The $50,000 Epiphany

It has been over a month since I walked down the aisle at Roy Wilkins arena to take home a gold stamped leather binder showing the Rasmussen College school crest (Doctrina, Concretio, Successio with a rockin Moose for a mascot) with a piece of cardboard that set me back around $50,000.  My wife sat in the upper deck besides her dad and my parents of 38 years, all of whom I owe my life to both figuratively and literally.  Sure I opened the padded folder a few times just to see if my name in fancy calligraphy proclaimed that my time as a student has ended and new path would present itself after shaking the hands of an academic dean I never met and would never see again.

Willingly give up 3.5 years of sanity and free-time to break a corporate glass ceiling that might as well been made out of Kevlar wrapped around the insulation used for the Space Shuttle seemed like a much easier task sitting over a bonfire in northern Minnesota.  It didn’t take Toby Robbins or Henry Rollins to shout in my ear that stasis was slowly killing whatever momentum this life had after breaking out of the haze of a head injury.  Sure, work was going in the right direction with accolades and praise for taking on extra work for the same pay while staying in the poker blogging game covering every –COOP tournament series PokerStars could come up with.  Giving up at this point would have been a trout slap in the face to me and anyone who invested even a nice word in my general direction.

There was no need for a life coach or religious schema to tell me that God would guide my rum-soaked soul to the promise land of fiscal and conscious independence if certain rules of life were followed.  What was needed was another complete detachment from day-to-day life, not completely unlike a certain wheel-assisted ride down Las Vegas Boulevard.  Letting go of a secure job for the chance to become that skinny third grader with the bowl cut and bright blue eyes who could shout out multiplication answers so fast some kids didn’t even try to contest.  Until a few weeks ago, that kid represented the last time I felt whole.

Strangled by insecurity despite a good, solid base at home, I let assholes into my head to plant doubt strong enough to grow a stalk to take Jack up into the clouds for his fight with the giant.  Every glance at a mirror was one of pity and pain wondering if life was supposed to feel that way.  There was no Facebook or Twitter back then to seek out a group of like-minded individuals who perhaps were struggling with similar depressive depths.  Maybe for the better as the brutal landscape of social media likely would have been more devastating than a chant during recess about the inability to hear and communicate like a normal elementary school student.  In retrospect it’s easy to look back on such events and blow it off like a flame on a birthday candle.  As a parent it is easy to go “you know what, in [XX] years you won’t even care or remember how kids at recess made fun of you”.  Yeah, 30 years later after the most amazing stretch of personal advancement, I’m sitting on a couch secure with my skin recalling a bunch of fourth graders throwing around a partly chewed up Nerf football not letting me play with them anymore.

I remember being curled up against the brick underneath the newly painted letters proclaiming the building was Cedar Island elementary during most recesses just wishing I could hide in the library despite my love for sports.  Thanks to my bump on the headspot I cannot recall many good times except for a select few that I follow on Zuckerberg’s peep show that allows me to feel good about their new step into parenting, offer condolences to the death of a parent, or question their life choices while posting a selfie with a Green Bay Packers jersey on.

The core of this whole epiphany was not receiving that $50,000 piece of cardboard or what it took to get to that moment that was captured by OverlyPricedGradPrints.com that offers a SPECIAL DEAL of only $50 UNITED STATES DOLLARS FOR A DIGITAL PRINT MUST ACT NOW!!!!  Seriously, the grad is probably strangled by the amount of debt they just ran up for the past four/five years, do you really thing they have $119.99 for the specially embossed 3-D pic of them wearing an article of clothing that will get used the same amount of times a wedding gown does?  Fuck. Off. 

Sorry.  That’s a rant for another time (luckily my father-in-law takes awesome life stills without directing me to a credit application for the honor of possessing one of them).

As I sit here now into my third drink and re-finding my love for writing in non-APA formatted structures, or any grammatically positive formations for that matter, I see a lot of good in my future despite this new debt sitting over porch’s roof.  Just like when entering adulthood, parenthood, or maybe a familiar neighborhood time is supposed to slow down.  No more parties that end up with a threesome in a cardboard box while others are discussing the superiority of grape over cherry Kool-Aid on a deck at 5am while waiting for McDonald’s to open to grab a Sausage McMuffin and hash brown (yes I’m old enough to remember the golden arches when they actually closed for the evening).  The epiphany came down hard yet landed softly into my timeline.  Stop rushing, hug more, accept more, put up with less.  Enjoy yourself or no one else will, stop expect each day will be filled with glowing unicorns blowing rainbows and perfectly distilled vodka out of their asses.  There will be times you will not like your spouse, there will be times a parent will want to take a full roll of duct tape and stick their tantrum-filled kid on the roof of a jet liner bound for Sri Lanka, there will be times that make a person question is it worth it.

