Last night, I met a friend at a sushi bar in Old Town. (Yes, I know, a sushi bar in Old Town San Diego...go ahead with the jokes, really. No. It's okay. It's not as if the guys in my office haven't made them all already: "Instead of seaweed, they use tortillas for the rolls." "I'll have the enchilada roll. Wait. Isn't that a burrito?")
While we sat talking at the bar, drinking sake-based martinis (though to be honest, what I had was Blue Curacao-based), the bartender went about her job, preparing for what I later came to realize was an onslaught of 20-somethings. At one point, my friend casually said something that sounded like, "sakeinabox!" If I were a quicker-witted man, I would have raised an eyebrow and said, "Gesundheit." (Unfortunately, I can't raise an eyebrow, either. Not even when drinking Blue Curacao.)
"Right there," said she, noticing that I was not looking the same direction as she. "Sake. In a box."
And there it was, sitting on the back of the bar.
Sake.
In a box.
And that was when I wished I'd had a camera.
I like to watch people. I am a people watcher. I will admit to a certain preference for young, beautiful people, but this is purely for aesthetic reasons and not because of any underlying perversion on my part. I also like to watch older people, like myself. (I don't like to watch myself, though. A man has to draw the line somewhere.)
At one point, when my friend availed herself of the on-premises facilities, I looked around and noticed a guy wearing a Jethro Tull concert t-shirt. From 1987. Had there been any reasonable excuse to converse with him, it might have gone like this:
Me: "Dude, cool t-shirt. (exaggerated head-bobbing nod) Tull. Right on."
Jethro Tull Shirt-Wearing Dude: "Thanks, man. Jethro Tull rocks."
Me: "So, like, that concert was in 1987, Bro'. You must have been, like, five."
Jethro: "I was four, Dude. But my mom's boyfriend is totally into them, and he took me."
Me: (incredulous) "Your mom let her boyfriend take you to a Tull concert when you were four?"
Jethro: "I got the tickets for my birthday. Someone had to go with me."
When I was a kid, I never got anything that cool for my birthday. Not ever.
Friday, April 29, 2005
Thursday, April 28, 2005
I Have Door Envy
I have a feeling that blogging is a sort of subculture thing and I am finding, two days after I began my own blog that I am accumulating quite the circle of imaginary internet friends, with whom I remain connected by means of bookmarks.
Not a system of bookmarks. Yet. But soon. Very soon.
Imaginary friend Sherri wrote about cube life in her blog, which jogged a few thoughts loose on the subject. It was she who wrote that elegant turn of phrase, "I have door envy." I know just how she feels.
I work in a largish cube, which (as I have noted before) has an ocean view that sometimes affords me a view of whales as they commute to and from their summer homes in Baja. The cube is designed to accomodate four people, though there are currently only three cubizens* living there, including me. The other two are B and C.
B is an average guy who would give the shirt off his back to anyone who needs it more than he does. He comes across as being just the slightest bit uncomfortable in his own skin, but he's f-ing brilliant. He just gets it. He and I see eye to eye about 95% of the time, which is handy when you share a cubicle and a view. Like me, he prefers classical music to Neo-Fascist Talk Radio, which by itself makes him fine by me.
C is an unassuming guy who just happens to be The Smartest Man On The Planet. C is the kind of man who can rewire the phones in his house, remodel a bathroom, and write Naval Doctrine all in the same weekend. If someone someday tells me C won the Nobel Prize, I'll probably yawn and say, "That figures." The coolest thing about C is that he thinks I'm as smart as he is, and we share a sense of amazement at how often we both get away with seeming smarter than we actually are. (And yes, it is possible to be the smartest guy in the room and have people think you're Even Smarter Than That.) We Make Stuff Up, and we get paid well for it.
The three of us have some very cool conversations. Mostly on a professional level.
The problem is that when we're all three in the cube, we get very little actual work done.
This is a problem, because frequently, one or more of us has actual work that needs to get done.
Lately, I've taken to "working from home" when I need to, or to donning headphones and listening to a CD, or to simply turning around and ignoring everyone and everything.
