There have been some great finds I've seen on YouTube in the last couple weeks. Chief among these is this clip celebrating Bugs Bunny's 51st and a half birthday. I think it was made for one of the Golden Collection releases of Looney Tunes classics a couple years back.
Much the same way that Steve mourned the death of Muppet legend Jim Henson, I felt bad about the death of Mel Blanc, the man of a thousand voices. I didn't think anyone could duplicate that talent, but whoever's doing it now is doing a fine job, as you'll see in the video.
The exception: Elmer Fudd... but only Arthur Q. Bryan ever did Fudd quite well. Fudd's current voice sounds much like the voice Blanc provided Fudd in the rare instances Bryan was not available... which made him sound a little more punch-drunk in my opinion.
Some other favorites:
* "Hard working George" from the last presidential debate... This adds ample proof that the man repeats himself (only his request for more war funds are more annoying)...
* "ABCDEF... Cookie Monster!", probably my favorite Kermit The Frog moment. This was done in the early 70s. Kids didn't use a teleprompter. The ending is so sweet; you'll know it when you see it.
I also see more bowling videos posted - great trip down memory lane.
I only wish there were more sports shown on YouTube; that is, the non-brawl ones.
---------------------------
* Work went okay this week. I still shudder whenever I'm dispatched to Detroit for something. Some of those neighborhoods still look like fodder. Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick says there's improvement. Where? Around his office? Geez. No wonder morale in those neighborhoods are so low. And I guess I shouldn't worry if I screw something minor up. Some of these drivers are boneheads, have no respect for anyone, and tell the boss point-blank how they feel. It's not good to go to the boss point-blank for anything unless you have your safety net in place.
* Nothing definitive yet about Nicky and his eye. He's used to the patch and I guess he's deflecting criticism admirably. He's going through a lot. I only wish I could be there to help out.
* Paying rent's gonna be a circus again; nothing new.
* And I think it's close to being time for me to get that severance check from Spirit that I was promised, in exchange for not working the two-week notice off. Damn, wish I had some visual evidence... but all I think I'll get is a run-around. Suffice it to say though that this is one issue I will not let die on my watch.
September 28, 2007
September 19, 2007
You don't know what you got...
I made it a priority after work today to check on Dawn, following the events I described in the previous post. Now add to that the fact that Irene (her grandmother) has just been released from the hospital and now must rely on Hospice care, and everyone knows what that means, symbolically at least.
Now everyone in that family seems to be crawling out of the woodwork, saying my gosh, where has the time gone, and what's happened to her? Being a neighbor for four years, I know what's been going on with her. I always try to check on her at least once a month. I'm only a neighbor. Where's her extended family been all this time?
Dawn now has the role of my late mother in 1989-1991, when she was literally the sole caregiver for her mother, afflicted with Alzheimers. She may have gotten help from her brother and his wife, but that was it. There was a big family split in the late 1960s between my grandmother and her younger brother which cut everyone in half. We didn't expect to hear from the adversaries, but what about the ones who didn't split off back then, and what about their offspring?
My grandmother was the matriarch of her family back then. In many cultures, the matriarch or patriarch are revered. My mother should have had more than part time help from two people. I would have done more if I knew how to work with an Alzheimers patient.
My mother spent more time at her mother's house than she did at ours. It was a lifting of a burden for her that I was 19 years old at the time and could be trusted at home alone, with my father working afternoons. And my mother didn't cut her hours at her job, either; it was straight from Dearborn to Wyandotte. I might have seen her an hour a day at our house. And even when we hired Roma to be the full-time housekeeper over there, my mother was there every day. Everyone else? When it was convenient for them.
I harbor no regret now. It's been sixteen years since grandma's passing. The hurt has healed also because the family just split up permanently; everyone picked up their balls and left. No arguments could possibly take place if the combatants weren't in the "ring". It was just a feeling of resignation my mother felt about a year into the ordeal; she was thankful for help, but she knew better than to expect a consistent effort from supporting members of the family, and that was a damn shame.
The minute Grandma hit Hospice and was near death, then we starting hearing from her friends at the church, at the Polish Club, and elsewhere. The funeral home and service turnouts were astoundingly huge. Grandma had a lot of people who loved her.
But where were they when my grandmother was going through the worst of it at home? You could count it on one finger: my mother.
Now Dawn takes care of her grandmother more than her own Mom does. Relatives are there now for brief visits. I've been here four years, and I've never seen any of them before. This means Irene's visitors list is very small, and like it was sixteen years ago... a damn shame.
Does this paint the picture of family who really cares, or family who turns out just to fulfill a basic, bare-bones committment?
Dawn knows Steve and I have her back if she needs it. I hope she goes one step above my mother and demands it from those who need to provide it.
Now everyone in that family seems to be crawling out of the woodwork, saying my gosh, where has the time gone, and what's happened to her? Being a neighbor for four years, I know what's been going on with her. I always try to check on her at least once a month. I'm only a neighbor. Where's her extended family been all this time?
Dawn now has the role of my late mother in 1989-1991, when she was literally the sole caregiver for her mother, afflicted with Alzheimers. She may have gotten help from her brother and his wife, but that was it. There was a big family split in the late 1960s between my grandmother and her younger brother which cut everyone in half. We didn't expect to hear from the adversaries, but what about the ones who didn't split off back then, and what about their offspring?
My grandmother was the matriarch of her family back then. In many cultures, the matriarch or patriarch are revered. My mother should have had more than part time help from two people. I would have done more if I knew how to work with an Alzheimers patient.
My mother spent more time at her mother's house than she did at ours. It was a lifting of a burden for her that I was 19 years old at the time and could be trusted at home alone, with my father working afternoons. And my mother didn't cut her hours at her job, either; it was straight from Dearborn to Wyandotte. I might have seen her an hour a day at our house. And even when we hired Roma to be the full-time housekeeper over there, my mother was there every day. Everyone else? When it was convenient for them.
I harbor no regret now. It's been sixteen years since grandma's passing. The hurt has healed also because the family just split up permanently; everyone picked up their balls and left. No arguments could possibly take place if the combatants weren't in the "ring". It was just a feeling of resignation my mother felt about a year into the ordeal; she was thankful for help, but she knew better than to expect a consistent effort from supporting members of the family, and that was a damn shame.
The minute Grandma hit Hospice and was near death, then we starting hearing from her friends at the church, at the Polish Club, and elsewhere. The funeral home and service turnouts were astoundingly huge. Grandma had a lot of people who loved her.
But where were they when my grandmother was going through the worst of it at home? You could count it on one finger: my mother.
Now Dawn takes care of her grandmother more than her own Mom does. Relatives are there now for brief visits. I've been here four years, and I've never seen any of them before. This means Irene's visitors list is very small, and like it was sixteen years ago... a damn shame.
Does this paint the picture of family who really cares, or family who turns out just to fulfill a basic, bare-bones committment?
Dawn knows Steve and I have her back if she needs it. I hope she goes one step above my mother and demands it from those who need to provide it.
September 17, 2007
The first week takes time
It's the end of a grueling first week at the new job. All I can say is, put some of these 60-hour weeks on a long consecutive streak, and the minute this job gets replaced by a typical 8-hour job, I can say "8 hours, that's all?" That would have improved my outlook for overtime at my airport job, but thankfully that's all in the past.
Turns out my strengths on knowing streets still sticks with Downriver. Almost six months after stating here that I don't know the businesses within a mile of my house (after four years), I STILL don't know them. It turns out I don't know businesses, and some side streets either. Luckily enough, I bought a good street map of Wayne County, so all I have to do is look things up, in lieu of one of those $400 GPS systems. Truth be known, all cab and limo companies need those things. I remember my last college exam was in a GPS class, where the technology was just starting. It's come a long way since and is so localized... the technology is just amazing.
