Quality Of Life

        In a legal first, I filed a 'Quality Of Life' lawsuit against the state I was living in, which may make its way (hopefully) to the Supreme Court. 

        I figured "Why not?" after overhearing my Nth 'Right To Life' argument, probably while washing dishes with the TV on, where I couldn't change the channel soon enough 'cuz my hands were covered in suds. Listening to the back and forth, I could see that a legal loophole existed for if nobody could agree whether or not certain ones had a right to life, the quality of that life couldn't be far behind. Those affected by deficient amounts of Quality Of Life were certain to sue, and I wanted to be first in line.

Conferring with my hastily assembled legal team, it was agreed that while my complaint had not been brought forth to any court before, it had sufficient legal grounds to be presented, i.e., it had merit. 

  Certainly it couldn't be dismissed as frivolous, for if one had a Right To Life it surely followed that one had an equal right to Quality Of Life. How 'quality' was presently determined was that some authoritative entity followed the usual guidelines used to determine the value of things. They scanned the overall reach of society, looked to see where ones were situated, and through doing that a certain mean was found, a middle ground, one that was used to ascertain a 'benchmark' level of quality. One that was deemed 'acceptable'.

But my legal team's argument was that not only was Quality Of Life a financial and moral issue it was also a highly personal one for wasn't it up to the individual to determine what 'Quality Of Life' meant? This could not come through governmental decree for it would deny the individual’s 'Right Of Expression', a concept highly tied to Quality Of Life. For example, if I personally determined that perpetual bass fishing was essential to achieve Quality Of Life, could I be expected to be content were I relegated to perform the drugery of Formula One racing? 

Furthermore, as an at-heart perpetual bass fisherman, now turned Formula One race car driver, I would be grieviously prevented from even going near a calm, still lake full of bass and would suffer immeasureable psychological anguish to the degree that I could bankrupt any of a number of municipalities, perhaps even counties, and maybe even a whole state (the pain and suffering awards that innocently injured subjects previously received setting legal and financial precedent in such cases). While being placed in a race car driver's position could be argued as less than accidental, I could still be deemed a 'victim' as the level of suffering amassed would be deemed equal to that which any innocent injured person ever endured, in my legal council's estimation. 

  As it was, I was not in my complaint denied Quality Of Life in soooo extreme a manner but on the basis of denial I filed my claim anyway, which went through a series of lesser courts and experienced favorable rulings. My argument was presented thus:

"The playing of basketball alone is not sufficient grounds for the gaping disparity of income that exists between worker bee me and Player A of the Phoenix Suns. It indisputably follows, then, that my Quality Of Life (key words there) is nowhere near that of Player A. In a sane and progressive world, such exposure to imbalance would be looked upon as monstrous, abhorrent, and abominable. Since I know what those words mean, it decries a degree of intelligence and discernment that brings to me full knowledge of said disparity and with it, intense and implacable feelings of suffering to which I plead relief from to this court. My lawyers have in their possession documents and statements attesting to the veracity of recurring distressing states of mind that such exposure has caused me, which they can bring up to the bench, and of the numerous times I have been placed in such extreme states of agitation that it has required consolation, psychoanalysis, meditation, medication, and intervention even, to be employed, due to this ongoing injustice"

The higher courts pondered my claim with calm deliberation before agreeing that indeed I was one so aggrieved but these victories of mine were only temporary, for they were immediately and repeatedly appealed by state's counsel. In order to secure relief I had to take my case all the way to the Supreme Court, the highest in the land, whose decision was final and would stand 'forevermore'. 

It took many years, nearly three and a half, to have my case upon their docket and when that momentous day came, my lawyers (and theirs) were prepared for battle. Fierce legalese was passed back and forth in the courtroom that day, and over the many ones that followed, as the justices heard passionate arguments for and against my case. They then heard final, closing arguments, after which they retreated to consider the verdict, one that was probably going to hinge on a single vote for or against. 

Perfect conditions for fishing!

Rose Elena- Unsplash.com

After many days of deliberation, a decision was reached and all parties involved in the suit were summoned privately into the hallowed arena to hear what the justices had determined. I was nervous in the extreme, yet confident that my cause, even if it should fail, had at least during the trial opened the eyes of the observing public and those of some in the nation. Stronger cases were certain to follow mine. When the verdict was read, however, all my trepidation vanishied. I found I was immensely pleased and high-fived my stellar legal team repeatedly. The justice's decison was this:

"Quality Of Life is a given. Those granted life must be allowed to express it to the fullest extent allowable by law, as well as within the moral bounds of mutual human respect and decency. Perhaps the most commonly followed bounds that apply here are the words brought down from Mt. Sinai by Moses, the words in our Constitution, and the words in our Bill Of Rights. Though some of those are moral guidelines- not laws- they create an outline for everyone to experience at least a baseline Quality Of Life.

'Quality Of Life' is believed to mainly come about through individual will and determination but we find that to be an incompletely scrutinized mere assumption. Through investigative examination it is revealed that the Game Of Life is one that is tremendously skewed, highly favoring the already advantaged. While it is true that some graduate from meager initial means to lofty heights the majority do not and thus cannot be said to even remotely experience or know what they are missing due to their being placed, and long conditioned, to accept realities far different from those above. This unfortunate fact of life has always been the case and to those many the court considers itself fortunate and stands relieved, for it cannot begin to address their complaints. The court's luck in this matter rests on the fact that any of them presenting or even conceiving of bringing an actual lawsuit to the bench is highly unlikely, almost ludicrous.

"However, in the matter of the one who stands before us, we award a basketball players' annual salary in compensation. Case adjourned!"

“What the @*$#!” cried the state's lawyers, in unison, as the justices rose and began to file towards their chambers. "This is ridiculous! It sets a precedent sure to be followed by tens of millions, if not hundreds of millions!"

