Who Was That Masked Man?

It’s Halloween – a holiday I used to look forward to every year with 6 months of anticipation. Ah, but that was a lifetime ago (okay – 22+ years), when I used to spend my entire summer working on and building a 10,000 square foot charity haunted house in Seattle.

These days Halloween isn’t the big deal to me that it once was. Maybe it’s because I’m older, or maybe it’s because I don’t have any giant haunted houses to build. Whatever the reason, I just don’t get into it like I used to.

But I still like Halloween. I’ve even been known to dress up and wear a costume or two to celebrate the occasion.

A couple of years ago, back when I worked for Rhymes with Garnes and Foble, I worked at the mall for Halloween, so I came up with the cleverest costume I could think of (for under $10.00, of course). It went like this:

First, I downloaded a photo of Frankie Avalon and Annette Funicello dancing on the beach, circa “Beach Blanket Bingo” days. I made an iron-on of this picture, added Frankie’s name to the top (for good measure, just in case nobody got the gist), and ironed it onto a plain white t-shirt. I then wore it with my khaki pants, white tennis shoes, and a loud Hawaiian print shirt (unbuttoned).

Next, I bought a cheap-o Wally World fishing net, and filled it with a dozen boxes of Jell-O.

I then spent my night walking around as Frankie Avalon and “A Net Full of Jell-O”. (Say it really fast if you don’t get it.)

Hardy har har, right? Only one problem:

Nobody got it.

I should have known better – I was dealing with a roomful of people far too young to remember Frankie & Annette movies, and when I tried to explain who I was supposed to be, and why exactly I was carrying a fishing net filled with boxes of Jell-O, all I got were blank stares as a response.

Sigh. I was too clever for the room.

And yes – I did “borrow” this idea from the Muppet 3-D show at Disney-MGM Studios in Orlando. Be sure to look for their version on the lobby wall; it’s just as funny as mine. Maybe even more so.

My other favorite costume from way back was in 1985 – it was topical, it was timely, and it was a hit with the ladies.

I went as Billy Crystal’s “Fernando” character. And yes indeed – I did look absolutely MAHHHHVELOUS. I had the gray hair (colored hair spray – a feature I wouldn’t need today), I had a borrowed ascot, I had the bad Spanish accent. What can I say? It worked like a charm.

So remember, dahlings – it’s not how you feel; it’s how you look.

Anyway, yesterday was dress-up day here at my (only 8 days left) current employer. In the hallways yesterday I passed Pee-Wee Herman, a Care Bear, an afro-sporting tie dyed disco maniac, Papa Smurf, several generic witches, and a really good “Dog the Bounty Hunter” impersonation. There was also a guy dressed like he was riding an ostrich, but the neck of the beast seemed to be coming out of his crotch area, in a pseudo phallic/gross sort of way. It wasn’t the most appropriate thing to see, that’s for sure.

The winner of the costume contest here won a computer for his efforts. I didn’t see it myself, but apparently he was dressed like a picnic table. Seriously. I’m hoping someone somewhere has photos of that – I’m really curious how he pulled that off.

As for me, I didn’t dress up for work. Instead, I came as “A Guy With Short Timers Syndrome”. That was enough for me.

But maybe tonight I’ll break out the old Frankie Avalon t-shirt. (Mrs. G. now wears it to the gym on a regular basis.) We’ll see if any of the kids this year are hipper than their 2005 counterparts.

That’d be mahhhhhvelous.

Is Patience Really a Virtue?

It’s been a long, interesting week around Casa de Gressel.

Last Monday I quit my job. Hee hee. I may have mentioned that before, but golly gee whiz, Beav – it’s great to say it again.

Tuesday AM the Lovely Mrs. G. and I put our house on the market. Yep, Casa De Gressel is up for grabs. Pay the right price, and you too can live where your old buddy Tom lived. Just wait until we move out first, okay?

Then Tuesday afternoon we left for our mystery vacation, which turned out to be... South Padre Island, Texas. It was 5 glorious days of sunshine, beaches, and jumbo shrimp. It doesn’t get much better than that.

Pretty, ain’t it?

We came home yesterday, happy but tired, to find that our house was still for sale, despite having an open house while we were gone. (I’m trying to remain patient about selling the joint, but so far it’s not working.) Give it time, they say. Okay, I’ll try.

Today I’m back with my short-term employer, trying not to enjoy the fact that I’ll be out of here forever and ever on November 9 – just 9 short working days away.