I probably had one or two so-so passengers out of the fifty-plus I carried this week, which is not a bad ratio at all. I'm sure I'll get some regular fares along the way who will get to know me, so that won't be a problem. But to come in out of the blue and have that ratio be as good as it was, it bodes for a good start.
Tuesday I raked in more than I would at an average day at the airport! Hopefully there will be more good days like that.
If the house and its condition weren't falling behind before, it certainly is now, however. I get "car lag" very easily and after I get home, I usually talk to Jenni and then plop down for the night. I have sane days off for once (Saturday/Sunday) and will have to get the household stuff done during that time. Steve is planning on working more off-days so he can hit the Phillipines later this month... hopefully the house doesn't get in too bad a shape.
I'm worried about Dawn's son Tyler, who's getting a little overly-aggressive in the way he talks to his family, and specifically the way he handles his little brother Dylan. It seems like he's changed overnight, that aggression he was holding suddenly became uncaged. It doesn't appear that Dawn saw this coming, and she's still reeling from the shock. I think Tyler needs some coping skills and more avenues for which to channel his anger -- his brother is NOT the place to start.
And laundry is once again getting to be a real un-fun chore. The new plastic PVC pipe trap in the floor is jammed as well, so we'll have to resort to the portable tub again. The landlord will say "I told you so", but fact is, when I placed a screen on the discharge pipe, it bubbled up through a trap and soaked the carpet anyway. Hopefully snaking the drain out doesn't become routine; one snake out can cost over $100 per visit according to an estimate. I was like "whoa! Snaking out should only cost $40..."
Uh, that was in the 1980s, Kev.
Turns out my strengths on knowing streets still sticks with Downriver. Almost six months after stating here that I don't know the businesses within a mile of my house (after four years), I STILL don't know them. It turns out I don't know businesses, and some side streets either. Luckily enough, I bought a good street map of Wayne County, so all I have to do is look things up, in lieu of one of those $400 GPS systems. Truth be known, all cab and limo companies need those things. I remember my last college exam was in a GPS class, where the technology was just starting. It's come a long way since and is so localized... the technology is just amazing.
I probably had one or two so-so passengers out of the fifty-plus I carried this week, which is not a bad ratio at all. I'm sure I'll get some regular fares along the way who will get to know me, so that won't be a problem. But to come in out of the blue and have that ratio be as good as it was, it bodes for a good start.
Tuesday I raked in more than I would at an average day at the airport! Hopefully there will be more good days like that.
If the house and its condition weren't falling behind before, it certainly is now, however. I get "car lag" very easily and after I get home, I usually talk to Jenni and then plop down for the night. I have sane days off for once (Saturday/Sunday) and will have to get the household stuff done during that time. Steve is planning on working more off-days so he can hit the Phillipines later this month... hopefully the house doesn't get in too bad a shape.
I'm worried about Dawn's son Tyler, who's getting a little overly-aggressive in the way he talks to his family, and specifically the way he handles his little brother Dylan. It seems like he's changed overnight, that aggression he was holding suddenly became uncaged. It doesn't appear that Dawn saw this coming, and she's still reeling from the shock. I think Tyler needs some coping skills and more avenues for which to channel his anger -- his brother is NOT the place to start.
And laundry is once again getting to be a real un-fun chore. The new plastic PVC pipe trap in the floor is jammed as well, so we'll have to resort to the portable tub again. The landlord will say "I told you so", but fact is, when I placed a screen on the discharge pipe, it bubbled up through a trap and soaked the carpet anyway. Hopefully snaking the drain out doesn't become routine; one snake out can cost over $100 per visit according to an estimate. I was like "whoa! Snaking out should only cost $40..."
Uh, that was in the 1980s, Kev.
September 9, 2007
New job starts tomorrow!
Before heading out to Elizabeth Park in a few hours, just wanted everyone to know that I got a new job at Metro Express Cab Company which begins tomorrow.
Some of the iffy parts of my former cab job in 2001 are still there: 60 hour work weeks, and if you're standing waiting for a fare, you're not paid by the hour. I certainly hope it's a bit different than '01 was, where I had to live off the tips and bring home a weekly paycheck that rarely exceeded $110.
But obviously, I became more schooled in personal public relations between then and now. The owner's father-in-law was sold on me from the very beginning, and said he campaigned months to get me on board. Unfortunately for now, it has to be as a driver, and I wisely made the decree that I go to day shift. Developing night blindness (which is something my late mother had) results in an inability to see street sign and house number details too well. True, I could circle around several times, but why look like an idiot when I don't have to?
Potential fares need not worry however; the night blindness doesn't affect my ability to see where I'm going - unless it rains. Another reason to go day shift!
At this rate, my body could use a sit-down job. True, it's still not in my career field and it's not in a cubicle either, but sitting down is sitting down. Plus, you meet all sorts of people, and variety plays a huge role in my liking of a job. I get bogged down by never-ending routines from punch-in to punch-out.
Wish me luck, everyone!
Some of the iffy parts of my former cab job in 2001 are still there: 60 hour work weeks, and if you're standing waiting for a fare, you're not paid by the hour. I certainly hope it's a bit different than '01 was, where I had to live off the tips and bring home a weekly paycheck that rarely exceeded $110.
But obviously, I became more schooled in personal public relations between then and now. The owner's father-in-law was sold on me from the very beginning, and said he campaigned months to get me on board. Unfortunately for now, it has to be as a driver, and I wisely made the decree that I go to day shift. Developing night blindness (which is something my late mother had) results in an inability to see street sign and house number details too well. True, I could circle around several times, but why look like an idiot when I don't have to?
Potential fares need not worry however; the night blindness doesn't affect my ability to see where I'm going - unless it rains. Another reason to go day shift!
At this rate, my body could use a sit-down job. True, it's still not in my career field and it's not in a cubicle either, but sitting down is sitting down. Plus, you meet all sorts of people, and variety plays a huge role in my liking of a job. I get bogged down by never-ending routines from punch-in to punch-out.
Wish me luck, everyone!
September 4, 2007
Carnival 2007
The odds this year worked perfectly. With a semi-decent car at my disposal and in-between jobs, there was no scheduling conflict this year: I just finished four days of full duty at the church festival calling bingo yesterday.
It's amazing in a church community that people don't forget who you are, even if you're not there in the twelve months between festivals. Why the general community as a whole can't share this friendliness is beyond me, but since there is a huge church vs. state thing as we all know, I won't plunge into an argument.
Training for callers was on Thursday. Everyone who tried did well. Bingo chair Rachelle said I didn't need to go up there to prove my worth, so I didn't even have to try out.
Unfortunately, bingo was not too well attended this year, which has been a problem. Even with the added hour from 1-2 PM, it didn't make much of a difference in the bottom line. Going as a spectator in the early 1980s, when they still allowed kids to sit at the tables and at least play with the chips, I recall $100 first prizes on coveralls by nighttime. This year, the highest amount I remember was $60. Still, it got oooos and ahhhhs from the audience. What's happened to the value of the dollar anyway?
Oh yeah... see "US Economy" on google for more...
Only one real "incident" in the three days I called... someone shouted out "bingo" at the wrong time, and I was quick to catch it. Even Rachelle told me later she would never have caught that. The rule is, when you get bingo, you have to shout it out before the next number is called. Otherwise, it's the "you snooze, you lose" mantra. Maybe because it took place on church grounds, the ruling was accepted without any further problems... nice to see when we look at the lack of tolerance in today's society.
Aunt Lori made it down there and we had lunch in the entertainment tent. She was not happy at all with me losing the airport job, and it took ten minutes of explanation to calm her down. She's just worried about my welfare, but I told her things would take care of themselves.
