In flight, far from the airport!

Drum roll please...

I FINALLY HAVE LEFT THE AIRPORT!!!!!

Yes, six years of drama has finally been completed - I am no longer employed at that bitch of a job. And I can say with confidence that although it has given me stability on a resume, and I put all my effort into that job, this move was long overdue.

"Fan reaction"? All positive, even from my father. One of the reasons I held onto the job for so long (and I've told him this) is that dad looked at me in a very disappointed light in 2000 when I left Calder's for the first time after just three months. It was one of those cases where I lit into the boss and left. He basically told me that wasn't the right way to do things. That is known fact; the way he presented it, however, stuck with me.

I wanted to prove him differently, and I believe I did. Dad worked in the same place for 30 years, though... I only put in six years at Spirit. But this day and age, a person's not going to last for 30 years in one location too often. The average person changes jobs over nine times in a lifetime. My dad had it good because he lived in a time where job security was virtually guaranteed. Times have changed, and I think between 2000 and now, he understands that.

Though he and I don't talk too much, his support still means a whole lot and always will.

But let's go ahead and set the stage for the final confrontation which happened last night:

I had an hour break between flights, so I figured I'd go chat with Lisa. I always scan the watch wherever I am and I'm always aware of where I'm supposed to be. Then, Dianne from baggage came to me and said the rampers were looking for me, that I'm supposed to be out there. What, 45 minutes before the plane? I bid Lisa adieu and went back out there.

Turns out they rotated crews and threw my crew on a new plane five minutes before it landed. If you're told you've got an hour break, what do you do? Some go to the concessions. Some go outside to smoke or walk around. I decide to talk to a friend. And whereas some crews miss people when flights are rescheduled, and don't complain about it... oh, when I'M missing, they virtually send TSA out to look for me. Doesn't this hearken to my July entry about management having it in for me?

What blame could I take? None, other than sincerely apologizing for missing this detail, though questioning why we only get five minutes' notice. I even had the two-way radio and heard nothing. But the gate lead wouldn't even give me a chance to explain and initiated a tirade that ended up being two workers shouting at each other. There's two sides to every story, and I wasn't being heard. A six-year worker against a two-year worker should have some pull for me.

Guess not.

The supervisor was working the flight, and after the argument, I told him I was finally done due to this blatant disrespect. He told me to write a letter of intent, and after the flight was offloaded, I did so. He fired it off to the station manager and I went on my business, not telling anyone what I'd done (a two-week notice).

Hearken the July entry again: Finishing up the last flight, I was told to come into the supervisor's office, where the supervisor told me of the reply from the station manager: I would get the two weeks' severance pay, but that I would not be working for it. In other words, I would be paid to stay home.

Lol, I really loved that idea, and at the same time my mind was satisfied and at peace, knowing that six years of saying they had it in for me was true, after all. What a bunch of peons. They escorted me out, took my equipment, wished me luck, and closed the door behind me.

THANK GOD! That's all I can say. And here I am, making this entry, shaking a little in the legs, realizing not only the actual decision to leave was made, but the scope of how important it will be to me, given everything that's happened since 2001.

I look forward to the disintegration of Spirit Airlines in the forthcoming years, especially with me not there. I wasn't prepared to be the anchor of the sinking ship in this instance. And I won't be.

Mid-August: an update

Thought I'd log on real fast (on my sixth anniversary of my hiring at Spirit) to let you know everything is still the status quo at work. It's getting harder to walk around and I find I'm doing things at a much slower pace than even I'm used to, but the work's getting done nonetheless.

I'm still devoting too much time to sleeping, I think. Sleep patterns are still scattered and my dreams are more warped than ever. They always have been, and no one knows why. The most annoying thing that happens in every dream I have, is that I can be anywhere, doing anything, and all of a sudden a taxiing plane crosses my path in much the same way a black cat can cross your path. All of a sudden, I find myself wearing a uniform and doing some menial airline task.

Sheesh, I do one better than bring my work home with me: I bring it into my DREAMS.

My housekeeping skills are suffering. You should have seen when I lived at my grandmother's in 2000. One basement flood aside, the place was as pristine while I was there as my grandmother kept it for years. You'd never know when I'd break out the vaccum and clean the carpet... 10 PM, 2 AM, it didn't really matter.

Now I'm starting to look at this house, and for the first time, its sheer size is getting to me. Seems pathetic when you consider this house is only 800 square feet, while my parents' was 1,700. Then again, at my parents' house, you had three people working to make sure things were in order. I'm cleaning for two as I may have said before -- and even Jenni's kids do more to try to help at their house than Steve does here. Mostly, it's been dirty dishes. Overall, it's becoming overall filth. In lieu of hiring a maid service, I wonder where the housecleaning help will come from.

The landlord likes us as tenants because, among other reasons, we do a great job keeping the place up. I hate to fall back on my reputation, but it's just getting too hard. At least at the apartment in Dearborn, I didn't have to worry about yardwork.

The car is still acting up the same way it was; I hate it when it stalls out of its own accord. However, I make it work by using it as solely a work car only. Seventeen miles round-trip per day plus a trip to the gas station every once in awhile is all I need it to do. If it works even seven times out of ten, consider myself fortunate.

And in trying to add some spice to my life, I find procrastination is getting in the way of that, too. The church festival (where I call bingo) is three weeks away, and I've found I've done little to try to get my name on the duty roster.

I wish for a different routine. This is the way it's been for six years. Is it just overt tolerance, or is it a fear of change, given the way this world is turning out lately? I wish I knew.

Motivation -- everywhere

Why am I sticking at that job even through all the crap that has happened?

One reason:

Here's my angel with her suddenly blonde hair... I like it.

But back to motivation: Everyone needs perks to succeed. Sports players do it with money. CEOs do it with severance packages, ha ha. I truly had no one on my side at that airline through all these years. Now, Jenni is giving me the strength and support I need to carry this thing through. Where it will all go and how long this latest injury-filled work time will last is known to no one.

But the real motivation is there for the first time. While not allowing myself to let myself down in the face of all the stupidity I've faced, I won't allow myself to let this lady down.

Geez, I only wish I could update this blog more frequently than I am...

Forseeing a break

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.

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 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.

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.

"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.

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.

"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!

"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.

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.

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.

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 good-natured "hate" list

Have you missed my columns recently about my back and work?

Yes, only a joke... though it was refreshing to be able to go half the month without rehashing the same old stories about my condition. On a day where a double doctor's appointment was scheduled, however, it's a must.

