boom goes the Mountain

Maybe I'm the weird one... I guess it's totally possible. But I prefer to think it's because I didn't grow up with it and go through the whole story the way the others did. But I still see it in the distance, especially on days like yesterday when the weather is unseasonable clear and sunny (although colder than normal by several degrees).

   *** I was walking back into the building, up the deteriorated cement steps, flanked by the overgrown shrubs, in the shadow of the smelly brick building with the bad plumbing... I had just come from the mess hall and was on my way to my room in the barracks when Doug and Jamie walked out the front door and Doug said "Hey, you wanna go fly over Mt. St. Helens with us? Come on... Cooley just bailed, said he doesn't want to go... come on man, it will be awesome!"***

  Mt. St. Helens is in southwest Washington, about 50 miles away as a bird flies. I vaguely remember the days in my freshman year of high school when it erupted in May 1980. At that time, I don't think I could have told you that Portland and Seattle were the two closest major cities without looking at a map. I don't even think I actually saw the pictures of the eruption on television until several days later, and then I don't even think I realized the full magnitude of what happened until 7 years later, when I got the opportunity of a lifetime.

  It was June 1987. I had recently transferred duty stations from Schofield Barracks, Hawaii to Fort Lewis Wa. At that time, Fort Lewis was thought of, at least by the troops, as a holding station for two things... people who are due to go over to Korea, or people who just got back from Germany. I actually requested the assignment there, otherwise I probably would have been stationed somewhere else. But I ended up in a transport company that had about as little significance as a military unit could have. Even the company officers, including the CO and XO told us that if our whole unit were wiped off the map by the enemy it wouldn't even make the local news. We were nowhere near wartime, I was getting out of the military myself in just 6 more weeks, and I had been keeping a short timers calendar for years already. I think I started counting down from 1000 days.

  There were hoards of losers and no-go's in our battalion. For some of them, this was their first duty station after getting out of basic training and AIT schooling. This was the only thing they knew of the military, and looking back on it knowing what I know now, I feel sorry for them. It really was much more appealing in other places. Two of those guys that lived in the same building I did were Doug and Jamie. They were both 19, had just graduated high school about a year earlier, and they both had zero interest in making any improvements in their military experience. Thankfully, Jamie's parents had the resources to do something very cool for him.

  Ft. Lewis and McChord Air Force Base were side by side at the time, and different stations. Today they are combined and have some fancy name... but I digress...

  Jamie's parents wanted him to get something out of his military experience, and they did some research on their own. And what they decided to do was too cool! There was a flight school on the Ft. Lewis base so soldiers could learn to fly airplanes. Small top wing, 4 passenger prop driven planes, and classes were twice a week in the evenings, and schedules were flexible enough to not interfere with deployment trips and such. Jamie's parents enrolled him and on this particular night, on my way back from the mess hall, Jamie's instructor was taking us on a trip over Mt. St. Helens, which was just south and east of us. I had seen it a couple times from I-5 on my way to Portland, but this particular night ended up changing my life.

  The weather was perfect on this particular evening. We arrived at the airfield and met the instructor whose first words were "You guys ready?"  We wasted no time getting on the plane, which was awesome, since I was antsy on the inside like a little kid going to see Santa. I seated myself behind Jamie, on the left side of the plane, which proved to be the better of the two sides, and had the better view for the route we took. The engine fired up and the whole thing shook like crazy... I remember thinking it was actually okay if this thing crashed, as long as we made it to see the volcano first. The interior of the plane was loud too... Jamie and his instructor both had headsets on and were talking back and forth to each other a lot, but Doug and I couldn't hear a thing. Once we got in the air, we quickly resorted to tapping each other on the shoulder and pointing to things as opposed to yelling at each other.

  The plane’s wings bounced around as we climbed in altitude. A small single engine prop driven plane climbs much differently than a jetliner does, and our trip had some moments that probably should have scared me. The shaking and rattling of the plane made no obvious concerns to Jamie or his instructor, so I did my best to ignore it all too. I also remember it being much colder in the air than it was on the ground. Not uncomfortably cold, but much cooler than I was expecting it to be.

  It didn't take long for us to get to the northern edges of the Gifford Pinchot National Forest where the destruction from the volcano's blast was clearly evident. From the air, it was as if someone drew a line on the ground and commanded the destruction to not cross this line... and it didn't.

