Hurricane Katrina Strikes

As some of you know, Miss Katie’s full name is Katrina. Yes, I’m an 80’s nerd and named her after Katrina and the Waves. What can I say? When she was born I was indeed walking on sunshine...

So for the past month or so we’ve been teasing her about the possibilities of Hurricane Katrina coming along this year. Even as recently as last week when H.K. was forming in the Caribbean we joked about it:

Q: Why is Hurricane Katrina forming such strong winds and powerful gusts?

A: Because her hurricane parents told her that she couldn’t stay out past curfew.

But then H.K. hit New Orleans and Biloxi, and ripped the cities apart. And suddenly the joke wasn’t as much fun anymore. Hurricane Katrina was (and is) a bitch who ripped apart thousands of homes, countless businesses, and far too many lives. My Miss Katie may be an obnoxious teenager at times, but she’s certainly not that bad.

So I’m pasting the link here for donations to the Hurricane Katrina fund. I’m sending them $25 today, in honor of my daughter, who’d much rather walk on sunshine than be associated with a category 3 hurricane.

http://www.networkforgood.org/topics/animal_environ/hurricanes/?source=YAHOO&cmpgn=HMPG


The one good thing? They retire names of storms that cause major havoc, so this will be the one and only Hurricane Katrina. And let’s all hope they don’t get alphabetically far enough down for there to be a Hurricane Tommy – that’d just be too much.

Meetings, Meetings – Who Wants a Meeting?

I had to spend my entire morning today in meetings – I feel like I’ve accomplished nothing all day. Meetings are okay if they’re a) useful and b) productive, but usually I find that they’re neither. So I try to avoid them if I can. Alas, today I wasn’t so fortunate.

I know people who looooove meetings, however. My manager Skippy Whitebread is one of them. He literally has scheduled 30 – 32 hours of meetings EVERY WEEK. Seriously. His Outlook calendar is continually blocked out for some stupid conference call or a pointless get-together down the hall. It’s damn near impossible to pin him down on anything because he’s always on his way to or from another meeting. Most of the meetings he sits in on really don’t apply to our team, or if they do, the portion that does takes up about 5 minutes of the entire time in there. But there he goes anyway – Mr. Bureaucrat putting his nose into every possible scenario within the company. I really think he attends mainly to keep from doing Real Work. If you’re in a meeting you don’t have to worry about catching up on other projects.

Imagine how much more productive this country would be if half of its available labor force wasn’t sitting in a dank conference room rehashing minutia that most people couldn’t care less about and really doesn’t have much of an affect on the rest of the world. Why, we might be able to solve all the world’s woes with that combined energy.

We’d just have to get them out of that room first...

57 Channels and Nothings On

So – you looking forward to an exciting season of network television? Me neither.

Don’t get me wrong – I’ll watch “Lost” until the day it loses its originality (which hopefully will be several years from now), and yes – I’ll admit to my guilty pleasure of ‘some’ (definitely not all) reality TV. “The Amazing Race” is generally just that – out and out Amazing – and I’ll still watch “Survivor”, even if the shine is definitely off that apple. (I’m a Probst hater from way back – if I was ever a contestant, I’d probably be kicked off for calling him a little prick on the air.)

But the rest of it? I can take it or leave it. And I usually leave it.

Of course, that’s the last thing that the Big 6 nets want to hear from me, a proud member of the 18 – 49 male demographic. (It truly did break my heart when a few years ago I was cast out of the all-impressive 18-34 demo, however. Sniff!) But what do they want from me? They spend all summer advertising these shows that I could absolutely care less about (sorry, there’s no way in hell I’m ever going to sit through “The O.C.” or some crappy Pamela Anderson sitcom), or if they do happen to come up with a concept that’s reasonably interesting, they’ll either move it around to different nights and times 6 times in the first two months or they’ll kill it outright after two episodes. Why bother getting to know the characters and storyline when odds are high it won’t be on the air by Christmas?

So I find myself watching a lot of cable TV. Discovery Channel, HBO, Travel Channel, and my all time fave Food Network are listed as my “favorites” in the good old reliable Gressel family TiVo. I also like that the cable boys will show an episode twice in an evening, so if you miss it early on, you set the TiVo to record it at midnight. It works so much better that way (plus, you can fast forward the commercials).