The final Supreme Court judge stopped just before exiting. He turned to the state's lawyers and said "This decision will never be made public. It is to be an 'out of court settlement’ and you will pony up. The media will be told that the case was thrown out and sent back to the lower courts for reconsideration, which, as you know, is something that will likely tie it up for years".

"So why didn't you do just that? Send it back to the lower courts? Why did you make a ruling at all?!"

"We had to. The defendant's cause was just. It just doesn't have to be publicly known! Justice has to be served by us and sometimes that dish comes out frosty cold"

"But justice was not served! This will cost our state millions of dollars! How is that 'justice'?"

The final judge paused, scratched his chin some, looked upwards, then sighed resignedly before speaking. 

"Consider it a warning shot across the bow. The time for further favorable rulings in such matters has come. Times are a'changing. What used to be acceptable won't be for much longer. It can't be denied or explained away that the income gap doesn't cause damage any more than denying life itself causes damage, but what that damage is is left up to the courts to decide. We are placed in an unpleasant position, you see? We can't deny the reality of these issues away, like you do, for we're at the end of the line. Yes or no, we have to decide. Though you and your kind may dream up thousands of theories and explanations and then use them to befuddle minds, galvanize certain factions, and sway voters, we are tasked with bringing contentious matters down to detached and dispassionate reasonings. We then reduce those to the best plausible interpretation of the facts we have at hand. "What fits, in the current time, in our current understanding?" That is what we ask ourselves. We're not the end all, for civilization is always evolving, and though it's unlikely that our ruling will be overturned soon, at some point it will come back to us, only then it will be presented in a different way- and we will have to rule on that.

  Good day to you!"   

Stand Up Guy

     The things you can learn on You Tube....

     ....are a lot so, having an Enquiring Mind, and a rapid fire mouse hand, I can get through a lot of subject matter in a short period of time. Men are like that, this phenomenon has been long documented and exhaustively researched through various studies of men in the possession of TV remote controls. We just can't stick to one show (or on one page) for very long.

In all my skipping around on You Tube, I have exhibited a pattern, duly recognized by data trackers, I'm sure, of lingering overly long on comedy. I like comedy, but not too much of it (because there might be something else to watch, of course). But comedy is compelling. How do the masters do it?

This is a course of study worthy of the intent focus of a college level P.H.D. candidate for if you can figure out how to do stand up comedy, forget about writing any damn thesis. You can hit the road and the clubs across the land and live probably the coolest life, one equal to that of a rock star or sports hero. But your life is an even cooler one 'cuz you can run solo and not have to wrestle with difficult bandmates or deal with the press and have to give answers as to why you and your teammates were so sloppy on defense during that last matchup with your hated rivals- who you are sure to meet in the playoffs.

'Studying' stand up from the sofa then, or whilst in the hot tub, I have tried to make associations with the comics and what they do that leads to success and have come across some things that might lead to positive correlations towards same. But first, let's eliminate some common misperceptions that might be held towards the concept of 'being funny'. While these qualities, which I will duly list, can add some predisposition towards audiences' perception of you being funny, methinks they are overrated. First, the personalities and looks of comics are all over the place so I can't say those are big deciding factors. Second, whether the comic be male or female doesn't seem to matter much, except to the intimate degree of familiarity that each has with certain gender specific subject matters. Third, age doesn't seem to matter too much, though being young and hip seems to be more highly weighted, this only due to the fact that their audience is more likely to actually come out to the clubs whereas people of a certain age might not desire to leave their cribs. 

What does seem to matter in doing stand up are the following:

The setting up of jokes, then delivering them rapidly. Never making a misstep- fumbling over words, forgetting, or pausing- 'cuz if you do that you're dead. Speaking loudly and clearly. Positive 'up' attitudes, or relaxed and comfortable ones. (Nervous and neurotic can be okay too- so long as you deliver). Practiced physical comedy skills. The physical comedy you perform, as well as your ability to accurately portray the verbal and physical characterizations of other people and their reactions to events, can be killer. Ability to ad lib with audience members is another serious audience favorite and applause amplifier, as well as is adeptness in handling hecklers.

Simple observations about ordinary daily events seem to make up a lot of comedic routines so hey anybody can do it, right? We all have these funny, weird things happen to us, or we see and read about them happening to others. We amateurs constantly and breathlessly relate quirky family stories, work happenings, or news items to each other every day hoping for a laugh and we get them a lot of times but to take our jokes up on stage? That thought freezes us. Telling those same jokes to strangers is an incredibly daunting thing, we think.

  And the evidence supports that notion for stand up comedy is said to be one of the hardest things for a person to do. So why do the pros make it look so easy and natural, like they are telling jokes to their buddies, only instead of three people being their buddies it's three hundred?

N’er a rapper, a preacher, or a singer. A storyteller.

Jonny McClaren- Unsplash.com

It's said in the business that when you start out you get three minutes. You're introduced, get up on stage, fire off your jokes, then take a bow and get out of there, hopefully to trailing laughter and not raining tomatoes. The next level is five whole minutes. After that, ten. 

Assuming you've survived that, haven’t run for the hills, and desire to continue, you having endured the absolutely essential initial trials by fire every comic must face, you just keep building your routine and working the clubs until you eventually land yourself a Netflix special where you can knock out an hour's worth of material and make it seem like nothing. By then you've honed all of your jokes and have a set list in your mind. Delivering your jokes you know when to drop the punch lines, wait out the laughter that comes after each one, then you hit 'em again. Bam, bam, bam. Like a joke machine. 

That's what audiences want. A joke every ten to fifteen seconds. No long setups, unless you're near the end of the show where you're going to hit them with your best joke. The audience is in your corner by then, anticipating, and will weather any long introductions for the big payoff they know is coming.