And my hate list in my medical history continues to rise in quantity. All in good nature, especially since some hours have passed since I lived those moments.

As I told Jenni online today, I hate double-doctors, worker's claim adjustors, therapists and bankers.

I had two doctor's appointments today - the first was from the company worker's comp. assigned. Simply put, they want to cut me out of pay any way they can. I had to fill out two questionaires plus another survey sheet. The wait to see the doctor was a long one; the examination itself was a short one. I was just as honest with him as I am with my regular doctor.

What surprised me was that he said nothing about what he found, he didn't even say "good-bye"; it took a doctor's aide to tell me I had already been dismissed. Well thank you... never felt more like a lab specimen in my entire life.

At this rate, although my normal doctor is from one of those walk-in clinics, I actually trust him more. And he has once again pushed for epidural injections into my back to deaden the pinched nerve that is so obvious now. If worker's comp. tries to deny it again, they'll have a real battle on their hands with the doctor (whoops, he's going on vacation for three weeks!).

Therapists? I do like my therapist as a friend and a positive influence. But just the idea of therapy is getting old. Doesn't strenuous therapy actually inflame a nerve moreso than calming it down does? Every exercise I ended up doing during yesterday's session was either half the speed, or ten pounds lighter than normal. I couldn't believe how bad I actually staggered into the room. To say I have made recent progess is laughable: to hear the doctor say I've reached a plateau is far more believeable.

And bankers? Maybe not so much them as it is software providers and internet services. Just when you need a bank, they're having technical problems. It's been two days, and my check, deposited Wednesday, has yet to clear, putting off an important bill payment. I sounded foolish (to myself) calling the company to let them know. They understood, as they always have, but c'mon. How many times do I have to be at the mercy of technology?

This day alone makes me look forward to a quiet weekend.

---------------------------------------
Reports say that two undetinated bombs have been found in a London district. What does that have to do with my hate list? Does our president make the list again?

Maybe not so much directly, but one has to wonder how much of this has to do with President Bush's world view. No one has said it yet... but if they do, I'll volunteer to speak my half about it if the need arises (and those aforementioned guts of a few days back make themselves known).

Hiring for 20? Just fill one

By the end of this week, the Farmer Jack name will be no more in Michigan. Though routinely criticized by some stores' filth, lack of freshness and lack of selection, the chain has fond memories of many Detroiters who bemoan the lack of a successor who they believe knows them and caters to their tastes.

Stopping by Kroger today, the display sign shouted: "Kroger to open twenty new stores! Hire in now for your chance!" You can bet these are all acquisitions of Farmer Jack stores.

This article won't dive into the type of bashing I reserve for Wal-Mart and its monopoly. The fact Kroger could become a monopoly, ironically, doesn't concern me. What concerns me is the staffing.

And if for some reason they do find the staffing to help out twenty more locations, I ask them to make it 21... the very store I was at today.

All I bought were tolietries. Three lousy items. You should have seen the backups at the checkout today. Lines five & six people long at every open checkout. Through basic research, only four of the nine were actually open. Sad to say (and I've probably said it before here), this is normal for this particular store. Not to mention, half the U-scans were out as well.

Years ago, Kroger had a policy that during certain peaks in the day, every cash register would be manned. This never happens at my Kroger. I laughed right when I saw that sign, because I knew that store #21 (hint, hint) wasn't a hiring concern. It should be.

Look at it this way: if applicants for the other twenty stores sees #21 in action, why would they want to even think about the other twenty? Feed your own interests first before diversifying to other locations, I always say.

Oh... it makes calls, too

This is the new electronic fad that will be sweeping the country as of this Friday... it's the iPhone.

A seven hundred dollar iPhone.

What did my house phone cost in comparison? $47.99. And it does what it's supposed to do; it does what I want it to do, which is to make calls.

It took me forever to understand the appeal of iPods and MP3 players. Perhaps there is an advantage to lugging your favorite music around or clips of your favorite movies without dragging a boom-box or mini-television with you. Its compactability is second-to-none, and I do marvel at how advanced technology is, especially when you can lose it in the palm of your hand.

What can't this iPhone do? It does everything an iPod, MP3 player, or game player can do at the touch of a fingertip. Why then are they calling it a phone? (That's right, it makes calls, too... how could I forget?)

Since when has owning a wireless phone become such a passionate science? Yes, I don't even own a wireless phone. Not anymore, after dealing with skyrocketing airtime rates. I'm old-fashioned with my old-fashioned house phone; I'll admit it. But even when I owned cellular, all I wanted it to do was one thing - make that call. And only in emergency cases.

I read the advertisements: free phone body in exchange for a minutes plan. Or flip the plan over: we'll give you zillions of minutes if you buy this. Get this accessory! Get this game!

Get... get... get. That's all the message says is get.

I'm happy with my DVD player. I'm happy with my PlayStation. And I'm happy with my phone. If I'm out, why would I want an iPhone with me? Can you imagine the hot item that it will be - look out for pickpockets! And if I'm with friends, why would I ignore them in favor of this gadget? Would I be out with my friends or out to show off something that, knowing me, I'd easily lose?

Yes, this comes from the same guy who bemoans the latest Elmo gadget every Christmas. Luxuries are nice, but only when they're budgeted for wisely.

Whatever happened to the days of missing a call just because you weren't home?

Senseless, senseless

And what makes it worse is that you had to question for the better part of the day whether this was just another cheap storyline.

WWE wrestler Chris Benoit was found dead yesterday in his Atlanta home along with his wife Nancy and son Daniel. First reports claim that there may have been a homicide involved. Questions still need to be answered.

My hope is that Benoit didn't do anything to his family - wrestlers in the business know of Benoit's love for his family. If this all turns out to be something Benoit did or even planned, it will break many hearts and stir plenty of anger.

A three-hour retrospective on Benoit's career was aired last night, in place of the McMahon "memorial service" that was scheduled. How ironic that a storyline death has been replaced with a real-life set of deaths.

How the WWE is going to recover from this, I am not sure. They were already taking some serious heat from fans and critics alike over the McMahon storyline I referred to here last week. This male soap-opera (which is all it's turning out to be) is getting a tad too gruesome for my taste these days.

If it's worst-case scenario... then it's truly senseless what transpired in suburban Atlanta. Utterly senseless.

No more can be said.

Wedding bell-ringers

Wish Steve luck. In two short days, he marries Eden, his Phillipino fiancee.