Still, this fall is going to be work-heavy and school-heavy for me, so I shouldn’t get all that worked up about watching much of anything. Macroeconomics has to come before Mythbusters, I’m afraid. But I’ll still try to squeeze in my weekly Lost adventures, and maybe I’ll listen to The Donald and The Martha fire their latest apprentices while reading about supply and demand.

And maybe – just maybe – one day I’ll write a pilot script about a 40 year old guy who is actually 12 on the inside, whose hobby is to sit on the Web and snark about people, places, and things. He’ll have a hottie wife, a sarcastic teenage daughter, a full time job that doesn’t really appreciate him, and enough cynicism to fill 22 minutes of laugh-filled prime time entertainment.

Nah – it’s probably already been done.

T-Mobile: The “T” Stands For Tasteless

Let’s hear it for all-American compassion! Whoo-hoo!

My sister dies, and it’s my responsibility as executor to notify all of her creditors of her passing and to close out her accounts. Sound simple enough, doesn’t it?

So I call T-Mobile, Paula’s cell phone service August 6 to close her account. After sitting on hold for what seemed like an eternity, I was finally able to arrange to have her cell phone shut off, since she wasn’t going to need it where she is now. (For some reason, reception in Heaven still isn’t that great, and the roaming charges are a bitch.)

Fast forward three weeks, when Paula’s final cell phone bill shows up at my house. And what did T-Mobile give me to express their sincerest condolences on our family’s loss?

A $200 early cancellation fee.

Well, let’s just say that I was a little less than a happy executor/camper at this point. I was ready to call them and rip them a new cell tower straight up their insensitive asses, but cooler heads (i.e. the Lovely Mrs. G.’s) prevailed, and Mrs. G. called them and calmly explained once again why exactly we were canceling the service and how it was unfair to tag us with this early termination crap. (Mrs. G. is wonderful at firmly negotiating like that; I have to give her full props on handling it much better than I would have.)

Long story short, they did finally agree to remove the early cancellation fee. Gee, thanks. While I do appreciate their handling it FINALLY, wouldn’t it have been better to handle it UP FRONT? How many more grieving families do these insensitive jerks put through this? Do they just figure that most people will just roll over and pay it? Sure, catch them when they’re down and depressed and grieving – they’ll pay then.

So this is why I now hate T-Mobile with a passion. Bastards. I swear to God I’ll never use one of their cell phones. Even if it means that someday I’ll have to communicate by two tin cans and a piece of string, then that’s what I’ll do. And if my rant keeps even one person from ever signing up with these heartless jerks, then that’s even better.

There. I feel so much better now. I think now I’ll go write a letter – because I know the post office won’t charge me $200.39 to mail it.

TGIF!

There aren’t enough words in the English language to describe how happy I am that today is Friday. It’s been yet another long week, and adding to the working world fun & joy, I’ve also been getting to start fall quarter at college next week, along with playing Mr. Executor for my sister’s estate. So I’m pretty gosh darned thrilled to not have much to do tomorrow, besides answer my correspondence, read my textbook, take a couple of online tests, write a paper, do my laundry, buy new shoes, haul the new washer & dryer from the garage to the basement, haul the old washer & dryer from the basement to the garage, write up a classified ad for Earl (my daughter’s old car), clean house, wash the convertible, go to a wedding reception, and...oh, yeah – slip into a coma.

So my weekend will be jam packed with thrills and chores, but it’s better than being at work. We’ve been so understaffed and overworked lately that it’s starting to take a genuine physical toll on people. Burnout is running rampant through our little group, and it’s manifesting as head colds, headaches, nervous ticks, and best of all, the invention of new, previously unknown curse words. (“Bitchfuck” was the funniest of them.)

We’ve been working like mad to bring our Web site up to what’s known as 508 compliance. Section 508 of the Federal Rehabilitation Act states that a Web site must comply with about 20 different standards for those who are visually impaired, colorblind, epileptic, or otherwise disabled. In order to comply with Section 508, we have to have certain colors, certain fonts, certain styles, and all sorts of background notations and special features built in to allow anyone with a text reader, scanner, mega-screen monitor, or other visual aid to access our site. It’s a good idea, but it’s really complicated.

The hitch is that for my primary employer to do business with the U.S. Government, our site HAS to comply. And currently it doesn’t. But since they’d like to sell to the Feds, it’s now become our task to make sure it does, which sounds a whole lot easier than it really is. The catch being that we have to go back to 1997 or so, and make sure every page complies 100 percent, and we have somewhere around 1,400,000 pages of data. 1.4 million pages to verify and update, and only 3 writers. Yikes.