  On one side of the line, the trees were tall, green, and looked just like the ones we had been flying over the last 45 minutes. On the south side of the line... it was a completely different story. The landscape was unlike anything you could possibly imagine. The trees, some 4 or 5 feet in diameter, were blown over on their sides... void of all branches, stripped of life and all signs it ever had any. The trees laid side by side like toothpicks, all in the same direction, and all appearing to be the victim of something more massive and devastating than anyone has ever encountered. Nothing is green. Even though the blast was 7 years earlier, nothing showed a single sign of life having ever been there. The entire surface of the one-time forest was gray and looked like the bottom of a giant ashtray.

  The images I saw on the news 7 years earlier did not do this place justice.

  There was no music playing here.

  There was nothing that resembled the peaceful outdoors.

  There was no flora and fauna.

  There was nothing harmonious.

  The landscape told the story of just how bad it really was.

  After several minutes once we crossed "the line", I realized Doug and I were no longer tapping and pointing... the instructor wasn't telling us where to look, not telling Jamie where to go, not telling us where we were... he's seen this reaction in people before. People being overcome with the awe and he understood the process their brain has to go through to sort this out. We all just looked. Well, Jamie flew and looked... but the rest of us just looked. We were still quite away from the crater of Mt. St. Helens, which was directly south of us as we came to a strange, flat plain of logs and debris which pointed all different directions. It was Spirit Lake, and the trees which littered its surface were all flat and on one plane, like you would expect the surface of a lake to look like. But there was no sign of water at all. Nothing. In 1987, Spirit Lake was still much more like a child's mud pie. It was muddy, slimy, and full of tree trunks that looked like toothpicks floating in a glass of chocolate milk.

  We went around the western side of the mountain and counter clockwise around the south of the crater. (Thus why my left side seating choice proved to be the optimal one.) We still didn't say much to each other. We looked. We stared. We looked at the steaming mound in the crater where the small mound of lava had already started to create a new mountain top for this peak which lost nearly 1/4 mile of it’s vertical reach just earlier that decade. We looked in awe at the hole left behind by the near one full cubic mile of land that had disappeared in the landslide/eruption that fateful May 1980 Sunday morning.

  It took several minutes to make our way around the crater and start to head north towards Mt. Ranier. We circled that mountain too that night... but I don't even remember anything about it other than the fact that we went there. We still didn't say much to each other. We all just looked. We were all still speechless by the sight of all those downed trees, and I know that for me, I still couldn't wrap my head around what it took to do that.

  Yesterday was one of those unusual November days in Oregon where it was actually clear enough to see Mt. St. Helens from my home near Portland. It was covered with fresh snow and was a clean, majestic white, even with its broken, topless appearance. Most don't even remember what it used to look like. I never saw it the way it used to look, only pictures and the videos I've seen in countless documentaries. When I first moved here, 20+ years ago, the local media did stories of one sort or another every year on the eruptions anniversary. They've dwindled to almost nothing now, unless it's an anniversary that is a multiple of 5 or 10.

  I tried to take some pictures of the mountain yesterday, to send to friends and family afar... I didn't get any good ones, nothing worth saving anyway. But that mountain still makes an impression on me. So much so that 33 years later, I'm taking an hour out of my life to write about it. On a Friday.

  If a tree falls in the forest and there's no one there to hear it.... Wait a second... What if there are tens of thousands of trees getting blown over?

  Seven years later... they produced a unique silence.  

