Yes I know - a two-week gap between entries. Unfortunately that may become the rule more these days.
Work is absolutely killing me. Nearly six years of working in the bagroom have been thrown out the door, and now I work outside no matter what the weather conditions. After a relatively dry spring, it's been raining lately, so I figured I'd pony up the $25.00 and get me a half-way decent raincoat.
It worked twice... the first time, everyone called me crazy for just standing out there, daring the skies above to rain on me harder (shades of Steve and his "you call this a STORM?" routine). But on the third day of rain last week, the raincoat bottom rips to shreds when I board the transport tug. If anything, I'd rather wear the bottoms than the top since I don't like rainwater squishing around my shoes and socks.
Now I found out last night someone broke into my locker and took the top. What's the alternative? A custom-made garbage bag.
The cheapness of my company is astounding. They're cutting costs at EVERY inconceivable turn, and they've never provided raincoats as part of the uniform. Why not? The job description clearly states "be able to work in any threatening weather condition". They begrudgingly give us a snowsuit in the winter, which we have to pay 25% out-of-pocket for, of course. It rains quite a bit in Michigan, why not make the workers a little more comfortable, and a little less waterlogged?
My sleep patterns have become even more erratic these days since I know I'm on thin ice attendance-wise (which as I said is unfair), so between that, work itself, and trying to play catch-up on the house during my down time, I don't have much time right now to devote to the blog. I am hoping that something will change that in the near future.
July 31, 2007
July 21, 2007
Let's throw him an attendance number
There has GOT to be some sort of conspiracy going on here to get me out of Spirit Airlines. That thought has never been too far from my mind since the day I hired in.
How could bad feelings have festered before I even started work there? You be the judge of what went down in the months leading up to the hiring, and please TELL ME where I may have messed up...
I was juggling jobs in 2000, where I worked as a dispatcher and a porter at Woodhaven Lanes. Woodhaven was an on-call - the dispatcher job was only 30 hours per week. I needed the security of one full-time job that could guarantee me 40 hours per week. Spirit provided it, and I figured since I was lugging stacks of seven milk crates with a metal rod around the plant, I could likely handle bags and build some sort of physique, which would be good emotionally as well.
Spirit had an interview set up with me back in October of that year. I ended up reneging and telling Mike that things were coming along better, particularly with the promise of more hours at the bowling alley. He said "okay," like nothing happened.
Then, four jobs came and went over the span of seven months, heightened by that move to Tami's house which triggered immense financial pressure. When I lost the job at Downriver Cab, I had no place to go. So breaking a silence I had with Mike since the move five months earlier, I called him up. His reluctance to put me through to Spirit a second time was blatantly obvious. This time, I figured, I stood a better chance of sticking with it; there was no safety net in place to where I could fall back on.
Through the years there, I've heard rumblings that Mike, as well as one of the supervisors, were actually placing bets on how long I would last there. Six months seemed to be the going rate, as far as I knew. From time to time, I've brought that up when work comes to a head, but it's always been denied. Apparently, one supervisor overruled the other three "nay" votes and put me to work in August 2001.
It was rather ironic that the lone dissenting supervisor in this case lost his OWN job four months later amid a drinking binge.
Now I'm back to work after a long layoff and that fingerprint mess. My second day in, I'm called to see the new ramp manager, Cari. She sets me down and says that I need perfect attendance for the next four months... absolutely perfect attendance... no call offs due to life threatening illnesses either... or I will be terminated on the spot.
They recently switched to a point attendance system versus a step attendance system that I was used to. According to Cari, I re-entered work on the Step 3, one next to termination. Funny thing is, I was never served paperwork for Step 3 my whole time there! Until dipshit doctor came around and said I should win acting awards, Spirit accepted my injury whole-heartedly, workers comp notwithstanding. Nobody told me I should think about coming in because my attendance was at risk. No warnings... nothing.
I looked at Cari and said "I'll do my best, but I'm not guaranteeing anything." I left it at that and ran off in a huff down to the ramp.
True honesty is missing in this world. It's hidden under masks. If they really don't like me (which I know they don't), and want me out, why don't they just TELL me?
I'm there to work... not to play games. And by the way, if you were in my shoes, you would say without a doubt the past five months were no game.
How could bad feelings have festered before I even started work there? You be the judge of what went down in the months leading up to the hiring, and please TELL ME where I may have messed up...
I was juggling jobs in 2000, where I worked as a dispatcher and a porter at Woodhaven Lanes. Woodhaven was an on-call - the dispatcher job was only 30 hours per week. I needed the security of one full-time job that could guarantee me 40 hours per week. Spirit provided it, and I figured since I was lugging stacks of seven milk crates with a metal rod around the plant, I could likely handle bags and build some sort of physique, which would be good emotionally as well.
Spirit had an interview set up with me back in October of that year. I ended up reneging and telling Mike that things were coming along better, particularly with the promise of more hours at the bowling alley. He said "okay," like nothing happened.
Then, four jobs came and went over the span of seven months, heightened by that move to Tami's house which triggered immense financial pressure. When I lost the job at Downriver Cab, I had no place to go. So breaking a silence I had with Mike since the move five months earlier, I called him up. His reluctance to put me through to Spirit a second time was blatantly obvious. This time, I figured, I stood a better chance of sticking with it; there was no safety net in place to where I could fall back on.