Over the years, musical bands that play there have received tepid audience reaction. Especially since the Polish bands have become scarce (I'm sorry; when I think "festival" I think of Polish bands), nobody gets a standing ovation anymore. I heard a great ovation for the group today and I said "man, I haven't seen a group get this much support since the Polka Towners of the 1980s." Turns out, under a different banner, these WERE the Polka Towners of old. In the 80s when they played, they were very festive. EVERYONE stopped at that tent at the close of the festival to watch them play "God Bless America", followed by a strobe-light show. And I mean EVERYONE attended. How nice to see them back, with the audience enthused like they used to be. They set a standard for that festival that is still there today. They even have small clips of their playing on YouTube, and they have a website devoted to their history here.
Unfortunately, my troublesome hip took the joy out of my final day there, which I had to cut short. But still, a very good four days. And the car chipped in with cooperation too! Can't ask for much more.
And plans are in the works for me, Jenni and the kids to go to Elizabeth Park in Trenton this coming weekend. I've finally understood the need to convert from "all work and no play", a challenge I am accepting with relish!
It's amazing in a church community that people don't forget who you are, even if you're not there in the twelve months between festivals. Why the general community as a whole can't share this friendliness is beyond me, but since there is a huge church vs. state thing as we all know, I won't plunge into an argument.
Training for callers was on Thursday. Everyone who tried did well. Bingo chair Rachelle said I didn't need to go up there to prove my worth, so I didn't even have to try out.
Unfortunately, bingo was not too well attended this year, which has been a problem. Even with the added hour from 1-2 PM, it didn't make much of a difference in the bottom line. Going as a spectator in the early 1980s, when they still allowed kids to sit at the tables and at least play with the chips, I recall $100 first prizes on coveralls by nighttime. This year, the highest amount I remember was $60. Still, it got oooos and ahhhhs from the audience. What's happened to the value of the dollar anyway?
Oh yeah... see "US Economy" on google for more...
Only one real "incident" in the three days I called... someone shouted out "bingo" at the wrong time, and I was quick to catch it. Even Rachelle told me later she would never have caught that. The rule is, when you get bingo, you have to shout it out before the next number is called. Otherwise, it's the "you snooze, you lose" mantra. Maybe because it took place on church grounds, the ruling was accepted without any further problems... nice to see when we look at the lack of tolerance in today's society.
Aunt Lori made it down there and we had lunch in the entertainment tent. She was not happy at all with me losing the airport job, and it took ten minutes of explanation to calm her down. She's just worried about my welfare, but I told her things would take care of themselves.
Over the years, musical bands that play there have received tepid audience reaction. Especially since the Polish bands have become scarce (I'm sorry; when I think "festival" I think of Polish bands), nobody gets a standing ovation anymore. I heard a great ovation for the group today and I said "man, I haven't seen a group get this much support since the Polka Towners of the 1980s." Turns out, under a different banner, these WERE the Polka Towners of old. In the 80s when they played, they were very festive. EVERYONE stopped at that tent at the close of the festival to watch them play "God Bless America", followed by a strobe-light show. And I mean EVERYONE attended. How nice to see them back, with the audience enthused like they used to be. They set a standard for that festival that is still there today. They even have small clips of their playing on YouTube, and they have a website devoted to their history here.
Unfortunately, my troublesome hip took the joy out of my final day there, which I had to cut short. But still, a very good four days. And the car chipped in with cooperation too! Can't ask for much more.
And plans are in the works for me, Jenni and the kids to go to Elizabeth Park in Trenton this coming weekend. I've finally understood the need to convert from "all work and no play", a challenge I am accepting with relish!
September 2, 2007
Pruned by natural means
This was the damage done to the Branford Pear Tree in my backyard, within five feet of my south bedroom window, recently. No wind, no downpour, no tornado... we just had a light mist falling all night. I heard a whoosh about 2 AM and figured it might have been paper falling off the cabinet in my room. Steve came out that morning and said "how did the weed (growing alongside the deck at that time) grow half-way across the yard?" Simply put, I was amazed that this branch, 5" in diameter and nearly 20 foot tall when stood up, only grazed the house. It didn't damage the window or the siding, and didn't even affect the window air unit in my window at the time. This branch was the main offshoot from the trunk and comprised 30% of the tree foilage.
Countless times, I remember smacking my head on it when trying to mow the lawn, while saying "that branch needs to be sheared off." If that's exactly the words I used, there really is such a thing as a genie, because it did shear off... allbeit roughly.
It took nearly two weeks to find the utensils needed to clean up from this spot (amazingly, no grass died). It is still in holding on the side of the house, waiting for the landlord to dispose of it.
I had an estimate for a clearing of the branches earlier, and I was amazed at the guy's attitude. He looked at me like I was the last on Earth to know that Branford Pears had a rough time this year with splitting at the trunk. This was not news to him, but hello -- this tree has not plastered the cover of Home & Garden magazine, has it?
In spite of its low clearance, it has been a good shade tree. I only hope that it doesn't go through shock between now and next spring - there is a pretty nice gash in the trunk - to where it will need to be replaced next season.
August 20, 2007
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.
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.
August 16, 2007
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.
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.
August 1, 2007
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...
July 31, 2007
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.
Work is absolutely killing me. Nearly six years of working in the bagroom have been thrown out the door, and now I work outside no matter what the weather conditions. After a relatively dry spring, it's been raining lately, so I figured I'd pony up the $25.00 and get me a half-way decent raincoat.
It worked twice... the first time, everyone called me crazy for just standing out there, daring the skies above to rain on me harder (shades of Steve and his "you call this a STORM?" routine). But on the third day of rain last week, the raincoat bottom rips to shreds when I board the transport tug. If anything, I'd rather wear the bottoms than the top since I don't like rainwater squishing around my shoes and socks.
Now I found out last night someone broke into my locker and took the top. What's the alternative? A custom-made garbage bag.
The cheapness of my company is astounding. They're cutting costs at EVERY inconceivable turn, and they've never provided raincoats as part of the uniform. Why not? The job description clearly states "be able to work in any threatening weather condition". They begrudgingly give us a snowsuit in the winter, which we have to pay 25% out-of-pocket for, of course. It rains quite a bit in Michigan, why not make the workers a little more comfortable, and a little less waterlogged?
My sleep patterns have become even more erratic these days since I know I'm on thin ice attendance-wise (which as I said is unfair), so between that, work itself, and trying to play catch-up on the house during my down time, I don't have much time right now to devote to the blog. I am hoping that something will change that in the near future.
July 21, 2007
Let's throw him an attendance number
There has GOT to be some sort of conspiracy going on here to get me out of Spirit Airlines. That thought has never been too far from my mind since the day I hired in.
How could bad feelings have festered before I even started work there? You be the judge of what went down in the months leading up to the hiring, and please TELL ME where I may have messed up...
I was juggling jobs in 2000, where I worked as a dispatcher and a porter at Woodhaven Lanes. Woodhaven was an on-call - the dispatcher job was only 30 hours per week. I needed the security of one full-time job that could guarantee me 40 hours per week. Spirit provided it, and I figured since I was lugging stacks of seven milk crates with a metal rod around the plant, I could likely handle bags and build some sort of physique, which would be good emotionally as well.
Spirit had an interview set up with me back in October of that year. I ended up reneging and telling Mike that things were coming along better, particularly with the promise of more hours at the bowling alley. He said "okay," like nothing happened.