When Slippery was Cool

There was a time not that long ago, in a different place, where a large group of people used to write. We all got along. We opened up to each other. We shared things with each other that were close to our hearts. Some even shared things that they didn't even share with those near and dear to them in their own home. We wrote about our past, we wrote about our futures, we wrote about our dreams, our fears, our wants, our most painful experiences, the things that inspire us, and the things that put us in awe.
  Some of us were real writers. Those were the ones that had perfect grammar, post after post after post. Their sentences were perfect, they spelled correctly, they knew the correct way to use commas, parenthesis, and quotation marks. And some of those were even entertaining! Some of us, like myself, just pretended more than anything because it was still more appealing than jumping in the mice pace world. Some couldn't spell anything correctly even with the help of spell-check programs. Some shared stories of their lives that none of us would want to experience even if they could have their own life back after a brief visit. But we all wrote. We all shared. We all laughed with each other and we all cried together on a weekly basis... and this went on for almost four years.
  But when we wrote, we all accepted each other for who and what they were. We all read each others writings, good or bad, and we agreed or agreed to disagree. It was a great place, although it has changed so much since then that it might as well be gone. For all intensive purposes, it is gone. But what we got from it is still with many of us. And many of us still write elsewhere, but not all of us in the same place. Many of us still keep in contact. But that's not one of the reasons I'm here now.
  One of them, though, I really miss. She wrote poetry. And good poetry. She poured her heart out to us, telling her side of a failed marriage to an unfaithful spouse. She told us stories of her illness that she dealt with daily. An illness that had no cure, and one in which people don't "see" therefore the sympathy becomes lack-luster over time. She made us care about humanity. She used her words to make us see the wrong in our own world, and really want to make it right. She made us feel okay to be vulnerable. She made herself a teacher of wisdom to people she'll never meet. Her words had real power.
  She wrote about those that inspired her as a writer, and did them great honor with what she had to say. She wrote about her brilliant kids and the things they did that would make us laugh, and make us have a better sense of security in the youth of our society.
  She was the only one of us that could routinely set me back in my chair... blow me away with her words... her descriptions... her ideas... her epiphanies. She was brilliant, joyous, humorous, vulnerable, and determined. She was everything you would ever want in a best friend.
  I used to call her the Slippery Poet. And I miss her. And I miss her words.

Catchy Holiday Title goes Here

   I remember as a kid... I didn't really care much for Thanksgiving. I think it was because of the fact that I had to get up early the next day, go shopping with my mom and her sister, and then we had to fly home before noon, she had to wrap presents and hide them... but no, even before that nightmare. On Thanksgiving Day, the house was always way too hot. Too many people, it made the dogs uncomfortable, it made me uncomfortable, it was just an awkward day for me every year.
   I think it was probably in my mid 20s that I really starting not hating Thanksgiving Day. It was then that I discovered football on a higher level, and I also discovered really amazing home cooked food for the first time in my life. (Thank you, Richard.)
   I remember one particular stretch as a kid where I got violently ill on Thanksgiving Day three consecutive years. Like... projectile vomit city... really bad. Made the whole house stink. Seriously.
   This year will be a good one. I hope all 4 or 5 of those that see this will have a great Thanksgiving. Don't hate the holiday... I did enough of that for all of us.

The Tower Talk

   She made her way through the small crowd and somehow ended up next to me that day in the lunch line, and when I turned and saw her small disfigured face, I smiled as she said "Hey! Want to find a place to eat with me?"

   At 4' 10" she was small by anyone's standard. But she had a smile and an energy about her that was so much bigger than her short stature should be able to contain. She was the type of person that would surprise you long after you thought you knew her. 

   We grabbed our military meal and walked down the red dirt road that Schofield Barracks' east range was famous for. We found a small retaining wall made of wooden planks that was just tall enough for us to sit on, and just far enough away from everyone else that we could have some privacy. 

   Even as we sat down with our wobbly paper plates and our now near cold meal on them, I wasn't quite sure why she picked me to speak with that day. We weren't good friends. We didn't speak one on one at all, really, usually only in a group setting by default because of common friends/co-workers. When we did talk though, I loved her smile. Even before the incident. (I refuse to call it an accident.) I loved to see her laugh... it was genuine... right down to the core of her soul, she laughed. Her body swayed, her arms moved... and I enjoyed making her laugh like that too. 

  On the Saturday, 10 days earlier, she was with her husband and another couple at their home on the north shore. They were all enjoying some drink and some smoke for most of that day, and something happened later that evening that prompted her husband to grab a chair and swing it at her. It took most of her nose off. Gone.

  We made small talk as we walked down the road to this secluded place, which happens to be near the repel tower at the 25th Infantry Division's Air Assault school. I don't remember what we did talk about, but I know it wasn't anything to do with that night. 

  When she felt ready, she told me the details of that night, and what led up to it. She told me about how she had always feared he could get violent one day, especially when he was high. She told me she felt like they had already smoked enough that day. She told her husband they should save the rest for later. But he and his buddies were in no mood to listen to the short little wife enlisted woman who worked in the S2 on post. She was just trying to put an end to their fun. 

  It was the first time her husband ever got violent with her. He had never hit her prior to that day. That may be why he couldn't find it in his heart to use his fists. He had never done it before. But the small desk chair was available, and the damage it caused was permanent. 

  I remember her telling me her friends wouldn't let her look at it. She didn't see it for herself until she was at the emergency room and she told those with her that she had to go to the bathroom. I can still remember the look of terror on her beautiful face as she described the first time she saw her disfigurement. 