Through the years there, I've heard rumblings that Mike, as well as one of the supervisors, were actually placing bets on how long I would last there. Six months seemed to be the going rate, as far as I knew. From time to time, I've brought that up when work comes to a head, but it's always been denied. Apparently, one supervisor overruled the other three "nay" votes and put me to work in August 2001.
It was rather ironic that the lone dissenting supervisor in this case lost his OWN job four months later amid a drinking binge.
Now I'm back to work after a long layoff and that fingerprint mess. My second day in, I'm called to see the new ramp manager, Cari. She sets me down and says that I need perfect attendance for the next four months... absolutely perfect attendance... no call offs due to life threatening illnesses either... or I will be terminated on the spot.
They recently switched to a point attendance system versus a step attendance system that I was used to. According to Cari, I re-entered work on the Step 3, one next to termination. Funny thing is, I was never served paperwork for Step 3 my whole time there! Until dipshit doctor came around and said I should win acting awards, Spirit accepted my injury whole-heartedly, workers comp notwithstanding. Nobody told me I should think about coming in because my attendance was at risk. No warnings... nothing.
I looked at Cari and said "I'll do my best, but I'm not guaranteeing anything." I left it at that and ran off in a huff down to the ramp.
True honesty is missing in this world. It's hidden under masks. If they really don't like me (which I know they don't), and want me out, why don't they just TELL me?
I'm there to work... not to play games. And by the way, if you were in my shoes, you would say without a doubt the past five months were no game.
July 16, 2007
How many 180s can you do?
Would someone please be so kind as to direct me to where I need to go next?
As it is (for at least the next 10 minutes), I am slated to return to work tomorrow. Guess who was the last to find out about it? Me, of course. Work already knew and expected me to come in. Where was the phone call from work, or corporate, or the clinic itself telling me? It's obviously a good thing that I do follow-up work and make calls. If I were a total deadbeat, my work call would come and go without me knowing it.
In a span of two hours roughly, I was told I was on my own for the situation, and promptly was ready to call a lawyer to help dispute the rejection from Saturday. Then it turns out I come in tomorrow... then I was told to report for duty in "20 minutes" (meaning today)... then oops, we looked at the wrong shift slot, tomorrow is still good... then, why are you plotting to come back to work so soon? We need fingerprints... and scheduled them for tomorrow without informing me.
Goodbye lawyer idea, and goodbye apparently to the validity of the dispute. It wouldn't be worth its weight in gold. Being that I'll be at work tomorrow, doesn't that deflate the case by itself?
I've noticed in recent weeks that gray hair on me is not an afterthought. Granted, I wear my hair longer these days, so the streaks are more apparent. But that's the point: they are. Not just a few hairs, but a couple strands on my right side. I can't argue the fact they've been earned in the last several years.
But today I played the ping-pong ball, as my situation did so many 180s in a 2-hour span that I exasperated Mike, and probably confused poor Jenni beyond belief. And that's been part of the physical problems this injury has provided: if I need to do a 180 degree turn, it has to be in stages: head & neck, feet, then the hip area.
Okay, so they say that I'm 110 percent and ready to go. Everyone I know disputes that; nevertheless it looks like I've run out of ammo to boost my case, which I swear is LEGITIMATE.
The only thing I can say now is that it could possibly be arthritis. But isn't arthritis more persistent and steady, rather than coming or going in various degrees?
Just let me call the entire scenario this year a severe case of arthritis until I find out more. Fred Sanford would have been proud, believe me.
As it is (for at least the next 10 minutes), I am slated to return to work tomorrow. Guess who was the last to find out about it? Me, of course. Work already knew and expected me to come in. Where was the phone call from work, or corporate, or the clinic itself telling me? It's obviously a good thing that I do follow-up work and make calls. If I were a total deadbeat, my work call would come and go without me knowing it.
In a span of two hours roughly, I was told I was on my own for the situation, and promptly was ready to call a lawyer to help dispute the rejection from Saturday. Then it turns out I come in tomorrow... then I was told to report for duty in "20 minutes" (meaning today)... then oops, we looked at the wrong shift slot, tomorrow is still good... then, why are you plotting to come back to work so soon? We need fingerprints... and scheduled them for tomorrow without informing me.
Goodbye lawyer idea, and goodbye apparently to the validity of the dispute. It wouldn't be worth its weight in gold. Being that I'll be at work tomorrow, doesn't that deflate the case by itself?
I've noticed in recent weeks that gray hair on me is not an afterthought. Granted, I wear my hair longer these days, so the streaks are more apparent. But that's the point: they are. Not just a few hairs, but a couple strands on my right side. I can't argue the fact they've been earned in the last several years.
But today I played the ping-pong ball, as my situation did so many 180s in a 2-hour span that I exasperated Mike, and probably confused poor Jenni beyond belief. And that's been part of the physical problems this injury has provided: if I need to do a 180 degree turn, it has to be in stages: head & neck, feet, then the hip area.