For a time, there were a number of people who felt they could waltz into my cubicle and pull up a chair...I'd spend hours answering questions or just Making Stuff Up on the fly for people. But that meant that I got nothing done, except that.
That happens less frequently now, because about a year ago, I started insisting on visitors making appointments. "I'm sorry," I'd say to someone who came in to ask how to properly operate the electric stapler, "I can't talk right now, but I can slot you in on Tuesday at 9:15." I guarded my time with more zeal than the maitre d' at Sardi's does his reservation list. Ahhh, the good old days.
Once in a while, I inadvertently mess with someone's head. Today, for example, while I sat with headphones on at my computer, the phone in the next cube began to ring. I was actually between songs, and didn't have the volume up loud, anyhow, but C spun in his chair and yelled, "HEY, KURT! AREN'T YOU GOING TO ANSWER THAT?"
Using my best hyper-quiet "inside voice", I answered, "No, I don't answer Al's phone, Dude."
C looked crestfallen. "Oh," he said. "I thought it was your phone."
"No," said I, gravely. "It's Al's."
We both spun in our chairs and went back to Making Stuff Up, but secretly, I was laughing. So was C, probably, because he's cool like that.
I sometimes feel like I'm a forgotten character from The Wizard of Oz: The Cubicle Man. Someday, Dorothy and Toto will happen by on their way to the Emerald City. When they do, this is what I'll sing:
Well I'd earn a pretty penny
If there simply weren't any
Interruptions any more...
No more wastin' of my talents,
and my checkbook would be balanced
If I only had a door!
I'm sure what I ask for
Won't make the comp'ny poor
A ceiling, walls and floor
I've got a view
Why not a door?
I could surf with no one lookin'
View porn or diet cookin'
Check CNN and more...
And on those days with nothin' hap'nin',
With my feet up, I'd be nappin'
If I only had a door!
*Cubizen: a word I just made up from the root words cube and denizen.
Not a system of bookmarks. Yet. But soon. Very soon.
Imaginary friend Sherri wrote about cube life in her blog, which jogged a few thoughts loose on the subject. It was she who wrote that elegant turn of phrase, "I have door envy." I know just how she feels.
I work in a largish cube, which (as I have noted before) has an ocean view that sometimes affords me a view of whales as they commute to and from their summer homes in Baja. The cube is designed to accomodate four people, though there are currently only three cubizens* living there, including me. The other two are B and C.
B is an average guy who would give the shirt off his back to anyone who needs it more than he does. He comes across as being just the slightest bit uncomfortable in his own skin, but he's f-ing brilliant. He just gets it. He and I see eye to eye about 95% of the time, which is handy when you share a cubicle and a view. Like me, he prefers classical music to Neo-Fascist Talk Radio, which by itself makes him fine by me.
C is an unassuming guy who just happens to be The Smartest Man On The Planet. C is the kind of man who can rewire the phones in his house, remodel a bathroom, and write Naval Doctrine all in the same weekend. If someone someday tells me C won the Nobel Prize, I'll probably yawn and say, "That figures." The coolest thing about C is that he thinks I'm as smart as he is, and we share a sense of amazement at how often we both get away with seeming smarter than we actually are. (And yes, it is possible to be the smartest guy in the room and have people think you're Even Smarter Than That.) We Make Stuff Up, and we get paid well for it.
The three of us have some very cool conversations. Mostly on a professional level.
The problem is that when we're all three in the cube, we get very little actual work done.
This is a problem, because frequently, one or more of us has actual work that needs to get done.
Lately, I've taken to "working from home" when I need to, or to donning headphones and listening to a CD, or to simply turning around and ignoring everyone and everything.
For a time, there were a number of people who felt they could waltz into my cubicle and pull up a chair...I'd spend hours answering questions or just Making Stuff Up on the fly for people. But that meant that I got nothing done, except that.
That happens less frequently now, because about a year ago, I started insisting on visitors making appointments. "I'm sorry," I'd say to someone who came in to ask how to properly operate the electric stapler, "I can't talk right now, but I can slot you in on Tuesday at 9:15." I guarded my time with more zeal than the maitre d' at Sardi's does his reservation list. Ahhh, the good old days.