  She needed someone to open up to that day. Not sure why... but I was there. 

  We never talked like that again after that day either. We talked, but never one on one again, like that day. We had a deep respect and care for each other, but from afar. We exchanged smiles from a distance during morning formations regularly. We met in larger groups and talked regularly, but nothing like that day under the repel tower that was affectionately known as "The Green Monster". 

  I hope she still knows how to laugh. 

  

Attention all student jocks and stuff...

  Even if you don't play yourself... if you know someone. Read this and let them know BEFORE tryouts...

  Coaches don't know you. They didn't see you play that great game two years ago and score the winning goal...

  Even if they did... they don't care.

  They've never seen you play before. And if they have, you should treat your tryouts like they never have.

  It's a tryout. And the coaches, if they are worth a damn, should be looking for a few things that not everyone trying out thinks about.

  Your ability to listen, your willingness to learn and try new things, and your ability to encourage your teammates.

  I don't care if you're trying out for soccer, volleyball, football, basketball, softball, track, or any other sport, try out and remember that no matter how talented you are, there's someone out there who is working harder, training better, and has more raw talent than you do. And if your dad is coach and you don't believe any of this... then shame on him for not telling you all this already.

  So if you're trying out for a sport any time in the near future, don't do it half-ass and then get upset that you didn't make the team. I hate seeing people with real talent go through the motions of tryouts, and then get upset at the coaching staff because they didn't get picked. It's your chance and you blew it. No one else's fault.

Procrastination

It's not just a bad habit, it's a way of life. I'll tell you more about it tomorrow.

Popcorn with Sugar please

Would you rather watch a great film about 3 friends on a road trip, encountering some mishaps along the way, but they survive, learn a few things along the way, don't get in any real trouble with the law, and grow closer as a result of the trip... or would you rather watch a movie about space ships and how aliens came to earth and we conquered them with a special blend of vegetable oil that was recently discontinued because it made people grow uni-brows? (Okay, that one is kinda funny, I must admit.)

 Did someone send Hollywood  a memo about 20-25 years ago, that said something to the effect that people lowered there standards and are now far too easily entertained?

    Was it the transformation of special effects into something that looked so believable, that made movie makers think it was okay for the movie's story line to be non-believable?

    Was it a change in technology with modern camera and/or editing equipment that made directors and those in charge just sit back and say "No, that's okay, we can fix that later" and then they never do. 

    Oh wait... I remember now... I know what the problem is. 

    I'm a movie snob! That's right, I almost forgot, but it just hit me. 

    I'd rather sit back and watch something that could really happen, than waste 4 hours of my life watching a group of CG small people and their half-alien friend run around through a forest where the trees are alive looking for a $99.00 piece of jewelry from a pawn shop. 

    I'd rather watch a story of how a group of friends take an overnight trip to see a dead body in the woods and make discoveries about themselves and each other in the process, than watch aliens coming to earth and their entire species is wiped out by a group of kids from the local 4H club who just happen to know where ole man McGillicutty's weapon stash is kept. 

   I'd rather watch a great film about a memorable event than waste my time watching someone's creation of a scene that will never remotely happen in our lifetime. 

   My name is JM and I'm a movie snob. There, I said it. 

Sign, Sign, Everywhere a Sign

   Have you ever driven down the street and saw a sign of some type that made you stop and do a double-take? I'm almost certain you have, and if you've ever driven down my street, you might have even stopped and taken a picture of it, like many do on a semi-regular basis. I see it all the time, since the one across the street from me is one of the first ones people come to when they drive through town. We're on the way t the mountain, and some take this opportunity for a photo session.
   I've seen people posing as prostitutes next to it, posing as a hitch hiker next to it, and even two or more people posing like dogs in the act. (Seriously, could I make that up?)
  So what does this sign say, you ask, that prompts these actions?