This may not end up being a long-distance relationship that works. But this has been a long-distance relationship which has been worked on very hard from the start. Steve is determined to see this through so he can be happy. Everyone deserves happiness, and I reserve comment when he is not around. But when you're talking around-the-world relationships, you have to question its worth, not to mention its underlying motives.

Regardless of the feedback he's sure to generate by doing this, it still will be loads better for him than his previous marriage. If I have enough guts, one day I'll add a link to this space which will send you to his MySpace blog, where he basically told his tale of terror of a four-month marriage that was doomed from the start. Completely different personalities; completely unacceptable results. And where there's children involved (her two), the material will make anyone cringe.

That's why I'm still searching for my guts... yet don't hold your breath.

Maybe this one will work, and I send them best wishes on their special day just like any two people truly in love deserve.

But here's a question: will it affect the marriage if the rings don't match? If this is indeed a new fad, then woe be the day that I finally get hitched!

Clear the property

Photos of the June 14 fire at the old McLouth Steel facility in Trenton (MI). The area has been under scrutiny by local municipalities for years due to its potential for a needed tax base. (Courtesy Detroit News and Ile Camera Newspapers)

Fate finally overcoming a major local eyesore? Yes and no.

When Jenni first alerted me to a fire at the old McLouth Steel plant in Trenton, I was led to believe that the entire complex was in flames. It turns out that it was just a retention pond on the side of the property, far enough from the ugly buildings that they were not in harm's way.

Part of me actually hoped for total destruction. The plant has sat vacant for years, and various city officials have been clamoring for its destruction so they can turn the property into something that will yield tax money; namely, mixed-use development.

The owner of the Ambassador Bridge has a say on this property, and some of his ideas, though wildly believed to be rumors, have some citizens on edge. The story is that he wants to resucitate use of the nearby railroad to a 24-hour operation, and even place a deep-well port on the property, which would more than triple the ship traffic on the Detroit River and Trenton Channel. All of which, according to the homeowners, would bring property values down.

Whoever owns the complex (ownership changes annually it seems) keeps dragging their feet and have allowed nothing positive to be made of the complex for all these years. Progress has to occur sometime, and for one fleeting moment, I thought this would be the nail in the coffin to those ideas, and the beginning of a new life for the valuable riverfront property.

Not to be. But you still have to hope. People marvel at the new downtown Detroit boardwalk, which has resurrected that part of the city. I'm sure the cities near this plant would want to feel the same satisfaction.

The drama continues. How many more pairs of shoes will be worn down in the feet-dragging before something is done?

Rain never looked better

What a difference a year makes. Just two weeks into making this blog, I was commenting on the torrential rains soaking the area; it rained for six straight days after I made my trip home from Arizona.

This year, we're in the midst of a 15-day drought. Nowhere near the record I remember in my lifetime (29 days), but this year I think my father sent his weather my way. Last year, for instance, in the entire growing season, I used my water sprinkler twice. This year, I've already used it four times. Had I not, and someone tossed hot ashes into the affected grass... you never know, and I couldn't take a chance.

What makes it even funnier was, it was during our last rain spell earlier this month where Garden City imposed watering restrictions. I was banging my head, saying "why?" Now all I can do is give them credit for forthsight.

Weather as a whole, throughout the country, has been wild. You either have torrential rains & unprecedented flooding in the Oklahoma / Texas / Kansas area, or you have a dried-up Everglades in Florida, or wildfires rushing through California. The island where Steve and his ex-wife were married in 2003 literally burned up in whole earlier this year, which made for a brutally funny Steve monologue about his ex.

We critcize Michigan for its economic woes, and they are well-deserved. But thank goodness we have the Great Lakes as a natural resource surrounding us. I would hate to think if Michigan was smack-dab in the middle of the country with the lack of rain we've had.

Never take a resource for granted.

Great day a near-miss

Thankfully, I've mastered the bug-a-boos of the car to allow it to go longer distances without stalling on me. So after several months, I was finally able to visit my aunt and cousin at their respective houses for the afternoon.

Unfortunately, my aunt's car, which should be rising into the clouds by now, had to be repaired again. She's basically in the same boat as I was back in the Grand Am days; believing to be nothing better out there, keep feeding the cash cow. She's been talking about upgrading to a new car for over a year now, and I drove her down to the new car lot in Woodhaven today.

It's been awhile since I've rode along in a new-car test drive, as the rule now says the salesperson has to ride along with you. The poor guy was having his patience tested for sure. My aunt tried out a new Chrysler Sebring, but spent ten minutes idling it in the car lot while trying to figure out seating adjustments, mirror adjustments, and such. We tried to explain things to her, but I guess that car may be too new for her tastes.

She was understandably nervous throughout, and didn't even know what to say at the end. If her kids (my cousins) complain about her still having the LHS she's had for years, at least I can tell them I was there to find out why there might be reluctance beyond the price tag.

I didn't budget two hours at the lot, which caused me to miss Jenni at the nearby Wal-Mart by just 15 minutes. Aggggh! Oh well, I still had fun nonetheless.

I visited Rose at her house as well. For years, I saw her house and thought "grandma's house" because it belonged to my grandma when she was alive, and Rose hadn't changed much there over the years. But now she's made modifications to where I can look at that house now and truly say it's Rose's.

My frequent absences from Downriver are frustrating. But they churn out an even greater reward when I finally do make it down there.

Happy summer, everyone!

Popeyes from the vault

So much of my efforts into researching and enjoying comic strips have been spent studying "Peanuts", "Blondie", enjoying current favorites as "Pearls Before Swine", "Overboard" and "Garfield"... that I continually forget that my first favorite one was "Popeye".

Local cartoon networks aren't kind to the Popeye franchise these days. It's almost as if he's been censored a second time. Historically, Popeye was nearly retired by the comic syndicate in 1931 as readers complained Popeye's actions and fractured language were too rough for the comics pages. This, back when political correctness was far from being an idea!

Elzie Segar, the strip's creator, was forced to quickly modify Popeye's habits, adding morals to his reasons for fighting. He used to fight at the drop of a hat -- and perhaps if you think about it, it's easier to understand parents not wanting their children to catch on. The result was actually pleasing versus being a distraction, although the great Charles Schultz emphasized in an interview that "classic" Popeye (pre-1931) was very different from modern Popeye.

Despite that dab at censure, readers still loved the character, and he was forever shown on television many times during the day. Now I don't know if it was Robin Williams' dreadful portrayal of the character in the 1980 movie that began Popeye's slide from grace (his arms have to be twisted for him to even try spinach?), but somehow we lost touch.