It is.

Life may seem like shit if the manager just informed the department of cutbacks, a best friend suddenly goes AWOL from the friendship, or finding out that Axe Dark Temptation body spray really does not turn panties moist from grinding on that very special lady in the navy blue tank top with three visible bra straps and frayed daisy dukes when Blurred Lines takes to the DJs rotation at TGI Friday’s.  I thought like this for waaaaaaaaaaay too long and it hurt my relationship with my wife, my kids, and my friends.  Opening eyes to notice, hey people may seem ok through the veneer paneling they present in public, but likely have the same insecurities and issues about Christian Ponder throwing forward passes that you do.  Yes, I will struggle to upkeep this new direction but its better to state it and point a finger in the mirror call one’s self out on their bullshit versus not realizing it at all.

This scribbling tonight is the result of writing this post over and over in my head for the past month but never breaching the gate of turning on Microsoft Word to bang out 1,223 now 1,224 words.  At first it was a cautionary tale of after-college doldrums of how college students are not prepared for the utter financial clusterfuck they are about to enter (I just got my “guide to paying your student loan” from the college BEFORE getting my official degree).  But, to expound on this when I am relatively better off (married, just got promotion which breach previously mentioned glass ceiling, and no credit card debt) seemed very hypocritical since I’m not in the same fiscal state as a 22 year old trying dig their way out of the well-used county fair demolition derby port-a-potty of bank interest on top of their student loans while job humping LinkedIn, Monster.com, and mom’s good friend who owns a collection agency might hire the bachelor of accounting as a financial relief consultant to those that have not paid their Citibank Student MasterCard in two years or more.   

Instead a few words came out about the stressed yet calm currently in this author’s life.  My kids love the fact that daddy does not need to sit behind a laptop and expound on the different moral viewpoints of Martin Luther versus Immanuel Kant as it relates to a reversing subledger accounting journal entry.  My wife gets her friend back instead of the highly strung, over-sexed husband.  Well, he still wants sex just not at a Bree Olson pacing and enjoying quiet nights together to critique the Chopped contest’s use of pickled deer hooves as a base for the dessert round. 

Personally it’s a new life, one that should have started 15 years ago as a fresh out of college student but I wouldn’t trade my life experiences for anything, except a Vikings Super Bowl win and maybe some MN State Fair cheese curds with Dogfish 90 minute IPA to wash it all down.  But my life is just that my life.  It is not yours, nor should I or anybody tell you how to get to your one of many destinations.  Judging others for not making enough, like the story I heard at work about a young accountant working 12-13 hour days 5-6 days a week at a Big Four firm and being judge for leaving “early” because he actually had a life outside the office, seems short-sighted by most but some are driven to such career aspirations.  Yes, I was initially aghast but know that I should try to learn from both sides of such a situation.  Hey, if you want to retire by 45 and rock your millionaire lifestyle, go at it until those zeros pile up on the bank statement because that person is getting to where their goal path ends.  No different than my route to a bachelor’s degree while maintaining some degree of social interaction with my family and friends. 

And getting the college degree was not my goal.  My goal was to get to this point and being able to see that cute third grader again in the mirror before the glasses, acne, and depression.  I wanted to like myself again versus panning for praise from those around me. Yes, it cost $50K, yes it took almost four years, but I sit on this beige couch in suburbia-land with a sweaty Captain and Coke after tucking in the kids that I enjoy being me and accept the faults and awesomeness that come from it.

Mastodon Weekend 2012: A Pause

It's not that I do not want to write about the surreal experience of the latest Mastodon Weekend and first completed Half Marathon in Greenville, SC with the people I consider my second family.

But, writing at the moment is limited to gigs (such as my recap of the semifinal match in the PokerStars All-Star Showdown between Galfond and Cates) from the man with the busted toe who finished a mere 12 seconds ahead of me at the 13.1 mile race (see below), and school work which you can sample my "work" on the lack of girls getting into physical and computer science positions.