Getting kicked in front of Molly

   Have you ever caught yourself wondering what you did wrong to deserve the treatment you're getting on a daily basis? I mean, I do the right thing for the most part, I don't lie, I don't cheat, I don't steal... I help people out when I can, and I try even if I can't. I'm not a saint, don't get me wrong... but on the grand scheme of things, I'm an okay dude.
   But sometimes I feel like karma is wearing boots and just sits around waiting to kick me in the sac the instant I'm not expecting it! Lately, I feel like I could look back of the last 16 months or so, and I can zoom out a bit, looking in at myself from afar... and what do I see? I see the universe sitting on a couch with his buddies... they're all eating chips, drinking beer, wearing wife-beaters, some Molly Ringwald movie is playing in the background too loudly, and the main focus in the room is Uni and his buds are messing up my life like I'm a Ken doll in bad clothing, sitting on the coffee table that Uni's little sister left sitting there the night before.
   So does this whole life thing have a checks and balances system... I mean, I'm paying the price now, right? So, does the universe eventually look back at all this mistreatment and say "Yeah, we really owe this one. Maybe we should actually give him the Powerball numbers this week."
   What if there is no system of keeping everything fair and even? I mean, there is, right? I would like to think there is. I wrote a couple weeks ago about the lucky sperm club members, and I think they have a slight advantage, but I think the non-club members still get some compensation in other ways.
   Maybe not... maybe this is it. Maybe this post, right here, right now, is the pinnacle of my being.
Doubtful... I still haven't gotten a single comment on any of this crap... not sure why anyone other than myself would read it now... although you're all missing out... this is funny shit! Are you kidding me? Did you read my post about Halloween? That was funny!
   Oh well... have a good day everyone, and don't let the universe leave you out on the coffee table.

Music before Motoring

Sometimes the strangest things will get me revved up. It is, however, quite often something musically related, and today's discovery is just that. This time it's a new band that is not only amazing, creative, original, talented, and has a great stage presence, but they've accomplished all of this before they are even old enough to get their driver's licenses.
The name of the band is Unlocking the Truth. They are middle school students from Brooklyn, and don't look like anything other than your typical, awkward middle school nerdy boys. Until they unleash their heavy metal rock and roll on you! They're level headed, are passionate about their music, and they know how to perform in front of a live audience. But if you saw anyone of them off stage you'd never know they were a metal music performer. They obviously have some great parent mentoring to help them get to where they are now, but I haven't seen a lot about who that may be yet. While watching one of their videos, I did hear a gentleman in the background say "That's my son, and those two are my nephews" so I'm assuming they are all cousins. But relations aside, they know how to play and they just made a new fan today.
But the real gem in this group is Malcolm Brickhouse, the lead guitarist. Watching him play is like receiving a gift from the universe... he's special. He doesn't play guitar, but his guitar is an extension of him, and listening to the music he creates is like watching the dreams of his soul fly out of his chest in the form of chords and riffs. I hope the music industry treats these kids well, and I would enjoy seeing big things for these kids. It's already in them... you can see it.

Bad Decisions in a Cereal Town

   I loath stupidity and ignorance. Not so much like when some dumb ass drives his car recklessly and hits a pole and inures himself... if he has passengers in the car, I loath his actions more. But do you know what I really hate?
   I absolutely get infuriated when a group of individuals who are appointed and in charge of others' actions make decisions that are so poor and ridiculous, that you can do nothing but shake your head and do your best to try not to slap them. Just such a thing happened this past Monday in Battle Creek, Michigan at Lakeview Middle School.
   A sixth grader there passed away over the weekend from leukemia and her fellow students did the most amazing thing they could do. They came together as a student community and rallied in her honor... supporting one another and being their for one another. They showed up to school on Monday wearing orange and blue shirts. Blue, her favorite color, and orange for leukemia awareness. The shirts, many made by the students themselves, said things like "We love you Caitlyn" or just the girl's name with a heart.
  They were grieving. They were hurting. They were pulling together to be there for each other. For a very large number of them, they were likely going through the first real loss of a friend they've ever experienced. It's not an easy time.
   Now let's talk about the Ass Clowns in this story! The people in charge at the school district there in Battle Creek... WOW! What idiots! They told the students they couldn't wear the shirts to honor their fellow student because it violated a policy about student memorials.
   Excuse me... what did you say?
   Can you imagine how Caitlyn's mother felt, when she found out that students were told they had to take their shirts off or turn them  inside out? Can you imagine how the kids felt... how some of her best friends felt?
   I don't even understand how such a policy could have ever been put in place to begin with. It makes no sense to me at all.
   The school ultimately apologized, and said the kids could wear the shirts on Tuesday. But I'd like to direct the following to the aforementioned Ass Clowns of Lakeview Middle School administrators...
   You failed. You failed miserably and you should be embarrassed. Your apologies are too late, your words have no weight, and you should all find a new career in auto parts delivery business or something. Maybe go to Subway and be a sandwich artist. You have no business making decisions that have an impact on children. You have no business making decision at all.
   Kellogg's in town... maybe you can get a job there making sure the froot loops are properly packaged.