Okay, so they say that I'm 110 percent and ready to go. Everyone I know disputes that; nevertheless it looks like I've run out of ammo to boost my case, which I swear is LEGITIMATE.
The only thing I can say now is that it could possibly be arthritis. But isn't arthritis more persistent and steady, rather than coming or going in various degrees?
Just let me call the entire scenario this year a severe case of arthritis until I find out more. Fred Sanford would have been proud, believe me.
July 15, 2007
Therapies & checks at an end
Just returned from another over-nighter to St. Clair Shores - each night over there is proving to be better & better.
And boy, did I need "better & better" since yesterday afternoon. Worker's compensation has officially cut me off. Now I am in a quandary as to what to do next.
Enclosed with the official "notice of dispute" was the copy of the independent examination. First off, my official measurements are 5 ft. 11, 195 lbs. Do you consider this to be "slightly obese", even though normal men my height are usually about 190 lbs.? I treated this with some humor the past two days, even though it initially insulted me on a personal level. I always say I don't have the body of Atlas, but c'mon.
Later in the report, it implied that I'd make a great Academy Award winner, which is just their way of saying I've faked the whole thing. Friends and relatives close to me know this isn't the case. What the doctor cited was when I tried to do a heel-toe exercise without putting much force on my hands, gripping the examination table.
Now there's always been a problem with balance if a surface can't be used for bracing. My feet aren't the strongest. And there's still some noted weakness in the left foot. It took me awhile to set up for this exercise, granted. The last thing I wanted to do was fall on my face from losing balance, and getting ridicule from the doctor. Plus, I wanted to do this exercise to the best of my ability. A few weeks ago, the realization came that the longer I was on worker's comp., which doesn't take money out for taxes, the more taxes I will have to pay come April 15th of next year. The motivation is there to succeed.
But I can't help it if some prepratory measures are needed to do the exercise right. When you can't trust the lower half of your body to follow through with proper execution due to pain or numbness, you don't want to set yourself up for automatic failure.
I understand that the function of an independent doctor is to make observations and judgements without showing bias, and without prior judgement. But he was taking notes just like my regular clinic doctor does - this one even made some of the same comments. Now it comes out into the open that he's basing things on reports saying there was nothing blatantly abnormal. There is a grey area here. You have "abnormal" and "normal", but isn't there a medium known as a "potential trouble spot"? So much for a doctor/patient relationship! I'm not sure I would have wanted one with this doctor, since the facts are known.
So what's the likelihood of me going back to work? Pretty much better than 50-50. I'll find out the next business day, which is tomorrow, and see whether his diagnosis is seen as just an opinion, or the deciding factor.
There's something about the "deciders" in this world that's really bugging me now.
And boy, did I need "better & better" since yesterday afternoon. Worker's compensation has officially cut me off. Now I am in a quandary as to what to do next.
Enclosed with the official "notice of dispute" was the copy of the independent examination. First off, my official measurements are 5 ft. 11, 195 lbs. Do you consider this to be "slightly obese", even though normal men my height are usually about 190 lbs.? I treated this with some humor the past two days, even though it initially insulted me on a personal level. I always say I don't have the body of Atlas, but c'mon.
Later in the report, it implied that I'd make a great Academy Award winner, which is just their way of saying I've faked the whole thing. Friends and relatives close to me know this isn't the case. What the doctor cited was when I tried to do a heel-toe exercise without putting much force on my hands, gripping the examination table.
Now there's always been a problem with balance if a surface can't be used for bracing. My feet aren't the strongest. And there's still some noted weakness in the left foot. It took me awhile to set up for this exercise, granted. The last thing I wanted to do was fall on my face from losing balance, and getting ridicule from the doctor. Plus, I wanted to do this exercise to the best of my ability. A few weeks ago, the realization came that the longer I was on worker's comp., which doesn't take money out for taxes, the more taxes I will have to pay come April 15th of next year. The motivation is there to succeed.
But I can't help it if some prepratory measures are needed to do the exercise right. When you can't trust the lower half of your body to follow through with proper execution due to pain or numbness, you don't want to set yourself up for automatic failure.
I understand that the function of an independent doctor is to make observations and judgements without showing bias, and without prior judgement. But he was taking notes just like my regular clinic doctor does - this one even made some of the same comments. Now it comes out into the open that he's basing things on reports saying there was nothing blatantly abnormal. There is a grey area here. You have "abnormal" and "normal", but isn't there a medium known as a "potential trouble spot"? So much for a doctor/patient relationship! I'm not sure I would have wanted one with this doctor, since the facts are known.
So what's the likelihood of me going back to work? Pretty much better than 50-50. I'll find out the next business day, which is tomorrow, and see whether his diagnosis is seen as just an opinion, or the deciding factor.
There's something about the "deciders" in this world that's really bugging me now.
July 13, 2007
"You forgot today's date"
(And now that I do know, happy birthday Rosemarie!)
I forgot today's date though, until the last moment. But the car never forgets, apparently.
Coming home from St. Clair Shores today, I blew out my left front tire on Eight Mile Rd. just past the notorious Woodward Ave. bridge that rapper Eminem made famous in his movie. It only took half a second after the KA-POW for me to realize that meant me. My concerns of Wednesday made themselves known only two days later - my likely luck.