I’m fighting the urge to catch short-timers syndrome, but it’s not working. I actually have a lot of last minute things to wrap up before I walk off into that sunset as shown above, but it’s hard to stay focused when you really don’t give a rat’s ass any longer. The company is imploding by the minute, and I’ll be one of the few lucky souls to actually walk away on their own accord – no pink slip for me.

Still, I need to learn some patience. About the house, about the job, and about planning our next trip to South Padre.

Still, with views like this, impatience tends to win out.

It’s A Mystery To Me

On Wednesday morning the Lovely Mrs. G. is taking me on a 5 day, 4 night vacation.

And I have no idea where we’re going.

It’s a mystery trip – a vacation to places unknown. Mrs. G. has planned it all, without my involvement at all, a fact that has slowly eaten at my soul for the past 3 months.

You see, I’m usually the trip planner. And when I say “trip planner”, I mean that I’m the guy who has figured out our vacation to the last detail. Months of planning, researching, strategizing, and putting it together. (My Disney trip plans? They’re damn legendary.)

But this time, Mrs. G. has done it all, and I’m along for the ride – a passenger without a map, a plan, or a schedule to keep up.

It’s been kind of fun, in a strange way. Where are we going? What will we do? I have no clue. Hell, I don’t even know what I need to pack – a swimsuit or a snow parka?

I’ve got a few guesses of where we’re headed, but that’s all they are. I’ve purposely avoided getting involved in it, and I really haven’t bugged Mrs. G. for any details. Sometimes a little mystery in life can be a good thing.

So Mr. Obsessive Tommy G. is on his way to somewhere only God (and my lovely bride) knows. But as long as I have Mrs. G. with me, it’ll all be good. And maybe someday I’ll have to plan a mystery trip for her.

How does Transylvania sound? I’ll have to start my research now.

The Escape Plan - Launched!

For over two years on this blog I have talked about the magical day when I would ESCAPE from my employer and move on with my life.

Well, today is the day.

Five minutes ago I quit my job. And I can’t tell you how much that thrills me to say.

You see, my employer has been slowly fading into obscurity over the last 7 years. Go back and look at the archives on file for the complete (ugly) story. It ain’t pretty, kids. From a peak of 25,000 employees to a scant 800 now, my employer has been pressing the self-destruct button for a very long time.

So about a month ago The Lovely Mrs. G. and I decided it was time to make our move. I posted my resume online, and applied for 5 jobs. I soon had 5 interviews, and several other companies contacting me to see if I was interested.

Isn’t it nice to be wanted?

Long story short, Friday night I got the phone call I’d been waiting for. A huge career move, a huge promotion, a huge raise, and a company where I won’t have to worry about being the next one on the chopping block. They asked me if I'd accept the job, and it didn't take a half second to scream "Yes!"

Of course, there is one small caveat: we’ll have to relocate. But that’s okay – Sioux City really never did turn our screws that much, and we’re moving to a bigger market with more to do and more opportunity for both of us.

But it’s not Florida, like we’d talked about. Nope, instead it’s Omaha, Nebraska.

Now, I know that Omaha and Orlando have very little in common, other than both starting with the letter “O”. It still snows in Omaha, and there’s nothing even resembling an ocean within a thousand miles.

But it’s okay. For one thing, Omaha houses are still very affordable. You don’t have to worry about a hurricane wiping out your roof, and little things such as pollution, crime, and traffic congestion are almost nil. Plus, we’ll be close enough to Baby Emmy and Miss Katie that we’ll be able to see them on a regular basis. If we moved to Orlando we’d only get to see them once or twice a year, which wouldn’t be much fun. So this way we’ll be able to have a nice home, good jobs, and be close enough to our family.

Besides, if I do get the jones for a beach vacation, Omaha’s Eppley Airport can take you just about anywhere you want to go in a matter of a couple of hours.

So my resignation is in – Friday, November 9 will be my last day in this joint. Then on Monday the 12th I’ll start my new career.

It’s an exciting/thrilling/nerve wracking day. Ain’t it great????

Swearing on a Stack of Manuals

If this was really true, why isn’t my current workplace the Happiest Place in the Midwest?

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Swearing at work 'boosts team spirit, morale'

LONDON (AFP) - Regular swearing at work can help boost team spirit among staff, allowing them to express better their feelings as well as develop social relationships, according to a study by researchers. Yehuda Baruch, a professor of management at the University of East Anglia, and graduate Stuart Jenkins studied the use of profanity in the workplace and assessed its implications for managers.

The pair said swearing in front of senior staff or customers should be seriously discouraged or banned, but in other circumstances it helped foster solidarity among employees and express frustration, stress or other feelings.