The man in the circle would be me (Photo cred linked) 

But instead of an inward look at what that weekend meant to me (in due time because my chaffed nipples still rise from thinking about it) this is what I have been working on:

Females Chasing the Career Goal Line in Computer and Physical Sciences

Type “Sam Gordon” into a web browser and the viewer will see girl dominating the male sport of football.  She literally throws her nine-year-old male counterparts aside with speed and agility that they cannot match.  This is rarity seeing females play the very physical sport of American Football where hulking males grow their bodies to obscene sizes and pummel each other with hits that can rival a car crash.  Women for the most part do not want to tune their bodies in this manner thus only a handful of women even reach the college ranks, like Katie Hnida who plays college’s top rank of Division 1-A for the New Mexico Lobos.  Even then playing the mostly non-contact position of kicker as the sport of football is deemed desirable to males only.  What about activities that do not involve 300 pound people try to tear limbs from each other in pursuit of a goal line?  Take computer science for example as Tillberg and Cohoon state “the growing gender divide in computer science is one of the more perplexing phenomena on college campuses today, especially considering the rising number of high school girls taking advanced science and math courses” (Tillberg & Cohoon, 2005).  Like football, younger girls are taking an interest in the game more and more, so why would girls taking the advanced placement-type math and science courses not be drawn towards the computer science majors and careers? 

The answer lies within sexist and biased surroundings as most girls are not drawn towards majors like computer science because “prior research into choice of major or career generally has focused on personality factors that lead to a particular career path and identified ability, self efficacy, expectancy value, interest and congruence, and barriers and support as key components of whether a student chooses or rejects a particular major” (Tillberg & Cohoon, 2005).  Instead of allowing girls in high school and college to lean towards what they are good at objectively, they are subjectively pushed towards a major because of social factors instead.  This sort of peer and society pressure would dissuade would-be female computer science and physical science majors.  Thus, adding a layer of barriers for girls who have a genuine interest and talent for the computer and physical sciences to follow-through on a path that would grab an advanced degree and eventually work in these fields. 

Awards programs such as ADVANCE given through the Professional Opportunities for Women in Research and Education (POWRE) are meant to consider balancing career and family the most significant challenge facing women scientists and engineers today. Based on these results, institutions must seek to remove or at least lower these and other barriers to attract and retain women scientists and engineers” (Rosser, 2004).  The POWRE group notes in a questionnaire that “60.3% of the respondents name balancing work with family responsibilities as the significant challenge to women scientist” (Rosser, 2004).  In this case, women scientists tend to put raising a family more important than furthering their careers, following an entrenched sexual stereotype that women should be the nurturing sex versus the hunter and gatherer. 

Studies, such as the POWRE group’s, show why there are a lack of female computer and physical science majors. Teenage and younger girls are drawn and/or pushed towards believing that raising a family is more important than expanding their minds and developing academically towards a career that suits their talent.  Take the internet sensation Sam Gordon, if she were male showing this kind of dominance on the football field, there would be coaching trying to recruit her to train with them and hone her skills in hopes of parlaying that into a college scholarship or even a National Football League (professional American Football) contract worth millions of dollars.  Instead, Sam will likely play for a few more years until her competition’s physiques reach the point where her parents feel it is no longer safe for her to play thus wasting a potential talent.  How many girls testing high in science aptitude are turned away in a similar manner?  Lacking the parental or peer guidance to bring what could be a blossoming career in computer or physical science, many girls also let this talent shown at a younger age go to waste.

References

Rosser, S. V. (2004). Using POWRE to ADVANCE: Institutional Barriers Identified by Women Scientists and Engineers. NWSA Journal , 50-78.

Tillberg, H. K., & Cohoon, J. M. (2005). Attracting Women to the CS Major. Frontiers: A Journal of Women Studies , 126-140.

Death and Rebirth of a Salesman

I wrote this after reading Death of a Saleman for the first time.  Yes, I'm probably the only 37 year old on the planet who has never seen a play or read this masterpiece.

But, it hit the spot. 

