You're Welcome

Today is a special day. It is a day when we honor our veterans.

One veteran I would like to honor is me. Many of you may not know, but I served in "The Mother of All Battles"* - The Gulf War. Yes, while you were playing grab ass, or hoping Keystone Light went on sale again, I was out essentially preserving your right to continue on this earth.

My story was like many others, I was motivated by a sense of what I could do for my country, of how I could give back, and also I was literally majoring in beer drinking in college.



The answer came in the form of a Navy recruiter. After showing me posters of exotic ports, videos of activities in these exotic ports, and giving me a collection of various antibiotics for actual visits to the exotic ports, I signed up! (It actually never occurred to me HOW we actually got to those ports, or WHAT we did between ports. I sort of vaguely pictured a cruise ship, with lots of downtime between ports. Little did I know.)

After saying goodbye to friends and family, I shipped off to bootcamp. I will be detailing each phase of my Navy service in future posts, I want this to focus on just the general fact that I served, and you did not.

Or maybe you did, but not in a war. Or, maybe you did serve in a war, I don't know, the point is, I laid it on the line, and I came back. I got lots of letters when I was at sea, my "friends" laughingly telling me they were "drinking one for me" or letting me know my girlfriend was "like a rabbit that has been let out of a cage" the day our ship left.



I enjoyed these letters, and even though I was staring death down every day, never knowing if tomorrow morning would find me alive and breathing, or fish food at the bottom of the ocean, a tear forever frozen on the cavity that used to be my eye before a grouper ate it, it was good to know that their lives were progressing.

Sometimes my brother would write and say class was going well, and I would laugh and write back that that was great, and that things were going for well for me also, as I was able to eat that day.

Or my sister would write and say she "missed her big brother" and I would write back and ask if she would still think of me as her big brother when I came back, and all that was left of me fit in a shoebox, and it was literally just my foot and a shoe, in a shoebox. Would I still be her "big brother" then?

Mom told me later she cried when I wrote this, but I told Mom she'd probably cry more when they might have to notify my family the last thing they saw was my body explode - head flying off, a smile still on it, sailor hat still attached at a jaunty angle.

Somehow, though, I came back. I have moved on, but you never forget. So many memories, getting hit in the head with a box, watching a guy slide face first on non-skid, and leaving his face behind; the grimace on people's faces when they got Dear John letters, the snicker I made when I reminded them their name was not John, and if she couldn't remember their name, it probably wouldn't have worked out anyway.

Many people ask today, "What can we to honor your service?" and I tell them, we don't want much, just a tip of the hat, slight nod of the head, and just the realization that you owe us your very existence.

At least buy them lunch. (I like In and Out.)

*Saddam Hussein

A Spider Named Jeff

Ok, after a hiatus, I am back. I seem to have developed a tiny following, and people have been asking where I have been. One person asked if I was in jail, another asked why I had a blog in the first place.

So, I have been extremely busy, hence the absence. I recently completed work on a site:

http://www.nationalhareandhound.com

This took all my time up, but was a huge score for me, and will be leading to a lot of work. I already have a site I am working on due to that site, and a few in the queue.

Now that things are a little less busy, I will work to post something here every week, even if it is just a thought, like this:

"I am not comfortable doing that, and I don't care if that's 'what men do.'"

So, the picture above is from Boston. We went to a game at Fenway Park. Now, when I say, "went to a game," I mean, we stayed for 1 inning, then left. I have a bladder the size of a walnut, and I dread constantly getting up to walk past people, and always asking, "What is the proper way to face? Ass in their face, or junk in their face?" I don't know, but I am sure there is some etiquette that says which side we face towards people as we slink by.

We just happened to be staying at a hotel across from Obama's, who was in town for Ted Kennedy's funeral. It was like Die Hard looking out the window. Moving trucks blocking the street, etc.

My sister also came out to visit. Seeing Abby was great, I think they had fun, though I totally share Conrad's disgust with the fact there is 1 (one, uno) freeway here, so getting around town involves a s-load of traffic lights and surface streets.

In other news, my brother is back from England. They came back a little early, so things are a little hectic with them, but they seem to be adjusting well.

I will post again soon, and have some new material. I am currently working on a pictorial that is entitled "Jim: A Peanut's Journey Through the Human Digestive Tract."

Later

Pictures

This is how they roll, Nebraska style

Actual, unretouched photo of the inside of a typical Nebraska work truck. Click to open.

America Undercover - Sexual Harassment in the Telecommuter's Workplace (Part 1 of a 26 Part Series)

It occurred to me the other day, we often hear about sexual harassment in the workplace. But, what about when your workplace is your home? We never hear about the rampant sexual harassment that takes place in thousands of home offices every day.

Sadly, I know first hand, the reality of this problem.

For the victims, the stories are very similar. We may be on a call, we may be busy updating a spreadsheet, when inevitably, our spouse/partner/significant other calls, with a request that we "have the bed warmed up for a nooner," or "get the belt sander, the fireman's hat, and a drop cloth over your desk, I am 5 minutes from home."

(I still have nightmares over one particular phone call, in which I was told that my "employee review was ready, and it looks like someone was very, very bad.")

Inevitably, we are met with laughter and derision when we say, "I am right in the middle of a call," or "I really need to get this project done." Our protests are often answered with sarcastic sneers. As Andrea often says, "Yeah, well, this employee needs to get something done, and you have 10 minutes or you're fired."