Credit YouTube for bringing some cartoons back. And I'm not talking the Flesicher cartoons of the 30s, or the Paramount clips from the 50s -- I'm talking the King Features presentations from 1960-61 which were seen on local Channel 20 here for decades.

I can see why, after viewing them, why they're not shown as much. Devoted followers probably consider these the worst of the lot. But these were the first ones I was exposed to. Naturally, the King Features cartoons rank as "home base" with me and were actually the ones I missed the most, warts and all.

You can check out a bunch of them under this YouTube account. Some real great finds.

Memories spelled out

Rummaging around the attic earlier, I came across two copies of my old elementary school newspaper, called "The Scoop"... This was in a set of scrapbooks mom had made for me when I was entering high school.

Many physical memories had to be shed as I kept moving around from 1999-2003, as if a little piece of me was deposited everywhere I went. I saved these scrapbooks, however. The first thing I noticed was how familiar all the students' names were when I read them -- far from my active memory, but logged in very clearly long-term.

The first time my name ever made print media (other than kindergarten diplomas) was in the February 14, 1980 issue of The Scoop, where I had a high ranking in the spelling bee that year. I never won a school-wide bee, but was eighth in 1980, second in 1981, and a disappointing 18th the following year.

I can't remember the word I missed in third grade (1980), but since I was runner-up in '81, I clearly remember spelling the word "probably" as "probally"... Darn my unfortunate habit of spelling things as they were pronounced! I won a soft-cover copy of "James & The Giant Peach" as a consolation.

For years after my 1981 flub, I always joked that my father would get me for missing the word I did. I wasn't unusually rebellious at that age, just typical bad kid behavior at times that had my father lecture me about my bad attitude.

Yes, that's the word I missed: attitude. And what was I thinking when I was driven home that day? Never to tell my dad what word I missed in that spelling bee.

Spelling, along with reading, were two points of my "hyperlexia", a condition far more researched and known now than back in the '80s. And beginning with the issuing of letter grades in 1980-81, I never failed to go lower than A-minus in the subject.

Until eighth grade.

Despite all the teasing I endured in fifth and seventh grades, eighth grade still ranks as my least favorite: a perfect lead-in to the high school days I dreaded. I was bringing home D-minuses in spelling for two quarters. But how?

To this day, its reasoning is blatantly unfair. The teacher, catching one student cheating on his Friday test, announced that not only did we have to spell the words, we had to write them down from memory in the EXACT order they were in the spelling book. She wouldn't even mention words: the word was wrong if it wasn't in the proper place. Good for a memorization class, but we could spell "supercalifragilistic..." correctly, yet if we put it #4 on the list instead of #7... there goes your grade. How effective was memorizing the spellings of the words, when spelling in eighth grade wasn't about that at all?

It was one of the first times I learned the hard truth about one bad apple spoiling things for the entire bunch. Even today in this crazy world, that rings true. But as they say, a lesson learned is a lesson gained.

Making employers' jobs easier

Okay, we're serious this time, folks.

A feeble, though noted battle cry for me that I will try using as I began this morning to de-construct and disect the web, trying to find that elusive job in the career field.

I don't know why I was brain-dead so long as to not call up the Michigan Association of Broadcasters website. They actually provide you with, among other things, keys in your job hunt: discussing what a cover letter is, preparing you with eight questions a potential employer may ask you in an interview, and how to market yourself effectively.

I am having a ball this morning reading some of these resumes posted online. Not knocking the applicants as individuals, but reading through some of these resumes makes it painfully clear we need to know computers, sentence structure & proper spellings to make it in today's world. That's what employers expect from applicants.

But cover letters posted on the site were crazy. One concluded "go team!" Another began with "Yo, my name is"... And yes, I did see one that said "What's up?"

Another clearly stated "I need a second job." To which an employer would likely reply, "Oh, so you can't give 100% of your efforts to us?"

It would only serve to increase my job prospects, so I should take that positive thought in mind. And doing it with some humor, of course.

Random Monday thoughts...

Tidbits for Monday, June 11th:

* Wrestling has gone over the edge again in sadistic behavior. Even those who aren't regular watchers out there would be deplored at the conclusion to tonight's storyline: the chairman of the wrestling organization enters his limo, shuts the door, and the limo explodes in a ball of flame, giving the impression that he was dead on the scene. Wikipedia even gave an account that the chairman is, in fact, dead.

There's always a violent content in wrestling; that's the way the business goes. But how far must the envelope be pushed in order to gain ratings? And Jenni added this: what about the kids in attendance, leaving that arena with their parents, seeing that fiery explosion as the last event of the night? What if they end up asking questions?

One can only imagine the hate & shock emails going there now, and with that, the opposite of what the organization wanted: an increase in ratings. Enough agitated families may tune out, and the company will wonder what happened. Review the tapes, CEOs... you'll know.

* Much has been made about the latest playoff collapse of the Detroit Pistons, as they fell in four straight games to lose to Cleveland. Now the frustrations of their fans over the loss is doubled as San Antonio totally whipped them the other night in Game 2 of the NBA Finals.

How Detroit's players can claim they aren't so bad sounds hollow when they lose to a team that can't even show up for Game 2. They are lower in the pecking order than they give themselves credit for. Another championship run is simply not going to be that easy.

* Presidential debates? Not watching them right now. I believe they're occurring a bit too early (November / December would be more appropriate to me) and there's too much political rhetoric going on. It's to be expected, but are we ready for sixteen more months of the mudslinging?

* Three months and change after my work injury, therapy is talking about me finally trying to lift things. If this says anything: I dropped a 14-pound bowling ball two weeks ago when trying to clean a closet. This coming from a guy who used to bowl 12 games consecutively with no problem.

Before I feel confident about lifting bags, I'd better feel confident rolling a bowling ball for just two games. Tomorrow's therapy should prove to be interesting.

* The neighbor's great-grandson is making threats towards the family. Let's hope this phase quickly passes and is buried. It's the first time I ever read anything from Dr. Phil, and he makes a lot of sense.

* Lawn mower is fixed. Stupid oversight on my part, not noticing the loose wire on the other side of the mower. That's June's most embarassing moment - 12 days in.

* And this simple fact after I watched a scoop yesterday on the widening gaps in pay between the average worker and the corporate CEO:

Do they care about the parts that help make their clock tick?

Not returned pristine

I have to give credit to my neighbor Stephen for being patient with me over the course of figuring out my car's lengthy problems. It was only because of him that the car is finally street legal, as he went through hell & high water to re-wire the brake light system so it would function acceptably.