Then, four jobs came and went over the span of seven months, heightened by that move to Tami's house which triggered immense financial pressure. When I lost the job at Downriver Cab, I had no place to go. So breaking a silence I had with Mike since the move five months earlier, I called him up. His reluctance to put me through to Spirit a second time was blatantly obvious. This time, I figured, I stood a better chance of sticking with it; there was no safety net in place to where I could fall back on.
Through the years there, I've heard rumblings that Mike, as well as one of the supervisors, were actually placing bets on how long I would last there. Six months seemed to be the going rate, as far as I knew. From time to time, I've brought that up when work comes to a head, but it's always been denied. Apparently, one supervisor overruled the other three "nay" votes and put me to work in August 2001.
It was rather ironic that the lone dissenting supervisor in this case lost his OWN job four months later amid a drinking binge.
Now I'm back to work after a long layoff and that fingerprint mess. My second day in, I'm called to see the new ramp manager, Cari. She sets me down and says that I need perfect attendance for the next four months... absolutely perfect attendance... no call offs due to life threatening illnesses either... or I will be terminated on the spot.
They recently switched to a point attendance system versus a step attendance system that I was used to. According to Cari, I re-entered work on the Step 3, one next to termination. Funny thing is, I was never served paperwork for Step 3 my whole time there! Until dipshit doctor came around and said I should win acting awards, Spirit accepted my injury whole-heartedly, workers comp notwithstanding. Nobody told me I should think about coming in because my attendance was at risk. No warnings... nothing.
I looked at Cari and said "I'll do my best, but I'm not guaranteeing anything." I left it at that and ran off in a huff down to the ramp.
True honesty is missing in this world. It's hidden under masks. If they really don't like me (which I know they don't), and want me out, why don't they just TELL me?
I'm there to work... not to play games. And by the way, if you were in my shoes, you would say without a doubt the past five months were no game.
How could bad feelings have festered before I even started work there? You be the judge of what went down in the months leading up to the hiring, and please TELL ME where I may have messed up...
I was juggling jobs in 2000, where I worked as a dispatcher and a porter at Woodhaven Lanes. Woodhaven was an on-call - the dispatcher job was only 30 hours per week. I needed the security of one full-time job that could guarantee me 40 hours per week. Spirit provided it, and I figured since I was lugging stacks of seven milk crates with a metal rod around the plant, I could likely handle bags and build some sort of physique, which would be good emotionally as well.
Spirit had an interview set up with me back in October of that year. I ended up reneging and telling Mike that things were coming along better, particularly with the promise of more hours at the bowling alley. He said "okay," like nothing happened.
Then, four jobs came and went over the span of seven months, heightened by that move to Tami's house which triggered immense financial pressure. When I lost the job at Downriver Cab, I had no place to go. So breaking a silence I had with Mike since the move five months earlier, I called him up. His reluctance to put me through to Spirit a second time was blatantly obvious. This time, I figured, I stood a better chance of sticking with it; there was no safety net in place to where I could fall back on.
Through the years there, I've heard rumblings that Mike, as well as one of the supervisors, were actually placing bets on how long I would last there. Six months seemed to be the going rate, as far as I knew. From time to time, I've brought that up when work comes to a head, but it's always been denied. Apparently, one supervisor overruled the other three "nay" votes and put me to work in August 2001.
It was rather ironic that the lone dissenting supervisor in this case lost his OWN job four months later amid a drinking binge.
Now I'm back to work after a long layoff and that fingerprint mess. My second day in, I'm called to see the new ramp manager, Cari. She sets me down and says that I need perfect attendance for the next four months... absolutely perfect attendance... no call offs due to life threatening illnesses either... or I will be terminated on the spot.
They recently switched to a point attendance system versus a step attendance system that I was used to. According to Cari, I re-entered work on the Step 3, one next to termination. Funny thing is, I was never served paperwork for Step 3 my whole time there! Until dipshit doctor came around and said I should win acting awards, Spirit accepted my injury whole-heartedly, workers comp notwithstanding. Nobody told me I should think about coming in because my attendance was at risk. No warnings... nothing.
I looked at Cari and said "I'll do my best, but I'm not guaranteeing anything." I left it at that and ran off in a huff down to the ramp.
True honesty is missing in this world. It's hidden under masks. If they really don't like me (which I know they don't), and want me out, why don't they just TELL me?
I'm there to work... not to play games. And by the way, if you were in my shoes, you would say without a doubt the past five months were no game.
July 16, 2007
How many 180s can you do?
Would someone please be so kind as to direct me to where I need to go next?
As it is (for at least the next 10 minutes), I am slated to return to work tomorrow. Guess who was the last to find out about it? Me, of course. Work already knew and expected me to come in. Where was the phone call from work, or corporate, or the clinic itself telling me? It's obviously a good thing that I do follow-up work and make calls. If I were a total deadbeat, my work call would come and go without me knowing it.
In a span of two hours roughly, I was told I was on my own for the situation, and promptly was ready to call a lawyer to help dispute the rejection from Saturday. Then it turns out I come in tomorrow... then I was told to report for duty in "20 minutes" (meaning today)... then oops, we looked at the wrong shift slot, tomorrow is still good... then, why are you plotting to come back to work so soon? We need fingerprints... and scheduled them for tomorrow without informing me.
Goodbye lawyer idea, and goodbye apparently to the validity of the dispute. It wouldn't be worth its weight in gold. Being that I'll be at work tomorrow, doesn't that deflate the case by itself?
I've noticed in recent weeks that gray hair on me is not an afterthought. Granted, I wear my hair longer these days, so the streaks are more apparent. But that's the point: they are. Not just a few hairs, but a couple strands on my right side. I can't argue the fact they've been earned in the last several years.
But today I played the ping-pong ball, as my situation did so many 180s in a 2-hour span that I exasperated Mike, and probably confused poor Jenni beyond belief. And that's been part of the physical problems this injury has provided: if I need to do a 180 degree turn, it has to be in stages: head & neck, feet, then the hip area.
Okay, so they say that I'm 110 percent and ready to go. Everyone I know disputes that; nevertheless it looks like I've run out of ammo to boost my case, which I swear is LEGITIMATE.
The only thing I can say now is that it could possibly be arthritis. But isn't arthritis more persistent and steady, rather than coming or going in various degrees?
Just let me call the entire scenario this year a severe case of arthritis until I find out more. Fred Sanford would have been proud, believe me.
As it is (for at least the next 10 minutes), I am slated to return to work tomorrow. Guess who was the last to find out about it? Me, of course. Work already knew and expected me to come in. Where was the phone call from work, or corporate, or the clinic itself telling me? It's obviously a good thing that I do follow-up work and make calls. If I were a total deadbeat, my work call would come and go without me knowing it.
In a span of two hours roughly, I was told I was on my own for the situation, and promptly was ready to call a lawyer to help dispute the rejection from Saturday. Then it turns out I come in tomorrow... then I was told to report for duty in "20 minutes" (meaning today)... then oops, we looked at the wrong shift slot, tomorrow is still good... then, why are you plotting to come back to work so soon? We need fingerprints... and scheduled them for tomorrow without informing me.
Goodbye lawyer idea, and goodbye apparently to the validity of the dispute. It wouldn't be worth its weight in gold. Being that I'll be at work tomorrow, doesn't that deflate the case by itself?
I've noticed in recent weeks that gray hair on me is not an afterthought. Granted, I wear my hair longer these days, so the streaks are more apparent. But that's the point: they are. Not just a few hairs, but a couple strands on my right side. I can't argue the fact they've been earned in the last several years.
But today I played the ping-pong ball, as my situation did so many 180s in a 2-hour span that I exasperated Mike, and probably confused poor Jenni beyond belief. And that's been part of the physical problems this injury has provided: if I need to do a 180 degree turn, it has to be in stages: head & neck, feet, then the hip area.
