Memoriable Day Weekend

Yes, your honor, I knew it was a bad idea to provide a razor sharp knife to a hyper 6 year old who was hopped up on chocolate milk and donuts...

Bring in exhibit A

Now how did this all start?
_______________________________________

We had a great weekend at our house. Friday night we had a family game night with some of our friends who have kids Ryan's age. The kids completely tore up our upstairs area, so we are ready to remodel now.

Then Fran and I got into a big argument over whether or not the kids are going to watch "Old Yeller". I was standing on the stairs, she was downstairs, and the kids were upstairs...Now that you have the stage direction, here's an excerpt:

Me: "Honey, I really couldn't care less what they watch. They picked out Old Yeller."

Fran: "They really don't want to watch that. Pick something else"

Me: "Okay. Kids, what do you want to watch besides 'Old Yeller'? How about 'Lion King?'"

kids (weeping and gnashing teeth, and as they are exhaling between sobs, squeak out "We-want-to-watch-'Old Ye-e-e-e-le-r-r-r-r-r-r-r'.....PLEASE!!!"

Me: "They really seem to want to watch it..."

F: "No! Don't make them watch that movie just because YOU want them to see it!"

Me: "Seriously, I don't care what they watch."

F: "Then pick something else!"

So, at this point, I'm sure you're thinking 'just put on Old Yeller--how would she know?'--remember-it's a sad, depressing movie...The emotional well-being of 6-year olds are not going to be hanging over my head, expecially over the urgings of others to watch something else. So I sent the kids down to tell Fran that they REALLY wanted to watch it, which they then did.

An hour or so later, one of my friends looks up abruptly from his cards and said, very seriously and somberly, "They just shot Old Yeller."

We played this card game called Wizard, and I was being a little obnoxious by dramatically saying "Wizzzarrrrrd!" at odd random moments, which would really crack Fran up, but seemed to have no effect on the rest of the group--but I kept doing it anyway.

Fran's been chomping ice all the time lately, which we have read somewhere is a sign of anemia, so she's starting taking supplemental iron.

During the game, while Fran was in mid-chomp, one of the guys told her "I noticed you have been chewing ice--do you know what that's supposed to be a sign for?"

Fran: "Yes, I just can't help it, though."

He gave a bizarre look. I knew something was up, so I asked him "We've read that it's a sign of anemia--it seems like you heard differently?"

He laughed and said "Yes-I heard it was a sign of sexual frustration!"

Fran: "I was about to say 'I bought some pills for it...'"

Me: "Hey, give me some of that ice!" (ha ha).

Sunday, we drove out to the piney woods of East Texas to see my friend Gar and his family. We had a very nice time seeing the family, but discovered a few things on the trip:

1) Fran hates the idea of Ani Difranco without having listened to any of her songs. I put on a mix of music and she kept asking "Is that Ani Difranco? Change that!" But of course, it never was Ani. The problem is that I don't know who it was because I didn't write down the names...

2) There is only so much Dido that can be listened to without going into a coma.

3) It's a better idea to plan 2 hours to go 90 miles than to plan 1 1/2 hours to go 90 miles, especially when driving on 4 different highways, through 3 towns, and in intermittent rain. Fran's goal: If the party starts at 1:30--show up exactly at 1:30. My goal: If the party starts at 1:30, try to get there around 1:15, and if you're early go get a coke and relax.

4) Apparently, Fran can't stand folk music at all.

5) Kaitlyn can now put her foot in her mouth. Gee, I wonder if she gets that from me...



6) It is possible for Ryan to play Game Boy for 2 solid hours without getting bored.

7) She doesn't want me to go to Cabo to go marlin fishing because she's afraid that I'll be captured and killed by Mexican banditos.

8) We have determined that, like quarks (subatomic particles that "act differently" while being observed than they act in their natural state?--how would we know that?), there is behavior to volume control that is dependent upon who is listening.
by this definition: a) Anything that Fran listens to should be at whatever volume is necessary for her to hear anything she wants. b) anything that I want to listen to needs to be 20-40% quieter (in my words "low enough so you aren't bothered by either the tune nor the words")

9) Fran has still not forgiven me for my photography faux pas at the wedding we recently attended. My pictures come back and she's like "Where's the picture of Kaitlyn in her pink dress?" Whoops! Of course, they got there at the last minuite. In the meantime, I had 2 hours to kill before they got there so I got great pictures of stained glass, the exterior of the building, etc. The kicker was that one of the bridesmaids took her shoes off and I snapped a quick picture of the shoes on the carpet in front of the stage (you really never know what's going to be a good picture--seriously). When Fran saw that, she went ballistic--"You got a picture of some chick's nasty shoes but not of your 1 year old daughter in her beautiful dress???!!" So she still hasn't forgiven me for that. I'll keep you posted.

10) I grabbed my camera to get a shot of some beautiful clouds, apparently knocking off one of the bones in Fran's elbow...



Monday AM--Ryan and I went fishing at a nearby lake. I thought we would just be out there for a little while, but Ryan lasted for 4 1/2 hours before asking to leave. He did really well, sitting in his Spider Man chair watching the bobber. We were fishing for catfish for now, which, I know is usually accompanied by the "pfbst" of a beer can, but thanks to our local Starbucks Ryan was drinking hand-mixed chocolate milk (costs $1) and I was drinking cafe mocha ($4) and we were chomping down on those little Dolly Madison chocolate donuts.

We caught 3 catfish and 2 turtles. I let Ryan reel them in--the last and biggest fish he actually set the hook and brought in pretty much by himself, so he was very happy about that.



Of course, because it was me, and I am destined to encounter snakes whenever the world can arrange it, we ran across a fat-bodied, gross-looking striped brown water snake about 3 feet long, and it was aggressively watching us over a period of about 20 minutes--popping its head out of the water from different angles--I could see it swimming underwater, and resurfacing. At one point I think it scared Ryan because it came up about 10 feet from him and started heading toward land and I was on the other side of our little peninsula we were fishing from. I've tried not to pass on my silly phobia to him, though.

But another weird thing about this place was that there were tons of ducks and geese, including a freakishly huge goose with 5 baby geese the size of huge ducks, that kind of made me a little anxious. But there were tons of cool ducks, mostly mallards, taking off and landing all the time, so I got some good pictures, I think.



When I was packing up for us to leave, I had to figure out where Ryan was going to stay--at the car or by the water. He had been pretty good all day about not getting too close to the water, so I kept the poles in the water and took a load to the car. Before I left, I pointed to my long-blade fishing knife in the leather sheath.

"Hey Ryan, if you need it, there's a knife right here."

When I came back, of course, he was swashbuckling a tree like zorro, "just in case the snake came back". Although he begged to keep the knife for protection, I took it from him and packed it up.

Walking back to the car, I told Ryan to stay with me. The godzilla goose was right off the trail and I didn't want it to get aggressive with him.

But Ryan loves animals, and the next thing I knew he was going to say goodbye to the super-sized uber-goose, and her goslings were between her and Ryan. She came hissing toward him with her huge beak open. So I had to act like a dumbass and just held up my arms and said firmly, "Get back, goose! Ryan, come over here right now!" and he did.




The goose walked the other direction, but turned after a couple of seconds and gave me one last, protesting, honk.

Ryan looked up at me and, knowingly told me "See? You should have let me keep that knife!"

So, luckily, the goose bloodbath was avoided.

Debriefing Ryan this AM: "You wouldn't have really stabbed that goose, would you?"

Ryan, unblinking, not moving his eyes away from the TV "Yep. Aren't we allowed to do that?"

SETI

It's been said that writing is like sending radio waves out into space--you don't realize who is listening and how it affects them.