So we’ve started slowly, doing what we can in between all of the other 99 crisis situations we face daily, but it looks like for us to complete this project, the company is going to have to loosen the purse strings a little bit, and Mr. Scrooge is going to have to suck it up and hire us some temps. Even then, I’m estimating that the complete project will take a team of 8 temps 9-12 months to finish. We’ll see how much they want Federal business after finding out that expenditure, won’t we?

But for now, I’ll finish my week as I usually do; wrapping up all the last minute details before walking out the door at 5:00. And not a moment later.

Have a good weekend, world. See you bright and early Monday.

The 700 Club, Beat, Maim, Stab, and Kill

You know, Pat Robertson really makes me itch.

Now, I’m all in favor of religious freedom, and I’m especially fond of the First Amendment and its rules of letting you say damn near anything you want, but for old Pat to come out and call for the assassination of a foreign leader? Let’s all say it together, boys and girls: WHAT AN IRRESPONSIBLE NUTCASE.

I’ve never been a fan of Pat Robertson, a fact that I’m sure shames my parents and their conservative Christian beliefs greatly. (They used to give money to this quack. I’m not sure if my mother still does or not.) I’d like to be naïve enough to think that beneath his nutty exterior he’s a nice guy (maybe), but it’s his constant gay bashing and putting down of anyone who isn’t exactly like him that irritates me. He blames all of the world’s ills on homosexuals, feminists, Liberals, and everyone who isn’t an uptight heavy-duty right winger. Well, Patty my boy, guess what – I’m a sort-of religious, generally decent, totally straight Liberal male who believes that everyone should be allowed to live their lives as they please, without being judged by a nutball with his own TV evangelist agenda for pledges and cash donations. And I see you as a bigger threat to this country than I ever will be. So there.

Crazy Pat has said some pretty nasty things about his fellow man (and woman) over the years, but calling for the assassination of Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez has to be one of the stupidest. Here’s Patty’s quote:

“You know, I don't know about this doctrine of assassination, but if he thinks we're trying to assassinate him, I think that we really ought to go ahead and do it. It's a whole lot cheaper than starting a war, and I don't think any oil shipments will stop."

Boy, talk about your dumbass statements. Just imagine the uproar there would be if it’d been a religious leader of another faith (Muslim, Buddhist, etc.) who said this – there’d be worldwide calls for his head on a platter. But coming from Mr. Robertson the Whack Job, it sounds pretty normal. Why is it that the American church going public lets him get away with this, do you suppose?

Then – to make things really interesting – when the political heat for running his mouth got too hot, Pat went back on the 700 Club...and LIED about ever saying it. From the AP:

On Wednesday, he initially denied having called for Chavez to be killed and said The Associated Press had misinterpreted his remarks. "I didn't say 'assassination.' I said our special forces should 'take him out,'" Robertson said on his show. "'Take him out' could be a number of things including kidnapping."

Hmmm – now, according to my copy of the 10 Commandments, isn’t there a line about telling the truth? “THOU SHALT NOT BEAR FALSE WITNESS” or something like that? What about it, Pat? You’re already calling for a huge violation in the whole “Thou Shalt Not Kill” rulebook; but you’re going to lie about it, too? Shame, shame, Patrick. Next thing you know, you’ll be dragged into a world of false idols and dishonoring your parents.

Now, I’ll be blunt. I respect the Christian church and it’s beliefs in God and Jesus. I attended an Evangelical church for many years as a child, and although I’m still a firm believer in God, I won’t give those hate mongering TV evangelist shmucks like Patty one cent to blow on crap like theme parks and Mercedes and broadcasting Presidential assassination daydreams.

I truly believe that a church can help people in their lives, IF the message is about God and not the almighty dollar. But Pat’s agenda seems to be to stir the pot, and to make an already divided nation even more torn apart. What ever happened to the love, tolerance, and acceptance that Jesus preached? Pat must’ve skipped that chapter in the Bible... I really hope the Good Lord is at least a little bit bothered by what this jackass is doing supposedly in His name.

So now Patty Boy has backed down, apologized for his comments, and will find something new and (I’m sure) equally asinine to rant about. Besides, he’ll probably just end up blaming his comments on evil influences from Satan or gays or a talking Islamic dog or something.

As for me, I’ll keep believing as I do, and continue hoping for world peace, love, and tolerance. It’s the least I can do. And no, I won't ask anyone for a donation to do it, either.