Quite skillful, these comedians are. Under You Tube's tutelage, I have been applying this (I think) absolutely necessary like hack but, bruthah, I’ve got a long ways to go. My physical comedy skills need work and I know that 'cuz my audience only sometimes laughs, or they turn the attention back on them towards a completely different subject, which is painful, but that's the price wannabe comics pay. You get hit with a lot of rejection. But there have been those moments where I have experienced acceptance. Whatta feelin' that is, lemme tell ya!

Nothing's better than having an audience on their heels, laughing at a succession of your jokes, which is a feat I have many times accomplished but damn if I didn't stumble at some point and lose it, any further offerings screeching to a stop like a train wreck. 

I get spacey, you know (I’m a writer!) but that is an excuse unforgivable in stand up. You gotta be firing on all cylinders, pacing the stage, setting up and delivering constantly or you'll get feedback of the unwanted kind. You'll get dead air or even worse, heckled. Comics will tell you there's nothing worse. 

Fortunately, though, bummer ‘flop nights’ happen early on in comics' careers and most of the ones that do stand up specials film them in 'friendly crowd' settings, not in venues where they're unknown and the audience is fulla drunks. The people in these audiences clap politely, throw in supportive 'Woo-hoos!" or other validations from time to time, and refrain from disruptive comments because they don't want to break the momentum of the comic or keep themselves (or the audience) from being entertained, which is a very good energy to be in.

So. Stand Up comedy, huh? Don't know if it's in the cards for me, or if I'll ever get up on that highly portentous yet frightful stage, but I'll be practicing. Maybe I'll be able, through diligent application, to string together three unbroken minutes. That'll be a start. Then perhaps in my wildest dreams I could keep 'em rolling in the aisles for an hour and wouldn't that be somethin'.....

     …..’cuz you gotta have goals in life!

An’ bein' a Stand Up Guy is one so worthy.  

Underemployment Office

     "Underemployment Office. May I help you?"
"Hi, uh.... ....maybe. "I was told to come here to fill out some A1072 forms. I guess I'll also hafta look for a job 'cuz my last one ended"
"Are you one of the guys that was recently laid off at Exco?"
"Yeah"
"Did you work in the foundry?"
"No. I worked in the fabrication department. Sort of like an assembler. I ran a contraption called an 'AutoPress'"
  "I see". She grabbed some papers nearby and pushed 'em over to me. "Here are the required forms you need to fill out to collect unemployment. Can you give me a little insight about the position you held? I'm not quite sure I understand what you did"
"If you're thinking there might be another 'position' in a similar field available, forget about it. What I did was a very unique, specialized, and archaic job, one that is not even worth description. Technology made what I did totally obsolete anyway"
"Ok then.... uh... ...what other skills do you have? Carpentry? Mechanical? You look the tradesman type"
To that inquiry "Oh Gawd, here we go again" I inwardly sighed. "Down the road to nowhere!" 
I hedged a bit, mentally retrieving some dusty files, before I got back to the patiently waiting lifetime civil servant. "You don't understand...... ...let me explain..."

  I tried to give her The Story, you know, about how there has never been a job out there for me. She was only trying to help, as all of them do, but what they can't conceive of is the notion that 'what I do' has never even existed! 

Rumor is, there is job fulfillment out there.

David Siglin- Unsplash.com

Now I know that sounds strange and rather impossible, but it's true, for 'what I do' is not in any career manual and no matter how many corporations exist or have been formed in the entirety of my life there has been no job created, visualized, think-tanked, proposed, or ever briefly spawned that has ever matched what it is I 'do'.
Thus, my fate. Always underemployed.

  Like a stranger in a strange land have I wandered, through the business world, the structured world, the world that says that there are X number of options or slots or positions or avenues. Choose one! Find fulfillment there. 
"No can!" say I. To that. You don't understand me.

  "Balderdash!" and "Harrumph!" (good words) thunder those of The Republican Party, if there is such a thing anymore, dour entities I picture as having the energy, say, of railroad tycoons of the nineteenth century. "Get a job! Fit in!"
"Nay" say I. "I have tried".
"You have not applied yourself!"
We could go round and round with this. You just don't understand. 

Jobs... ...well.... ...they're supposed to come with some kinda juice, right? I know they don't want me (God forbid!) 'lounging around' on the dole but, you know, if you're not on top (definitely lounging around) the offerings of the job market are, to me, uh.... ...how can I say this politely? 'Less than delectable'?

Whatever. Choose a word! Many descriptors fit. I don't know why but for some reason or another my expeditions in the world have been through numerous unfulfilling shadowlands, only 'cuz the job that fits for me has never showed up. It's like I landed on the wrong planet or something or was born in the wrong time and have been waiting, waiting, waiting. 

All I can tell you is I'll know it when I see it. So thanks for the guidance, Forbes, Inc., Fast Company, Entreprenuer, Money, and all those other magazines. Thanks for the glimpses of what could be, SportsCenter. Thanks (I guess) to Monster.com, Indeed, Glassdoor, Career Builder, Craigslist, and the Classified Ads. Though all your input hasn't helped solve the issue it has whiled away the hours, like watching TV does. 

Oh, should it be that the great and glorious day finally comes for me, as I imagine it has come for others. "I shall be a dentist!" exclaimed one in a moment of realization, a moment that also delivered extraordinary happiness. "An airline pilot!", gushed another, during his "Aha!" moment. "A professional golfer!" fist-pumped another still. At a portentous moment in time each citizen saw possibility (and passion) for them in what was being offered, honed in on it, and eventually realized their dream. 

Least they had one, which is something the underemployed don't. But I feel I'm not alone in my underemployment angst. From talking to people I sense that there are many, many others who carry this burden. However, don't pity us. We don't want that! Nicht, nay, und nein! Keep sending offers our way is all we ask, and pul-eeze don't worry about us. You'll know when we've found 'it' because we'll never stop telling you about it!