Now as I go to mow my lawn, I find the lawn mower will not work. The metal coil which keeps the engine running has snapped off. It was caused by a major tape job - Stephen tried to fix my loose handle by taping it tight. But he taped over the metal coil, and snapped because it had no room to move & expand when I tried starting it.

I cannot afford another repair bill to something else. My checks are already taken by proposed tune-ups and other fix-its to the car. I would hope that Stephen, in his good nature, will volunteer to fix and spend what is necessary to bring the lawn mower back in good shape.

People who loan things to others out of the goodness of their hearts should at least return the equipment to the owners in the condition it was received. I am hoping for a civil, calm and satisfiying solution to this problem. It's unwanted surprises like this that make me wish I never get out of bed during the day.

----------------------------------
... Having a lot of fun on the Wikipedia on-line encyclopedia website. The Niagara Falls historian in me has had much fun retrieving information online about the city, correcting false information, creating new articles, and trying to put it all together into a distribution page. Links follow below if you want to catch a glimpse of my writing style - or if you're as interested as I am in the unofficial Honeymoon Capital Of The World, I'll have a link to the distribution page as well.

... Boy, did the heavens read my last blog? Paris Hilton is deservedly back in the slammer again, and boy did she let the waterworks start. This so soon after being on perfect behavior, willing to pay the legal price for her DUI's? Now we see the total brat in her -- and the press hanging on every word and tear.

Someone once suggested that the most hurtful way to treat a celebrity is to simply ignore them. That someone should speak up again. And then maybe she will truly think along the lines that I described in my previous entry.

What a win that would be for the average Joe out there.

--------------------------------------
* Link to the Table Rock Center entry for Niagara Falls that I wrote from scratch.

* Link to the Dufferin Islands entry for Niagara Falls - I also wrote that from scratch.

* Link to the distribution page for Niagara Falls that I am putting together... lots of other good articles in there as well; forty and counting as of today.

Won't play the "spoiler"

Shaking my head this morning as the Paris Hilton saga continues to unfold.

What more could a person hope for in order to skirt punishment for a crime? Hilton's sentence was commuted from 45 days to 23, yet she only served three days and qualified (if the term can be used with a straight face) for an early release due to "medical concerns".

All questions about medicial concerns were put to rest when we saw the outrageous footage of a caterer coming to her house with three tubs of cupcakes. Just think of her mantra: "I'm the queen; I skirted the law; I get to have it my way again... to heck with the police and the law."

I will never lay an aggressive hand on a woman; I've said so since day one. But I wouldn't mind hiring hit men to slap the crap out of her after her celebrity status got her through her probation violation. Take a look at the rest of human-kind; the non-Hollywooders... ask any who violated probation if they snacked on cupcakes afterwards.

Outside of acting in yet another of those reality TV series venues, just what is it Paris Hilton does? She's heir to the Hilton Hotel chain, yet does she have a shared interest or a director's position in-waiting on their board? Whatever, whatever, she'd probably say. Look at her dazed expression on her face during the red-carpet treatments she demands... could she even work a complex computer program? (Blackberries don't count.)

Silver-platter treatment has been around forever, but now TV & entertainment watchers are up to their necks in it. My children would never get away from a prima-donna attitude. You have to be good in your business in order to carry confidence that far -- and I can't figure out what business she's good at.

I agreed with everything MSNBC was saying about her yesterday, and it all comes down to preferential treatment. "Oh, we don't want her to be a bad influence on her fans by putting her in jail," is a prevailing thought. Skirting jail tells her fans it's all right to break the law and NOT expect to be punished. That in itself is a bad influence. I know it's painfully obvious. I'm just not sure she knows.

The celebrity pull-over excuse: "Don't you know who I am?" We wish we didn't, sorry.

Former MLB catcher Carlton Fisk said it best during a 1990 interview with the makers of a baseball preview magazine. Without knowing the exact words, Fisk said that to make it in this world, you have to earn it. "Just because you're 16, doesn't mean you deserve a new red sports car in the garage." And Lord knows I won't be playing a spoiler to kids. I'll root for them best I can, but I expect to see effort.

Though I thought he was just a bitter man when he said it, he had a point. He believed in life discipline. If people silver-platter everything, where will the effort be in this world?

Oh, I think once Paris Hilton enters her 40s, she'll look around and wonder what's going on around her, why life has passed her by, why no one will pay attention to her anymore.

Publishing companies, save your precious ink when that time arrives!

Don't bark unless there's a reason

There are four major reasons, festered over time, that have grown my general dislike of dogs.

* Whenever neighborhood kids would torment a certain enemy of theirs (which happened often and for good reason), his older brother would unleash the German Shepherd, in attack mode, out of the yard to chase the kids away. This caused plenty of fear among the kids and only served to make them angrier.

* Neighbors that moved in later would allow a Pit Bull to roam the neighborhood. This dog was undisciplined and uncontrollable. Seeing that and hearing the reports of the nature of their attacks on people put more a fear into me.

* Another dog in the neighborhood was nice and friendly, but his owners didn't believe in general pet hygiene. You enter their house, you smelled old dog smell. You wouldn't want to pet the dog, friendly as he was, because he was never cleaned nor groomed.

* The dog living two doors down from me right now will start a barking spiel, even at 3 in the morning, for no discernable reason. He's always facing my house, and I can't have the windows open to listen for the birds in the morning if his barking is always drowning them out.

Dogs, however, do have a reason to bark, especially this last one. I would like nothing more than to muzzle this dog from behind, but the house occupants should get the same treatment -- because they only encourage his barking, then tell him to shut up before they egg the dog on more.

His object of hate is lawn equipment. He would bark at it naturally, until the lawn care person would shove the lawnmower at him, blades exposed. He barks too much, he gets attacked by a rake.

Consider Pavlov and his theory of controlled stimulus-controlled response. It rang true for food, it rings true for what they bark at. Even if the lawnmower is at my house, the dog barks.

I'm writing this as they take care of the yard over there. Normally they let him into the garage; this time they kept him chained up, barking up a storm. The mower came within a foot of his hind paws. As he kept barking, the homeowner threw objects at it, instead of putting it into the garage.

The dog is only three years old. Can we count on him to forget the memories of the lawnmower and all of a sudden become a model citizen in the canine world? He's stuck with those fears for life... and we're stuck with all the noise.

And this time, the owners are just as guilty as the dog.

Ma Bell & Baby Bell syndrome

Mergers continue to take place all over the business world, part of what appears to be a globalization of business.