I loved the movie Contact, for various reasons (not a big Jodie Foster fan, and the more I see of Matthew Macauonoaughaaay, the less I like him). But, the movie premise is as cool as it gets and I really like the psychological aspects of the dilemma that the characters find themselves in. If you haven't seen it, it's worth a rental.

Anyway, all that to say that I just keep telegraphing my messages out there--some of them are stupid, I know, and some of them I back away from quickly because I don't want anyone to know that's how I really feel--maybe I don't want to defend my position.

"I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world..." (Whitman, also in Dead Poet's Society).

Then sometimes there is a response--like the huge dish receivers in the movie.

"Womp womp womp..."

It gets my heart pumping when someone mentions that they read something and liked it, or it described the way they feel precisely.

That's where I end today.

Looking forward to today

I'm up early and the sky is powder blue to the east. I can hear a train in the distance honking its horn, perhaps a little too long for 6:25 AM.

Almost by the minute the sky is getting lighter, in layers, mixed with wispy gray-white clouds like a parfait. Some noisy birds are making a commotion in the trees.

Pretty soon I'll be able to see the sun and there'll be no turning back. The day will have started.

I'd rather be marlin fishing in Cabo.

I'd rather be teeing off at that great course in Florida.

I'd rather be rolling over in some crazy-high thread count sheets at a bed and breakfast in Massachusets.

I'd rather be sitting on the porch of my own 20-acre farm in the country, drinking a cup of coffee and listening to the silence.

I'd rather be swinging in a hammock in the mountains of Virginia.

I'd rather be walking among the skyscrapers of Manhattan, in a sea of cabs, limos, and cars and feeling like if someone put a pin in the middle of the world it would come down right on top of my head.

I would love to spend all morning soaking in Monets and Renoirs.

I would get a kosher dog from the hot dog vendor in front of the Museum of Natural History in the mall in D.C.

Or go fly fishing on the salmon run in the Kenai river in Alaska

But the more I think about it, it's funny--Someday, I'll wish more than anything that I was sitting right here, with my wife and my 6-year old and 1-year old asleep in other rooms, ready to wake up as soon as I make one small noise.

I'll wish I could go back and hug them as small as they are now, when their arms barely fit around my neck and Kaitlyn still drinks from a bottle and says "cank coo" for "Thank you".

So I owe it to myself to make today a good day; to make it count.

Idiotic things I did today

1) It was a funny idea to translate something from English into multiple languages and back into English. What wasn't funny was using something that really only I could recognize. I should have done something like "The Star-Spangled Banner" or something everyone would know.

2) Someone from work really got under my skin yesterday. I was supposed to work with him today. Instead of a) calling him up and yelling at him or b) showing up and kicking his ass, I decided to c) send him an Email telling him about all the complex projects I was working on and how I didn't appreciate his tone yesterday. Then, every time he called today, I sent him to voicemail and let him stew on it. Eventually, at 5:00 PM, I answered and he apologized, saying I misinterpreted his tone. This reminds me of the king that stood outside the popes castle for several days in the snow to apologize so he would be un-excommunicated (or whatever). How chicken-shit is that (for me to do)?

3) I went to go get equipment for a big demonstration for tomorrow. It wasn't there. I realized I had loaned it to someone. Whoops! Guess I can make an early tee-time now...

4) Another fellow employee is transferring some of his accounts to me (against his will). He left me messages to call his customers. I feel awkward about it, so I just waited until now they think their new sales rep sucks.

5) My desk is messy. Instead of cleaning it up, I decided to clean out my desk drawers and pile more crap on top of the crap that was already there...

6) I let myself get "time-transferred" today. It's a Fran stealth maneuver that's hard to counteract: If you commit to something, she transfers that commitment to something else: Here's an example: Let's go out to eat at (my favorite place). Her response: Well, let's go out, but to (my least favorite place)--see? taking the commitment and transferring it without permission. Today: Maybe I could take Ryan and his friend hiking this weekend. Tranferred (unauthorized) to: I made the arrangments, but instead of hiking, you're taking them to the (stinky, crowded, annoying, loud, inconvenient, freakin' expensive) batting cages to practice for their baseball game.

7) Went from 92 outstanding Emails to 8. Now I'm back up to 18.

8) Went to Ryan's baseball game. I agreed to help out in the dugout to keep the urchins from killing each other while the coachs help the players on the field--I've been asked to do it before, and it's the crappiest job possible, because you are in a position to verbally correct the players, but you aren't a coach and both the parents and kids don't respect you (perhaps rightfully so...). There are a couple of particularly bad ones who pretty much tell you to shove it (at age 6!). When the coach asked me to help, I replied "Sure, I'd be happy to help, but I'm not going to fuss at the kids--I'm going to tell them what to do, but I'm not going to chase them around like an idiot if they don't behave." The coach laughed at me and said, "Well, if it gets to that point, don't worry--I'll yell at them!" I felt a little foolish saying that, but it sure took the weight off my shoulders. FYI--MY son behaved!

9) Don: "I read your blog. I saw that list of random words and thought to myself 'he's just trying to take up more of my time..."

Me: "That was a poem."

Don: "Oh."