Peeing in the Gene Pool

   I spent years telling people that there weren't as many crooks out there as what the media portrayed in the world of auto repair businesses. And I still believe it to this day. But in hindsight, maybe I should have been looking from a third party point of view to see more than I did with my inside-info-eyes.
   I was naive for so many years. I thought I knew more than my peers. For many of those peers, I did, and they respected me for the way I used that knowledge as a leader among them. They also respected the knowledge I possessed that I didn't always share. The younger ones always knew that my word was most likely to help them.
  But now I look at it all as I'm now completely on the outside and I see things so differently. I was naive enough to think that standing up and taking initiative as a leader in the shop was going to get me an office with a view one day. But as it turns out, my fate was determined long ago. The day I was conceived to be exact.
  I wasn't a member of the Lucky Sperm Club... and because of that, there is always someone who is in that club that is closer to the front of the line for that office with a view. The part that pisses me off more than anything though is the fact that I nurtured so many of them and taught them how to do that job. I made so many look like heroes to their uncles, their cousins, their brothers, their whoever... I was the one that was responsible for their success. I should have seen it all too, they were always calling me to come back. I'm probably the only person most of you know that has been at a job, quit, and then went back again at FOUR different places. I must say though... the most recent one was actually a very good manager once he put his head into it. But most of the others... they are still worthless.
  Makes me wonder if I'll escape it in any business, or if I just need to go swimming in a new gene pool.

Bird brains

I've never looked at birds in the wild and given thought as to what may be going through their minds. Until today.
For some reason, we have a high number of hummingbirds in the area at this time of the year and in particular, in our backyard this morning. As I sit here, watching them through the sliding glass door flutter around under our 12 X 12 canopy away from the slow drizzle of Oregon's rainy season, I noticed that they have an unusually high sense of security here. Even though they see me through the glass just a few feet away, they seem to feel safe here. Like a child in his or her treehouse, or dog laying on the comfy couch, they seem to find solace here.
And now I think to myself... how I must look to them? Do I appear comfortable and safe? Do I look tired or relaxed? Do I give the perception of being a member of the top of the food chain?

Drugstore Chins and the Bad Hair Day

 D and I go way back... to when we were both turning wrenches for way too little money. Even though we didn't work with each other as techs, we met that way.
 Something in us clicked that day in 2001, just weeks before the 9/11 attacks... and we kept in touch even after he left.
  Yesterday was the first time I've seen you in over four years, and I saw that glimpse of what you used to be like. I shouldn't have, really. You've gained weight, and not in the right places. Your hair looks like a bad Sopranos prop... your chins are easy to loose track of... you walk like you're carrying a child in your clothing...
but you made sure to tell me that I gained weight. 15 lbs to be exact.
 You also made sure to tell me that the stories that were going around about you weren't true. Of course they weren't.... they never are. The cops didn't arrest you in your office... you turned yourself in. It was the first time you forged the Rx... of course it was. DEA wasn't involved.. three newspapers were all wrong with the exact same untruths.
  Everyone else there saw us talking... and talked about it. Of course they did. I'm the former employee, you're the new boss and we're talking outside your office for three hours. What did you think?
  Your stories are legit D.
  I'm sorry about what happened.
  No, I'm not coming back. I'm done.
  Not working on your side projects with you and your brother either. And J doesn't want to get involved with you two. I asked him already.
  You'll do fine there. Until the big guy gets tired of you. And then you'll find another past life to tug on for awhile.
  Good luck.
 

Be first to comment on the Leprechaun Post!

The strangest comments or remarks can lead to some fairly odd ideas rolling in my head. I can hear someone mention a new television show and within minutes I can be thinking about the most popular career choices of those who just never made it in show business. What happened... where did they go? What do they do now, and do they tell people that they were in a pilot or two, but the show flopped, or do they just pretend they were in Seattle all that time visiting cousins? Are they working at 7-11 like everyone thinks, or did they go on to be successful wine makers in California? Are they back at their old high school jobs pushing a broom at their dad's convenient store or are they chief engineer on a cruise ship in the Mediterranean?

A new friend of mine whom I recently met online told me that if she ever makes it to Ireland she'll bring me back a leprechaun. I thought to myself all the possibilities of what my new leprechaun could do for me.

 He could do the dishes... after I built him a step stool of course...

 He could do laundry and sweep... another step stool in the laundry room I think... 

 He could mow the lawn... 