"Employees use swearing on a continuous basis, but not necessarily in a negative, abusive manner," said Baruch, who works in the university's business school in Norwich.

Banning swear words and reprimanding staff might represent strong leadership, but could remove key links between staff and impact on morale and motivation, he said.

"Managers need to understand how their staff feel about swearing. The challenge is to master the 'art' of knowing when to turn a blind eye to communication that does not meet their own standards."

The study, "Swearing at work and permissive leadership culture: when anti-social becomes social and incivility is acceptable", is published in the latest issue of the Leadership and Organisational Development Journal.
* * * * * * *

This is actually my second blog about the joys of cursing – but like all good topics, it’s worth a repeat. And if you don’t like it, well then &$#^ you.

I have to admit that I occasionally – okay, more than occasionally – have a potty mouth. It’s usually directed at other drivers on the road, especially those on cell phones or those who seem to think that red lights and stop signs don’t apply to them.

I try to refrain from dropping F-bombs in polite company, but when I get around certain people, you just can’t help but calling out B.S. by it’s full name.

But the biggest target by far of my salty language skills has to be my computer monitor. It’s a gosh darn, freaking, son of a gun good thing that my monitor at work doesn’t have feelings – otherwise it would spend it’s day weeping.


I tend to take out my aggressions/frustrations at slow network connections, “blue screen of death” errors, program lockups, or other hardware/software/Internet issues. Sure, it’s not poor little Mr. Monitor’s fault that my keyboard keys are locked up or that my hard drive sounds more like a garbage disposal or that for some reason IT has blocked my access to my own files – but as they say, “guilty by association”. So take that, you &*(&%$$#ing piece of @($*.

Some day they’re going to invent a monitor that uses artificial intelligence to respond to your commands, just like the computers on Star Trek. I fear that day, because I have a bad feeling that my version of HAL 9000 will end up holding some mighty big grudges against me. I can hear it now: “Call me that again, mister, and I guaran-damn-tee that you’ll never see that spreadsheet again.”

Hmmm...I wonder if 17-inch flat panel displays like flowers?

I'm Just Happy To See You.

I had to break my winter coat out of storage this morning. It’s an annual tradition that never fails to sadden me to no end, but what can you do? It’s October, it’s the Midwest, deal with it.

The one fun part – if you can really describe it as “fun” – of putting on a jacket you haven’t worn in 6 months is discovering the mysterious items you left in the pockets the last time you wore it. Ain’t it great? The mystical phrase “Oh, THAT’S where I left that” should come to mind.

I’m world famous for leaving crap in my pockets. I don’t do it intentionally – it’s just the way it works out. Money, pens, paper clips, you name it. Just about every jacket I own has at least one long long-forgotten present in its pockets.

And it’s not just my coats. Why, ask The Lovely Mrs. G. about the zillion and one times I’ve gone and left Kleenex and/or paper towels in my pants pockets, only to have it go through the laundry and come out as fiber-rich snowflakes all over everything in the dryer. (On second thought, you’d better not ask her about that. It’s a subject best left alone.)

For reasons I’ll soon explain here, I had to wear my one and only suit last week. I was glad to see that my black double-breasted suit still fit, and I was twice as happy to find “Wobin & Wobbert’s” wedding announcement folded neatly in the inside jacket pocket. (I blogged about their wedding a while back – check the archives!) Should I mention that they just had their one year anniversary about a week ago? Shows you how much I play dress-up these days.

I really don’t know why I always seem to leave stuff behind in my clothes. Maybe it’s for those emergency situations – the bomb is about to explode, and McGuyver needs a quarter, a Bic pen, a half roll of Tums, an empty gum wrapper, and a sales receipt from Taco Bell to defuse it. Why, I’m the man to save the day!

Maybe I’m an adventurer at heart, and I find rediscovering missing items to be somewhat of a thrill. Oh, sure – I may never discover the lost Ark of the Covenant like Indiana Jones, but has Dr. Jones ever reached into his jacket pocket and found cat treats or a baby pacifier? I don’t think so.

Or maybe it’s just because I’m horrendously lazy and/or apathetic about cleaning out my pockets. Your call.

Anyway, in case you’re curious (and don’t deny that you aren’t!), today in my classic Disneyland 50th anniversary leather jacket I found a pen, a pack of Kleenex (unwashed, thankfully), a Chicago Transit Authority subway/El map from our visit last April, and my winter gloves.

I haven’t checked the gloves yet. Hopefully they’re empty.