Once in a while, I inadvertently mess with someone's head. Today, for example, while I sat with headphones on at my computer, the phone in the next cube began to ring. I was actually between songs, and didn't have the volume up loud, anyhow, but C spun in his chair and yelled, "HEY, KURT! AREN'T YOU GOING TO ANSWER THAT?"
Using my best hyper-quiet "inside voice", I answered, "No, I don't answer Al's phone, Dude."
C looked crestfallen. "Oh," he said. "I thought it was your phone."
"No," said I, gravely. "It's Al's."
We both spun in our chairs and went back to Making Stuff Up, but secretly, I was laughing. So was C, probably, because he's cool like that.
I sometimes feel like I'm a forgotten character from The Wizard of Oz: The Cubicle Man. Someday, Dorothy and Toto will happen by on their way to the Emerald City. When they do, this is what I'll sing:
Well I'd earn a pretty penny
If there simply weren't any
Interruptions any more...
No more wastin' of my talents,
and my checkbook would be balanced
If I only had a door!
I'm sure what I ask for
Won't make the comp'ny poor
A ceiling, walls and floor
I've got a view
Why not a door?
I could surf with no one lookin'
View porn or diet cookin'
Check CNN and more...
And on those days with nothin' hap'nin',
With my feet up, I'd be nappin'
If I only had a door!
*Cubizen: a word I just made up from the root words cube and denizen.
What Is WITH Some People?
I'm going to rant for a moment.
We own two cars, and in my neighborhood, it's a fact of life that if you own two cars, one of them will be parked on the street. This is California, after all.
I live with this. It bugs me to come home and find someone parked in my driveway, because, let's face it, since Californians have this love affair going on with their cars (myself included...I admit it), street parking is hard to come by and if my driveway is occupied, then I have to park two cars on the street. Fortunately, this was not the case today.
I only mention the parking problem because of what was the case when I came home.
The only thing I can figure is that the driver of the green Ford F-150 realized that he was too drunk to drive, but this unfortunately also made him too drunk to fully assess the parking situation on my street. He did a great job finding a parking spot big enough for his long-bed Ford...kudos for that, Dude...but he didn't exactly STOP when he got his truck into it.
No.
He kept backing up until his rear bumper was in full contact with my daughter's grill and right headlight.
And since his truck then stopped moving, he must have figured that he was parked, so he threw the truck into Park and grabbed forty winks.
I'm not sure how long he got to nap. Our conversation was pretty short:
Me: [incredulously inspects the area of contact between the two vehicles]
Drunk: [blissfully unaware of said inspection, continues drunken siesta]
Me (angrily knocking on passenger side window): What the f**k? You are parked AGAINST my f**king car!
D: [awakens, startled, then shrugs apologetically and starts truck]
Me (in awe): [stands slackjawed as drunken idiot drives cautiously away]
Who DOES that?
End rant.
I almost immediately felt guilty for inadvertently running the guy off. Clearly, he was inebriated and incapable of driving safely, and I sent him off into rush hour traffic. It's too late now, but San Diego evening commuters, I apologize if any of you get hurt because I (an angry, 6' 2", 300 pound man) scared the crap out of a drunk and sent him out to have a collision with you.
I should be extraordinarily sensitive to this kind of thing; a woman I loved deeply was killed by a drunk driver nearly 16 years ago. If the driver that killed Laurie Patarini had exhibited the kind of sense that my bumper-rubbing siesta taker did, Laurie might still be alive.
Maybe next time I'll be a little less imposing* and a little more understanding.
No, probably not. I don't expect I'll ever feel the need to be nice to people who show such disregard for other people's lives and property.
Please, if you must drive, don't drink. And if you absolutely have to have a drink, don't get behind the wheel of a vehicle.
Even to take a nap.
*A friend calls it "presence". Thank you, Ali.