Wait... I'm not thinking big enough. 

I live in Oregon, and it rains plenty here. Sometimes we even get rainbows. And I bet HE will be able to find that pot of gold that is supposed to be there!

He could also keep all those pesky garden gnomes away!

At Halloween time... I could make a little troll costume. Or, maybe... a little zombie leprechaun! That's it!

I could sublet him out to the malls at Christmas to be a Santa's helper... 

I know... bad post... but what the heck... no one is really reading this anyway except me. 

If you've made it this far, do you realize you could be one of the first, if not, THE first to leave a comment here in my blog? I used to have a very successful blog years ago... had lots of followers. Lots of friends I made there. Life changed, I needed to let those friends move on to other blogs, vlogs, youtube, vines, and fail compilations. Now I need to start fresh with a new batch of readers. 

Are you one of them?

 

Movies before Microwaves

  I've always been a bit of a nostalgic type. I was probably 6 years old when I first started my antique beer can collection. Around that same time I also started collecting car brochures too. I wish I would have put more of an effort into that one, but hindsight is always 20/20, right? 

  I've somehow found a strange pleasure in using this nostalgic side of my psyche to educate my g/f's daughter on anything that has to do with the way things were. Everything from music and movies to phones, phonographs, and photo booths. Since her and her friends are all big music fans I gave them a quick lesson recently on the history of the east coast/west coast hip hop scene and the rivalry that resulted from it. I explained to her that the rivalry is what created some of the best music of the last twenty years. It made all the artist dig deep and push the limits of their creativity. 

  Another interest that the two of us have in common is scary movies. So, today I'm sitting on the couch watching Mia Farrow in Rosemary's Baby. It definitely has some awkward scenes, when watching with a teenage girl, but fortunately the fact that cinematography has changed so much along with special effects (The "blood" when the neighbor's live-in girl falls from the window looks exactly like red paint) that there are plenty of things to laugh at to lighten the semi-graphic nudity. 

  One thing that I noticed while watching this movie though was the pace. Maybe not as noticeable when viewed as a movie from the 1960's but if you compare it to something more current, like any of the Paranormal Activity movies, you'll realize that it was written and produced before we turned into a society of people sitting in front of a laptop, saying "C'mon already" because the page is taking 4-6 seconds to load. 

   I remember once long ago, probably in the early 1990's, I heard a stand-up comedian say that we had turned in to society who had grown accustomed to standing in front of a microwave, tapping our foot and saying "Hurry up already!" He was right, and I have a feeling it will only get worse. I routinely hear computer and cell phone manufacturers in their advertisements making claims that their products are 3X faster than their competitors. Now, that would be impressive to me if the competitors product took... three days to find a website. But when brand X takes .8 seconds to load a page and the new, more expensive product is three times faster... I'm not buying into the hype. Does that sound like a difference that will make you want to spend a few hundred dollars more on a product? Let me ask you this... wouldn't it be easier and cheaper to just learn how to type the url that much quicker? 

   Okay.. enough of my rant... I'm going to go now since I need to brush my teeth after watching Rosemary eat a piece of raw chicken liver. Yummmy...

It's November now... and so far, so good.

   Most people think of this as being the day after Halloween, or All Saints day if you're Catholic. Some may think of it as the day to take down all the Halloween decorations (I'm not in that category, thank you very much... ) and some just think of it as the beginning of a new month.
   I think of this as being "that day" which makes me take a deep breath, take a look around, and tell myself that it's all in the past. On this day in 2008, wife #2 moved out of the house. A few days later I discovered the several thousands in debt she left me behind with on top of the several thousands I already knew about. Seven days after that, I was laid off from my job.
   Fast forward to Aug. 2009... I got a job, started myself back in school, and on Nov 1, 2009, I
was again laid off along with two other technicians. The financial crisis was still in full swing and the dealership I worked at thought it would be a good idea to thin the masses before the winter slow period set in.
  This second layoff had more financial ramifications however. I had somehow recovered quite well from the first round, but the second time the State of Oregon decided that in those 88 days of employment, I had worked just long enough and made just enough money that my unemployment insurance benefits had reset. So during round two, I was entitled to less than $100 week. I was scared. I had no idea what to do or how to fix it. And even though it only lasted about 9 weeks before I was called back by the same employer, the financial damage had been done. I still remember, however, the effects of the fear of the uncertainty of what was going to happen to me and my house and how I was going to come out of it on the other side.
   The second layoff was indirectly the cause of "November Mayhem Part 3". In Feb. 2010 I applied for another loan modification, since I had gone back to work. However the bank somehow thought that I made too much money to get another loan modification. I didn't make enough though, to repay all the bills for the two months when I only made $87/week. So, the house went into foreclosure, I put it on the market in a short sale status, and on Nov. 1 2010... I moved out of my house of 12 years. I loaded the last of my belongings into my little crappy 1989 Tercel coupe, and I took it all to my new little crappy apartment. It was a very sad day for me... and I remember it all too well. It was cold, it was raining, and the sun never showed itself the entire day. The car was completely blanketed with yellow leaves and dirty cold rain.
  The apartment never felt like home. It was always more like a place to store my stuff until I found my way again. I didn't unpack any boxes for the six months I was there. My cat didn't even like it. And he liked everything.
   On May 1 the following year, my g/f and I moved into the house we're in now. It's our home. And although it's a rental and it has it's flaws, it's ours. And I still think about Nov. 1st in a different light than anyone else would ever know.