Still, not too bad a day!

~~~M~~~

El Significado de la Vida de la Dinamita as translated by Pedro

I ran my story through a translation program through several languages (Russian, Dutch, Italian, French), then into Spanish and then back into English. I was somewhat amused--maybe you will be too (it reminded me of the I Love Lucy episode where there was this line of guys who only speak 2 languages, and they have to tell the whole story to each other and translate it to Lucy). It's funny what stays and what gets misinterpreted.

Priceless moments:

Quesadilla: "cracker of cheese"

Grandma: "Grannie" ?Is this the international translation for grandma?

Kip: bed of field?

Uncle Ricco: Rich Uncle (that's friggin genius!)

You guys are retarded! : They typt he has been gone more slowly!

"I bet I can throw a football over them mountains" : “as many they he of wanna I a soccer an envelope the salary of mountains? ”

"Napoleon, knock it off and go make yourself a dang quesadilla!" : "Of The napoleon-blow he removes and the indication goes they immediately a cracker of cheese of promised!"

Anyway...I'm wondering if this is funny to me because I know the original too well? If you want to compare, just click on the link to the right...

It has when Spencer Johnson wrote their parables that their large success that returns « that my movements of cheese have? », Of usi the cheese a loves of the symbol are, that in an important way in the life -the security, the wealth, the happines -the enthousiasm for the life, is the verköpert for the cheese. The actions of the signs its for its desire for the cheese encouraged. They walk the circle of dikke around the labyrinthe (the life) in the trip lost for the cheese (the inhabitant, the execution of car) that (the problems and the question of the life and the work).

I slept this night and I hook to receive proclaims the dreams, the assembly of John, that the book of the revelation during to the island of Patmos or Coleridge that the text and ongebroken entire of the Look of Kubla, they came is all: the analogy destroys opening in it the beard of Napoleon where the cheese that the meaning is the uses in last also as a symbol for the life. In these dreams the avenues the different signs happily for me, they do how said or in one and in its philosophies with the trip of al of message lost for the cheese that were is.

The first message of this indication deeply hidden has the place when the calls of Napoleon to the house in the principle of the movie. A court of its food reads of field -and the cheese of rallar in the upper party. Well that Napoleon in the expedient he, the beäugt deceives that the field that many long for the bed the court and the the assembly they said « I am »occupies. We plague the mind of in the bed of field because we this judge, is a loser. That, that himself where shelters also in it the hinsetzt, the majority of the trash some govern that in all days he removed they come they are that our matters reject as if a fear affirm. That that the 32 and, any has is not a friend. We do the onderstelling. We hate the achtige of the powers any in the favor? The ahthough, that of these boxes that a prophetize unpleasant not its life with the enthousiasm is injected then, receives we still. And we see him that never did not appear that offender recognized that the he is potentially a -the the he amazed he fails the right an end to deliver, but the field that all to the bed that we put. The field of bed of the anxiety and of the growth that removed and he he goes some they place that literally to the luck the lí good of binnenste of the sun with the girl removed comes is.

It did that the some they box comes? Grannie! This is the sign, is that the source of the cheese in the movie and where, the head of the family. It goes the cabriolets of the customs does it and has a friend. This is the sole a, to smile puts, the honestly fortunately satisfied sign. When the bed field cheese of ralla in their court, is their uses of cheese, that the the the ralla of an enormous one an imbottitura then symbolic of their energy the large reserve and the success are. When a method of the story, is should removed has the Grannie the enthousiasm that that vainc to obtain, of it I shot for back that we the other in the story and I can observe, while in his absence.

« Of The napoleon-blow he removes and the indication goes they immediately a cracker of cheese of promised! » This verköpert, in the substance, two the subject of it when the symbolic movie that the next events in the place of the movement. The QUESTION of grannie consumes the wisdom of the voice and the experience,, that said that -I the cheese -complete its levenscol (goes more adds: a life receives!) Etaient proactivo. They definite agreement to go happy to be and what is the actions indicate.

It examines nevertheless these explanations in but in a height to, if a was aiguicheur is? The Mexican food did in the cheese of cabbage. And that the mark of Napoleon then? It offers and its life in which Exponentially of the improvement that the to a Mexican student, Pedro, the very wise friendship. When Napoleon to Pedro to the first time foci, they are a step and a proactivo positive in his life -a step that a new friend does. The aid but a person and the end are car-gecentreerde. Only of, in the substance, that the the life in a cracker of cheese does, volgroei Napoleon I. The personal extreme its point of the trip, when the proactivity removed is: that competent of in a fine that one presents of itself of the dance in the election of the student to give that in Pedro is. This injection of their levenscol « the cheese » treated the east of an action to carry out that with impartiality for, carries the advantage but a person and a tiède are in, the moment that the movie and the morale of the story justify.

The Pedro comes their cheese cabbage characteristic to the phase. That that the happy one is. The attraction the maintained, is receives this cheese is of Pedro to the house all the time and the insurance, the discharge and fortunately. Well that himself in the opposition al asideros of challenges, its security alludes in, in that and in the agreement they go that thrown does does not receive, that that of the course. That, that one stole, that is the unbreakable uniform an in the movie, writes that with the security and with the advantages the security in which was goes.

The forward adversary is the Rich uncle. The Rich one of uncle he represents a negative its cheese of levenscol to inject -instead of that, the doors that all the he classified it time. About that he handles the koeien the representative of the source of cheese has been classified in (the step restrains the message of device, around the intellectual decision of this divides into two Schrittenwegen the competence of FFA of in the portion), the Kingdom of uncle, around the expenses of one that eaten, represents a test that the alive one to deceive, one from of the abbreviation that the Fact to carry, That The Goose Kills, that Wheedled the places small Truck Of the philosophy. They were the Rich one of uncle feared the accidental law of the nature to surround, to receive that. What lives is capable in the past and the fantasea around the times the false step until 1982 change when theoretically the course of its life that an attempt of sharp-seen of the use of the cosmos to deceive. It does or the attack of Napoleon that its arm of the election is? It appeared in the spear classified accidental, the damages that an in its face, but only is rotated does a symbolic test the enthousiasm that of decides still of Napoleon for the life, that you added with the Kingdom, the philosophy to interrupt. It does that that affirms, that slept the to throw to come to be “as many they he of wanna I a soccer an envelope the salary of mountains? ”, During the the it classified eats it: is of a permanent visa in the way the pervertió in the life and the wrong condemnation behaves that the backups of the reading by the nature can surround. That, that the the bed in approximately of these philosophies of articles of the clothes of the dream receives (therefore that their same test adapted,, affirming the flight to be « that need for says that I approximately of speech. .."), But the final bed from field the slope of the notification he he himself that this nature to last, to be capable its indication of back deceived comes is, that breaks as if a tazón of the Polymères of nailon under the wheel, that by difficult lesson of the interruption of the life some increase, and has fast is removed, and the flight the temptation still more the they are been the Of desires to Go.

The world of the Kingdom is the fixed ages in the sideroads artificial and the opening of the version of the truth for a receipts of the procedures, that the tolerated refined and, represents this cheese.

She has the warning that is not he behaves this cheese of meedogenloze never as in it he is uselessly a he came he is, he was come he is.

The you-curves of L did this analysis and go still more the indications of Grannie to Napoleon, he is capable an incredible penetration that receives he comes he is:

To go! (Of the measure to carry, to be the proactivo) the property to (independent the east. The person can do in the happy one a, he is his decision, his action, his advantage door characteristic. This message has Grannie, the wine that sole, that and fortunately with its happy life) a promised (here we are come to a Gift under good the current. The grannie is he owes he frustrated with the shortage of Napoleon in the opinion Y. They were the Grannie is the capable malicious fact he comes he is that he leveled with that, the look, the jouissance of al of life, but to give incompetently of this wisdom to his children and of small children he was. When does he cause does it « promised » of the he said, the progress is as if the true one after be, owes the curse of astucieusement united a commentario of in its words of the wisdom). The cracker of cheese! The symbol of a life has with the indication and the verköpert of herbs

I expect that this be, when usefully to her, that the meaning of the life explains, is the worships he himself. I came I am I am certain kissed, that this interpretation already for the other and for I in an independent way this revelation in its countries that register wild purer is without the prejugé.

She goes the indication that the they have been promised immediately a cracker of cheese of today. (They typt he has been gone more slowly!)

Proof that I'm paranoid

Right after I posted my bitch session about Apple using scare tactics to sell me an extended warranty, my blog totally crashed.

I tried Nicole's blog--hers worked--although she hasn't updated in, like, a week.
Tried Don's--his still had nothin'. So all was good there.
Tried a couple of other blogs--seemed to be working.

Then I thought...hmmm. Is Apple a sponsor to blogspot?

Then-more dramatically--

Maybe they're shutting me down for bashing them? Did they pull the plug?

Took me about 30 minutes before I tried "help"--for some reason, "help" seems to be my last resort...

It said that some members would experience intermittent problems during the evening...duh!

The other day, I was doing my boredom thing when I hit "Next Blog"--I got a psycho programmer blog with ransom note font saying something like "YoU wiLL NeVer KnoW HOw UnHApPy I Am RIghT NoW!!!" I'm telling you right now, don't try to find it (I worded it differently so you wouldn't find it even if you try). It totally hung my computer up and I couldn't get it to stop. Even by killing the program. Couldn't even log off.

Sneaky bastard!

I got blog-bombed.

It took me running virus scan about 3 times on my computer to get it completely up and going again. But no harm done.

thinkin vil brushindateeth

Relax a little. Today should be fun.

You know, I could write poetry. I am positive I can put words together in an intersting array--people will think you're deep. Deeper than you really are. Profound.

Maybe I could pull up that "kites" poem and copy the syllable/rhyming combo. I really liked "Mockingbird".

Does it even rhyme? Don't think so.

You've read too much Shakespeare. All your stuff rhymes. You sound like Al Sharpton or Jessee Jackson or Johnny Cochran when you try to write poetry.

I put aside all my vanity
Sidestepped insanity
Got real, connected
til I chickened out, defected

"if it does not fit,
you must acquit"

Either that or possibly the jingle for Jiffy peanut butter.

Don't forget "Theme in Yellow", which I misunderstood and copied the words down (including the author), but had my 4th grade teacher scream at me "That's Illegal! It's called plagarism!" She was crazy--I can just see her being carted away in the back of the dogcatcher's truck with the wire mesh. She showed up drunk to my wedding and made a scene.

The road to Japan
must Thank you for the map.
Gritty, vicious, biting--
steaks and lobsters
You're Welcome to all I give.
Lubbock road-kill
speaking with every voice;
How kind of you to help
your fellow man.
The Smiths crooned
our famous road trip
Big Head Todd and the Monsters
picking up college chicks
How funny-
Carly is right...
escaping through Trees
peaceful, tall, cool, damp.
a shotgun and bees
the humming and explosions
a fragrant powder
and valve stems
hissing relentlessly
and smoking dust
flood of white
liquid spilling onto the floor
The crowbar, prying,
wedged in my chest-
gentle two-faced bastard.
minutia.
and your careful eye
shy assassin's hands
that won't be cleaned
s-ly-ing, laughingly slandering tongue.
of piercing scream
and quiet loneliness
madness and murder
laughing elf eludes you
and the sadness remains
clepto-

and I mourn you;
my friend.

Maybe not a poet. I guess I can live with that

Maybe I'll Sing a New Tune...

(Telephone Rings)

"Hello"

"Hi, May I speak to Mike, please?"

"This is Mike"

"This is Julie from Apple. I was wondering if I could ask you a couple of quick questions"

(blinking light inside my head "Scam, Scam"--somehow, they are going to try to weasel more money out of me...)

(other blinking light going out "Whew, I guess I don't owe anyone $$")

"Hi Julie"

"I am following up on your recent Ipod purchase. How are you liking it?"

"I love it!"

"How often would you say you use it?"

"Every day"

"For how long each day?"

"I guess at least an hour..." (How did these people get my phone #?)

"That's great. Did you get the extended warranty for it?"

"No."

"What?!" (sounding genuinely shocked as though I just stabbed her mother) "How's your battery life holding up? Is it still holding a 12-hour charge?"

"I'm really not sure, I haven't timed it this week" (sarcasm) (I'm not sure it ever held a 12 hour charge, anyway...)

"...because if the charge decreases by one-half then you will need to send it in, and that can cost as much as...(a new Ipod). If you purchase our extended warranty, we will do it for free."

"How much is the extended warranty?" (Thinking to myself "Why did I just ask that question? I'm not going to buy it unless it's, like $20").

"$75"

"Are you kidding me? I should give you $75 up front just in case something happens? That's like half the cost of a new one. And it costs $200 to fix the battery?"

"Well, that includes shipping and handling costs as well as the repair. So, would you like to purchase the extended warranty and save on that cost in the future?"

"Wow, Julie, I'm starting to wonder if I should have ever bought it in the first place...it's starting to sound very fragile and unreliable--are you guys having a lot of problems with your products?" (I'm being mean here--trying to put her on the defensive. But to Julie's credit, she's pretty unshakeable...)

"No, it's not, this is just new technology that is constantly developing and we're offering a way to protect yourself. By planning for the future, you can save yourself over $100 in repairs"

"Well, I bought the Ipod instead of another MP3 player because I thought it was the top of the line. And it's not going to cost me $100 for repair, because I wouldn't pay that ridiculous amount to repair 'old technology' when the time comes. I'd probably buy something different..."

"Okay, Thanks." (Julie, you da man--the Wisconsin-sounding ice queen. Apple should be proud.)

I hate extended warranties. I used to buy them, but I got older and wiser. Obviously, they aren't losing money on them. I also didn't appreciate the scare tactics and overinflating the repair cost.

But I do love my Ipod, so I forgive them...

Outhouse Humor

I've done more than my share of camping and hunting, and I've definitely seen way too many outhouses. This occurred to me last night while I was falling asleep and realized there was a bucket of soiled diapers about 4 feet from my head. I don't care if they are triple-sealed or whatever--Essentially, I'm sleeping next to the toilet. So it's arguable that I haven't gotten too far ahead in life at this point.

Gar can tell you about the "worst outhouse in the world" (feel free to comment, buddy--I know you're reading this), which we encountered at this terrible rip-off hunt that we found ourselves on one time in East Texas, where this creepy guy with a prosthetic jaw (I think you get one free if you send in 200 can-lids of skoal) that he kept having to re-adjust in front of us kept telling us how there were deer "everywhere" but he smiled just a little too big (or was that his dip-jaw popping out of joint?) when he took our money and nobody ever saw evidence of life on this place-we nicknamed it the Cherynobl ranch.

Somehow, and I hesitate to be too graphic, I (along with my hair-trigger gag reflex) was spared during our 1 1/2 day stay from having to use what became a very urgent topic at camp. Apparently, the outhouse hole had been filled up to the very top and it was extremely inadviseable to sit down on the seat or you will be "king of the mountain". I know, gross, but I would say it's an important safety tip, especially in the dark.

I'm attaching a picture--believe it or not, this isn't the outhouse, this was the "executive suite" that we slept in on the same trip. Yes, it's a miracle we survived. That guy was such a redneck con man...



But I was always creeped out in general that there was something alive down in there. I guess this was a common thing that was worried about, because at scout camp on about the 3rd day you start noticing some of the younger kids walking kind of sideways and slow, maybe even doubled over (not talking about me here). And then there was that kid whose colon exploded at camp one time (also not me)...

There was this really cool picture of my brother Don naked in a trash can full of calomine lotion and water because he fell in a big bush of nettle and got it all over himself.

Then there was this group of kids that decided not to haul their trash down from their camp, so they hurled it all down inside the outhouse hole. The camp busted them and made them come back and fetch the bags out--is that legal? I'm telling you, they would have my resignation from boy scouts right then and there.