We own two cars, and in my neighborhood, it's a fact of life that if you own two cars, one of them will be parked on the street. This is California, after all.
I live with this. It bugs me to come home and find someone parked in my driveway, because, let's face it, since Californians have this love affair going on with their cars (myself included...I admit it), street parking is hard to come by and if my driveway is occupied, then I have to park two cars on the street. Fortunately, this was not the case today.
I only mention the parking problem because of what was the case when I came home.
The only thing I can figure is that the driver of the green Ford F-150 realized that he was too drunk to drive, but this unfortunately also made him too drunk to fully assess the parking situation on my street. He did a great job finding a parking spot big enough for his long-bed Ford...kudos for that, Dude...but he didn't exactly STOP when he got his truck into it.
No.
He kept backing up until his rear bumper was in full contact with my daughter's grill and right headlight.
And since his truck then stopped moving, he must have figured that he was parked, so he threw the truck into Park and grabbed forty winks.
I'm not sure how long he got to nap. Our conversation was pretty short:
Me: [incredulously inspects the area of contact between the two vehicles]
Drunk: [blissfully unaware of said inspection, continues drunken siesta]
Me (angrily knocking on passenger side window): What the f**k? You are parked AGAINST my f**king car!
D: [awakens, startled, then shrugs apologetically and starts truck]
Me (in awe): [stands slackjawed as drunken idiot drives cautiously away]
Who DOES that?
End rant.
I almost immediately felt guilty for inadvertently running the guy off. Clearly, he was inebriated and incapable of driving safely, and I sent him off into rush hour traffic. It's too late now, but San Diego evening commuters, I apologize if any of you get hurt because I (an angry, 6' 2", 300 pound man) scared the crap out of a drunk and sent him out to have a collision with you.
I should be extraordinarily sensitive to this kind of thing; a woman I loved deeply was killed by a drunk driver nearly 16 years ago. If the driver that killed Laurie Patarini had exhibited the kind of sense that my bumper-rubbing siesta taker did, Laurie might still be alive.
Maybe next time I'll be a little less imposing* and a little more understanding.
No, probably not. I don't expect I'll ever feel the need to be nice to people who show such disregard for other people's lives and property.
Please, if you must drive, don't drink. And if you absolutely have to have a drink, don't get behind the wheel of a vehicle.
Even to take a nap.
*A friend calls it "presence". Thank you, Ali.
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
The Electric Company Is A Spammer
Not in the sense we Imaginary Internet People sometimes are. Oh, no! The electric company sends hard copy spam.
I am "working from home" today, which I have always suspected to be a euphemism for "jerking off on company time with less risk of getting caught."* During my lunch break, I decided to open a couple bills and start the process of fine-tuning next month's budget...and though I've been faithfully paying my bills for many years (I am, after all, 43), I continue to be surprised at the volume of crap that my various creditors send along with the important stuff.
The important stuff being the single page that says how much money I need to mail them this month to keep me from getting nagging phone calls about not paying my bills.**
I thought I might list the extra stuff that came in my bills this month:
- The Phone Company: A bulletin containing "mandated messages from the CPUC"; a flyer for e-billing, which I already do.
- BMW Financial Services: (Ever wonder what swanky stuff comes with a BMW account statement? You're about to find out.) Ads for a 7-series sedan, the Nelson Mandela Children's Fund Sweepstakes (donate a BMW to a poor South African child?), the BMW Visa card, a Pink Ribbon watch to benefit the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation and BMW "Joy of Driving" racing events (including the Formula One Grand Prix at Monaco); a "Cartips" thingy that tells me to use premium gas, but not 93 octane or higher (and I was going to start gassing up at the airport on 100 octane aviation fuel...); a flyer for e-billing, which I already do.
- My credit card company: An informative flyer entitled "Safeguarding Your Privacy"; an ad for DirecTV.
- My cable company: an ad for Padres tickets at PetCo Park (which I already paid for once, thank you*****). I am not sure why they continue to send me a bill every month, since I enrolled in e-billing.