Spelling Counts!

Our neighbor up the street finally fixed the sign in his yard. He's trying to sell his ski boat, and spray-painted in yellow paint on a piece of cardboard attached to his fence, here's his entire marketing scheme:

"Bot 4 Sale"

Now, I suppose I can forgive the grammatical error of using "4" in place of "for" (that's the editor within me speaking up, I suppose), but spelling "boat" wrong? I mean, it's only four letters, for God's sake. B - O - A - T. I remember learning how to spell "boat" in first grade. Really now...who the hell can't spell "boat" correctly?

Nanny Goat had a boat - a red sailboat.
"I will sail away," she said one day.
But the boat would not float and the goat lost her coat.
She was wet from her nose to the tips of her toes.
Pretty soon goat had a very sore throat.
She went to the doctor, and here's what he said: "Take a pill and stay in bed."

(Aside: That was from memory, kids. I can't tell you how many times I read that story to Miss Katie when she was little. Oy.)

Regardless, what is it with people around here and their atrocious spelling? You see it all the time in Siouxland. Restaurants are the most fun; read their signs outside for a good chuckle. "Chiken Fried Steak". "Biscuits and Gravey". "Loose Meet Taco". Perhaps they should put down the spatula and pick up a remedial copy of "Fun with Dick and Jane".

My other question is this: If you can't spell "boat" correctly, what right do you have to even own one in the first place? If you can't spell basic words, should you really be put in charge of a large piece of machinery that could very easily kill you (or someone else)? I knew a guy who couldn't tell time unless it was on a digital clock, yet he drives a semi for a living. Is that really someone you want barreling down the highway behind you at 60 miles per hour? Imagine if he gets in a wreck, and the cops ask him "Were you holding the wheel at 10 o'clock and 2 o'clock?" How would he answer?

Now, I'm not picking on those for whom English is a second (or third) language. The local Vietnamese restaurant's menu has some interesting English spellings at times, but I can't say anything about it, since they got most of the English words right, and I can't pronounce any of the Vietnamese writing, much less spell it. And this area does have a large population of immigrants who come to work in the meat plants for whom English is secondary. "Que? No comprendo."

But it's the local idiots who've spent their lives playing Nintendo instead of reading a book every now and then that I'm talking to. I know people who haven't read a book since they were forced to in high school. "If the book is any good, they'll make a movie of it some day," one dimwitted mouthbreather I know loves to say. Well, sorry Charlie - that's not good enough. Try expanding your mind and your vocabulary a little bit, and who knows - maybe you'll be able to spell big boy words like "boat" and "gravy".

The first day of school for kids around here is tomorrow. For the love of God, I beg you. Pay. The. Hell. Attention.

And that, my friends, is my rant for the day. Class dismissed.

One Thing At A Time

I really need to get back on the writing bandwagon.

So much has happened in the past 3 weeks since my sister’s death that I’m just not where to start. I mean, there’s the tales of my marathon 1,500 mile drive to Spokane, my being executor of the estate, which meant EVERY damn decision was mine, the battle in my family over the estate and will (Paula was single with no children), my 1,500 mile drive home, towing a U-Haul full of records, papers, and a new washer/dryer, or my trying to put my world back together after stepping away for 17 days. Sigh. It’ll take me a while to put my world back in one piece, but as the lovely Mrs. G. likes to remind me, “One thing at a time.”

One thing at a time. Excellent advice.

So let’s start with the night (technically, early morning) it all began.

Saturday, July 30, 12:36 AM. The phone rings. It turns out it’s my cousin Fred calling, a man whom I’ve never actually met. (Fred is 26 years older than me and lived several hundred miles away when I was growing up, so we never did run into each other.) Regardless, Fred was now calling me at 12:36 AM. Never a good sign.

“I’m here with your Mom,” he says. “Your sister Paula had another heart attack tonight. She didn’t make it.”

Now, keeping in mind that I wasn’t much awake by this point, the first thought that went through my mind (after “who the hell is Fred and why is he calling me?”, of course) was “Didn’t make what?” What exactly didn’t Paula make? Didn’t make her bed? Didn’t make a tee time? What are you talking about?

Then it hit me. Oh. She didn’t make IT. The Big It. Oh.

And with that, I learned that my sister Paula was dead at the age of 54.