Here's what I wrote for the discussion in class:

What scared me after reading Death of a Salesman is I saw a little of Biff and Willy in my own life. Willy for the way he works himself to the bone, feels empty inside while grinding out a living because there is no ultimate happiness. Willy: “I know it when I walk in. They seem to laugh at me” (Klinkowitz & Wallace, 2007, p.2341) . No matter how many awards I have won at work, grades achieved, or even the smiles on my kid’s faces, I always think someone is still laughing at me. Despite irreplaceable friendships it was not always like that, it felt forced like I shoved myself into other people’s lives instead of being invited. The grind that Willy was on is similar to what I face. Getting up daily at 4:30am, home after 5pm, and I am typing this around 10pm because after helping with dinner, folding laundry, and tucking the kids in bed I finally get a chance to read a story that touched me a little bit. Sure, my life is nowhere near the mess of Biff or Willy as I have great group of friends, loving wife who does not blindly follow me, but there’s a emptiness, one that make me wonder why I’m still fighting the insecurities of yesteryears and the prospect of not fulfilling the grand life my parents thought their genius son should have (much like Willy talking up Biff too much).




Biff : “I am not a leader of men, Willy, and neither are you” (Klinkowitz & Wallace, 2007, p.2388). It took a head injury, and several years of depression to realize that I enjoy working and that becoming a manager was not the end game, but instead finding work worth doing would keep me hungry to be alive. Writing has a cathartic effect; I can splash my dark feelings onto a page and cast them away like a minnow on a hook ready to hit the lake. Luckily, I stuck with it long enough so I can earn a little coin for my words on the weekends writing about a game that I enjoy due to its social aspect and now after several years at Target there’s work waiting for me in about eight hours that someone cares about, including me.



I could have taken the easy road like Willy, but instead I found the ability like Biff to take stock in who I am, versus who people want me to be and start anew.

Not back, never left

Also, not a post.

Finals week.

WCOOP reporting.

Three soccer games.

Annual golf outing with father-in-law.

By Sunday.

It's a Red Bull hold the vodka week until Saturday night/Sunday morning when WCOOP Event #39 H.O.R.S.E. finishes up in the wee hours of the morning and it is time to relax (well, until next Wednesday and start over again).

I was told I could sleep when I die, I just hope not to die sleeping.  Work hard, play harder, make sure you have a luggage rack/wheelchair to get you home.

Nighters.

On the Road to Danbury

If you told me four years ago I would still be blogging and sometimes getting paid for it there's a good chance my off-key laugh would have been directed towards your face.  If you told me I would be writing a six-to-eight page research paper for an advanced composition class that I asked to be in, on the path to a bachelor's degree, I'd ask for a hit of whatever you were smoking.

Despite the next four weeks being the most crammed, stressful, busy, in-need-of-a-clone time of the year, this space is needed to let the air out of my belly before everything besides my appendix and bruised liver bursts. This blog feels like a neglected puppy, cowered in a corner from lack of touch versus abuse, just wanting someone warm to cuddle up with and maybe tell him a story while in a lap on the back deck and a late summer's breeze drifts over both of them.

In the mist of this presidental-like schedule there are places to carve out tax cuts for the rich and relief from stress.  "Honey, I'm going into town".  Didn't take much as school provides education and a reason to seek WiFi during our weekends up north.  The drive is under 15 miles and seems too short when the weather cooperates.  A single gas station on the right with a selection of porn better fit for SexWorld in downtown Minneapolis, the family golf cart dealership where the wife has been eyeing half of my scant poker bankroll for a cart with a backseat rigging so the kids could comfortably get shuttled from the cabin/trailer to the pool and the clubhouse for the best dollar ice cream this side of Coldstone. 

Passing the unseen town of Swiss with a sign leaning back like a limbo dancer, probably caused by the straight-line winds that still show their destructive forces in the small town of Danbury that was my destination.  The "Welcome to Wisconsin" is a awesome sight for someone who stupidly ran out of beer and ththankfully the cheeseheads have no blue laws on the books to keep me from enjoying one more day of sun and suds.  As the first turn into town there's "Stubbs Fireworks" which I can't tell if its the proprietor's name or an unfortunate moniker from an M-80 mishap. 

After the bend the new St. Croix Casino (formerly Hole in the Wall casino, which was a dead ringer for what is was, desperate gamblers and slot machines inside of connected trailers) stood tall at the end of road just past the four block stretch of the town. 

