I had an f’ed up dream last night. Apparently I was some sort of clandestine “guy you go to when you don’t know who to go to” type guy. Some company hired another clandestine dude to perform some operation; he needed to get them a submarine but didn’t know how to do that so he called me in the job. Apparently despite the fact that I was a clandestine “guy you go to when you don’t know who to go to” type guy I didn’t know how much to charge them for my services. It has to be enough to justify becoming a bad guy and live off for a few years til the next job. So we’re going around doing our sneaky stuff and all the while I’m trying to figure whether to bill by the job or by the hour; mileage from my house to their HQ to “the spot”, etc, etc.
Later I ask the company why they called me in on this job and they’re like because if we get caught you’re going to be the scapegoat and go to jail, not us. I’m like crap, now I have to factor the risk of going to jail into my rate. So I’m doing the standard contractor calculations of annual salary divided by 2,080 hours then multiply that by three. Can’t figure out what annual salary to use. Do I bill them upfront for expenses and at the end for my services? Of course we’re doing all our sneaky stuff at night and I’m a single father so I have to figure out how to leave Junior home alone without raising the ire of child protecive services and shit.
How do those guys figure that shit out anyway?
Oh and we showed up at the warehouse one early morning. There’s a ditch out back with a creek running down it with a giant dog sleeping in it. Giant like the dog’s head was the size of a Mini Cooper. He was friendly but still, dogs don’t need to be that big.
I think the dream had to do with the fact that I do tend to get lost in minutiae sometimes when I’m working toward something. Can’t see the forest for the trees.
The reality of America is that we don’t have the stomach for a pure capitalist system.
We believe a person should earn what they’re worth, but not if it means some Wall street exec makes $50 million/year or some college dropout makes $10 million/year in the NFL.
We want to build homes on flood plains and eroding cliffs that we can’t even get insured but we want government assistance when our life savings burns to the ground, floats down river or slides into the ocean.
We believe in personal fiscal responsibility, but we want a mortgage bailout if OUR home goes into foreclosure.
We don’t believe in government handouts but we want unemployment compensation if we get laid off.
We believe the cream will rise to the top but we support “No child left behind” in schools so our little Johnny won’t sink to the bottom.
We want to see our 401K’s growing 15% annually, but if it goes down 5% we demand to know why we weren’t told about the risk.
we want a free market economy…as long as we’re not the guy on the bottom of the ladder.
Face it, people. Socialism is here already and it’s here to stay…but let’s all act like it’s the fault of a guy who isn’t even in office yet, if ever. I support a flat tax but we won’t see it anytime soon…then again 10 years ago I thought I wouldn’t see a black president in my lifetime.
I’m still bummed about having to cancel the trip to Big Bear with my Urban Adventure group two weeks ago. I was really looking forward to seeing Big Bear Lake and Oktoberfest. My radiator hoses blew the day before, which blew period. Thankfully I was a mile from home and there’s an auto shop within walking distance. Now I think my transmission is slipping a lil bit. I will definitely be up there to snowboard this winter.
After 30 years I have officially renounced my Oakland Raiders fanship. I can’t take it anymore. They will never do squat again as long as Al Davis has his hand in the pot. He is just too old school. It’s unlikely I’ll become a fan again when he’s gone. His son is next in line and I hear he is more of the same.
My company will actually be celebrating my birthday today, even though it was Friday. My bosses have been out of town and they wanted to be here for it. I love my job. I’m very lucky and grateful to be where I am.
It’s been a while. I can’t get motivated to do long posts anymore. I wish I had dictation software. I come up with long blog rants while I’m at my desk or in the car but i don’t have the time nor energy to type them all out. I’ll spit out a few brief thoughts now and commit to more frequent but shorter entries in the future.
First off, my birthday presents to myself. I have no idea what anyone else got me because I’m still at work and somebody was late putting stuff in the mail. Better to be late with that than something else.
Reynolds Assault full carbon clinchers wheelset. :insert Tim “The Toolman” Taylor arrgh sounds:
Second, I now have enough money set aside to get Lasik surgery. I just need to find a place to have it done that won’t leave me blind. I’d have to return my new wheels and trust me, you don’t want that.
Also, last week was the annual Angry Sex Bowl. My Georgia Bulldogs vs Belle’s Tennessee Vols. We call it the angry sex bowl because no matter who wins one of us is really pissed off…unless it’s a tie, then we’re both pissed off. Thankfully they don’t do ties in college football. My team won for the first time in three tries. We never mention the game once it’s over so that’s all you’ll hear from me about it.