That, combined with outhouses full of bees nests, taking FREEZING cold showers in the woods, stepping on scorpions with bare feet, the omnipresent (at least in my life) threat of snakes, and scoutmasters (nowadays, need I say more?)--I think I'll introduce Ryan to camping via a Winnebago.

Time Management

Okay, so this title even put me to sleep while I was typing it.

But seriously, I always consider myself a great time manager--I seem to be able to pack my days full of "stuff" more than anyone else I know. I have little secret tricks, like my Franklin Planner, which I have archived back to 1991. It's kind of cool even to look back at days where I was using it for everything--now I just use it for major projects and events.

But, here are the tasks I was faced with today:

1) I had a very minor yet whiney customer insist that I come out and meet with them about something they may buy from me in 6 months. I've rescheduled 3 times.
2) I had 78 Emails to sort through, which will dictate my next 2 weeks of work
3) I had to get the oil changed in my car or I'll, like, void the warranty or something
4) I have 5 customers waiting to buy something (total is 1/2 of my annual budget), but they need me to send them a quotation first, which I am procrastinating for some idiotic reason
5) My desk is about to be declared a war zone and needs to be straightened up
6) I need to do research for a customer into what they can do with their existing equipment
7) I need to submit a report to my boss every Monday
8) My paycheck was incorrectly calculated (commission), and they are shorting me (one year's worth of car payments !!!!!!) Last time that happened, it took them 60 days to correct it, severely pissing me off.
9) I have a customer whose equipment is working, but wants me to immediately drop everything and install an upgrade
10) I have 3 fellow employees calling me and asking for advice and help

If you have ever read Stephen Covey's "What Matters Most", you will know that there are 4 quadrants:

1) Stuff that is important and Urgent
2) Stuff that is important but not urgent
3) Stuff that is not important but urgent
4) Stuff that is not important and not urgent

If I was going to schedule my time, I would put the following in quadrant 1:

4, 7, 8

Quadrant 2:

2, 3, 6, 9

Qudrant 3:

1, 10,

Unfortunately, I think blogging falls into quadrant 4, until it starts generating some income. Also in quadrant 4: Listening to "Menudo" CDs, playing Sega, Thinking about buying a Porsche someday, (theoretically) fishing, watching the food network, Reading anything written by Sue Grafton, and cow-tipping.

Which leaves cleaning my desk, which I couldn't figure out where it goes, which is probably why it never gets done.

So...seriously, what do I end up doing?

I do my report first and fire off a couple of questions about my customer's applications, clean up 20 Emails and take off for the whiney customer just to shut her up (but while I'm there I treat her like the most important person in the world, then subtly work in to the conversation that my customer list has 2,602 people on it--which is true). Oh, and I sent a quick Email to my boss asking him to help me get my check thing straightened out (which he did!).

On the way back, I get my oil changed and check my voicemails while I'm waiting, scheduling out my week from what I can remember from the Emails.

I grab Quiznos and go back to my desk to eat while I work (so somehow the calories or carbs or light-saber charges or whatever the hell I'm supposed to be worried about doesn't count since I'm eating while working), doing 3 of the quotes and sending them off before leaving to meet the customer who wants the upgrade (before that, I took 20 minutes and picked up Ryan from his second to last day of kindergarten so I could thank the teacher and tell her how much I appreciate her). I call back the 3 fellow employees on the way to the upgrade and settle those issues.

I finish and get back ahead of the traffic, answer 20 more Emails and prepare for the last 2 quotes. I send out 2 more research Emails so I'm done with that until the answers come back (hopefully someday...)

After dinner I played catch with Ryan in the backyard for an hour.

And now here I sit at my messy desk, feeling like I failed today.

Looking at tomorrow's list, I have 15 even more urgent things to do....

Grand Slam

Quick update--I blew everyone away with my Multi-media presentation.

I had butterflies, but I managed to get them flying in formation...

Thanks for the advice and support from all of my "fans".

Mike

Reprieve

I was supposed to speak to a group of people today, but I got pushed back til Friday. Yeah! I've been working on a freaking Power Point all night, inserting graphics and images, graphs and similar items which should impress and astound. I've been told that no one wants to hear me talking, they just want to read the cliff notes projected behind my head.

I think I'm figuring out that the trick to being a popular public speaker is just to finish early and give a handout. People are used to getting their own information by reading it. Oddly enough, that's kind of the point of my speech.

You see, I figured out that my company's customers listen to about 1/10 of the shit I'm supposed to tell them, but they read almost everything I give them. So, I started writing up this very comprehensive (what the heck does that word mean anyway?--Detailed?) summary that goes with our price quotation. Then, I did something even trickier. I would take pictures of their workplace and specific samples and incorporate the photos into my summary, indicating that I've taken their specific case into consideration in the preparation of their price quote. Well, someone in corporate saw this and thought it was a good idea. So, basically, I'm doing a presentation on how to present stuff to customers. I feel like Kramer in Seinfeld doing a coffee table book about coffee tables. I know, it's kind of lame.

My team won a bowling contest tonight--the prize was a bowling pin. The trick is: I don't really bowl--it was just a contest concocted by my company, which was fun, but on the cheesy side. I don't envy whoever has to entertain 50 people from all over the country...so in light of that it was okay. So I have this bowling pin that seems like it would be a good thing, but then feels a little pathetic to hang onto--I mean, it's just representative that I beat 40 other doughy white dudes who were half-wacked on gin and tonics. Maybe someday Ryan will want to cut it open with a circular saw to see what's inside..or test its resistance to fireworks--I wish my dad had thought like that when I was growing up...

I love this Far Side

How Are We Feeling Today?

After 1 good night of rest this week, here's what I'm thinking:

If you aren't digging my blog, please stop reading. I'm retooling my brain for some more entries, but today I have to give a speech.

At first it was 15 people; today it ends up being, like, 50 people, and I usually hate public speaking.

One time, I was in this group of guys and someone suggested we take turns addressing the group each week. There were 20 guys and 12 weeks or so. My mental calculator told me I still had a chance of getting out of it, so I got up, left, and didn't come back until I was comfortable that all the weeks were filled. Why? I guess I don't know--I didn't want the scrutiny tha comes with presenting a topic publically to a group of people that I like, but don't really know THAT well.

I've had to give best man speeches at weddings. I did okay, but I hated them. I felt like a lounge act trying to entertain an emboldened room of drunks. Do you prepare everything ahead of time? I'm damn sure not reading anything from a paper. Do you just respond to the group? Be funny? Edgy? Witty? A little naughty? A lot?

Anyway, I did a very nice outline and presentation for today, but kinda wish I had done a Power Point of everything. The bad thing is that there are a couple of Power Point Maniacs in our group that somehow have a 3D alien coming out of the screen or something, with custom animations of the Cirque du Soliel flipping across the screen revealing their topic points. I find myself mesmerized and clapping, child-like, at the pretty colors. How do you top that?

So, Yoda-Nicole thought she would challenge me by asking if I felt differently about my blogging in the AM after yesterday's sleepless tirade. Insert Yoda voice here: "Um, perhaps you change mind when you piss everyone off, eh?" Or maybe that's one of the Canadian guys from "Strange Brew"?

I know some of my friends read and enjoy it. I haven't had too much negative stuff said. Don refuses to comment anymore because he thinks I made fun of him when he did. Most people just send me Emails telling me they enjoyed one thing or another...

Let me summarize: I'm trying to be real. If you want to know the real me, read on, baby. If you are shocked when it's not what you expected, call me out or stop reading. I would prefer it you just stop reading, because I don't want to be defensive about my writing. It's an outlet, and I keep feeling myself hold back what I really want to say because I fear the reader's reaction. Weird, huh? Maybe that says something bad about me, like my personality is so based on empathy that I self-destruct without having someone's emotions to react to?

Whatever it is, I'm trying to free myself of that and move on...

Church Chat

Here's something interesting I heard from a preacher about 6 months ago. Since I can still remember it, it must have some kind of meaning to me.

He told a story about a couple who had been married 60 years, and at their anniversary, someone asked them what their secret was. The man answered, "It's really easy to love somebody when they're doing everything that you want them to. Loving somebody means that you still love them when they're hard to be around."