Farmer Jack, a name known to most Detroiters, will be no more as of the end of next month. A&P (who used to have a Michigan presence as well) wants to cut off Farmer Jack because there were no buyers for the chain.

Doesn't seem that long ago since there were neighborhood grocers in droves, who knew your name; friendly neighborhood butchers who knew your meat order every time you came in.

The small stores are but a memory, selling out to medium stores, who sell out to the large stores like A&P, who then are gobbled up by Wal-Mart.

This world is officially going to be completely Wal-Mart-ized. This is not the first mention of Wal-Mart's hostile takeover of our way of life (if I find the other entry, I'll link it here), but more and more the difference between the have's and have-nots is growing. There's no middle ground. We were taught as youngsters not to think of matters strictly black or white; remember when they told you "there's always a gray area"?

No more when it comes to business.

The local newspapers which have been reporting on this every step of the way have testimonials in their articles by devoted Farmer Jack shoppers who lament the lack of available, affordable alternatives. They express hesitation at shopping at Wal-Mart, Meijer or Costco.

Especially with the older folk, they consider personal customer service a perk for shopping where they do; which to them, means super personal: they know who you are and they know what you're shopping for; you can talk to the clerk like you're old friends.

Now we're in the merger cycle of business, and remember in Michigan it's a killer to the economic psyche.

But why do I say it's a cycle? Just look at the title above. "Ma Bell" and "Baby Bell" were terms given to the companies resulting after the mid-1980s split of AT&T, who at the time was monopolizing the communications market. Historically, Standard Oil was split up in the early part of last century for the exact same reason. And grumblings of "monopoly" erupt every time we figure Bill Gates and his Windows Vista program have to adorn every computer. Even if it's an Apple Mac, so what? He'll try to get his fingerprint on it. What if we don't want his ideas? We have no choice.

And the choices are becoming slim and none to shoppers who desire variety and competitive pricing. They will have no choice but to bow to Wal-Mart if they want to eat properly.

If John D. Rockefeller were alive to see these mergers, he'd laugh and say "see? Look what happened to Standard Oil; now people like me are getting those other people back."

Let's think positive, and wait until we get the likes of him back... again.

Top 10 things in life (so far)

It is not often that I simulcast material on the myspace blog I have with this one. This is an exception to the rule, as the other day my brain was in constructive mode and hammered out a list of top 10 things I've learned in life.

I still have much to learn, being that I'm only at the half-way point of man's expected age, so these might not all hold true in the coming years. But if you want a glance at my values & so forth, here we go... (and if you don't understand any of them and want to know more, leave a comment for me)

TOP TEN THINGS I'VE LEARNED IN LIFE:

1. Frugal is as frugal does

2. Family members that have known you the longest love you the most

3. Drivers Education is a dying art

4. You write your own life script, yet you are the last to know about it

5. With more security comes more threats

6. Fight for today, tomorrow comes on its own

7. Do as people say, not as they do

8. Old age & treachery will overcome youth and skill

9. In Michigan, always assume it will snow on a 90 degree day

10. The best things in life go unadvertised

Your project, your fence, your bill

I would hate to be caught in the middle of a neighborhood war. But it helps that I'm not the homeowner.

My neighbors to the west have had a silent war of words & actions for decades now, mostly over an overgrown tree that reaches onto their property and fools with the electrical overhead lines. In spite of DTE Energy's aggressive tree-trimming program for their wires (which turn trees into mushrooms), they have somehow ignored this tree's lingering branches.

Two years ago, when our power went on & off for awhile, I found a small windstorm was causing the tree to arc the wires, causing a potential fire hazard. After calling DTE, they trimmed back some of the branches. Despite there being no problems, the neighbors keep calling for the tree to be trimmed. It's logical, given the tree trunk is right on the easement line. But the property owner wants nothing to do with it.

As I was trimming around the yard earlier today, that property owner walked up to me and began complaining that my raised garden area was popping out his area of the chain-link fence. It certainly is, and it is due to faulty foundations in the rear. I don't think it's my responsibility to fix, but I will notify the landlord about it.

Then the property owner (Mr. Watts) stated he wants to build a vinyl fence around his property, which is a triple-lot. And he wants the neighbors surrounding his property line, despite what they may think, to combine and pay for half of the fence. He actually expects my landlord to automatically fork over the money, and shrugged his shoulders at my neighbors to the west, implying that they don't care enough to contribute.

Ah, if I was the owner here, I wouldn't want to contribute either. I'm not the one who wants to stare at a vinyl fence or have workers barging around my garden area, trampling everything over so they can dig their post holes. They would be tearing apart my (and the landlord's) yard for someone else's project, and we would have to pay for the trampling and inconvenience?

I've not had experience with such requests before regarding shared fencing. My dad and neighbor at the time were going to construct a back fence covering two of their lots, until my dad went for the slightly more expensive fence, rather than do-it-himself. He paid for it all on his own. He didn't ask for a cooperative effort.

I see no benefits of a vinyl fence. I was going to touch up the chain-link with some paint this summer... but that would have been my project. What would Mr. Watts have said if I told him, "you owe me half for this fence paint"? How long would it take him to stop laughing?

Combine Mr. Watts with Mr. Poole two doors down, and my neighbors have reason to shake their heads at the neighborhood. I was just hoping their friendly neighbor to the east (meaning yours truly) wouldn't have to join the war brigade, and drag the landlord into it as well.

Time will tell. Apparently there's a limit to the "good neighbor" theory, the fallout of which I would rather not see.

This was no surprise party

Is there a conspiracy against my medical condition simply because two so-called "proven" examinations turned out generally negative?

I mentioned a week or so ago about the MRI and EMG tests on my back turning out negative, ruling out surgery. But worker's compensation continues their charade, basically implying the injury is faked. I would love for them to come by and see me try to walk around this house first thing in the morning, or in the afternoon when I attempt my household chores. Consistent limping can't be faked.

Actually, let me take that back about someone visiting me for that purpose. I received a surprise visit from someone about that at the clinic earlier today, and darn if I nearly melted down to a 2005 level.

Waiting for the doctor to perform my recheck, a woman shows up (actually, barges through the door), and ask if I'm Kevin. Well, with that rapid heartbeat of mine making itself known due to the shock, I basically say "who wants to know?" Turns out she's the case nurse making a visit.

Case nurses making a visit have happened to me once before. This was when she flat-out told the attending doctor that the injury was a total fake job, and I was to return to work at once. We all know what happened next.