Complete, sheer panic never set in, but the butterflies were obvious. I wanted to veer right to turn off Eight Mile, but I was in the left lane and needed to go left - right into Northwest Detroit, lovely. The first thing I wondered was how the heck I managed to navigate Eight Mile yesterday. On that road at 3PM, you're either on it, or can't get on it. I have not seen massive traffic like that in years.
After spending ten minutes in a turnaround, I flopped my car into a neighborhood, gathered my wits (which were likely lying with the remaining tire rubber on Eight Mile), and walked (and survived) a three-block jaunt to the gas station. You know, you really can't call them service centers anymore. What gas station, heaven forbid, even has a repair bay in the building now? I lamented the loss of full-service gas fillups years ago, and now you don't even have a mechanic handy on street corners.
Prior to the last couple days, the last time I ventured on Eight Mile was nearly six years ago, so I knew of no place to go. And Speedy Muffler across the street seemed to fix everything except tires. So I had to chance going to a foreign place with a foreign wrecker in what is NOT known as God's country. It actually turned out pretty good; in fact I may go back to that station next week to get another tire replaced on it - only ran me $26 for a replacement.
I laughed as I thought to myself that the worst-case scenario was that I still had five hours of daylight left before I started needing bodily defense. So I stood for an hour at Eight Mile and Livernois, amazed at the amount of car horns and near-miss accidents that took place (four in ten minutes).
But the toll placed on your nerves driving from Garden City to St. Clair Shores is never-ending. I didn't want to take Eight Mile on Wednesday, so I took Nine Mile. That took an hour on that street alone; 35 minutes to travel five miles. Two lanes, 25 MPH, stop-and-go, with four construction sites. Then I ended up travelling the wrong way down Harper Ave. and just missed being pushed onto I-94, which would have been curtains for the car and its no-highway designation (oh, don't worry -- Harper was not one-way, I just turned the wrong way to find the right side street); hence the reason I couldn't take the quicker route via freeway.
The car also doesn't seem to relish being driven more than 25 minutes at a time; either the transmission seems to slip or the engine dies out. That happened yesterday while doing 35 on the center thru lane on Eight Mile. Thank goodness the truck behind me was most understanding. I could not pass due to the traffic volume, so I choked my embarassment and started the car up on the fly again. That's the goofy thing: it starts right up and picks up where it left off. Earlier, it died on me on Telegraph near I-96, so I took it to a "service center", started it two minutes later, and on my merry old way I went.
But forgetting today's date? Friday the 13th. What a double whammy: I leave Jenni to go back home, and on this day of all days. It's laughable, of course... now that I'm home safe.
Reflections of the visit (which were first-rate) follow.
I forgot today's date though, until the last moment. But the car never forgets, apparently.
Coming home from St. Clair Shores today, I blew out my left front tire on Eight Mile Rd. just past the notorious Woodward Ave. bridge that rapper Eminem made famous in his movie. It only took half a second after the KA-POW for me to realize that meant me. My concerns of Wednesday made themselves known only two days later - my likely luck.
Complete, sheer panic never set in, but the butterflies were obvious. I wanted to veer right to turn off Eight Mile, but I was in the left lane and needed to go left - right into Northwest Detroit, lovely. The first thing I wondered was how the heck I managed to navigate Eight Mile yesterday. On that road at 3PM, you're either on it, or can't get on it. I have not seen massive traffic like that in years.
After spending ten minutes in a turnaround, I flopped my car into a neighborhood, gathered my wits (which were likely lying with the remaining tire rubber on Eight Mile), and walked (and survived) a three-block jaunt to the gas station. You know, you really can't call them service centers anymore. What gas station, heaven forbid, even has a repair bay in the building now? I lamented the loss of full-service gas fillups years ago, and now you don't even have a mechanic handy on street corners.
Prior to the last couple days, the last time I ventured on Eight Mile was nearly six years ago, so I knew of no place to go. And Speedy Muffler across the street seemed to fix everything except tires. So I had to chance going to a foreign place with a foreign wrecker in what is NOT known as God's country. It actually turned out pretty good; in fact I may go back to that station next week to get another tire replaced on it - only ran me $26 for a replacement.
I laughed as I thought to myself that the worst-case scenario was that I still had five hours of daylight left before I started needing bodily defense. So I stood for an hour at Eight Mile and Livernois, amazed at the amount of car horns and near-miss accidents that took place (four in ten minutes).
But the toll placed on your nerves driving from Garden City to St. Clair Shores is never-ending. I didn't want to take Eight Mile on Wednesday, so I took Nine Mile. That took an hour on that street alone; 35 minutes to travel five miles. Two lanes, 25 MPH, stop-and-go, with four construction sites. Then I ended up travelling the wrong way down Harper Ave. and just missed being pushed onto I-94, which would have been curtains for the car and its no-highway designation (oh, don't worry -- Harper was not one-way, I just turned the wrong way to find the right side street); hence the reason I couldn't take the quicker route via freeway.