It's something we really look forward to 'cuz man, we've been listening to your stories for years.

Swensons's Sacred Shift

     (I can't help but present the experience I had in the forthcoming way for 'twas as if the gleaming Halls Of Honor demanded my words be fashioned in such a manner. Swenson's Sacred Shift would not have been done justice in the using of ordinary methods of description). 

The opportunity came up and I took it. Swenson had gone on vacation and the guy above me, Clark, in hallowed seniority didn't feel like working so I swooped in and signed my name on the schedule. 

My request was, after the painstaking reviewing of union rules, subsequently approved.

Swenson, let me give you a little background here, is an old, old hand. He probably doesn't know what working nights and weekends are like, it's been so long. He also has perhaps dim and distant memories of staying late to help out the ever-shorthanded night shifters but he, like everyone else, plays all the angles so it's not like he can be faulted for taking advantage of every small, miniscule, or even microscopic way to distance himself from pulling his true weight at the jobsite.

Now Swenson has been spotted coming in earlier, here and there, but when he does (to cover for the absent 'King Of Seniority', a guy named Krueger) he just leaves earlier! It's not like he's helping out, he's helping himself. But, that's his M.O.. (I've got everybody's charted around here). 

It took Swenson many, many years to get to the lofty heights his perch overlooks the jobsite from and he'll never let those under him or any newbies forget it. He has aches and pains, or makes like he does, when he bails out the door ("after a ruff week", as he puts it) on Friday afternoons. N'er on a weekend day is he around. Folks tell me that this is the way things have been since long before I showed up. 

Well, enough about Swenson. Let's get back to where we started, talking about his venerated shift, one that is simultaneously protected like Fort Knox, the secrets of the Vatican, and what actually happened at Area 51. 

Swenson's start time is at 7:00 a.m., and his quittin' time is at 3:00, but Swen (as he's known around here) starts putting his tools away at 2:30 in order to 'tidy up some'. Not in a hurried way, mind you, but in a time killin' way, 'cuz he's eyein' the time clock and doesn't want Chief (the supervisor) to find him waiting in front of the time clock to punch out. 

Studying a layout

Thomas Sweeny- Unsplash.com

Monday through Friday Swen is on the job, that is, unless he's on vacation (he gets more than a month off every year). This guy is hard to take, he's kind of a know it all, but I've managed to avoid him mostly and now here I find myself, driving to work to work his shift at the ungodly hour of 6:00 a.m.! Is this what Swen's day is like every day, driving to work in the pre-dawn darkness? It is. I marvel at the amount of traffic I encounter. Lotta other Swenson's out there! More than I imagined.

Upon arriving at the jobsite, I clock in and station myself at Swen's work area. It's like entering a damn enemy camp! Dayshifters all around eye me warily. They know I'm only a temporary apparition but still, they don't want me to establish any toehold. This is what I'm thinking but a few of them greet me warmly. I'm a breath of fresh air to them, it seems, 'cuz they've had to weather a lot of Swen's gruff attitude and I'm appearing to not be (they're checking) carrying any of that. I'm actually grateful to be at work at such an early hour and that shows, even if the light is awfully bright and the shadows that are being cast are lying in odd directions. 

"So this is what it's like!" think I as I get my tools out and get to work at Swen’s actual work station. It's like holy ground I'm standing upon. Few mortals have ever had the privilege. How have I come to be so blessed?!

As the shift progresses I witness any number of odd, only seen during the day, things. Some of what I see disturbs me, but I say not a word. If I'm ever going to hope to fit in with this crew I'd best be holding my tongue. They've got a system, a hierarchy, a pecking order, a certain flow that has developed over the years, one that has been reluctantly yet continuously modified. Swen has his place in all this and I represent it, but only for a day. Some other employee, also unimaginably blessed, will get to experience Swenson's Sacred Shift tomorrow, for tomorrow I must resume my regular shift on my regularly scheduled day. I wish I could stay, oh I wish it were so, but "Nay!" say The Gods Of Seniority, who rule with ruthless, merciless, and heavy hand. 

"'Tis not fair, the system!" I cry, or think about crying out, but like most of my other thoughts inside the confines of The Company, I keep such matters to myself. Swenson earned his exalted perch through the toil and sweat of many years labor. Who am I to question this, ask for any boon, or beg for lenience when before me sits Swenson's workbench, supremely weathered and worn, ample evidence of Swenson's selfless devotion to those selfsame gods of profit that we all must answer to, in some way or another? Swenson's trek up the mountain was entirely honorable. No greater sacrifice could one give but his life and I must acknowledge that. I must know my place and dare not overstep any bounds. 

And then, alas, alas. As all days do, this one progresses and I find myself once again at the punch clock, holding my time card, about to punch out at the absolutely astounding and utterly amazing time of three o'clock p.m. With trembling hands I steady the card in its receiving slot, then press the machine's button. 'Click!" My time is recorded and I think I ought to frame this particular time card, or take a picture of it, to show to my coworkers, wife, family, and friends, for who will believe that I have worked Swenson's Sacred Shift were I not to provide any evidence? In any case, I am sure to be hotly queried about my pulling off the impossible for Swenson's Sacred Shift is known to all who work at the facility, in most every neighborhood home, at every after-work bar for miles around, by the governors of every adjoining state, and even to a gaggle of ship captains plying the distant and briny seas. 

Soooo glad I got to experience it.

A Different Day At Work

I must admit, I wasn't ready for what transpired this Monday. It took me totally by surprise.

The first thing that occurred was that I was waved into a parking place right in the front by two smiling attendants who welcomed me and then said that they would be detailing my car while I was on the job. To this I was amazed, I must say, but there came more. Much more. 