- The electric company: a flyer about safety that was mandated by California Prop 65; an ad for energy-efficiency rebates; notice of appplication for advanced metering infrastructure (alarming phrase: "...will create rate increases for all customer classes."***); a newsletter describing the new power plants they're building which will save me money.****
I did a Yahoo! search on the words "envelope", "inserts", and "bills", which yielded this helpful advice:
"When the mail comes in, walk straight from the mailbox to the trash; try to throw out as much as possible. With bills, throw away all inserts and the envelope, keeping only the bill and the envelope to send it back in." (courtesy: www.chaostoorder.com)
I am grateful that the Internet can be so helpful.
Having decided that my creditors (who are obviously concerned about keeping me as informed as possible) must be information junkies, I realized today that they might also benefit from the knowledge I have gained by not following ChaosToOrder's advice.
So, beginning this weekend, when I sit down to actually pay all my bills, I will rearrange these handy, envelope-sized morsels of information and send them back out to my creditors, using the conveniently included envelopes.
To the phone company: the flyer for energy-efficiency rebates (perhaps they pass along their savings to me), and the helpful-but-not-needed e-billing flyer from BMW Financial Services (maybe they'll sign up to pay for my car).
To my credit card company: the electric company flyer about advanced metering infrastructure rate increases, so that they'll understand when I skip a month now and then.
To BMW Financial Services: the electric company flyer about new power plants, the phone company's e-billing ad (see? other companies e-bill, too!) and the ad for Padres tickets.
To the cable company: the DirecTV ad, in the hope that they'll get nervous and offer me money-saving deals to stay with cable.
To the electric company (who started this whole mess when I opened their bill): the credit card company flyer on safeguarding privacy; the phone company newsletter containing "mandated messages from the CPUC"; and of course, the BMW ad for the 7-series sedan, because after they hike my rates, they'll be able to afford the new 750Li.
Sure, it'll cost me thirty-seven cents to send all this helpful info to places I already pay through the Wonder Of The Internet, but I'll sleep so well knowing that the person hired by the phone company to open their mail will have a few moments to savor the joy of learning, just as I have today.
This is all such helpful information!
I've never looked forward to paying bills before.
*I have since learned that "working from home" is actually a euphemism for "I'm Not In The Office Today Because I Cannot Get Any Work Done With Your Constant Interruptions." More on this topic later.
**I have learned (much to my disappointment) that the National Do Not Call List does not keep me safe from these kinds of phone calls.
***I am reserving the right to get angry about this later.
****A savings more than offset by the cost of the new metering infrastructure.
*****The park, not the tickets. San Diego city politics is SO MUCH FUN.
I am "working from home" today, which I have always suspected to be a euphemism for "jerking off on company time with less risk of getting caught."* During my lunch break, I decided to open a couple bills and start the process of fine-tuning next month's budget...and though I've been faithfully paying my bills for many years (I am, after all, 43), I continue to be surprised at the volume of crap that my various creditors send along with the important stuff.
The important stuff being the single page that says how much money I need to mail them this month to keep me from getting nagging phone calls about not paying my bills.**
I thought I might list the extra stuff that came in my bills this month:
- The Phone Company: A bulletin containing "mandated messages from the CPUC"; a flyer for e-billing, which I already do.
- BMW Financial Services: (Ever wonder what swanky stuff comes with a BMW account statement? You're about to find out.) Ads for a 7-series sedan, the Nelson Mandela Children's Fund Sweepstakes (donate a BMW to a poor South African child?), the BMW Visa card, a Pink Ribbon watch to benefit the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation and BMW "Joy of Driving" racing events (including the Formula One Grand Prix at Monaco); a "Cartips" thingy that tells me to use premium gas, but not 93 octane or higher (and I was going to start gassing up at the airport on 100 octane aviation fuel...); a flyer for e-billing, which I already do.
- My credit card company: An informative flyer entitled "Safeguarding Your Privacy"; an ad for DirecTV.
- My cable company: an ad for Padres tickets at PetCo Park (which I already paid for once, thank you*****). I am not sure why they continue to send me a bill every month, since I enrolled in e-billing.