The car also doesn't seem to relish being driven more than 25 minutes at a time; either the transmission seems to slip or the engine dies out. That happened yesterday while doing 35 on the center thru lane on Eight Mile. Thank goodness the truck behind me was most understanding. I could not pass due to the traffic volume, so I choked my embarassment and started the car up on the fly again. That's the goofy thing: it starts right up and picks up where it left off. Earlier, it died on me on Telegraph near I-96, so I took it to a "service center", started it two minutes later, and on my merry old way I went.
But forgetting today's date? Friday the 13th. What a double whammy: I leave Jenni to go back home, and on this day of all days. It's laughable, of course... now that I'm home safe.
Reflections of the visit (which were first-rate) follow.
July 11, 2007
Wednesday ramblings
Sitting here today as I plan to take what might be a 70-mile round trip to see Jenni and meet her three kids in St. Clair Shores today:
* My neighbor Irene has been in the hospital again since Sunday - and this was only found out last night because I went outside to roll my car windows up. What bugs me about this is the fact I was literally chewed out by her granddaughter for not having guessed this was the case.
At any one time, nine different people could be in and out of that house on any given day... many of them on a "shift"-type visit schedule. Many times, you can set your weekday watch by which car is in her driveway. With me suffering off-and-on with an unseasonably late allergy attack this week, the back and hip ailing, and with heat indexes approaching triple-digits, I've done my best to stay in my room for the week.
We know each other as genuinely good neighbors, and I know we would do whatever it takes to help the other in case of need. But for Irene to be in the hospital for breathing problems for the third time in six months (critical but stable condition), don't you think they would knock on our door to let us know? The massive amounts of cars & people that come by there wouldn't give a clue that something was amiss.
I care very much for Irene's welfare, and at age 87 she's going to have continued problems. Every time she comes home safe, I tell her granddaughter, "if anything happens, let us know." Each time she has gone back, we've only found out perchance when Steve or I went outside for something. If they see the car here, they should feel free to knock. We can't guess what's going on if the traffic levels next door don't change.
* Forgot to mention a concern that was relieved two weeks ago when I thought the local grocery store stopped carrying the Calder brand of milk. Their cooler was stacked six doors full of store-brand milk. Had they lost the contract with the grocery company, which would cripple their bottom line? Or had the bottom line been erased already?
Word is in: Calder Dairy is still alive and well... and only the Kroger by me discontinued the deliveries - because of an irritable stockroom manager who wanted to sue the company for milk over 39 degrees. Contrary to what happened to me in 2001 when I subbed on route delivery for Calder's, the milk was standard at 36 degrees. Calder's manager obviously thought that the Kroger manager was too overbearing. If he was the same person I saw in 2001, I'll happily drive a little further for my milk fix - they made the right decision to stop delivery.
In closing: Captain Kirk said it best in one of the Star Trek movies: "May fortune favor the foolish." Will I be a fool for travelling 15 miles down Eight Mile Road, hugging the north Detroit border? Stay tuned to find out.
* My neighbor Irene has been in the hospital again since Sunday - and this was only found out last night because I went outside to roll my car windows up. What bugs me about this is the fact I was literally chewed out by her granddaughter for not having guessed this was the case.
At any one time, nine different people could be in and out of that house on any given day... many of them on a "shift"-type visit schedule. Many times, you can set your weekday watch by which car is in her driveway. With me suffering off-and-on with an unseasonably late allergy attack this week, the back and hip ailing, and with heat indexes approaching triple-digits, I've done my best to stay in my room for the week.
We know each other as genuinely good neighbors, and I know we would do whatever it takes to help the other in case of need. But for Irene to be in the hospital for breathing problems for the third time in six months (critical but stable condition), don't you think they would knock on our door to let us know? The massive amounts of cars & people that come by there wouldn't give a clue that something was amiss.
I care very much for Irene's welfare, and at age 87 she's going to have continued problems. Every time she comes home safe, I tell her granddaughter, "if anything happens, let us know." Each time she has gone back, we've only found out perchance when Steve or I went outside for something. If they see the car here, they should feel free to knock. We can't guess what's going on if the traffic levels next door don't change.
* Forgot to mention a concern that was relieved two weeks ago when I thought the local grocery store stopped carrying the Calder brand of milk. Their cooler was stacked six doors full of store-brand milk. Had they lost the contract with the grocery company, which would cripple their bottom line? Or had the bottom line been erased already?
Word is in: Calder Dairy is still alive and well... and only the Kroger by me discontinued the deliveries - because of an irritable stockroom manager who wanted to sue the company for milk over 39 degrees. Contrary to what happened to me in 2001 when I subbed on route delivery for Calder's, the milk was standard at 36 degrees. Calder's manager obviously thought that the Kroger manager was too overbearing. If he was the same person I saw in 2001, I'll happily drive a little further for my milk fix - they made the right decision to stop delivery.
In closing: Captain Kirk said it best in one of the Star Trek movies: "May fortune favor the foolish." Will I be a fool for travelling 15 miles down Eight Mile Road, hugging the north Detroit border? Stay tuned to find out.
July 7, 2007
"Ugliest car" reinvented
Well, before I show you the "ugly", allow me to show the "cute" in life, courtesy of Jenni's youngest daughter Cheyanna:
Isn't she precious in this shot, taken earlier today at the Willow Run Airport Air Show? She's wearing a sticker she plastered on her head, a sticker for an animal charity that Jenni supports, and Chey loves animals. Needless to say, removal of this sticker was a bit painful, so I was told.