Entering the gate that leads to the building that leads to the punch clock, I was ushered down a flower strewn path, past managers standing at full attention, sort of like an honor guard. What UP?
  No less than the head of the division- The Man- met me at the front door, where he shook my hand vigorously. He called me by my first name, as if he knew me. I had seen him from afar many times, where he had been sort of surrounded by a fawning entourage of managers so to be recognized by The Man was disquieting, let me assure you. He led me inside the building, away from the managers, who I could see immediately scattered to reman their positions, and asked me if my pay was enough. I mentioned that I had seen that Bryce Harper of the Philadelphia Phillies had signed a 13 year, 330 million dollar contract just yesterday. My division head said he couldn't pay me that much, but he would see to it that I was taken care of. 

Now what that meant I could only surmise, for my idea of 'being taken care of' has always seemed to clash with management's idea of fair compensation. I'm tellin' ya, I was waitin' for the Candid Camera guy to come out at any moment at this point but the division head right on the spot wrote me out a check that got my eyes to poppin'. He said it was for all the past due 'favors' that I had done for the company, where this or that Manager On Duty (MOD) had promised me they would ‘see to it’ that this favor or that wouldn’t be overlooked but they never did pay me back 'cuz they forgot about my beyond the call of duty contribution like a minute or two afterwards. 

Man, I'll tell you I was quite pleased and wished I wasn't at work right then 'cuz I wanted to hustle down to the bank and cash that check before it bounced or somethin' but I had to get on the job and mechanically searched for my time card in the rack. It was getting to be time when my coworkers were going off duty and the passengers were going to be waiting. They pile up quick, you know, but the division head gently put his hand on my shoulder and guided me away from that area while saying "Don't worry about that. It's been taken care of. Come with me"

Well, ok, I hope he's got things covered 'cuz ya know these upper level muckity-mucks don't have a clue about what's going on at street level and I was concerned that my coworkers coming on duty were going to be overwhelmed but next I know I'm sitting in a very comfortable office and The Man is sitting across from me.

“Hal-e-lu-jah!”

Nghia Le- Unsplash.com

"We've had our eye on you for some time" he began, and damn if I didn't get that drop-in-the-pit-of-my-stomach feeling that all employees get hearin' something like that. Was I gonna be fired?

The Man must've read my mind 'cuz he chuckled some before continuing. "No, no, it's nothing like that. You're not in trouble! Quite the contrary. We'd like to offer you a position higher up". 

Not bein' the kind to take a shine to takin' on responsibility, I hardened up some, as if to brace myself for what was coming. But it wasn't like that at all. Company car, nationwide travel on the company's dime, and a hefty per diem. Why, they were offerin' me- me- the kind of a job that, from the standpoint of what I'd been through, wasn't even work at all. I can't go into the details about it, it's not something that an outsider would understand, not bein' in the company and all, so I won't go there. Suffice it to say that I couldn't believe what I was hearin'. But there was really nothing to think about and so lest this opportunity go to another, I accepted the position on the spot. 

"We'll set you up nicely, you'll see" The Man said, while rising from his chair and shaking my hand in conclusion. "There's nothing to worry about. We're confident that you are the right man for the job"

"Thank you, sir" said I, exuding gratitude. 

"No, thank you” The Man insisted. "I was worried that our offer wasn't going to be generous enough. I'm highly relieved that you have accepted our terms"

I guess a uncomfortable moment or two then passed. Seemed our meeting was over. I didn't know what to do next, and my mind drifted back to the punch clock and the taking on of my duties. 

"Take the rest of the week off" The Man then said, addressing my unspoken concerns. He then reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a credit card, which he handed to me. "Here's the corporate card. Take your significant other out to dinner. See some shows. Whatever you want. The corporate jet will fly you to headquarters (“The corporate jet?!”) next Monday".

"Okay" I stammered, not knowing what else to say. My kness were shaking. Felt like I was gonna pass out.

The Man laughed. "It's a little much, I know. But you'll get used to it. All of those who have been elevated go through a period of acclimatization. I have to get on that jet myself so, um... ...see you Monday next?"

"I'll be there!"

"Good!”

The Man then left, and after he did, I caught many of my coworkers eyeing me as I strode out the door on the flower strewn path, back towards my freshly detailed car. I knew they were curious as hell as to what transpired but I also knew that speculation about the details of my meeting with The Man were already circulating 'round the departmental gossip network. My only hope was to get to my car and get the heck out of there STAT. A few of my coworkers hearts were gonna be broken by the news, many of them wouldn't even notice, and some were going to be gnashing their teeth in envy, wishing it woulda been them, but I had just been being me. There could be no fault in that, could there? Thus I was unperturbed about the ramifications that were going to transpire, well, as of now. As of my leaving. 

And most likely never to return. 

That is, unless my new gig within the company calls me to. But I doubt that's gonna happen. 

You know, maybe when I'm flyin' across the country some day, then landing in some big city, my freshly prepped company car at the ready there, and later find myself driving to a nice hotel I might think about the strange world I once inhabited where (chuckling here) I was like them, in the trenches. At the front. Down below. Yeah, I'll reminisce. Those were the days….

…..days best forgotten! 

But you never really can forget, can you? The only thing I know is this- my conscience is clear. I didn't step on any toes on my way to the top. I truly have been blessed and don't even know how it happened! 

Life, huh? It's weird like that.

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The future is green hair!

Kevin Grieve- Unsplash.com

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TOTD Is One Year Old Today

   Happy Birthday, TOTD! You are one year old today. 

A year ago, when I began this project, I didn't know if I'd be able to write about different things every day for a year but I have nearly pulled off that feat. There were days that I missed posting something but I can honestly say that I gave it a go every day, I gave posting something a thought. Life intervened, however. 

Writing each day's piece at times is ridiculously easy and fun, most times it's a process of having a general idea and honing that over and over, sometimes it's extremely difficult for some reason, and there have been times where I wrote something and decided not to post it due to it being not to my liking, unclear, incendiary, or the energy is just not there. 