Many people report that their spouses enjoy playing the gruff boss. Many a time, Andrea has told me, "The boss is coming home for lunch, and the boss is hungry." I don't even know what that means, yet before I know it, I find myself setting all instant messengers to "Be right back," turning on the out-of-office email, getting out an icepack and some Motrin, and beginning the long walk upstairs.

Most home office employees all point to the perception that no one seems to take their work all that seriously. Even though we have the same deadlines, workloads, and responsibilities, they are taken much more lightly, because we work in Hello Kitty pajamas, while sitting in a den with shag carpet, drinking Sanka.

Sadly, this problem remains swept under the rug. Yet, as more and more people shift to telecommuting, society will be faced to look at this long and hard.

(That's what she said.)

Class of 1989 Ainsworth, NE - Part 1 of 3

Thursday afternoon to Friday afternoon

So, Andrea had her 20 year reunion this past weekend. All 60 people in her class were invited to attend. I think we had more people in our men's bathroom at any given time then she had in her graduating class, but, that's a small town for you.

Another way it's a small town for you is when they have a parade for the graduating class. Yet another way it's a small town, is when your entire graduating class is paraded throughout town on a flatbed trailer.

And yet another way it is a small town, is when Main Street is filled, with people, wanting to see flatbed trailers full of graduating classes.

(In all seriousness though, it is very cool to be able to see how these small towns are, and you get a real sense of the pride they have.)

So, we left out Thursday after work. The drive was uneventful, except for the part where I thought I might have to use the bathroom. Now, I should explain, I don't go to the bathroom in front of anyone, ever, if I can help it. As in, I will literally give Andrea some money and tell her to go to Starbuck's so I can have some privacy. And, even then, I will turn on the vacuum cleaner and every stereo we have, to ensure proper ambient noise reduction.

So, we stopped at Arby's and had dinner. Shortly after dinner, I got what I would call just a slight flutter in my stomach. Nothing serious, but it did portend bad things to come.

Sure enough, the flutter turns into a light rumble. Very light, but definitely there. At this point, I begin sweating, and realizing that this could go either way. So, I sort of casually lean over to Andrea, and say, "Hey, we might need some gas or a Sprite or something." To which Andrea looks at me, and says, "You have to go to the bathroom don't you. Well, there isn't a gas station for 40 miles."

Now, we are in the middle of farm fields. She sees the pained look on my face, and then says, "You can always just pull over and go." And, it is times like this, you realize how little people know of each other. I informed Andrea that if that were to happen, she would have to continue on without me, and that we could never see each other again. And I swear on a stack of KTM's, I would have walked off into the distance, never to be seen from again.

Luckily, the emergency passed (not literally) so we soldiered on, got a room, and ended up in Ainsworth around lunchtime Friday.

Friday afternoon was fairly uneventful. We met up with her friend Andy, and decorated the flatbed. (It was at this point I finally believed that they were going to be in a parade, on a flat bed trailer.)

So, after decorating, it was time to head to the local bar, The Longhorn, or "The Horn" as it's known there. This was the first of 2 nights of minimal sleep, and maximum drinking.


To be continued

Pictures:

Very artistic composition, taken outside The Longhorn. **First, I chose an ISO setting that allowed a very duotone feel. I then tried to jar the viewer with the raindrops on the lens, giving the portrait a sense of dissonance. I then soften the dissonance by underexposing, and thus softening the harsh contrasts and grayscale of the background. In the end, the viewer feels a sense of completeness.
(**Actually I just pushed the photo button on a Hannah Montana disposable camera we bought at the Dump 'N Flush)

Cameron and Susie. Susie squeezed Cameron so hard, you guessed it, he made a little mud.

I am not sure it is physically possible to look like more of a dork than I do in this picture.

Andrea taking charge and kicking ass, helping out on the float. Andrea's "Der Fuhrer" approach was not appreciated by everyone, but hey, she gets shit done.

The gang. Some great people I met. In particular, Johnny was a cool guy, from California, and was in on the dirtbike industry. What more could you ask for!

Thoughts after some scotchcy-scotch

My brother had a friend, I think his name was John Welley, or something. Anyway, I remember this guy was absolutely hilarious. One of those guys that was way ahead of how funny he should have been at the time. Anyway, he did our morning announcements at school one time, and he reminded everyone, over the PA, to "masticate before swallowing."

He was banned from doing announcements after that. But I still remember that.

Pat also had another friend, Benji Boor, that wanted to beat me up, but that is another story.

We went camping, a couple weekends in a row. Pictures will be slow in coming, as I ran over the camera.**

Other than that, not much new. For the summer, we have some camping planned, trip to Cal to ride, trip to Boston, and a trip to England at the end of the year.

**While camping, we went fishing. Andrea had a few Coronas. I handed her the bag with the camera in it as we were leaving. She went to use the bathroom. Unbeknownst to me, she set the bag on the ground, under the front wheel of the truck. I thought, "Oh, I'll drive over and pick her up, like a gentleman." Pow. I ran over the camera.

Now some pictures:


Chalk Lake Campground - Colorado. Sweet.



James Stewart - Las Vegas Supercross


Margy-time, Las Vegas


Andrea trying some cucumbers to hide her black eyes. Andrea has black eyes, because, when I said "Turkey Pot Pie," she didn't say, "Swanson's or Oreida?"


I actually wrote that, not noticing the spelling error.