Now that I've dolled you all up on the nice things in life, back to the title of the article.
Up to today, there are two cars whose designs I have historically considered to be totally ugly:
The Volkswagen Type 2 (T2) "Transporter"...
... and the Chrysler PT Cruiser (which I dub a funeral hearse)
Lo and behold, from the same civilization that provided fake and unbearably ugly "city" facades on certain Meijer's stores, here comes the latest design from Honda: the "Element":
As in, which of these elements are not like the others?
Since when has a boxy car been cool again? Grown-ups lament about the return of bell-bottoms as a fashion trend... I thought boxy cars were gone in the early 1980s with the advent of aero-dynamic cars with smoother curves and more pleasant appearances.
It seems as if they're back again, bent on outdoing the Type-2 VW. This picture is only passable to me because of the angle it's taken at. The one I saw at Krogers an hour ago I saw from the left rear - you want to talk about industrial-strength hearse? It's as if a king-sized set of Lego bricks acquired an engine and motored out of the kids' bedroom (as we know, Legos cannot be claimed as aero-dynamic in looks, so you get the picture).
Who on God's green earth would want to drive one of these, let alone be proud of owning one? I saw this one, and I swear I nearly bumped into the cart corral.
I guess the moral of this one for the failed art students in the world is this: you've got a shot to make up for past failures!
July 5, 2007
"You-Tubed"
I didn't even know we had the technology. And given what's come up since the technology was discovered, I'm glad I've not made use of it.
Steve was browsing YouTube today, and found a video that really irritated him: an editorial on Chris Benoit that raised his ire for how it was presented: disrespectful towards Benoit's immediate family who were killed, and disrespecting even towards the video viewers. I made the comment "don't we wish we had the technology to go on YouTube?" Turns out we do, so Steve made a video admonishing the editorial he had viewed.
And then made another video. And another.
And still another.
I'm a regular visitor to YouTube, and I watch the videos, usually ignoring the comments. The comments on Steve's first rebuttal video were the inspiration for the other videos. Never in my life have I seen a group of people united to bring Steve down for even showing up on the internet. Ninety percent of the comments included vulgar language towards Steve, his family, his new wife, everything. Three-fourths of them were just direct criticism of Steve alone; Benoit having being forgotten. The hate has been so rancid, it doesn't even bear repeating in this space, let alone even linking to the videos themselves.
Whether or not Benoit's death has ignited so much of this negative passion remains to be seen. I can't say for a fact that the bulk of YouTube people are jerks, either... I just watch videos, I don't look up who provided them.
True to the person he is, though, Steve can be accused of fanning the flames a little: after trying to reason with some of those people, he ended up speaking their language. It was funny to an observer like me, but not funny when you think about the state of humankind as a whole.
When I found out we had the technology to produce videos, I thought, "Cool! I can upload my old sports show tapes from the 1990s, even put together a 'vlog' of baseball reflections."
But if I've just witnessed my potential audience, I'll let Steve keep the technology to his computer... and my eyes and silent thoughts to my computer.
Steve was browsing YouTube today, and found a video that really irritated him: an editorial on Chris Benoit that raised his ire for how it was presented: disrespectful towards Benoit's immediate family who were killed, and disrespecting even towards the video viewers. I made the comment "don't we wish we had the technology to go on YouTube?" Turns out we do, so Steve made a video admonishing the editorial he had viewed.
And then made another video. And another.
And still another.
I'm a regular visitor to YouTube, and I watch the videos, usually ignoring the comments. The comments on Steve's first rebuttal video were the inspiration for the other videos. Never in my life have I seen a group of people united to bring Steve down for even showing up on the internet. Ninety percent of the comments included vulgar language towards Steve, his family, his new wife, everything. Three-fourths of them were just direct criticism of Steve alone; Benoit having being forgotten. The hate has been so rancid, it doesn't even bear repeating in this space, let alone even linking to the videos themselves.
Whether or not Benoit's death has ignited so much of this negative passion remains to be seen. I can't say for a fact that the bulk of YouTube people are jerks, either... I just watch videos, I don't look up who provided them.
True to the person he is, though, Steve can be accused of fanning the flames a little: after trying to reason with some of those people, he ended up speaking their language. It was funny to an observer like me, but not funny when you think about the state of humankind as a whole.
When I found out we had the technology to produce videos, I thought, "Cool! I can upload my old sports show tapes from the 1990s, even put together a 'vlog' of baseball reflections."
But if I've just witnessed my potential audience, I'll let Steve keep the technology to his computer... and my eyes and silent thoughts to my computer.
July 4, 2007
No fireworks today
Today was the day of the Wyandotte Independence Day parade, and I went there for the second straight year to watch my aunt march for a group of hers.
I had planned a whole day with her and my Aunt Pat, one who I don't see too often. Unfortunately, the fireworks fizzled in the form of communication lapses, and I was never able to get with them. About the only benefit of the day was the fact that my car made the 20-mile round trip flawlessly, which bodes well for future long travels.