- The electric company: a flyer about safety that was mandated by California Prop 65; an ad for energy-efficiency rebates; notice of appplication for advanced metering infrastructure (alarming phrase: "...will create rate increases for all customer classes."***); a newsletter describing the new power plants they're building which will save me money.****
I did a Yahoo! search on the words "envelope", "inserts", and "bills", which yielded this helpful advice:
"When the mail comes in, walk straight from the mailbox to the trash; try to throw out as much as possible. With bills, throw away all inserts and the envelope, keeping only the bill and the envelope to send it back in." (courtesy: www.chaostoorder.com)
I am grateful that the Internet can be so helpful.
Having decided that my creditors (who are obviously concerned about keeping me as informed as possible) must be information junkies, I realized today that they might also benefit from the knowledge I have gained by not following ChaosToOrder's advice.
So, beginning this weekend, when I sit down to actually pay all my bills, I will rearrange these handy, envelope-sized morsels of information and send them back out to my creditors, using the conveniently included envelopes.
To the phone company: the flyer for energy-efficiency rebates (perhaps they pass along their savings to me), and the helpful-but-not-needed e-billing flyer from BMW Financial Services (maybe they'll sign up to pay for my car).
To my credit card company: the electric company flyer about advanced metering infrastructure rate increases, so that they'll understand when I skip a month now and then.
To BMW Financial Services: the electric company flyer about new power plants, the phone company's e-billing ad (see? other companies e-bill, too!) and the ad for Padres tickets.
To the cable company: the DirecTV ad, in the hope that they'll get nervous and offer me money-saving deals to stay with cable.
To the electric company (who started this whole mess when I opened their bill): the credit card company flyer on safeguarding privacy; the phone company newsletter containing "mandated messages from the CPUC"; and of course, the BMW ad for the 7-series sedan, because after they hike my rates, they'll be able to afford the new 750Li.
Sure, it'll cost me thirty-seven cents to send all this helpful info to places I already pay through the Wonder Of The Internet, but I'll sleep so well knowing that the person hired by the phone company to open their mail will have a few moments to savor the joy of learning, just as I have today.
This is all such helpful information!
I've never looked forward to paying bills before.
*I have since learned that "working from home" is actually a euphemism for "I'm Not In The Office Today Because I Cannot Get Any Work Done With Your Constant Interruptions." More on this topic later.
**I have learned (much to my disappointment) that the National Do Not Call List does not keep me safe from these kinds of phone calls.
***I am reserving the right to get angry about this later.
****A savings more than offset by the cost of the new metering infrastructure.
*****The park, not the tickets. San Diego city politics is SO MUCH FUN.
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
I Seem To Be Poorly Equipped For This.
Looking at the nifty blogs of those who inspired me to begin my own (See: Blogs of Fun and Inspiration, on the right), I find that I am ill equipped.
I have no digital camera.
I have no cats. (I do have a 16 year old, but she's far less likely to pretend to be annoyed if I tease her with a piece of string -- and far more likely to be annoyed. Also, she will not make herself crazy chasing after a laser spot on the carpet.*)
I do tend to have an interesting perspective. Interesting to me, anyway. And since this is my hour (therapy reference), it is all about me.
* On the other hand, I haven't explored all the things she WILL do if I dangle the car keys in front of her.
I have no digital camera.
I have no cats. (I do have a 16 year old, but she's far less likely to pretend to be annoyed if I tease her with a piece of string -- and far more likely to be annoyed. Also, she will not make herself crazy chasing after a laser spot on the carpet.*)
I do tend to have an interesting perspective. Interesting to me, anyway. And since this is my hour (therapy reference), it is all about me.
* On the other hand, I haven't explored all the things she WILL do if I dangle the car keys in front of her.
Sometimes, I Actually Can See Whales From Here.
Inspired by other bloggers (who are infinitely funnier and possessed of more to say), I thought I might try my hand at this. I do, on occasion, have coherent thoughts; I always want to express them.