Okay, so they say that I'm 110 percent and ready to go. Everyone I know disputes that; nevertheless it looks like I've run out of ammo to boost my case, which I swear is LEGITIMATE.
The only thing I can say now is that it could possibly be arthritis. But isn't arthritis more persistent and steady, rather than coming or going in various degrees?
Just let me call the entire scenario this year a severe case of arthritis until I find out more. Fred Sanford would have been proud, believe me.
July 15, 2007
Therapies & checks at an end
Just returned from another over-nighter to St. Clair Shores - each night over there is proving to be better & better.
And boy, did I need "better & better" since yesterday afternoon. Worker's compensation has officially cut me off. Now I am in a quandary as to what to do next.
Enclosed with the official "notice of dispute" was the copy of the independent examination. First off, my official measurements are 5 ft. 11, 195 lbs. Do you consider this to be "slightly obese", even though normal men my height are usually about 190 lbs.? I treated this with some humor the past two days, even though it initially insulted me on a personal level. I always say I don't have the body of Atlas, but c'mon.
Later in the report, it implied that I'd make a great Academy Award winner, which is just their way of saying I've faked the whole thing. Friends and relatives close to me know this isn't the case. What the doctor cited was when I tried to do a heel-toe exercise without putting much force on my hands, gripping the examination table.
Now there's always been a problem with balance if a surface can't be used for bracing. My feet aren't the strongest. And there's still some noted weakness in the left foot. It took me awhile to set up for this exercise, granted. The last thing I wanted to do was fall on my face from losing balance, and getting ridicule from the doctor. Plus, I wanted to do this exercise to the best of my ability. A few weeks ago, the realization came that the longer I was on worker's comp., which doesn't take money out for taxes, the more taxes I will have to pay come April 15th of next year. The motivation is there to succeed.
But I can't help it if some prepratory measures are needed to do the exercise right. When you can't trust the lower half of your body to follow through with proper execution due to pain or numbness, you don't want to set yourself up for automatic failure.
I understand that the function of an independent doctor is to make observations and judgements without showing bias, and without prior judgement. But he was taking notes just like my regular clinic doctor does - this one even made some of the same comments. Now it comes out into the open that he's basing things on reports saying there was nothing blatantly abnormal. There is a grey area here. You have "abnormal" and "normal", but isn't there a medium known as a "potential trouble spot"? So much for a doctor/patient relationship! I'm not sure I would have wanted one with this doctor, since the facts are known.
So what's the likelihood of me going back to work? Pretty much better than 50-50. I'll find out the next business day, which is tomorrow, and see whether his diagnosis is seen as just an opinion, or the deciding factor.
There's something about the "deciders" in this world that's really bugging me now.
And boy, did I need "better & better" since yesterday afternoon. Worker's compensation has officially cut me off. Now I am in a quandary as to what to do next.
Enclosed with the official "notice of dispute" was the copy of the independent examination. First off, my official measurements are 5 ft. 11, 195 lbs. Do you consider this to be "slightly obese", even though normal men my height are usually about 190 lbs.? I treated this with some humor the past two days, even though it initially insulted me on a personal level. I always say I don't have the body of Atlas, but c'mon.
Later in the report, it implied that I'd make a great Academy Award winner, which is just their way of saying I've faked the whole thing. Friends and relatives close to me know this isn't the case. What the doctor cited was when I tried to do a heel-toe exercise without putting much force on my hands, gripping the examination table.
Now there's always been a problem with balance if a surface can't be used for bracing. My feet aren't the strongest. And there's still some noted weakness in the left foot. It took me awhile to set up for this exercise, granted. The last thing I wanted to do was fall on my face from losing balance, and getting ridicule from the doctor. Plus, I wanted to do this exercise to the best of my ability. A few weeks ago, the realization came that the longer I was on worker's comp., which doesn't take money out for taxes, the more taxes I will have to pay come April 15th of next year. The motivation is there to succeed.
But I can't help it if some prepratory measures are needed to do the exercise right. When you can't trust the lower half of your body to follow through with proper execution due to pain or numbness, you don't want to set yourself up for automatic failure.
I understand that the function of an independent doctor is to make observations and judgements without showing bias, and without prior judgement. But he was taking notes just like my regular clinic doctor does - this one even made some of the same comments. Now it comes out into the open that he's basing things on reports saying there was nothing blatantly abnormal. There is a grey area here. You have "abnormal" and "normal", but isn't there a medium known as a "potential trouble spot"? So much for a doctor/patient relationship! I'm not sure I would have wanted one with this doctor, since the facts are known.
So what's the likelihood of me going back to work? Pretty much better than 50-50. I'll find out the next business day, which is tomorrow, and see whether his diagnosis is seen as just an opinion, or the deciding factor.
There's something about the "deciders" in this world that's really bugging me now.
July 13, 2007
"You forgot today's date"
(And now that I do know, happy birthday Rosemarie!)
I forgot today's date though, until the last moment. But the car never forgets, apparently.
Coming home from St. Clair Shores today, I blew out my left front tire on Eight Mile Rd. just past the notorious Woodward Ave. bridge that rapper Eminem made famous in his movie. It only took half a second after the KA-POW for me to realize that meant me. My concerns of Wednesday made themselves known only two days later - my likely luck.
Complete, sheer panic never set in, but the butterflies were obvious. I wanted to veer right to turn off Eight Mile, but I was in the left lane and needed to go left - right into Northwest Detroit, lovely. The first thing I wondered was how the heck I managed to navigate Eight Mile yesterday. On that road at 3PM, you're either on it, or can't get on it. I have not seen massive traffic like that in years.
After spending ten minutes in a turnaround, I flopped my car into a neighborhood, gathered my wits (which were likely lying with the remaining tire rubber on Eight Mile), and walked (and survived) a three-block jaunt to the gas station. You know, you really can't call them service centers anymore. What gas station, heaven forbid, even has a repair bay in the building now? I lamented the loss of full-service gas fillups years ago, and now you don't even have a mechanic handy on street corners.
Prior to the last couple days, the last time I ventured on Eight Mile was nearly six years ago, so I knew of no place to go. And Speedy Muffler across the street seemed to fix everything except tires. So I had to chance going to a foreign place with a foreign wrecker in what is NOT known as God's country. It actually turned out pretty good; in fact I may go back to that station next week to get another tire replaced on it - only ran me $26 for a replacement.
I laughed as I thought to myself that the worst-case scenario was that I still had five hours of daylight left before I started needing bodily defense. So I stood for an hour at Eight Mile and Livernois, amazed at the amount of car horns and near-miss accidents that took place (four in ten minutes).
But the toll placed on your nerves driving from Garden City to St. Clair Shores is never-ending. I didn't want to take Eight Mile on Wednesday, so I took Nine Mile. That took an hour on that street alone; 35 minutes to travel five miles. Two lanes, 25 MPH, stop-and-go, with four construction sites. Then I ended up travelling the wrong way down Harper Ave. and just missed being pushed onto I-94, which would have been curtains for the car and its no-highway designation (oh, don't worry -- Harper was not one-way, I just turned the wrong way to find the right side street); hence the reason I couldn't take the quicker route via freeway.
The car also doesn't seem to relish being driven more than 25 minutes at a time; either the transmission seems to slip or the engine dies out. That happened yesterday while doing 35 on the center thru lane on Eight Mile. Thank goodness the truck behind me was most understanding. I could not pass due to the traffic volume, so I choked my embarassment and started the car up on the fly again. That's the goofy thing: it starts right up and picks up where it left off. Earlier, it died on me on Telegraph near I-96, so I took it to a "service center", started it two minutes later, and on my merry old way I went.