This year, my aunt was more in the center of the parade versus being the third-from-the-last group, which meant I was in & out of there in an hour. I didn't get a chance to see the Windsor Optimist musical group, who always sound great, and I almost missed the chance to see the Roosevelt High School marching band in action as well. I only caught them because I made two trips to the drop-off area to search for my aunts.
They were playing their own patriotic rendition of "Battle Hymm", and I can only say this: having marched for four years with the old Wyandotte-based Royal Lancers Drum Corps., they did it better, pure and simple. It's hard to describe from a musical standpoint. While Roosevelt's version was more preppy and sophisticated, the Lancers' version was more from the soul. Roosevelt looked like it was just reading sheet music. The Lancers, bless them, knew the music by heart through constant practices, and they were a fan favorite in all the years of marching the parade.
My time spent marching (three years in the honor squad) passed too quickly before the organization was disbanded. But the parade in Wyandotte always brings back great memories of my marching days, where you listened and cared about the music like it was a part of you.
Too bad my aunts weren't part of my day this year. Maybe next year.
And oh yes... you may have noticed: no complaints in the blog this year about illegal fireworks or their blatant mis-use and over-use. There's no point in beating a dead horse.
My stance on them hasn't changed, but no one is going to make these people stop chancing injuring themselves foolishly. This year in the neighborhood was even worse, as both Steve & I swore we heard a couple of M-100s exploded right by us. There was no observance of these activities by authorities, simply because they had no overtime budget for the officers. Another result of the flaggling Michigan economy, whose vicious circle only rotates faster and deeper.
I had planned a whole day with her and my Aunt Pat, one who I don't see too often. Unfortunately, the fireworks fizzled in the form of communication lapses, and I was never able to get with them. About the only benefit of the day was the fact that my car made the 20-mile round trip flawlessly, which bodes well for future long travels.
This year, my aunt was more in the center of the parade versus being the third-from-the-last group, which meant I was in & out of there in an hour. I didn't get a chance to see the Windsor Optimist musical group, who always sound great, and I almost missed the chance to see the Roosevelt High School marching band in action as well. I only caught them because I made two trips to the drop-off area to search for my aunts.
They were playing their own patriotic rendition of "Battle Hymm", and I can only say this: having marched for four years with the old Wyandotte-based Royal Lancers Drum Corps., they did it better, pure and simple. It's hard to describe from a musical standpoint. While Roosevelt's version was more preppy and sophisticated, the Lancers' version was more from the soul. Roosevelt looked like it was just reading sheet music. The Lancers, bless them, knew the music by heart through constant practices, and they were a fan favorite in all the years of marching the parade.
My time spent marching (three years in the honor squad) passed too quickly before the organization was disbanded. But the parade in Wyandotte always brings back great memories of my marching days, where you listened and cared about the music like it was a part of you.
Too bad my aunts weren't part of my day this year. Maybe next year.
And oh yes... you may have noticed: no complaints in the blog this year about illegal fireworks or their blatant mis-use and over-use. There's no point in beating a dead horse.
My stance on them hasn't changed, but no one is going to make these people stop chancing injuring themselves foolishly. This year in the neighborhood was even worse, as both Steve & I swore we heard a couple of M-100s exploded right by us. There was no observance of these activities by authorities, simply because they had no overtime budget for the officers. Another result of the flaggling Michigan economy, whose vicious circle only rotates faster and deeper.
July 3, 2007
Begging your un-pardon
Just a short entry today wondering whether everyone would agree that President Bush has the wrong type of compassion.
Did it surprise anyone that he did away with the prison sentence for former Cheney aide Scooter Libby? Bush's words were that the penalty was too severe, too harsh, undeserved. He says he may even issue a full pardon for Libby, which basically says according to the government, you've done nothing wrong.
See the late Richard Nixon for an example.
Bush has gone far enough with the abuse of power and his "timely" use of executive privledge. I know his oft-mentioned, off-the-cuff comment of "this job would be a lot easier... if I was the dictator" was only that: off-the-cuff. It's reality, I think.
Sometimes I wonder if the president has all his marbles. I won't be afraid to admit I was hospitalized in 2005 having lost some marbles -- but even under the influence of the most direct and intense training I received there, I would have been able to point out the wrongdoing.
Sports players need to take drug screens. Grade-school teachers are well-served with child psychology courses. Government officials have to pass multi-year background checks.
What physical, emotional and mental aptitude tests did this man need to pass, or even take?
One reason I would never go for the top office in the land is the simplest: Everyone's history is examined and everyone's skeletons are either dusted off or made up. The pundits would shout, "Kevin, what's this 2005 hospitalization all about?? There's no WAY you would ever be fit for office! What if you suffer a relapse during a time of national crisis?" I can tell you that's what would happen without even having run for a council seat before.
You have to allow for errors, given the president's military history and the documents which caused Dan Rather an unplanned retirement. Maybe his own gut executive privledge got him through those rough spots.
But is he really ALL there? All we have is the track record, and that, in fact, should speak for itself.
Did it surprise anyone that he did away with the prison sentence for former Cheney aide Scooter Libby? Bush's words were that the penalty was too severe, too harsh, undeserved. He says he may even issue a full pardon for Libby, which basically says according to the government, you've done nothing wrong.