So where from here? Right now TOTD will continue as usual. I know that for a fact because during the last year I tried a few times to drop it and couldn't do it. Tried to set it aside and then wouldn't ya know it I had a thought that I thought I oughta write about. That's when TOTD is at its best. 

Ideas of things to write about come to me and I might not write about whatever that idea or topic is until days later but I'll think about it from time to time. At the time I actually write the piece I guess it couldn't really be considered TOTD because I've been thinking about it for many days but when it comes time to sit and write it never comes out like I think it will so that is TOTD right there. Fresh. Present. That day is just the right day to write about it, is my feeling. 

Technical-wise, at the beginning I thought I'd insert all kinds of cool videos and provide all these interesting links to this or that page but Facebook is full of that kind of attention grabbing content. That's not really satisfying, most of it, so I go for the real and valid and try not to stand too high on any soapboxes like I’m some carnival barker trying to get people into my tent. 

No. That's not how I roll around here. I hope to present thoughtfully written pieces that entertain and compel and build a following that is more than about flash. My content is substance-based.

There were times during the year when I struggled with putting pieces out. Ideas just didn't flow and I hate to use the word 'filler' or to move in that direction to simply post something- anything- on those days and maybe I did but the intent was that even that would be of interest to someone, frivolous as it was. 

Some pieces I wrote were whimsical and in other ones I figure people definitely sensed that I was possessed by some sort of mood and I probably was. 

Also I must say that I am old school, not of the social media generation, so it was a bit of a stretch to even put myself out there, not naturally being that way, but the tools were there to do so and I used them and now I can't retrieve from the internet all of what I have written, even if I tried. I imagine it will be circulating through a network of servers forever, like a space probe in the far reaches of the solar system that continues to travel, who knows where or why.

I tried during the year to make my prose relatable. Not florid or pretentious or overly casual or hillbilly or ALL CAPS or heavy in the use of italics and a slew of other writing tricks and styles but if I did I did so for a purpose, to illustrate a point. But sometimes doing that stuff is just plain fun.

Format's not going to change, I don't see that happening soon. The text and picture or two I put in each piece seems to work best. I have recently added more space between the paragraphs for easier reading. Place concepts too tightly together, in too dense a fashion, and they can swirl and get lost in a sea of related topics and lose their ability to be comprehended. Too many ideas clumped together, too many associations and things to ponder packed too tightly together does not a happy reader make. 

Yippie! Cupcake!

rawpixel- Unsplash.com

As you can see, I have a lot to write about even when I don't think I do because when I sat down to write this all of these 'items to mention' just flowed. But I think it's enough..... 

I'm pleased myself to have presented the public with this body of work, these vignettes of daily life. I look back and marvel at it sometimes and then I move on, not resting on any laurels. 

Some things I wrote and posted are probably crap, in some minds, while others are too woo-woo but unless you swing the bat you're not in the game, eh? I thought I'd be writing about more metaphysical stuff but that comes when it comes. I fully intend to stretch boundaries there, what we're about, where we're going, so expect more of that. That's the stuff I really enjoy. 
I like the fun stuff too. The humorous postings. Love writing those. They're totally spontaneous, most times I write them. 

Statistics-wise, I tried for 365 but actually posted 297 times. That's a lot of work. Did I get paid for it, monetize it? I didn't make a dime. Did I enjoy it? Thoroughly. Writing is, for me, one of the things I'm passionate about. 

Ideas? Where do I get them from?  Ol' Johnny Carson got plenty of material from just commenting on the news of the day. I do the same but also mix in longer term musings and things that come right outta the blue. Expect mo' of the same, and hopefully they'll be mo' betta. 

Oh, blow out the candle already and get back to ‘work’!

Foodies- Stop Torturing Me!

(I was just about to post this when a fierce winter storm arrived and knocked out the power at TOTD headquarters for two days. This gave me plenty of time to think about the strong wording I used in the title but, after two days of thinking about those words, they still stand appropriate).

Clicking the buttons on my remote any night of the week there they are- shows about food. Popular these days are contest shows, where a bunch of wannabe bakers, chefs ('creationists') are pitted against others in a bake or are tasked with making a dish out of random ingredients. To add a little more 'flavor', these contestants are put on a timer. 

The other shows are perhaps spinoffs of Anthony Bourdain's shtick (bless his soul) where experienced taste-aristas travel the country or the globe and encounter......
......well, here is where there really can be no more words because we’re referring to tastes, textures, ‘mouth feel’, aromas, nuances, hints of this or that, strong umani flavors, hits of acid, bursts of heat, surprises of caramelized sweet and the like. The hosts, as Anthony did, sample already prepared foods and wander around in the kitchen some, go behind the scenes. Anthony was always on the lookout for more tastes and so are these latest fellows, Guy Fieri from Food Network’s ‘Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives’ and Michael Symon from Cooking Channel’s ‘Burgers, Brew, & Que’. These two get access to the kitchen and while they might not be able to get the super secret spicing part of the equation, they get the rest. Equipment, ingredients, and technique.

I suppose this is to comfort those of us at home, so that we might try and put this stuff together ourselves but you know that's never gonna happen 'cuz spicing is key, the necessary ingredients might not be available, and the equipment and techniques they use in these restaurants might be beyond the capability of most people's humble kitchens. I know cooking at this level is beyond the capability of mine. I don't have a smoker, a well seasoned and understood-in-its-operation 'que pit, and many of the other things that these restaurants use. 

So what am I left with when I watch these shows? Over and over, this- a grinning host opening his maw and chomping on something that looks to be very delicious and this from a taste-arista, a guy that's been around! I can only imagine what whatever he is eating tastes like but I probably, most likely, will go to my grave not knowing what that taste sensation is for he is there and I'm here watching it on TV! 