But forgetting today's date? Friday the 13th. What a double whammy: I leave Jenni to go back home, and on this day of all days. It's laughable, of course... now that I'm home safe.
Reflections of the visit (which were first-rate) follow.
I forgot today's date though, until the last moment. But the car never forgets, apparently.
Coming home from St. Clair Shores today, I blew out my left front tire on Eight Mile Rd. just past the notorious Woodward Ave. bridge that rapper Eminem made famous in his movie. It only took half a second after the KA-POW for me to realize that meant me. My concerns of Wednesday made themselves known only two days later - my likely luck.
Complete, sheer panic never set in, but the butterflies were obvious. I wanted to veer right to turn off Eight Mile, but I was in the left lane and needed to go left - right into Northwest Detroit, lovely. The first thing I wondered was how the heck I managed to navigate Eight Mile yesterday. On that road at 3PM, you're either on it, or can't get on it. I have not seen massive traffic like that in years.
After spending ten minutes in a turnaround, I flopped my car into a neighborhood, gathered my wits (which were likely lying with the remaining tire rubber on Eight Mile), and walked (and survived) a three-block jaunt to the gas station. You know, you really can't call them service centers anymore. What gas station, heaven forbid, even has a repair bay in the building now? I lamented the loss of full-service gas fillups years ago, and now you don't even have a mechanic handy on street corners.
Prior to the last couple days, the last time I ventured on Eight Mile was nearly six years ago, so I knew of no place to go. And Speedy Muffler across the street seemed to fix everything except tires. So I had to chance going to a foreign place with a foreign wrecker in what is NOT known as God's country. It actually turned out pretty good; in fact I may go back to that station next week to get another tire replaced on it - only ran me $26 for a replacement.
I laughed as I thought to myself that the worst-case scenario was that I still had five hours of daylight left before I started needing bodily defense. So I stood for an hour at Eight Mile and Livernois, amazed at the amount of car horns and near-miss accidents that took place (four in ten minutes).
But the toll placed on your nerves driving from Garden City to St. Clair Shores is never-ending. I didn't want to take Eight Mile on Wednesday, so I took Nine Mile. That took an hour on that street alone; 35 minutes to travel five miles. Two lanes, 25 MPH, stop-and-go, with four construction sites. Then I ended up travelling the wrong way down Harper Ave. and just missed being pushed onto I-94, which would have been curtains for the car and its no-highway designation (oh, don't worry -- Harper was not one-way, I just turned the wrong way to find the right side street); hence the reason I couldn't take the quicker route via freeway.
The car also doesn't seem to relish being driven more than 25 minutes at a time; either the transmission seems to slip or the engine dies out. That happened yesterday while doing 35 on the center thru lane on Eight Mile. Thank goodness the truck behind me was most understanding. I could not pass due to the traffic volume, so I choked my embarassment and started the car up on the fly again. That's the goofy thing: it starts right up and picks up where it left off. Earlier, it died on me on Telegraph near I-96, so I took it to a "service center", started it two minutes later, and on my merry old way I went.
But forgetting today's date? Friday the 13th. What a double whammy: I leave Jenni to go back home, and on this day of all days. It's laughable, of course... now that I'm home safe.
Reflections of the visit (which were first-rate) follow.
July 11, 2007
Wednesday ramblings
Sitting here today as I plan to take what might be a 70-mile round trip to see Jenni and meet her three kids in St. Clair Shores today:
* My neighbor Irene has been in the hospital again since Sunday - and this was only found out last night because I went outside to roll my car windows up. What bugs me about this is the fact I was literally chewed out by her granddaughter for not having guessed this was the case.
At any one time, nine different people could be in and out of that house on any given day... many of them on a "shift"-type visit schedule. Many times, you can set your weekday watch by which car is in her driveway. With me suffering off-and-on with an unseasonably late allergy attack this week, the back and hip ailing, and with heat indexes approaching triple-digits, I've done my best to stay in my room for the week.
We know each other as genuinely good neighbors, and I know we would do whatever it takes to help the other in case of need. But for Irene to be in the hospital for breathing problems for the third time in six months (critical but stable condition), don't you think they would knock on our door to let us know? The massive amounts of cars & people that come by there wouldn't give a clue that something was amiss.
I care very much for Irene's welfare, and at age 87 she's going to have continued problems. Every time she comes home safe, I tell her granddaughter, "if anything happens, let us know." Each time she has gone back, we've only found out perchance when Steve or I went outside for something. If they see the car here, they should feel free to knock. We can't guess what's going on if the traffic levels next door don't change.
* Forgot to mention a concern that was relieved two weeks ago when I thought the local grocery store stopped carrying the Calder brand of milk. Their cooler was stacked six doors full of store-brand milk. Had they lost the contract with the grocery company, which would cripple their bottom line? Or had the bottom line been erased already?
Word is in: Calder Dairy is still alive and well... and only the Kroger by me discontinued the deliveries - because of an irritable stockroom manager who wanted to sue the company for milk over 39 degrees. Contrary to what happened to me in 2001 when I subbed on route delivery for Calder's, the milk was standard at 36 degrees. Calder's manager obviously thought that the Kroger manager was too overbearing. If he was the same person I saw in 2001, I'll happily drive a little further for my milk fix - they made the right decision to stop delivery.
In closing: Captain Kirk said it best in one of the Star Trek movies: "May fortune favor the foolish." Will I be a fool for travelling 15 miles down Eight Mile Road, hugging the north Detroit border? Stay tuned to find out.
* My neighbor Irene has been in the hospital again since Sunday - and this was only found out last night because I went outside to roll my car windows up. What bugs me about this is the fact I was literally chewed out by her granddaughter for not having guessed this was the case.
At any one time, nine different people could be in and out of that house on any given day... many of them on a "shift"-type visit schedule. Many times, you can set your weekday watch by which car is in her driveway. With me suffering off-and-on with an unseasonably late allergy attack this week, the back and hip ailing, and with heat indexes approaching triple-digits, I've done my best to stay in my room for the week.
We know each other as genuinely good neighbors, and I know we would do whatever it takes to help the other in case of need. But for Irene to be in the hospital for breathing problems for the third time in six months (critical but stable condition), don't you think they would knock on our door to let us know? The massive amounts of cars & people that come by there wouldn't give a clue that something was amiss.
I care very much for Irene's welfare, and at age 87 she's going to have continued problems. Every time she comes home safe, I tell her granddaughter, "if anything happens, let us know." Each time she has gone back, we've only found out perchance when Steve or I went outside for something. If they see the car here, they should feel free to knock. We can't guess what's going on if the traffic levels next door don't change.
* Forgot to mention a concern that was relieved two weeks ago when I thought the local grocery store stopped carrying the Calder brand of milk. Their cooler was stacked six doors full of store-brand milk. Had they lost the contract with the grocery company, which would cripple their bottom line? Or had the bottom line been erased already?
Word is in: Calder Dairy is still alive and well... and only the Kroger by me discontinued the deliveries - because of an irritable stockroom manager who wanted to sue the company for milk over 39 degrees. Contrary to what happened to me in 2001 when I subbed on route delivery for Calder's, the milk was standard at 36 degrees. Calder's manager obviously thought that the Kroger manager was too overbearing. If he was the same person I saw in 2001, I'll happily drive a little further for my milk fix - they made the right decision to stop delivery.
In closing: Captain Kirk said it best in one of the Star Trek movies: "May fortune favor the foolish." Will I be a fool for travelling 15 miles down Eight Mile Road, hugging the north Detroit border? Stay tuned to find out.