Homemade fudge, fresh broasted chicken, an arts-and-craft store that smelled like lavender soap, and a giant Leinenkugel's chair in front of the grocery/liquor store in which some Chardonnay, chicken dry rub, and New Glarus Spotted Cow were on the list.  But, my spot was on the left at a bar named Wild Waters.  Log exterior, comfy interior, sizable enough to move around, not-so-big to miss a person's conversation from opposite ends of the bar.  This was my fourth visit of the summer, and surly owner always corrects my pronunciation of the delicious New Glarus on tap as I take a seat along the wooden tables with change stuck underneath the glass. 

While I am there to figure out the variance between standard and actual cost for an imaginary manufacturing company there's an extra pint or two taken with each visit just to watch the locals filter in.  Some by ATV, by Harley's, and some by foot.  All coming in with smiles on their faces, catching a quick chat with the others while watching the Packers updates on the flat screen hung on the back wall (although this week the Vikes were showing despite knowing I was probably the only Purple and White fan in the joint). 

One or two beers is mostly the cap for these folks, as it is the afternoon on a Saturday or Sunday and not exact prime time to start up rounds of Jagerbombs.  To me there's a relaxing feeling in those pure oak stools, something not found in surburbia-land where corporate heads suck all of the life out of glass before its even poured with flair.  But, it's my time.  And my time does not come over very often with full time school, work, and the upcoming WCOOP at PokerStars next week. 

Yes, I did and do manage to find my way into the St. Croix Casino, much like asking a married man if he finds Minka Kelly attractive, this gambler has some oats to sow that don't involve breaking his marital vows to Deter Jeter's girlfriend.  During these rushed times it necessary to drop your business suit, parenting suit, and even your birthday suit if you're into that sort of thing, and take a few minutes to breathe.  What gives you that air is up to the individual and holding your breath too long will take the life from you.

Watching the future

For the nearly decade of working in an office building, you try to find something different or at least something constant to pique your interest should the job behind the cubical walls not satisfy those few intellectual brain cells not harmed from the flowing river of rum and coke downed while parked at a bonfire the past weekend.

If you're curious enough, people watching is a fascinating way to get through what normally would be a run-of-the-mill corporate hustle workday.  While braving a shopping mall this definitely comes into play as there's so much cheap college perfume/cologne waffing from American Eagle/Abercombie/Gap or the annoying salesguy at Brookstone telling you its not ok to sit in the full vibrating recliner for 30 minutes with a huge grin on your face.  Taking note of that guy with the sullen look on his face as his helicopter wife rattles off 15 things the kids are doing to embarrass her in public as she exposes her XXXL black lace thong from Fredrick's of Hollywood while picking up pennies that someone threw but couldn't quite make it into the fountain that collects money for the local food shelter.

There's that guy at the office you always nod to but don't know his name, where he works, but a silent understanding that a greeting must take place since you both walk down the same hallway at the same time each day.  You with the glass of ice water, him with a toasted bagel and a tub of Philly cream cheese on top.  Then there's oddballs like the security guard you have passed every morning for the past nearly 10 years.  Looking more like your average Euchre rounder at the VFW, in the twilight years he decided to take an easy job and probably earned it after fighting in a war, working the assembly line as a steering wheel adjuster at the local Ford plant for 35 years and now passing time until an Arizona retirement community calls his name.  But it would take several years to notice a pattern of behavior that struck as odd but funny in way.  If a male enters the building under his purview he will completely ignore that person regardless of dress, size, shape, or even if he approaches the guard desk at which time the guard steps back and lets one of his co-workers deal with you.  If a female comes through the door he ALWAYS greets with a smile and remembers most of their names regardless of dress, size, shape.

He may not even realize he does it and it's behaviors like the security guard's that I find add a little spice to the current rushed lifestyle.  Yes, a rent-a-cop's proclivity to boobs is amusing to me.  When I can't be in Vegas due to time and family constraints and have to live vicariously through my many friends swimming through the muck of reporting from the WSOP, it's the little things that keep you going as I just finished the half-way mark of my college journey hoping to finally bed a junior or senior this quarter from the softball team or I could stay with status quo and enjoy not invoking the wrath of my wife while continuing the awesome resurgence of my marriage. 

Even at home I've noticed more things about her just by slowing down to watch instead of letting the time pass in a rush, and how beautiful she becomes as I appreciate her more each day. Whether I turn into that horny security guy in 35 years is beyond me but for now I'll take every chance to hug my daughter despite knowing she just downed a giraffe's neck worth of Fruit by the Foot or my son who can't peel his eyes away from Johnny Test.  And in six quarters, they'll get their dad and husband back full-time.