And on the ‘Dish’ Network, no less.

Food is not something that can be experienced vicariously.

Sander Dalhuisen- Unsplash.com

What these shows ought to do for the millions of deprived viewers is put together a frickin' lottery or something where the lucky winners get to go to all these various cities and eat at these establishments otherwise what's the point? This type of programming, while insightful to determined copycat home cooks and inspiring to wannabe restauranteurs, serves mainly to torture the rest of us. 

I like good food, oh yes I do. I know where to get the best Mexican and Indian food. I know where to source regional specialties. I like a certain Thai place, and go to another for Korean 'Que. But my list is short and so I run the usual circuit and make do with what is available, which ain't much, let me tell you. Amazingly, where I live there is no good Chinese food, which is puzzling, because even in Nowheresville America there is a good (or good enough) Chinese restaurant somewhere in town. 

Back to the shows, I can watch SportsCenter and listen to how some basketball player is wanting to get traded to another team but is holding out for x millions more in 'salary' and not blink an eye. That doesn't affect me. I can read the news and be confronted with the most heinous, most scandalous things and simply shrug "Just another day". What I can’t do is watch these cooking shows because not being able to eat what these guys are eating is a crime, and should be viewed as such!

Would you do this to your dog? Would you hold in front of him a steaming hunk of delectable 'Que from some celebrated restaurant, then wolf it down while muttering "Yum yum yum! This tastes really, really good!”?

No! You wouldn’t do that to your dog. First of all, he would be dripping saliva all over the floor that you would have to clean up later and secondly he'd never ever forgive you for eating all of it and not giving him a little bit. Just look at his pleading-for-mercy eyes!

Last night I saw where this restaurant in Cleveland, which had started out making the usual ‘Que fare, had not long into its operation had a breakthrough menu moment. The clever chef didn't have an oven to bake with so he used a waffle iron to make what he named 'Macaroni and Cheese Waffles', which looked absolutely scrumptious, as was depicted by the host (Symon) making a heavenly smile upon gnawing on a corner of same, just released from the waffle iron. I, watching, was just numb. Not envious, not angry, not hurriedly booking a flight to Cleveland and frantically hailing a cab once I got there hustling to this restaurant passion driven crazed, because that would be just ridiculous. Only numb. 

I'll probably never know what a Macaroni and Cheese Waffle tastes like, unless I 'just happen' to be in Cleveland and all the other logistical factors that would place me at said restaurant line up- the restaurant is still in its same location, is open, the waffles are still on the menu, and the team that knows how to cook them is still on the job.

“Enough!” I cried. I did what any sane person would do when their torture tolerance limit was reached. I switched the channel.

On BBC America they were playing a show called 'Frozen Planet'. How appropriate. I placed myself in the icy north and forgot all about food.

As the camera scanned a barren windswept wasteland, and the narrator described the day to day activities of the creatures there, I placed myself within that setting with great relief. There wasn’t a Diner, Drive-In, or Dive anywhere in sight.

"What'r You Gonna Do?"

My current employ is going to end this year and this is also true for the little gang I work with and so we're all being peppered with questions a lot about what we're going to do next. (But enough about them! We're fellow job seekers now, in competition with each other) 
Ideally, I should like to retire to a life where this kind of question troubles and vexes me not but the situation is such that this is not yet possible. Close, but no cigar, as they say. 
And it's not like I haven't done this sort of thing before, many, many times, this 're-inventing myself'. However, the older I get, the less career matters to me and the more job satisfaction does. Money is not so big an issue anymore, though money still is welcome, but more important to a seasoned worker like me is that my work environment be suited to my temperament. Like an old dog I am not one to suffer fools gladly, with puppy-esque forbearance, nay, I be snappy with the uncouth and uncultured and perhaps may even growl if I merely sense their approaching energetic signature(s) but are not yet 'blessed' with their physical presence(s). 
So, that being stated, here are a few of the answers I give to those presenting the posit "What'r you gonna do?"

"I hear the Chinese are hiring for their new Martian colony. Three year contract. The shifts in the palladium processing factory are long but the pay is fantastic. However, what truly ices the cake is that us workers will enjoy plenty of top end A.I. company, if you know what I mean. I'm thinkin' on that one. Haven't signed anything yet"

"McMurdo Station in Antartica is another possibility. I've been wanting to get away from it all for a long time but the aforementioned Chinese have taken away my A-list destination, a very ancient and remote cave high in the Tibetan Himalayas, which I had hoped to occupy in profound mediation. Antarctica offers me a similar opportunity, a paid one no less, but there I have to share my cave with others. I'm on the fence with that one"

"Moving away from hermitage offerings, I am considering a gig as a New York art dealer. I saw an article in The Times a few days ago where some of the upper crust dealers were partyin' it up as part of the job, you know, that sort of thing being expected. You must roll with the ridiculously moneyed so that you can correctly appraise works they might be inclined to purchase. I would also, in order to fit in, have to spend hundreds of thousands of dollars a month to adorn myself with the latest fashions. While I haven’t laid out that kind of dough before, I have shopped at Savers and clothed myself with high end name brands for years! Waiting on a call there"

"Several news outlets have approached me about being a guest on their shows. They like the fact that I'm highly opinionated and think that I could act as a galvanizing force with their audiences, possibly bringing ratings up into the stratosphere. I have the correct amount of repressed anger and can weave some pretty convincing spin. I've already gone through numerous screen tests and they're liking what they're seeing. The stopper here is that they're thoroughly vetting me beforehand. A couple of people have been assigned to research my past and comb through everything I've ever written in order to see if they can find anything that enemies- contrarians- might use to bring me down. I feel sorry for those researcher guys 'cuz I wrote a lot of stuff. Might take them a year or more"

Been working on this bridge forever.