Listen up, Fran--you know, I may NEVER learn to pick my clothes up off the floor...

Here's another one:

Two preacher's wives were sitting next to each other mending their husbands' clothes.

The first one tells the other, "My husband can't believe the good things that are happening--attendance is up, we're putting in a new building, we were able to send extra money to an orphanage that we are sponsoring, and people seem to be happier."

The other one says, "Really? My husband has been so depressed. Attendance is low, he's having problems with the church board, and he's thinking about quitting."

The first woman was patching the knees of a pair of pants. The second was mending the seat.

So...that story stuck with me for several years. Yesterday, I was looking at a pile of clothes for Fran to sew for me--I had popped open the seam of the crotch on 3 pairs of pants.

What exactly does this say about me?

Things Emotional

I've been reading this book on Emotional Intelligence, which, ironically, is very clinically written, perhaps to justify it's own existence to the academic psychology community (Here's a great quote: "Today, emotions are a Pleistocine response to a Postmodern event").

I thought I would keep a journal of emotions, even if they were just brief flashes, as I sat around reading, occasionally interrupted by little traumas. I went inside, before losing the inspiration, and grabbed a paper plate, folding it in half in case somebody came over--I could hide what I was doing--I felt a little silly and self-absorbed. I went outside and read while the kids played in front of me. So here is an hour's worth, in the order they occurred:

1) Relief. We've had visitors from out of town for a week--the visit went well and they left this morning.

2) Dread. A little overwhelmed at the household chaos that I will need to tame today to start the week.

3) Guilty. For not going to church this morning. I've had an allergy attack this week, and lost my voice for 2 days--today I'm trying to recover.

4) Happy. Life feels good today

5) Satisfied.

6) Envious

7) Embarrassed. I just realized there is a hole in the crotch of my shorts (no, I'm not going commando or anything), and there is a nice-looking woman sitting in the yard across from me--I wonder if she noticed? I went inside and changed.

8) Intrigued. This book is pretty interesting. Trying to focus on it.

9) Anxiety. Just remembered a project I need to work on this week--I am giving a speech on Thursday to a large group of colleagues. (Ironically, it is also a group of large colleagues)

10) Protective. Ryan is playing with a group of girls--I really want to call him home so they won't exclude him and make him feel bad.

11) Annoyed. One of my neighbors just fired up his lawnmower, disturbing the peace at 9:30 AM.

12) Romantic. Just thought about Fran.

13) Melancholy. This book just refered to a melancholy song and one came to mind immediately. Simon and Garfunkel's "Homeward Bound". For some reason, when it comes on and I'm driving in my car, it makes me zone out a little and listen to the words.

14) Hopeful. I'm working on a lot of personal projects, and it feels good.

15) Intellectual.

16) Worried. Why is Ryan riding his scooter without a helmet?

17) Pissed. Our neighbor's dog just jumped on me with muddy paws. Why don't they keep it on a leash or something?

18) Proud.

19) Relaxed. I put aside my cares momentarily and just live in the moment.

20) Peaceful.

21) Happy.

22) Nostalgic.

23) Judgemental. Ryan just fell down off his scooter and I think he's playing up his injury for attention. He's hopping on one leg back. Should I help him or let him walk it off?

24) Self-Righteous.

25) Blissful. Had to quietly sneak into my bedroom to get a band-aid for Ryan's skinned knee. Saw the baby sleeping peacfully.

What struck me was how disconnected these seem to be. I guess I have a short attention span. Also, sometimes I wish I had a better word to more accurately describe the emotion (like: blissful?). I found myself wanting one of those magnetic charts that reads "How do I feel today?" and has a bunch of different faces on it and a magnetic box that you can move to where it best describes your mood (sometimes I see those and think "Are these all the choices?"). I guess I would need one that could be adjusted by an atomic clock.

I managed to get 40 pages read in an hour. And, I guess, at least 25 different emotions recorded. Whew! Guess I'll take a nap now!

Scene from yesterday

It was a beautiful day. An unusual day. Remarkable, in fact.

I played hooky from work to take my son, Ryan, and my grandfather (whom Ryan calls "Bopie") to Dinosaur Valley State Park here in Texas, where some dinosaur footprints are fossilized.



Bopie is visiting from out of state, and I thought this would be a neat activity to get us out and about. Plus, Ryan craves all things dinosauria so I knew he would be up for it.

Driving into the park, Ryan pointed to the long prairie grass blowing in the wind and cried out "look at the waves!" It was one of those odd sights that you can't capture with anything other than your synapses. Okay, don't be so damn dramatic-maybe a video camera would do it, but we didn't have one on us, so just trust me that it looked like waves of the ocean.



Strangely, although they are already dying out in most of north Texas, the bluebonnets were still blooming here, along with black-eyed susans and indian paintbrushes. It was Bopie's idea to shoot a picture looking like the dinosaur was chasing Ryan, but I could mostly just get a look like he was being tickled to death rather than fleeing for his life. This was the best one.

The thing that was unusual happened when we went for a "hike" in the woods for a few miles.

Being an idiot, I put hiking boots on Ryan that barely fit over his big toe. Onto his bare feet, since he had already drenched his socks in the Paluxy River copying a family of morons who took their shoes off and trudged like elephants through the water, thoroughly soaking themselves. I had gone up to the car to get my backpack so I could cross with my hands free and take my (very expensive) camera--the last thing I said to Bopie is "Please keep an eye on Ryan." I had in mind, but didn't verbalize "please don't let him die in this dingy green river"--I guess I should have said it, because Bopie was high and dry on land and Ryan was halfway across the river by the time I got back, which completely freaked me out--luckily, Ryan didn't fall in--he got across just fine.



So Ryan's wet feet went into the hiking boots (a no-no) with no socks (also a no-no), and the shoes didn't fit well to begin with (and yes, I am an Eagle Scout with tons of hiking experience). We got a little ways down the trail and had to re-cross the river--this time we pretty much all got a little wet. After hearing Ryan complain as we hiked up the hill and down the trail about a mile and a half, we stopped for a quick snack and drink.



Funny interlude: After crossing the river the first time, Ryan flushed out a lizard, which scurried away quickly. I told Ryan "Think about it, you look like a giant to that lizard--kind of like a dinosaur looks like to you." He farted loudly and asked "Does that make me a stinky dinosaur?"

Finally, I told Ryan that he could call out when we stop and turn around and go back. About 200 yards down the trail, he did.

While we were hiking back, we were all kind of quiet. Then, I heard my grandfather singing a very old song ("It's a long way to Tipperary...") After a couple of minutes, he told me "You know, I bet (my great-grandfather) is here with us on the trail--that song just came into my head, and it's one of the few songs that he knew--he was in World War I and that was a popular song. Plus, he loved the outdoors--I'm just sure he's out here with us."

That creeped me out, big-time. You see, I kind of believe in that stuff, but I just don't want to know about it. Like the first time I went to the movie "Aliens" and I just couldn't watch that tense scene when the alien is chasing them at the end--I just don't want to see it.

Then we go a little way further down the trail and Ryan tells us, "You know, I think God sent me to you, daddy, because he knew that I would be special for you. And he sent Bopie to us because He knew Bopie would love me." This sent a shiver down my spine.

About 100 feet further down the trail, I found an indian arrowhead, crudely hewn, chipped on one side only. It had been previously told to me that my father, whom I've never met, had an uncanny ability to find arrowheads out in the woods. This was my first time to find one.

As we walked down the hill and through the swaying fields, it occurred to me that five generations of my family met for the first time and walked with each other quietly in the woods on this beautiful day.

It felt remarkably good.

Insomno-mania

12:56 AM

Three cups of Turkish coffee tasted soooo good, but maybe that wasn't such a good idea at 9:00 at night. That was so nice of my Turkish friends to give me the special pan and finely powdered, intensely strong coffee. Maybe I should just get up and Email them about how much I loved it. I bet I have 20 Emails to answer, too. And those forms I need to fill out. And there are 7 pages loaded on the fax machine--I bet that number isn't busy anymore.

There's so much I could be doing. How can I just lie here?

12:57 AM