Stacking Papers

Today the pen came down and wanted to draft something about disabilities and lowered standards while over-cheering for someone like Corky from Life Goes On.

Or myself.

But, then the positive half of me said "shut the fuck up and have a drink you little bitch".

So I did.

Turns out there's good advice found underneath the self-wallowing, as in accept what people say, not what you perceive to be a participation medal. 

Yesterday, I shoved all self-doubt out the window for a period of 1.5 hours in order to chat about a job with three different individuals of separate corporate importance.  The results of the chats are not important, as we're not talking about a life-type changing position such as Craakker hammered down recently.  More of a Q*Bert disc to float me away from the purple snake of immobility and stasis while continuing this revival of all things progressive in my life. (*side note, damn you Doc, I played that game for almost two hours last night really wished I knew what Q*Bert says behind the !@$$#!@ when the snake gets him).  Q*BERT4ROLLZ?!?!?!

An interview something my monkey suit and tie have not seen for seven years, perhaps overdue, and certain during a time this body could use less stress not more.  But, neccessary.  New blood was needed, is needed, and just the attempt yesterday gave a much needed transfusion in my "career".  The word "career" sounds pretentious when referring to the types of jobs held by myself up to this point, perhaps after I stand in front of my family in 2013 with a cap and gown there will be a reason to take down the quotation  marks.

For now, I hoist The Mystical Cup of Collating Papers to Mr. Wil Wheaton, for showing that we're all human no matter what degree of "celebrity" one has attained and some of us can make other's day just by sitting at a desk with a devious smile and neatly alligned 8" by 11" pieces of paper in hand. 

Mr. Wheaton, stay awesome.

To the rest of my readers, I thank you for your continued support and don't make it too long until we drink together again.

Oh, to celebrate my lets-wait-for-a-month-before-hearing-if-I-got-the-job-and-cant-sleep-until-I-know Grand Casino Hinckley was kind enough because I spent too much money there last time to offer free lodging and side cash for my family to head up there tonight since the school district is intent on giving days off for Middle Name Pride Day and Johnny Appleseed Day?  *facepalm*

(Yes, I know it's the beginning of Lent, but my kids do not attend a Catholic/Christian school)

Ginsu > Drizz

Ginsu knives.

The one standing made me its bitch, ow  
They cut through cans and STILL slice a tomato with the sharpness of Louis CK discussing father's day.  Human flesh does not mesh with Ginsu knives however as the human flesh loses the battle.  Badly.  And that person being a parent of two children ages four and seven with four boxes of band-aid cannot find out that does not have Dr. Doofenshmirtz or a Disney princess on the front.  So to save face and the embarrassment of reaching for a sharp blade and forgetting my recent anatomy lesson that while skin does amazing things (especially on Marissa Miller and she got to hang out with Captain Morgan!  So jealous) does not withstand a blade that if you call RIGHT NOW, you can a five-piece blade set AND no shipping and handling for just $19.99!  What they don't add are the band-aid costs as they are needed when a half-sleeping dolt reaches into the soap covered sink and splices his digit.

Despite Agent P battling the evil doctor on the same finger that holds a $10 wedding ring found in the back alley of Nuevo Progresso, Mexico, I bleed for my tens of readers who drop by.  You're welcome :)

Yesterday I did something that was put in the back closet with my Playstation 2 and sex toys nearly seven years ago.  Actually, that's my real closet this one was proverbial and at work and I doubt corporate rules allow anal beads in the workplace. 

I went on two interviews.

Informational only but this employee, this father, this mix of degeneracy and hard work finally decided another piece was missing and trying to obtain a job that matches my new found drive to make something more of myself but it wasn't to seek a bigger paycheck.  In the two interviews one paid more, one had a good vibe.  Vibes are good, money can be replaced by people who don't understand four card poker (quick poker tip to those trying to beat the Rush PLO games...  to beat the monkeys, you need to play like one to some extent, I suggest alcohol and a lot of buy-ins because my graph, while it ticks upward looks like something you'd go dashing for a defibrillator to correct).  The hiring manager looked beyond my obvious rust in this setting and spelled out a job description that fit my plans, and while the pay is about the same, the opportunities to advance and get to where I'd like to go (Australia, Key West, Keeley Hazells's cleavage) are there.  The second position paid more, fit my skills, but had the personality of bed lint. 