What was the number one song the day you were born?
I forgot to mention another I had last month. Luckily this one didn’t involve my life, just my livelihood. Four years ago, just before I accepted the job I have now, I accepted a job with IndyMac Bank. I knew I wanted the job I have now; I just wasn’t sure it was going to be offered to me. The job at IndyMac paid more but the commute was going to be 90 minutes on a good day. The mortgage industry was flying high back then and they were expanding rapidly. Much of the office space I toured was still empty or under utilized.
Luckily a few days before the IndyMac start date my current employer called me back and offered. I probably could have used the IndyMac offer as leverage but I didn’t want to push my luck. I really wanted the job.
Fast forward to last month – the mortgage industry is in total meltdown. IndyMac Bank announced layoffs of 3,400 people….and that’s BEFORE the federal government took them over! It’s possible I would have had enough seniority by now to survive the cuts but I’m glad I don’t have to worry about that. With the raises and profit sharing I’ve gotten I probably make more now than I would be at IndyMac anyway. I guess I do make the right choice sometimes. 
So anyway, last night I met up with a group of folks to go to the Griffith Observatory then hit up a few bars. We met for some fish tacos first tacos to form some carpools. I’m driving my car with 3 others on board.
We’re driving up the hill/mountain to get to the observatory, which is on top of Mount Hollywood. It’s about 20 minutes from dusk. We’re tooling along chatting with the windows up and stereo on, about to make a left up a switchback turn to go higher up. All of a sudden there’s a pedestrian woman in front of me looking to my left. There ain’t shit over there but trees so I’m transfixed on her malfunction. The girl sitting next to me her mouth drops open. Turns out there’s a minivan flipping end over end down a 250 foot hillside that is at least 45 degree banking. SHIT! Brakes to the floor. The fan lands right in front of me, rear wheels on the road, front wheels facing up the hillside. The front is completely crushed. Anybody still in front has to be toast.
This is right up the street from Griffith Park so there are a fair amount of people a bit down the hill. I pull over, we bolt over to the car. Three of us pull off what is left of the sliding door on the minivan. The driver is alive but pinned under the windshield. We’re telling him to stay still but he’s afraid. He manages to pull himself out of his seatbelt from under the windshield down to the rear seat where we don’t let him move.
At this point I’m still don’t know how he got to where he landed. I look up the hill and it’s got to be nearly 80 yards of thigh high grass to the road he drove off. The last 20 yards are about 60% grade. Apparently he came around the corner too fast and went off. If he had not hit the tree right at the road edge he would landed on us. In the end we survived. The night wasn’t clear enough for the observatory but we hit up The Griffin and Bigfoot Lounge afterward for drinks. Well, drink as in singular for me. I was driving. 
- After I’ve told this story a few times it will have grown to include the van was on fire, his passenger was pregnant and we delivered the baby before getting them out whereupon the van exploded.
No, not Uncle Sam. This time it was the SoCal Great Weather Tax Man. He comes to collect the fees we pay in exchange for having 350 days of sunny 70 degree weather every year. The fees are paid by having to deal with fires, earthquakes, mudslides and sometimes, in the case of unpopular jury verdicts (think Rodney King and O.J.), riots.
I’m too far away from forested areas to worry about fires and too far away from ‘tha hood’ to worry about riots. Therefore my taxes are paid in the form of earthquakes. After ten years of living in L.A. I finally experienced an earthquake large enough to feel. The Northridge quake was four years before I arrived. About six years ago there was a very mild one in the early morning. I slept through it all and I’m a light sleeper so that tells you how insignificant it was. Two years ago there was one around 4pm on a work day. It happened to be raining that day and since my office is window-less I just assumed it was thunder.
Last week we had 5.4 on the Richter scale. I was sitting at my desk and it shook for 15-20 seconds. To be honest I wasn’t scared at all. It actually felt pretty cool. I’m told there’s nothing to worry about until things start falling off the walls, although most people use something called Quake wax to prevent that from happening.
Hopefully the Tax man won’t return for another ten years at least. As for now I feel proud that I’ve done my duty as a good citizen of California but for the record, as a native Atlantan I feared tornadoes much more than I do earthquakes. On average they do more damage and are much more frequent.