This woman was a complete psycho. Asking me stupid, unrelated questions, lecturing me that I wasn't signing forms right and talking down like I was a first-grader, saying I was illiterate for not being able to pronounce my medications (they're 14 letters long, for pete's sake), racing around the office demanding the doctor interrupt his peer conference call because she had to "be somewhere", and when she wasn't talking, staring me right in the face with a stupid look on hers. And what am I supposed to say, "glad to know you?"

This woman is not related to anyone or employed by the clinic I go to. Yet it seemed that she possessed the iron fist in her mind, and the staff would have to scurry around and cater to her every whim. I swear she made those staff members as jumpy as she was making me. I could even tell a sense of aggravation on the doctor's part.

The case nurse was begging for a chance to get me back to work before my time. And boy, did the doctor prove her wrong. Not only did he mention that I had a ways to go and I would likely need those epidural injections, but upon examination of my toe resistance exercise, he noticed the left foot has weakened considerably in just the last two weeks. This does not bode well. And it didn't fit the script of the nurse, who shut her mouth after that. Defeated, I take it.

I go to retrieve my prescriptions and paperwork and go to leave, and she said "you're not going anywhere." Who is she, my trainer? I shot her an acid look and left under my own power regardless. Hey, she complains she has somewhere to be... well, so do I: home!

Whenever I do go off worker's compensation, I will leave a detailed message over there completely trashing them for the lack of care and concern they have provided; not only to me but also co-workers who have been burned by the manager's idiocy. A friend of mine knows a worker's comp. referee and believe me, I may put him to good use.

Maybe surprise parties are out of the question for my future... you tell me.

Symbolic flags; completed projects

I hope everyone had a happy Memorial Day weekend.

Thanks to my not trusting the car (even though my neighbor Stephen finally fixed the tail light problem it had earlier), I did not make my annual trek to the cemetery to place the flag on my uncle's grave... but once the car undergoes an overhaul (which worker's compensation makes very difficult to afford) I will get out there.

... In other news, my pinched nerve on my left side seems to be growing worse. Twice over the weekend I was laid up for hours at a time because the pain just wouldn't go away. I have a re-check coming up this Friday and I almost dread hearing that I'll need an epidural injection... I have major problems with the sting of needles.

... Also, after about eight years, my cousin Raymond's house is finally finished! All it needs is cosmetic touch-ups to the new upper floor, and all his hard work will finally be paid off. I just hope he doesn't do what I fear he'll do: turn around and put the house on the market.

That's one thing I could never understand. I realize that to increase the resale value of a home, the seller must do some basic upkeep in order to make the house look clean & presentable. Code violations, etc., must also be addressed... and it does take time, labor, and money. But for a total house re-do (in my cousin's case, the house's square footage nearly tripled), wouldn't you want to at least live there a few years to enjoy the fruits of your labors?

My landlord had talked about adding a dormer to this house years ago. Were we to go about doing it, I wouldn't think about moving in the slightest. I'd love the new look of the house, as well as the new space.

Call me crazy for thinking like that; having not been a homeowner before. But when you work so hard to put your signature on your own home, wouldn't you want time to enjoy and show off for your family and friends?

I defer to Raymond, however... he is the engineer of the family and in this case, I guess he knows best.

Handing out a heart

Short entry today giving my heart and best hopes to Jenni, as she is prepping to undergo a massive venue change which will work out so much better for her family. I know she can do this; she has more guts than any of her friends ever gave her credit for.

I believe in her and I know she will get the job done - and she will be so much better off for it.

My heart also goes out to the neighbors, who are facing more health issues. The news as of last night is very encouraging, however, as the person in question did a 180-degree turn in terms of health and seems to be back to her old self. I hope so, because she is a wonderful mom, grandmom and great-grandmother.

You guys know where I'm at if you ever need anything at all. :)

The food chain is in danger

What "great" news we have been hearing the past three months or so regarding all these pet-food recalls for salmonella poisioning. I don't even want to begin to figure the ratio of good pet food vs. bad pet food. The shelves aren't empty, but they're certainly more light-weight.

Now Jenni emailed me an article which says that several dozen fish species are being killed off in Lakes Erie & Ontario due to the viral hemorrhagic septicemia virus which has infected 19 different fish species in the New York area. Although it does not directly affect humans, the disease has killed off members of six of the species, and can be spread very easily, even by tainted bait.

Look at what's happened the last ten years or so, especially in this area. Combine the salmonella issues and the VHS issue along with the Emerald Ash Borer, the zebra mussels which crowded the Detroit River years ago, all the beach closings in southeast Michigan with the e.coli bacteria breakout, mad cow disease in England, the pending arrival of the "killer bee" in the next several years, and you have to wonder: what is happening to the balance of nature?

And what will happen to our source, and our pets' sources, of food?

Remember also that corn is skyrocketing in price due to its use in ethanol. What will be left for us to eat that isn't just machine processed pellets with loads of preservatives?

Years ago, I used to laugh at a Looney Tunes cartoon featuring the Gopher Twins, who end up getting caught in a food processing plant. One of the gophers ended up in a water-soluable food packet which opened when you added water. The idea of such food packets was decades ahead of its time and was played for laughs.

Will we need to watch that cartoon in order to see what the future actually holds for our food consumption, the health of our pets, the safety of our beaches, and the well-being of the fishing industry?

If there's anyone who's an expert on how to truly slow down & eradicate these diseases so they do not threaten livelihood, please stand forward. We've heard all the news, and the situation could grow worse. Someone needs to step up and say there's a plan, then stop talking and implement the plan.

Science brags about being so technologically advanced that our heads would spin. Our heads are only shaking right now, particularly mine, at the fact that these advancements have done nothing to cure these conditions found out there.

The food chain must be kept out of danger, or lives will change from a totally different perspective: biological.

Lawsuit in the making?

I'm not sure if this is a case of over-reaction or not... but based on the phone call I just made, my patience is worn thin and almost at the breaking point regarding my worker's compensation adjustor.

After two relentless days of searching for the source of a problem tied to no brake lights on the Contour, it has turned up nothing. The rest of the morning was spent online trying to troubleshoot the problem. The good news is, I think I have located the problem's source. The bad news is that I can't afford the fix right now, and in my panic about today's therapy appointment, I had to cancel, and then call the transportation provider to take me in tomorrow.

To say it was done grudgingly is an understatement. The adjustor treated me like she was the know-it-all mom, filled with sarcasm and making me question why I even pick up the phone half the time. "This stuff regarding your car is your responsibility to take care of," she said, "and I don't see where I still should be helping you."