Halloween and the Lobe of Standards

 Halloween has always been one of my favorite holidays, yet for some reason I rarely do anything for it. I think it's odd that I get such a thrill from seeing the decorations and the scary home scenes that my neighbors set up, with the loud scary music and the creepy ghost like things hanging in the trees, yet I do almost nothing myself. I often see some of these places at night time, and I'm so impressed that I'll go back during the day to see how it was all set up. I think to myself  "Wow... that's a great idea, I could do that and improve it by doing blah blah blah".

  There is a small part of the brain that we all have, and that we all use every day, but rarely think about. We'll call it "The Lobe of Standards".  It's the part of our brain that tells us what is and what isn't good enough. Especially when it comes to our own creations. For instance, we'll use a carpenter as an example... If the carpenter has a low Lobe of Standards, he might make a table that wobbles a little bit, or maybe cabinets that don't quite line up right. Sometimes the doors close all the way, sometimes they don't. If a carpenter has a high Lobe of Standards, his product is flawless. The joints in the woodwork meet up perfectly, and the fit and finish in his craft is of the highest quality. Not only that, but it is sure to be very durable and last for generations. He uses the highest quality materials, and the best hardware money can buy. 

  So let's get back to these incredible Halloween decorations.  I don't do any of it. I don't have any scary ghoulish items in the front of the house, I don't have loud music playing on big speakers, making the house seem as if it's haunted, and I don't even have a fake styrofoam gravestone in the front yard. And those are cheap! I saw them last weekend 2/$1.00!

   I think that the reason for this is my desire to do everything bigger and better and more flawlessly than the next guy. And I know I don't have the time and the money to do that right now. Or, any of the last 20 years apparently. I want to set up the house and be "that guy" on the street that has the coolest decorations and the scariest music and the most amazing and original homemade props that only the mind of a true genius could come up with! But instead, the only decoration you'll see in front of my house is the Christmas wreath from 2011 which we forgot to take down so we just left it there. And no, I'm not kidding. It's less than 9 hours before the kids in my neighborhood will be knocking on the door and I don't even have candy yet. Or a pumpkin. 

  It's nice knowing that I have a Lobe of Standards that is high enough to be beneficial to my craft as an artist, as a writer, as a student, and it certainly came in as a great quality in my 30 years as an auto technician. It was one of the most important lessons when teaching my sons how to work on their cars. They learned those lessons too. I used to point out to them the flaws in others' work so they would learn from the mistakes of others. 

  But now I'm seeing a flaw in my standards... it's keeping me from being part of something else that I want to do and have fun with. It's keeping me from doing things so-so, which is really all that needs to be done. It's not like there's a big prize for the best house in the neighborhood. No one will criticize me for not making the best decorations on the street. No one is going to point and stare and say, "Look at his house... it's mediocre!" 

  And of course, I'm just now figuring out that I have this flaw in my Lobe of Standards. If I would have figured it out a week ago, I could have done something more about it. But it's just the way my week has gone. My television broke just minutes before Monday night football AND Game 4 of the World Series. Both my teams lost that night. (St. Louis fan through and through.) I broke my toe yesterday morning getting out of the shower. That did NOT feel good! Then last night, after Thing 2's band concert at school last night, I came home and took my boots off not realizing that said toe had been bleeding earlier in the day... so when I took my socks off... OUCH!

  Keep your Lobe of Standards in a healthy place my friends. Sometimes the quality comes from the process instead of from the finished product.