I am a single dad (I love the optimism in that phrase...as though being divorced allows one to reset the counter). I have two daughters, one of whom is 16 and chooses to live with me, rather than her mother (a whole story in itself), and the other is 10...which means she's not old enough to decide she wants to live with me yet. Fatherhood means being involved, and I am...quite often to the point of excess. More about that later.
I am also overweight, which contributes significantly to the persistence of my singleness, and I have grown weary of that. When I was younger (until I met my ex-wife, in fact), I was tall and slim. I'm still tall, but I am no longer thin, and that bothers me. Mostly because it's always a surprise to me to discover that I am, in fact, not thin. Having grown up a thin person, my self-image is that of a thin person, and for the bulk of my day, I automatically revert to "thin person thinking", which is to say that I am startled when I look in the mirror, or look down and see my stomach impedes my view of my belt, or when a fast-paced walk or a climb up a flight of stairs leaves me winded.
I think, "Whoa! When did that happen?"
Now, my friend Gary calls our body type "bulk svelte", which I appreciate, but euphemisms rarely help. (Just ask an African-American.) Bulk Svelte guys don't get the girl, they get to be the girl's friend.
I am not complaining...I don't expect anyone to change their values to accomodate my poor choices, and in any case, I don't think anyone can change what they find attractive. Not deliberately, anyway.
So, I'm going to do something about it. I'm bulking down, as it were. And I am going to document the process of dieting and exercise and self-reclamation here...and intersperse the whole thing with tales of single fatherhood, friendship, volunteerism, career headaches, growing older, girl-watching, dating, and if I'm very lucky...sex.
So what's with the title of this blog?
It's bragging, pure and simple. Like many of you in the Internet Surfing Public, I work in a cubicle, and a shared one, at that. My cube mates are great guys, and I'm sure you'll get to know them, too, as this goes on, but they are absolutely not the best feature of my cubicle. Not even close.
My cubicle has an ocean view. And no, I did not have to attack one divider, a la Ron Livingston in Office Space to get this view...it came this way.
And yes, sometimes, I actually can see whales from here.
I am a single dad (I love the optimism in that phrase...as though being divorced allows one to reset the counter). I have two daughters, one of whom is 16 and chooses to live with me, rather than her mother (a whole story in itself), and the other is 10...which means she's not old enough to decide she wants to live with me yet. Fatherhood means being involved, and I am...quite often to the point of excess. More about that later.
I am also overweight, which contributes significantly to the persistence of my singleness, and I have grown weary of that. When I was younger (until I met my ex-wife, in fact), I was tall and slim. I'm still tall, but I am no longer thin, and that bothers me. Mostly because it's always a surprise to me to discover that I am, in fact, not thin. Having grown up a thin person, my self-image is that of a thin person, and for the bulk of my day, I automatically revert to "thin person thinking", which is to say that I am startled when I look in the mirror, or look down and see my stomach impedes my view of my belt, or when a fast-paced walk or a climb up a flight of stairs leaves me winded.
I think, "Whoa! When did that happen?"
Now, my friend Gary calls our body type "bulk svelte", which I appreciate, but euphemisms rarely help. (Just ask an African-American.) Bulk Svelte guys don't get the girl, they get to be the girl's friend.
I am not complaining...I don't expect anyone to change their values to accomodate my poor choices, and in any case, I don't think anyone can change what they find attractive. Not deliberately, anyway.
So, I'm going to do something about it. I'm bulking down, as it were. And I am going to document the process of dieting and exercise and self-reclamation here...and intersperse the whole thing with tales of single fatherhood, friendship, volunteerism, career headaches, growing older, girl-watching, dating, and if I'm very lucky...sex.
So what's with the title of this blog?
It's bragging, pure and simple. Like many of you in the Internet Surfing Public, I work in a cubicle, and a shared one, at that. My cube mates are great guys, and I'm sure you'll get to know them, too, as this goes on, but they are absolutely not the best feature of my cubicle. Not even close.
My cubicle has an ocean view. And no, I did not have to attack one divider, a la Ron Livingston in Office Space to get this view...it came this way.
And yes, sometimes, I actually can see whales from here.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)