July 7, 2007
"Ugliest car" reinvented
Well, before I show you the "ugly", allow me to show the "cute" in life, courtesy of Jenni's youngest daughter Cheyanna:
Isn't she precious in this shot, taken earlier today at the Willow Run Airport Air Show? She's wearing a sticker she plastered on her head, a sticker for an animal charity that Jenni supports, and Chey loves animals. Needless to say, removal of this sticker was a bit painful, so I was told.
Now that I've dolled you all up on the nice things in life, back to the title of the article.
Up to today, there are two cars whose designs I have historically considered to be totally ugly:
The Volkswagen Type 2 (T2) "Transporter"...
... and the Chrysler PT Cruiser (which I dub a funeral hearse)
Lo and behold, from the same civilization that provided fake and unbearably ugly "city" facades on certain Meijer's stores, here comes the latest design from Honda: the "Element":
As in, which of these elements are not like the others?
Since when has a boxy car been cool again? Grown-ups lament about the return of bell-bottoms as a fashion trend... I thought boxy cars were gone in the early 1980s with the advent of aero-dynamic cars with smoother curves and more pleasant appearances.
It seems as if they're back again, bent on outdoing the Type-2 VW. This picture is only passable to me because of the angle it's taken at. The one I saw at Krogers an hour ago I saw from the left rear - you want to talk about industrial-strength hearse? It's as if a king-sized set of Lego bricks acquired an engine and motored out of the kids' bedroom (as we know, Legos cannot be claimed as aero-dynamic in looks, so you get the picture).
Who on God's green earth would want to drive one of these, let alone be proud of owning one? I saw this one, and I swear I nearly bumped into the cart corral.
I guess the moral of this one for the failed art students in the world is this: you've got a shot to make up for past failures!
July 5, 2007
"You-Tubed"
I didn't even know we had the technology. And given what's come up since the technology was discovered, I'm glad I've not made use of it.
Steve was browsing YouTube today, and found a video that really irritated him: an editorial on Chris Benoit that raised his ire for how it was presented: disrespectful towards Benoit's immediate family who were killed, and disrespecting even towards the video viewers. I made the comment "don't we wish we had the technology to go on YouTube?" Turns out we do, so Steve made a video admonishing the editorial he had viewed.
And then made another video. And another.
And still another.
I'm a regular visitor to YouTube, and I watch the videos, usually ignoring the comments. The comments on Steve's first rebuttal video were the inspiration for the other videos. Never in my life have I seen a group of people united to bring Steve down for even showing up on the internet. Ninety percent of the comments included vulgar language towards Steve, his family, his new wife, everything. Three-fourths of them were just direct criticism of Steve alone; Benoit having being forgotten. The hate has been so rancid, it doesn't even bear repeating in this space, let alone even linking to the videos themselves.
Whether or not Benoit's death has ignited so much of this negative passion remains to be seen. I can't say for a fact that the bulk of YouTube people are jerks, either... I just watch videos, I don't look up who provided them.
True to the person he is, though, Steve can be accused of fanning the flames a little: after trying to reason with some of those people, he ended up speaking their language. It was funny to an observer like me, but not funny when you think about the state of humankind as a whole.
When I found out we had the technology to produce videos, I thought, "Cool! I can upload my old sports show tapes from the 1990s, even put together a 'vlog' of baseball reflections."
But if I've just witnessed my potential audience, I'll let Steve keep the technology to his computer... and my eyes and silent thoughts to my computer.
Steve was browsing YouTube today, and found a video that really irritated him: an editorial on Chris Benoit that raised his ire for how it was presented: disrespectful towards Benoit's immediate family who were killed, and disrespecting even towards the video viewers. I made the comment "don't we wish we had the technology to go on YouTube?" Turns out we do, so Steve made a video admonishing the editorial he had viewed.
And then made another video. And another.
And still another.
I'm a regular visitor to YouTube, and I watch the videos, usually ignoring the comments. The comments on Steve's first rebuttal video were the inspiration for the other videos. Never in my life have I seen a group of people united to bring Steve down for even showing up on the internet. Ninety percent of the comments included vulgar language towards Steve, his family, his new wife, everything. Three-fourths of them were just direct criticism of Steve alone; Benoit having being forgotten. The hate has been so rancid, it doesn't even bear repeating in this space, let alone even linking to the videos themselves.
Whether or not Benoit's death has ignited so much of this negative passion remains to be seen. I can't say for a fact that the bulk of YouTube people are jerks, either... I just watch videos, I don't look up who provided them.
True to the person he is, though, Steve can be accused of fanning the flames a little: after trying to reason with some of those people, he ended up speaking their language. It was funny to an observer like me, but not funny when you think about the state of humankind as a whole.
When I found out we had the technology to produce videos, I thought, "Cool! I can upload my old sports show tapes from the 1990s, even put together a 'vlog' of baseball reflections."
But if I've just witnessed my potential audience, I'll let Steve keep the technology to his computer... and my eyes and silent thoughts to my computer.
July 4, 2007
No fireworks today
Today was the day of the Wyandotte Independence Day parade, and I went there for the second straight year to watch my aunt march for a group of hers.
I had planned a whole day with her and my Aunt Pat, one who I don't see too often. Unfortunately, the fireworks fizzled in the form of communication lapses, and I was never able to get with them. About the only benefit of the day was the fact that my car made the 20-mile round trip flawlessly, which bodes well for future long travels.
This year, my aunt was more in the center of the parade versus being the third-from-the-last group, which meant I was in & out of there in an hour. I didn't get a chance to see the Windsor Optimist musical group, who always sound great, and I almost missed the chance to see the Roosevelt High School marching band in action as well. I only caught them because I made two trips to the drop-off area to search for my aunts.
They were playing their own patriotic rendition of "Battle Hymm", and I can only say this: having marched for four years with the old Wyandotte-based Royal Lancers Drum Corps., they did it better, pure and simple. It's hard to describe from a musical standpoint. While Roosevelt's version was more preppy and sophisticated, the Lancers' version was more from the soul. Roosevelt looked like it was just reading sheet music. The Lancers, bless them, knew the music by heart through constant practices, and they were a fan favorite in all the years of marching the parade.
My time spent marching (three years in the honor squad) passed too quickly before the organization was disbanded. But the parade in Wyandotte always brings back great memories of my marching days, where you listened and cared about the music like it was a part of you.
Too bad my aunts weren't part of my day this year. Maybe next year.
And oh yes... you may have noticed: no complaints in the blog this year about illegal fireworks or their blatant mis-use and over-use. There's no point in beating a dead horse.
My stance on them hasn't changed, but no one is going to make these people stop chancing injuring themselves foolishly. This year in the neighborhood was even worse, as both Steve & I swore we heard a couple of M-100s exploded right by us. There was no observance of these activities by authorities, simply because they had no overtime budget for the officers. Another result of the flaggling Michigan economy, whose vicious circle only rotates faster and deeper.
I had planned a whole day with her and my Aunt Pat, one who I don't see too often. Unfortunately, the fireworks fizzled in the form of communication lapses, and I was never able to get with them. About the only benefit of the day was the fact that my car made the 20-mile round trip flawlessly, which bodes well for future long travels.
This year, my aunt was more in the center of the parade versus being the third-from-the-last group, which meant I was in & out of there in an hour. I didn't get a chance to see the Windsor Optimist musical group, who always sound great, and I almost missed the chance to see the Roosevelt High School marching band in action as well. I only caught them because I made two trips to the drop-off area to search for my aunts.
They were playing their own patriotic rendition of "Battle Hymm", and I can only say this: having marched for four years with the old Wyandotte-based Royal Lancers Drum Corps., they did it better, pure and simple. It's hard to describe from a musical standpoint. While Roosevelt's version was more preppy and sophisticated, the Lancers' version was more from the soul. Roosevelt looked like it was just reading sheet music. The Lancers, bless them, knew the music by heart through constant practices, and they were a fan favorite in all the years of marching the parade.