See the late Richard Nixon for an example.
Bush has gone far enough with the abuse of power and his "timely" use of executive privledge. I know his oft-mentioned, off-the-cuff comment of "this job would be a lot easier... if I was the dictator" was only that: off-the-cuff. It's reality, I think.
Sometimes I wonder if the president has all his marbles. I won't be afraid to admit I was hospitalized in 2005 having lost some marbles -- but even under the influence of the most direct and intense training I received there, I would have been able to point out the wrongdoing.
Sports players need to take drug screens. Grade-school teachers are well-served with child psychology courses. Government officials have to pass multi-year background checks.
What physical, emotional and mental aptitude tests did this man need to pass, or even take?
One reason I would never go for the top office in the land is the simplest: Everyone's history is examined and everyone's skeletons are either dusted off or made up. The pundits would shout, "Kevin, what's this 2005 hospitalization all about?? There's no WAY you would ever be fit for office! What if you suffer a relapse during a time of national crisis?" I can tell you that's what would happen without even having run for a council seat before.
You have to allow for errors, given the president's military history and the documents which caused Dan Rather an unplanned retirement. Maybe his own gut executive privledge got him through those rough spots.
But is he really ALL there? All we have is the track record, and that, in fact, should speak for itself.
July 2, 2007
Discounting into oblivion
In an effort to clear out my email inbox, I placed a few "spam filters" into the account. The past two weeks, I can't begin to count the number of emails whose subject line was "Hi", then once opened, gives you a discounted price on Viagara, on-line purchases only.
The sea of spam never ends, despite what government says they will do about it (do-not call lists, busting spam factories, etc.).
So I don't get too much in my inbox anymore, except for the airline I work for - they send about five emails per week showing their super-discounted rates. Not wanting to spell out the company's name first-hand; all you'll need to know is that they were the ones who promoted the "find Jimmy Hoffa" on-line game. They may also be promoting their eventual demise with the outrageous prices they give their flights.
An $8 sale? A one cent sale? This week, that's right, you can go to Ft. Lauderdale from Detroit for $16.00 round-trip.
I wonder who the airline is going to hear it from first: The passengers, the workers, or the government?
I'm a worker, so they'd hear it from me first. And regular blog readers are all too familiar with the story as I've outlined it the past year. In a January meeting, there was a faint glimmer of hope that maybe 2007 would be the year we'd get a raise. In any event, we'd know by May.
May has come and gone without word on either side. Workers haven't been told yes or no. Yet any worker with half a brain will probably guess that their 2007 salary will remain the same after more of these stupid fares keep popping up; their so-called "Happy Sales". Resulting in, as well, filled planes every hour or every day, more bags, and more upset workers.
The passengers are saying a lot, too. I came across two websites addressing airline complaints, and you won't believe the number of complaints my airline had. Rude customer service, dirty airplanes, even people that needed to board a flight to be with their mother who was having emergency surgery, they were told "too bad". Obviously it hasn't hit the passenger throngs full-force, because you'd see something in the news about a backlash against the airline.
The government would be an interesting read. I'm not sure if it's government standard or industry standard, but a couple years ago I heard where it's not good news for an airline to run up a deficit for more than seven consecutive fiscal quarters.
How will the erratic marketing and outrageously insane pricing affect their bottom line, and, their very existence?
The sea of spam never ends, despite what government says they will do about it (do-not call lists, busting spam factories, etc.).
So I don't get too much in my inbox anymore, except for the airline I work for - they send about five emails per week showing their super-discounted rates. Not wanting to spell out the company's name first-hand; all you'll need to know is that they were the ones who promoted the "find Jimmy Hoffa" on-line game. They may also be promoting their eventual demise with the outrageous prices they give their flights.
An $8 sale? A one cent sale? This week, that's right, you can go to Ft. Lauderdale from Detroit for $16.00 round-trip.
I wonder who the airline is going to hear it from first: The passengers, the workers, or the government?
I'm a worker, so they'd hear it from me first. And regular blog readers are all too familiar with the story as I've outlined it the past year. In a January meeting, there was a faint glimmer of hope that maybe 2007 would be the year we'd get a raise. In any event, we'd know by May.
May has come and gone without word on either side. Workers haven't been told yes or no. Yet any worker with half a brain will probably guess that their 2007 salary will remain the same after more of these stupid fares keep popping up; their so-called "Happy Sales". Resulting in, as well, filled planes every hour or every day, more bags, and more upset workers.
The passengers are saying a lot, too. I came across two websites addressing airline complaints, and you won't believe the number of complaints my airline had. Rude customer service, dirty airplanes, even people that needed to board a flight to be with their mother who was having emergency surgery, they were told "too bad". Obviously it hasn't hit the passenger throngs full-force, because you'd see something in the news about a backlash against the airline.
The government would be an interesting read. I'm not sure if it's government standard or industry standard, but a couple years ago I heard where it's not good news for an airline to run up a deficit for more than seven consecutive fiscal quarters.
How will the erratic marketing and outrageously insane pricing affect their bottom line, and, their very existence?
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