My head is whirring. I can't stop thinking these random thoughts. My synapses are firing full blast, but my arms and legs feel weighted down with lead--my body is exhausted. The thought of moving just makes me want to groan--what in the heck is that baseball player's name? The one who had his head frozen? It's not Lou Gehrig...Damn! Can't remember. Kinda like the movie "Vanilla Sky", where the guy gets the Lucid Dream. Oh, that's Tom Cruise. I need to add that to my list of "favorite movies". Well, I can't add every movie I've ever seen, can I? Who was that baseball player? Oh, add "The Natural" too. I only watch it when baseball season starts, to put me in the mood--to sit through a season of endless games. I wonder what the ratio of boring time/interesting time is in baseball? Does that add to the appreciation of the cool things that do happen?

12:59 AM

...Did the Rangers play today?

1:00 AM

Gotta tell Fran that I don't want the Lucid Dream thing--just bury me in a pine box. Well, I kind of like mahogany--walnut is really nice. I think walnut.

1:02 AM

Dear God, please let me keep my tax return in savings as long as possible this year. It seems that something always comes up--air conditioner goes out, something--and it seems to be the same dollar amount as my tax refund. This year, please, let us hang onto it. I need the peace of mind.

1:12 AM

Is it going to be just too much for Don to come over and work while my grandparents are here? Fran's already overwhelmed. They're going to be here. Where else could he go and work? I guess the guys are going to play golf without me this time. Maybe next year I'll get good again. Did I leave my Ipod out in the car overnight? That's just crazy-tempting fate. If it got stolen, what would the thief think of my stupid taste in music?

1:15 AM

How did I get $7 in library fines? I thought I was just a day late with that last book. Swine librarian mafiosos. They think they're above all of us with their stupid little stamper-thingie.

1:17 AM

Would it be so bad to just trash my novel and start over? Why does Mike D. mock me with the bit about "are you writing the Great American Novel?" Can't I just be average? Does being average scare me too much? The average person is average, aren't they? I think my writing is getting stronger and better and less desperate. It's really hard to keep the writing fresh and interesting over a long space.

1:21 AM

You really gotta stop asking people if they liked your blog entries. Just throw them out there and don't worry about it. You sound pathetic asking for feedback.

1:24 AM

I really ought to get up. But I have such a long day tomorrow. It's kind of chilly. Maybe I should adjust the thermostat. It might be a funny blog to make fun of how I'm addicted to looking things up in the dictionary now...all of a sudden. Well, I kinda already did that--plus, it's a dumb idea.

1:37 AM

I wonder if it's distracting me that I have this clock that projects the time in red numbers on the wall. The "Mr. Magoo" clock as Fran calls it. Every time I open my eyes, I see what time it is and my mind keeps doing the math...I figure if I'm still here after an hour or so I'm just going to get up.

1:39 AM

Ryan and I haven't been fishing since last year. It's not that big a deal--why couldn't we just break away and go? The last thing I used my fly rod for was to knock a frisbee off the roof...that's pitiful.

1:44 AM

I have three books going right now. Who am I kidding? I'm never going to read Anna Karenina. Hey, if Oprah can read it for her book club, I can read it. Oh, I just don't want to. But you love Russian literature. They're so sarcastic and funny. Like you. Maybe keeping that book beside your desk for a year is depressing if you aren't going to read it. I'll bring it on an airplane sometime--like when I go to Maine. Then I can accidentally drop it in the ocean if I can't bring myself to read it.

1:48 AM


You are a chinashop, and
I am a bull
You are really good food
...and I am full

1:52 AM

How many times can I stretch my foot before Fran smothers me with a pillow? This mattress didn't used to translate movement so much. If I get up and move around too much, I'm going to wake up the baby, and then it's really going to hit the fan! I've probably already woken her up. I could just roll over one more time...then I'll be comfortable.

6:45 AM

Wow! I can't believe I got a whole night's sleep--time to wake up and get Ryan going. Get him dressed, feed him breakfast--yesterday I showed off and made French toast. Today, I'll go easy and give him cereal or something. I can just give him $2 for lunch. I remember when I paid 40 cents. He loves buying lunch. Isn't it cute that Kaitlyn calls him "La la"? Could I work that into a blog somehow? I think people don't really care to read about my kids...Well, time to get up; maybe if I just close my eyes...

Oh, I have so much to do today. Thirty people to see. My body is protesting, telling me I won't make it through the day...I could easily justify working in the office at least half the day if I wanted to, but some people have been waiting for 2 days to see me.

5:24 AM

Hey! How did THAT happen? That's not supposed to work that way--Man, it's freezing in here. Was I dreaming that I was waking up? Was that a nightmare?

6:24 AM

Okay, I'm really getting up now--gotta run upstairs-got to jot down an idea on my computer quickly. No more Turkish coffee before bedtime. Starbucks sounds good right about now, though...

Kurt and the Caveman Close

Kurt woke up one morning and knew he was now middle-aged. His 2 sons were in college and his daughter was married and gone with her own kids now. He got in his truck and drove to his job which, somehow, he had now had for 22 years.

In the small town in central Oklahoma where he grew up and lived, Kurt felt time slip by, and he was discontent. He picked up a newspaper and scanned it for possible jobs, thinking to himself “What could I possibly do other than sell heavy machinery?” In the town where he lived, everyone knew everyone else. He worked for his wife’s cousin. Bought his car from his brother-in-law. Got his hair cut by his sister. Lived next door to his parents. It was simple, but on this day, Kurt, now 45 years old, was ready for a change. He had done a brief stint as a medic in the army back in the ‘70’s, so he thought he would try to take on the field of biomedical sales.

He got a job for the sole purpose of getting out of that small town and moved to “the city”, as everyone referred to Oklahoma City, to work for my company, and that’s how it came about that we had our first meeting.

I liked him immediately—he was disarming, honest, and he really liked to laugh. He was patient while I showed him around and taught him some of the tedious technical information that was critical to sell our equipment to our biotech customers and hospitals, and he would repeat things back to me as though he knew them.

Training with our company usually consists of a couple of weeks of filling out paperwork, getting demonstration equipment together, and riding around with a few of us that have the same job, just to get a perspective of the sales process in our specialized field. Then you’re on your own. It can be a little intimidating at first to walk into a laboratory where the customer has relatively complete control of the situation and knowledge of your machinery that you don’t even have, and then try to convince them to buy it from you. To top things off, our company’s equipment is priced at a premium, so we are always faced with the fact that it costs more than our competitor’s—this requires some persuasive skills to justify the price difference, and technical knowledge to point out the subtle differences in quality.

For people who are unfamiliar with sales, a "close" or "closing technique" is the method that a salesperson uses to take the customer through the buying process with the logical conclusion of buying the product from you. It usually ends with a closing statement similar to a lawyer's summation--it incorporates the facts and puts the story together with a directed statement that motivates them to place an order. Zig Ziglar's "Secret's of Closing the Sale" is a great reference which lists very common closing techniques that are helpful.

When I think of the method that I usually use to close this type of sale, I consider it to be my own creation that perfectly fits technical sales:“Closing with Competence”—I demonstrate that the equipment works well, then I justify it by giving a little bit of technical data about the design to help the customer appreciate the difference. I am very professional, almost formal, in my presentation--I don’t talk about personal stuff at all, don’t joke around, and I follow up promptly in writing and with either a follow-up visit or call. It worked very well for me: In my first year, I outsold most of the veteran sales staff. In my second year, I outsold everyone.

I’m not sure why Kurt decided to get creative with the process, but I suspect he couldn’t remember the terminology very well—I noticed that the terms didn’t’ seem to hold much meaning for him, and he was more interested in the operation of the equipment than learning how it worked. When I first observed this, I thought “Fair enough” and thought that the terminology would come with time…but never seemed to get there.

Kurt started out on his own and took a while to get going. He wasn’t making many sales at all, and the manager asked me to ride along. He had his equipment set up and running perfectly, but when it came time to speak to the customer he stumbled through the presentation pretty badly. I could tell he was struggling, so I helped him out when he really got stuck—we ended up making the sale, but I don't think Kurt was too proud that it was necessary for me to help out.