Peter Usher- Unsplash.com

"Two highly placed people in Hollywood have proposed doing a reality show where I am exposed on a constant basis to five star luxury. They want to set me up in cribs and situations all over the world and film my reactions as I experience things beyond my wildest dreams. They think that this concept show would resonate with a vast blue collar base, I, in effect, becoming the patron saint of worker bees. They could live their lives vicariously through me! I told the Hollywood guys that I considered such a thing absolutely morally reprehensible and would have none of it! They took this as me playing hard to get- and my agent just loves that play! He's reporting back to me daily on how negotiations are progressing on a reconfigured contract"

"Can U believe it?! The Weather Channel wants me to be on their team! They're looking for a long term Storm Guy, you know, the guy that gets placed in the wildest weather situations. Lightning! Hail! Tornados! Cracks of thunder, right overhead! In the path of flying debris! Wading through floodwaters, taking that last breath of clear air before being overcome by a dust storm, slippin' and slidin' for the camera at ice storm ground zeros, and up to his neck in freshly fallen snow- with more coming- that's the job for me. I practiced this one a lot as a kid so I know the ropes"

Now I know all these sound good, and would fit me to a T, but the job I've always wanted still eludes me. The folks in charge of this one haven't responded to my resume yet but I'm gonna hold out for a bit longer and see if they reply. 
Warren Beatty said that the best part of being famous was that you got a thing called access, and that's what I want most of all. ACCESS! I want the ropes to part for me and the doors to open everywhere I go. How you qualify for this one I don't exactly know but I do know that when you're in, you're in. Somebody way up declares that you are access-worthy and then it just snowballs from there. I've lit my manifestation candles, am doing woo-woo ceremonies at my altar big time, and am chanting affirmations continuously over this one.

If it takes me a while to get there it'll be worth it 'cuz I want it all. In the meantime I'll most likely be found working at one of those other jobs I listed, or doing something similar. Ya gotta make a livin', right?

I'm okay with suffering until I get my access gig, you know, until I get my real job.

Number 1

I'm older than the former president and younger than the current one so I guess I could be president, which is something that I think about these days- a lot.
All that power. All that attention. My name on the front page every single day. My words closely monitored and analyzed. I could make appointments! Not dental, like I do now, but I could put people I deemed qualified in charge of super important departments. 
The EPA! The Department Of Veterans Affairs! The Department Of Homeland Security! Stuff like that. 
I could tool around in Air Force One, which wouldn't be my conveyance of choice as Number 1, but I would have that at my beck and call, say, if I wanted to jet over to Europe and talk with my compadres over there about trade. Wow would that be cool. 
'Cuz I would be the first president in a long time, if ever, that has actually held a real job, and a factory one at that, one of those jobs that Presidents always want to save!

Another day of highly trained artists gracing the halls of my abode.

Larisa Birta- Unsplash.com

White glove service wherever I went, an armed entourage shadowing me at all times in case some nut job wanted to take a shot. 
Golf every time I felt like it, that would be my style, and I would invite every entertainer I knew of or that was recommended to me to come play at the White House, which would be my crib. 
Congress would be knockin' on my door, trying to get me to sign off on bills with far reaching consequences, those bills entailing laying out vast sums of money or, I would be calling certain people in Congress I wanted to talk to about funding (currently 'The Wall' 'Space Force' and others) to come over to my crib and sit around The Conference Table that the press always takes pictures of, the one I'm always sitting at the head of. Heady stuff, that, but I think I would be able to handle it because you know what? 
There is no report card! Ever! I couldn't get fired! Well, I could, but as long as I was useful to certain factions such a play would be unlikely. 
Then, when it came to the military and those impeccably dressed Marines standing rail straight at the entrance to my crib, or at the chopper, giving me snappy salutes with eyes forward, whoa..... .....that's the kind of respect and honoring I've always been Jones'n for. Generals and Admirals would be asking me for my opinion on whether we should continue to occupy this or that country like I knew all the details that they were droning on and on about in the briefing room. Yeah, yeah, yeah! I know that lives are at stake and delicate balances exist in the region but what is more important to me right now is that tee time is at 1:00 and where is my headwaiter and personal food taster Mr. Sloan with the chow because it's almost time for lunch.

On the downside, though, it'd be only a four year gig, eight at the most, but I'd max out my time on the throne then drift off to a cushy retirement afterwards, maybe make some personal appearances here and there to bring in some cash, or I’d write a book (have to hire somebody to help me with that though, ‘cuz I figure I’ll be just too busy). Whatta life! 

Just to clue you in, those of you younger than presidential age, who think that age brings wisdom, well.....
.....I won't let you in on the gamut of old age knowledge, you'll get that automatically when you get to be my age, but I will tell you this: "Beware of anybody that claims to know it all, says that they have the master plan, has it all figured out, knows exactly what to do, can process tons of input and is able to make sense out of it, 'cuz they can't!”. Leastways, I can't. I know that about myself, and about everybody that I know of that is my age. 
But it just may be true that the president can process like that though, and that's the mystique that surrounds the guy that holds the office. Out of three hundred plus million, there is one man in the USA like Superman. 
When you get to presidential age, if you're not there already, you'll know exactly how plausible presidential mystique is. But until then, the question will relentlessly churn in your mind. "You know, it could be that there is somebody that capable!"

It’s like your car, if I can give you an analogy that you might better be able to understand. You pop into the thing and flip the key (or nowadays, press the button) and off you go, never thinking about the extraordinarily compex process that is going on under the hood. Any mechanic will tell you that flawless performance is like a damn miracle every day because they know all the things that can go wrong. The concept of 'presidential capability'' is like that. Ditto the concepts 'King', 'Prime Minister', 'perfect leadership', 'the economy', 'the stock market', 'the cooperation of all the nations in The World', and many others. You’ll get there. You’ll figure it out.