Thanks a lot. In an effort to keep a technically street-illegal car off the street while waiting for my next delayed compensation payment to come in, she'd rather hope the law be broken?

Maybe it's a case of me trying to go through life with a perfectly spotless driving record. In these days, it may be unobtainable given the road rage conditions out there.... someone is bound to be at fault.

But the point is, I am aware of an electrical problem in the car. Without the means to fix it, I am still trying to steer my way around it (literally). And all I get in response is a soggy-bread session with the adjustor -- who, by the way, has left my April mileage compensation sheet unsigned & unprocessed for twenty days. She only found it among a mound of paperwork when it was mentioned to her. That's only $80, but hell, it could afford me the part I need to correct the brake light problem.

Co-workers have said I could pursue a lawsuit over all the anguish. I am half-tempted to inquire into it, although it might be equal to kicking a dead cow.

Friends, I don't think I'll ever be able to return to that job. You don't pour yourself full-force back into the job hoping the nerve miraculously stays normal. Many times, complete rest is the only prescription, along with an alteration in routine. That includes job routine. So my time at the airport is likely done. Point being, however, that I'd like to stick with the compensation arrangement a little longer just to see how the nerve reacts to further therapy. I'll use all I can, then say "screw it, I quit," if it comes to that.

But whenever the therapy and the compensation does end, you can bet hand will be meeting rear end in a not-so-subtle gesture towards this compensation agent, who has made this entire non-work experience a living hell; for me and for other co-workers who have been down her path.

Does it pay to be injured? I guess not -- and even if it does, it comes several days late according to the "pattern", whatever that may be.

Safety net's down below

I went to the airport this morning to turn in some long-overdue medical paperwork. I went there anxious & rather happy. I left feeling some depression, resentment, and yet in glee, knowing I'm not missing much over there, and might be better off without that job, now more than ever... even with Michigan's economy continuing to take a tumble.

I didn't recognize half the staff that was there. And the half I did recognize took their sarcasm routines to a new level in which I only wished I could have dropped the paperwork off and did away with the socializing. Nine weeks away have shown me the bad attitudes I was working with, and they stick out like a sore foot the more I'm not there. If they're in misery, perhaps they deserve it.

No one knows to this point how much more therapy is needed for my back and waist nerve, and no one knows how long the worker's compensation will last. If in fact it runs out on me soon, I do have a safety net in place: a possibility of two jobs waiting for me. Combined, they can earn me more than the airport ever gave me.

The immediate hope is as a taxi dispatcher in Romulus. I have experience as a dispatcher in 1999-2000, and I did enjoy it with the exception of the hard-nosed boss. On one of the early April cab rides from the clinic, I struck up a conversation with Karl, an older driver. Turns out he's the father of one of the new company owners. He asked me then if I wanted a job; repeating the request later in the month when I needed the service to attend a funeral. I said sure, keep me in mind. He took my number and I thought nothing of it, until he made some calls to me within the last week.

Apparently they like the way I conduct myself with others; a value I have held dear since childhood. They are on the lookout for dispatchers as they move to a new building. I'm not crazy for the hours, since they are night hours, but it might be a good start.

Then my friend Jackie alerted me to a job in my career field at last: a videographer for weddings and such. Just think - a possible $200 per night doing what I specialize in. Now there's the salary that the field demands! I have had to put the call to the lady on hold until I found out about my transportation situation, which is technically good now. This week, I will be putting in a call just to test the waters.

Money is nice, but happiness is the most important. Should a person enjoy what they do for a living? I believe the answer is yes, and I hope I can be one of those yes-men in due time.

Surprised I wasn't deleted

Okay Kevin, remember what you kept telling everyone when you thought you would hit it big in television: "I will never forget my roots; I will never forget where I came from."

One humongous myspace account later, I sat here wondering where I came from. Hence, my return to these parts after a near two-month absence. What goes around comes around, it seems. Have I edited anything on myspace in the past three weeks? No. Yet I get the sudden desire to blog. And yes, it will become daily (or as close to it as possible) again - I promise.

So there will need to be plenty of updates concerning me, my condition, and the goings-on in life, so here goes:

* Me myself: things are progressing slowly. Tuesday I finally purchased a vehicle to replace that stinking Grand Am I threw money at daily: it's a 1996 Ford Contour, suspiciously identical to the one my cousin had in 2000-2003. I even got a bargain on it. The lot wanted $995 flat for it, but the internet site had it advertised for $850. Good thing I printed the $850 ad and showed it: apparently used car lots are now responsible for providing the plate; thereby adding an astronomical $125 plate fee to the mix. Otherwise, I would not have been able to afford it. As is, my budget for the next two weeks is now virtually non-existent.

This car looks to be another work in progress, and I am extremely concerned (to the point of paranoia) that something major will go wrong in this one too. It has trouble when it first starts going, and I had to deal with a plume of white exhaust on a run towards the airport. But the white plumes seem to be lessening the more I drive -- so maybe the vehicle just sat for a long while before the lot picked it up.

Regardless, I needed my independence back, and this was a hell of a start.

* My condition: The MRI I spoke of in the last entry turned out normal, although the EMG (which is a nerve reflex test) showed a pinched nerve in the lower waist. This is now the primary reason why I am still out of work - and there is no telling whether the return date will be late June, late July, or whenever. I still have my 3x-week therapies, which don't do much, although it's fun to try to exercise and talk to the others in there. I can't believe how many people from different firms are off on injury - this is what you get when society stresses productivity per worker.

Times have changed, and the workers' bodies aren't adapting to this change as well as the firms have hoped.

* Steve is still here (cue the groans). However, the internet access here has been eased considerably, as he has rented (surprise) a new computer. Hey, at least it's not the ever-popular flat screen TV! My computer has now moved into my room, while his may be moving to his room in the next couple days. He seems to have recovered from his memory loss of late March, which to this day, I still attribute to stress regarding his overseas situation. His visit there earlier this month was great, but now he's beginning to feel ill again in the morning.

I'll just keep my thoughts to myself on that one and let him deal with whatever it is. I know he'd prefer a professional, rather than personal, opinion.

* The utility switchover I conducted in late March has paid dividends: our electric bill is only $63 -- while Mike's power is shut off at his trailer. Not entirely his fault, though... he's out on injury as well, and is being subjected to the same rude treatment by his worker's comp. manager that I have been on mine. Now I think he's seen it all, probably a reason why he's been more understanding towards my plight the past few months.

Stay tuned for more - within the next day or so (that is a promise!). It's good to be back to my roots.