In hour-long car ride to the next appointment, I mentioned to Kurt that the customers were probably picking up on the fact that he wasn’t comfortable with the equipment, and maybe it was coming across as forced or insincere. “It just takes a while to get it down,” I told him, but I could tell he was a little worried and frustrated.

When we got to the next appointment, Kurt stumbled again through the first few minutes of the presentation, then looked up at me like a horse with a broken leg waiting to be shot. I didn’t say anything. Then I saw him take a deep breath and his whole body went limp. And he delivered the most enigmatic speech I’ve heard in sales:

You know, I’m just a country boy from Oklahoma. I worked with the old version of these machines 25 years ago when I was in the army, but I’m really not technically minded. Hell, two months ago I had to sew up a momma cow’s uterus with a roll of baling wire! And here I am selling this equipment now…

(he motions to me) These college boys are brilliant. They can tell you how all these things work in words I can’t even understand, and if you want to know more about it, I can have him tell you. I don’t think I’ll ever know exactly all the science that makes this thing go, but I can tell you what I do know—this is a damn nice piece of equipment, and if I can make it work great like this, I know you can, too! It may cost a little more, but from what I’ve seen, there ain’t nothing like it anywhere else!

Inside, I was completely freaking out. Outside, however, I tried to remain calm and see what was going to happen. We were in Kurt’s turf, and I just trusted his instincts—in fact, it felt like the most sincere thing I had heard him say to a customer, so while it was a little shocking, it had actually sounded pretty good.

Luckily, the customer broke out in a big smile and agreed with Kurt—he had a sale!

I have to admit, I heard that part about the cow’s uterus a few too many times over the next year…and he would vary the pitch a little, but the theme stayed the same. In fact, he didn’t really ever get the terminology down.

A few months later, I was watching Saturday Night Live and I saw the following skit:

One hundred thousand years ago, a caveman was out hunting on the frozen wastes when he slipped and fell into a crevasse. In 1988, he was discovered by some scientists and thawed out. He then went to law school and became.. Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer.

When Phil Hartman delivers the closing statement to the jury, I realize that Kurt had (perhaps unwittingly) plagiarized this for his presentation:

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I'm just a caveman. I fell on some ice and later got thawed out by some of your scientists. Your world frightens and confuses me! Sometimes the honking horns of your traffic make me want to get out of my BMW.. and run off into the hills, or wherever.. Sometimes when I get a message on my fax machine, I wonder: "Did little demons get inside and type it?" I don't know! My primitive mind can't grasp these concepts. But there is one thing I do know - when a man like my client slips and falls on a sidewalk in front of a public library, then he is entitled to no less than two million in compensatory damages, and two million in punitive damages. Thank you.

When I was describing this to a colleague, I laughingly told him that Kurt had taken my technique of “Closing with Competence” and turned it into the “Caveman Close”—it really only worked because he could work the equipment perfectly, and then act like it was no big deal. The “good ol’ boy” customer related to Kurt on a personal level, while the highly competent customer didn’t seem to get irritated with his admitted lack of competence and was impressed that the equipment was so easy to operate…. In fact, it really seemed to fit the Oklahoma demographic of understatement, hard work, unassuming demeanor, and not taking the technical things too seriously. I thought it was a great move for Kurt to adjust his sales technique to his own style, even though it was a dramatic departure from what most people did. This "Appeal to Simplicity" technique was sometimes part of what we used in our presentation, but for Kurt it was the focus of his presentation. I asked Kurt if that’s the same way he used to sell heavy machinery, and he told me “Heck no—I knew how every little switch and sensor worked on that stuff. I just can’t get the hang of all these levers and buttons on these things.”

I took this information and sometimes I even use it myself. In a couple of situations, usually with highly technical and analytical customers, I have noticed that, if you represent yourself as overly competent, they become challenged with discrediting you. Now, when I sense this, I incorporate a little of the Caveman Close and let them know “I may not be able to explain all the technical ins and outs of this procedure, but what I can tell you is that it’s the number one piece of equipment in the field.” This sometimes causes the prospect to settle down a little and focus more on the equipment and less on me.

As for Kurt—amazingly, after a year of selling, he had produced more in his territory than anyone had done before or has since he left. Our company had gotten him out of the small town and he moved on in a different career happier for the experience and opportunity.

It seems he was destined to leave his legacy in the form of the Caveman Close.

Quid pro Quo aka The Stink Bomb

Oh, no. Now I’ve done it…

I had to run out and do some errands today, and when I came back home, the baby was awake in her crib and Fran was just around the corner brushing her teeth. I guess she didn’t hear me come in—at least that’s what I was banking on when I decided to mess with her head…

I took the baby (I guess she’s a toddler now :( ) out of the crib and set her down right in view of Fran, who still didn’t realize I was home and turned around to gaze, open-mouthed, at the child who, in her mind, had just descended four feet from the top of her crib and was standing there smiling up at her with all 10 teeth.

There was quite a long pause, almost a minute.

“Mike?!”

Since I didn’t know EXACTLY where she kept the stun gun (or the glock), I decided to let her know I was there…but for a moment there was some high anxiety that our child could self-levitate..

In my mind, this gets her back for “stink bombing” my car—every time she’s in it…

Unfortunately, when it comes to car settings, I just like it set up the same way all the time—I like the AC on (even in January), and the air recirculating. That way, I don’t have to be on guard in case there is a dead skunk, or stinky bum, or rotting coyote, or whatever there could be in the road ahead of me…

When Fran drives my car, she puts on settings that even the car designers didn’t even realize were available. I can’t decipher the settings (There’s like a guy playing tennis, and someone’s foot on fire, and…is that a mongoose?) , so I have to punch buttons wildly to get it back to the way I, the primary driver of the vehicle, like it. And she likes the outside air, which takes us to the stink bomb.

East of our house is the mall. West of our house is the dump—a nice, active, ripe, stinky dump blowing it’s dumpiness all over the road. Guess who goes east and who goes west? So everytime I drive it after her button-pushing mania, I get about halfway past the dump (which, unfortunately, is the way to the highway, the way to the office, the way to my customers’ offices, and pretty much everything else I need to do) when I realize what’s happened. Well, halfway through is too freakin’ late! You either have to “ride it out” and let the dump permeate the car and wash out over the next…2 days, or close off the outside air and open it again when you get far enough away from the dump, if your air supply doesn’t run out by then. In the meantime, dump-air is unleashed inside your car, bouncing off the windows and dumpifying everything in its putrid wake.

I’m really afraid that after continued exposure to this malodorous air, the inside of my car will turn “dump color”, which is that grayish, greenish, orange-ish brown color that is the same color that the bottom of the trash can looks on beef goulash day in elementary school…

No matter what I’ve asked her to do (like, “hey, don’t mess with my settings”), I always seem to get stink bombed.

So, I’ve been ordered not to report any stories about Fran in my blog, but here’s a bootleg:

If you’ve read much of my blog, I have reported (truthfully, I promise), that during my life I’ve had very vivid dreams, usually when a very difficult decision is coming up (new jobs, also back in college about meeting with a teacher who turned out to be my mentor, about buying an engagement ring, other stuff, too). It’s probably happened about 4 or 5 times in my life, but when it happens, the directions are as clear as if someone wrote them down for me, and I’ve always done what was told to me with excellent results.

Of course, Fran knows about it and, although it hasn’t really happened to her, she seemed impressed of the power of following your inner voice.

So the other morning over coffee, Fran casually told me that she got a message early in the morning, “just as clear as I am talking to you” to get up every morning at a certain time and run for an hour to get into better shape. “It was overwhelming,” she told me.

“Wow! So what do you think?”

“I told the voice ‘Shut up!’”, rolled over, and went back to sleep…

Oh, no. Now I’ve done it…