My time spent marching (three years in the honor squad) passed too quickly before the organization was disbanded. But the parade in Wyandotte always brings back great memories of my marching days, where you listened and cared about the music like it was a part of you.
Too bad my aunts weren't part of my day this year. Maybe next year.
And oh yes... you may have noticed: no complaints in the blog this year about illegal fireworks or their blatant mis-use and over-use. There's no point in beating a dead horse.
My stance on them hasn't changed, but no one is going to make these people stop chancing injuring themselves foolishly. This year in the neighborhood was even worse, as both Steve & I swore we heard a couple of M-100s exploded right by us. There was no observance of these activities by authorities, simply because they had no overtime budget for the officers. Another result of the flaggling Michigan economy, whose vicious circle only rotates faster and deeper.
July 3, 2007
Begging your un-pardon
Just a short entry today wondering whether everyone would agree that President Bush has the wrong type of compassion.
Did it surprise anyone that he did away with the prison sentence for former Cheney aide Scooter Libby? Bush's words were that the penalty was too severe, too harsh, undeserved. He says he may even issue a full pardon for Libby, which basically says according to the government, you've done nothing wrong.
See the late Richard Nixon for an example.
Bush has gone far enough with the abuse of power and his "timely" use of executive privledge. I know his oft-mentioned, off-the-cuff comment of "this job would be a lot easier... if I was the dictator" was only that: off-the-cuff. It's reality, I think.
Sometimes I wonder if the president has all his marbles. I won't be afraid to admit I was hospitalized in 2005 having lost some marbles -- but even under the influence of the most direct and intense training I received there, I would have been able to point out the wrongdoing.
Sports players need to take drug screens. Grade-school teachers are well-served with child psychology courses. Government officials have to pass multi-year background checks.
What physical, emotional and mental aptitude tests did this man need to pass, or even take?
One reason I would never go for the top office in the land is the simplest: Everyone's history is examined and everyone's skeletons are either dusted off or made up. The pundits would shout, "Kevin, what's this 2005 hospitalization all about?? There's no WAY you would ever be fit for office! What if you suffer a relapse during a time of national crisis?" I can tell you that's what would happen without even having run for a council seat before.
You have to allow for errors, given the president's military history and the documents which caused Dan Rather an unplanned retirement. Maybe his own gut executive privledge got him through those rough spots.
But is he really ALL there? All we have is the track record, and that, in fact, should speak for itself.
Did it surprise anyone that he did away with the prison sentence for former Cheney aide Scooter Libby? Bush's words were that the penalty was too severe, too harsh, undeserved. He says he may even issue a full pardon for Libby, which basically says according to the government, you've done nothing wrong.
See the late Richard Nixon for an example.
Bush has gone far enough with the abuse of power and his "timely" use of executive privledge. I know his oft-mentioned, off-the-cuff comment of "this job would be a lot easier... if I was the dictator" was only that: off-the-cuff. It's reality, I think.
Sometimes I wonder if the president has all his marbles. I won't be afraid to admit I was hospitalized in 2005 having lost some marbles -- but even under the influence of the most direct and intense training I received there, I would have been able to point out the wrongdoing.
Sports players need to take drug screens. Grade-school teachers are well-served with child psychology courses. Government officials have to pass multi-year background checks.
What physical, emotional and mental aptitude tests did this man need to pass, or even take?
One reason I would never go for the top office in the land is the simplest: Everyone's history is examined and everyone's skeletons are either dusted off or made up. The pundits would shout, "Kevin, what's this 2005 hospitalization all about?? There's no WAY you would ever be fit for office! What if you suffer a relapse during a time of national crisis?" I can tell you that's what would happen without even having run for a council seat before.
You have to allow for errors, given the president's military history and the documents which caused Dan Rather an unplanned retirement. Maybe his own gut executive privledge got him through those rough spots.
But is he really ALL there? All we have is the track record, and that, in fact, should speak for itself.
July 2, 2007
Discounting into oblivion
In an effort to clear out my email inbox, I placed a few "spam filters" into the account. The past two weeks, I can't begin to count the number of emails whose subject line was "Hi", then once opened, gives you a discounted price on Viagara, on-line purchases only.
The sea of spam never ends, despite what government says they will do about it (do-not call lists, busting spam factories, etc.).
So I don't get too much in my inbox anymore, except for the airline I work for - they send about five emails per week showing their super-discounted rates. Not wanting to spell out the company's name first-hand; all you'll need to know is that they were the ones who promoted the "find Jimmy Hoffa" on-line game. They may also be promoting their eventual demise with the outrageous prices they give their flights.
An $8 sale? A one cent sale? This week, that's right, you can go to Ft. Lauderdale from Detroit for $16.00 round-trip.
I wonder who the airline is going to hear it from first: The passengers, the workers, or the government?
I'm a worker, so they'd hear it from me first. And regular blog readers are all too familiar with the story as I've outlined it the past year. In a January meeting, there was a faint glimmer of hope that maybe 2007 would be the year we'd get a raise. In any event, we'd know by May.
May has come and gone without word on either side. Workers haven't been told yes or no. Yet any worker with half a brain will probably guess that their 2007 salary will remain the same after more of these stupid fares keep popping up; their so-called "Happy Sales". Resulting in, as well, filled planes every hour or every day, more bags, and more upset workers.
The passengers are saying a lot, too. I came across two websites addressing airline complaints, and you won't believe the number of complaints my airline had. Rude customer service, dirty airplanes, even people that needed to board a flight to be with their mother who was having emergency surgery, they were told "too bad". Obviously it hasn't hit the passenger throngs full-force, because you'd see something in the news about a backlash against the airline.
The government would be an interesting read. I'm not sure if it's government standard or industry standard, but a couple years ago I heard where it's not good news for an airline to run up a deficit for more than seven consecutive fiscal quarters.
How will the erratic marketing and outrageously insane pricing affect their bottom line, and, their very existence?
The sea of spam never ends, despite what government says they will do about it (do-not call lists, busting spam factories, etc.).
So I don't get too much in my inbox anymore, except for the airline I work for - they send about five emails per week showing their super-discounted rates. Not wanting to spell out the company's name first-hand; all you'll need to know is that they were the ones who promoted the "find Jimmy Hoffa" on-line game. They may also be promoting their eventual demise with the outrageous prices they give their flights.
An $8 sale? A one cent sale? This week, that's right, you can go to Ft. Lauderdale from Detroit for $16.00 round-trip.
I wonder who the airline is going to hear it from first: The passengers, the workers, or the government?
I'm a worker, so they'd hear it from me first. And regular blog readers are all too familiar with the story as I've outlined it the past year. In a January meeting, there was a faint glimmer of hope that maybe 2007 would be the year we'd get a raise. In any event, we'd know by May.
May has come and gone without word on either side. Workers haven't been told yes or no. Yet any worker with half a brain will probably guess that their 2007 salary will remain the same after more of these stupid fares keep popping up; their so-called "Happy Sales". Resulting in, as well, filled planes every hour or every day, more bags, and more upset workers.
The passengers are saying a lot, too. I came across two websites addressing airline complaints, and you won't believe the number of complaints my airline had. Rude customer service, dirty airplanes, even people that needed to board a flight to be with their mother who was having emergency surgery, they were told "too bad". Obviously it hasn't hit the passenger throngs full-force, because you'd see something in the news about a backlash against the airline.
The government would be an interesting read. I'm not sure if it's government standard or industry standard, but a couple years ago I heard where it's not good news for an airline to run up a deficit for more than seven consecutive fiscal quarters.
How will the erratic marketing and outrageously insane pricing affect their bottom line, and, their very existence?
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