I spent the next few hours talking with the lovely Mrs. G., Miss Katie (who was still visiting the X in Seattle), and my younger sister Allie, and sitting up wondering what the hell was going on, and what I was going to do about it. You see, three years ago Paula had asked me to be executor of her estate, and it was now apparently my duty to close out her life and see that her final wishes were honored. When I agreed to be her executor I figured I’d have at least another 20 years to worry about it; but I guess this goes to prove that you never really do know when your time is up, do you?

So anyway I finally got to sleep at around 6:00 AM, and managed to rest for a couple of hours. I got up, made some phone calls to Skippy Whitebread, went and talked to the nice people at Rhymes with Farnes and Roble. The jobs were all cool about my leaving, which I’m thankful for. I was supposed to be on vacation the following week and a half anyway (ironically, I was going to visit Paula and my mom in Spokane - turns out I was 9 days too late), and with the bereavement leave, I was able to get out of town almost right away.

With that, I loaded up Mrs. G.’s Blazer, slept for a few hours, then hit the road, bright and early at 2:30 AM Sunday.

Sioux City, IA to Spokane, WA is a 1,500 mile jaunt. It’d be insane to try to drive all that way in one day (you really need to have your mental faculties about you when going through those winding mountain passes of Montana/Idaho), but I went as far as I could. 16 hours and 1,100 miles later, I finally stopped in Missoula, Montana. Mrs. G.’s parents live there, and I knew I’d have a hot meal and a nice warm bed waiting for me. Sure enough, the in-laws were more than accommodating, and I was estatic that they took my poor tired body in for the night. My left arm was stiff from driving for so long (I’d only stopped four times for gas and 3 times for rest stops, and that’s it), so I soaked for quite a while in the Jacuzzi tub before collapsing for the night in their spare basement bedroom.

Monday AM I left Missoula and continued into Spokane, after stopping in Coeur D’Alene, ID to see my brother-in-law and his family for a while. I finally made it to Spokane at around 3:00, where my Mom and sister Allie were already at Paula’s house.

My sister Paula was in bad shape – bad diabetes, kidney failure, a quadruple bypass, and 5 previous heart attacks will do that to you. She’d recently been hospitalized (since April), but came home about a month ago. She had heart attack #6, which was apparently her number. So in some small way it’s a blessing that she didn’t suffer and drag out in a coma or brain dead or anything. But it just goes to prove that you have to take care of yourself, because nobody else will do it for you. She’d been diabetic for years, but still ate tons of sugar and crap. Maybe the doctors know what they’re talking about? Regardless, Paula was a good person with an amazingly positive spirit and cheerful attitude.

The rest of the first day was spent catching up with my family, trying to keep my sister calm about the will (more on that soon), trying to make sure my mom was okay, and meeting more cousins I’d never met before. I met cousin Fred and his wife Mary that afternoon, along with cousin Dick and his wife Pat (I’d met Dick once when I was about 12 or so, at a family reunion, but other than that hadn’t seen him in 28 years), and some of their kids, and we spent a few hours getting to know each other.

Is it possible to lose a sister but gain a new family you never knew you had? I’ll be the first one to say YES. Fred, Mary, Dick, and Pat were wonderful to me, and I’m only sorry that I didn’t get to know them years ago. More on them soon, too. (One thing at a time, right?)

Anyway, night one wasn’t that much fun, but it was nice to see my family come together. Mostly. My brother Studly McStud hadn’t shown up yet, and we were still awaiting word on when he’d bless us with his presence. And Miss Katie was still in Seattle, and was begging me to spring for a plane ticket so she could come over to Spokane right away. (Partially so she could be there with her family, and partially to escape her mother.) The lovely Mrs. G. had to stay behind in Sioux City to work on a Federal court case and to coordinate leaving our home behind, so I spent my first night at the Spokane Ramada alone – just me and my tired-of-driving bones.

In the next part of this long drawn-out tale I’ll have to tell you about the will. And what a little bit of money can do to otherwise normally nice people. Greed is an ugly, ugly thing, my friends.

Until then...

Picking Up The Pieces

Well, I'm back.

It's been a long, crazy, interesting couple of weeks. Lots of tears, sweat, a little blood (both good and bad), and a whole lot of relative issues. I'm now swamped with 60 e-mails, 18 new writing assignments, and 17 days worth of bills, housework, and an angry cat who is still ticked that I left him behind for so long. So I'll get working on the story of my adventures in life and death here shortly.

Until then...