The thought of coming in and not talking to my co-workers on a strict 9-5 Monday-Friday schedule much like a cubical prison did not appeal.  I'd go back to being a collector if more cash and high-pressured job contained in three walls sounded sexy.  Cash is sexy, pressure causes acne and 50 page rants about parking spaces being too small at the Mall of America.  Plus like my job on the weekend, and similar to doing recaps I will feel like I'm contributing to something.  A small part, just like at the PokerStarsBlog, but a part that fills a need for readers nonetheless. 

I'll never be the phoenix, the BMOC, the lead actor, but rather I enjoy plugging in my two cents worth of sweat and watching something or someone become successful as a result. And to further my recent revival without hymns or born-again retreats its time to make it happen at work as well.

Oh, a quick personal note. 

Actually this has been all personal but the sentence came out and so it be. 

MR. APA managed to find enough right with my final paper after I researched the perfect APA-formatting template to fit my unneccessarily neatly crafted eight page research on job retention and I aced it.  A third straight Dean's List and 20 free tokens at Chuck E. Cheese IS MINE!



I am not APA approved

Two of my friends are going thru two types of stress right now.  Mrs. Chako has quantity stress while the good doctor Chako tangles with quality stress.  Anyone would gladly take quantity over quality in this case as we're not talking about football or sex.

Being a busy person myself quantity stress is a part of my life now and will be until March of 2013 when I fly down to Florida to don a cap and gown, with probalities of trekking to Key West as a self-release from three years of work-schoo-familyl-work-school-me time-school type schedule and work myself into a rum-induced coma along Duval Street.

Unforunately, one of my professors continues to press quantity stress into quality stress with needling that irks my personality.  I am a firm believer in quality work, that if the product's quality outweighs a structured outline then it should be graded as such.  Not Mr. APA-jackhole.  Oh, the citations are super-neato spiffy now thanks to Lightning and his wife's suggestion (the citation creator on Microsoft Word worked like a charm THANKS!).

The assignment "Describe a personal situation in which YOU had to overcome cultural differences in communication".  Not a problem since my company merged some of its duties overseas and I have daily emails/calls/IMs from the crew across the Atlantic.  This interview-styled paper would be a snap.  Of course when I receive such papers back there's no mention of the quality, only the quantity has it has been for this quarter.

"You cannot use first person verse" was the only comment.

This is poo.

Thankfully Otis gave me a sample of writing from personal experience without using first person verse which I will be attempting to use for future assignments, but outside of Bobby Bracelet's third person mastery I was a bit stumped as to how to go about this.  It's a PERSONAL experience, not writing from someone else's experience and breaking down their prose.  Also, not one mention of the content.  It's almost as if the professor skims the paper (entirely possible) for APA-related errors and moves on.

I don't half-ass assignments, I write them as if someone is paying me to do so but if this is how the education system works (for this guy at least) and this professor is forcing me to play his game, so be it.  You will receive what you ask for:  robotic, monotone scribble BUT in perfect APA formatting.  Sir.

This is killing half the reason I returned to school. Yes, pretty paper with official seals and Dean of Whatsamatta U's signature on it is the end-game, but feeling good about the work produced, writing for a purpose much like I do on the weekends, is what I really wanted.  I gave up on floating thru the remainder of my breaths four years ago after hitting rock bottom for myself, my kids, and most of all my wife.  Sure days filled with a bland 9 to 5 job, Call of Duty, porn, alcohol, bars, and take out pints orange chicken with cream cheese wontons sounds great, but I wanted more and my friends and family deserve more.

And despite the professor's will to blacken my return to school, I'll play his game for now and prevent the quantity stress from becoming quality stress. 

Jack Frost hiding behind the pine tree

Growing up it was easy to justify calling October the beginning of winter.  There was the infamous Halloween Blizzard in which a 17 year old me was working at the store which will probably become his only place of employment until its time to wear trifocials and oversized suspenders while flagging down the sympathic high school waitress at a $2/$4 table in Arizona.  Shoveling snow for two hours AFTER my shift of stocking toilet paper and 12-packs of Coke products for the weekend dollar days sale, just to get my multi-colored 85' Nova hatchback on Bass Lake Road and home to two worried parents since the wonders of cell phones were left for those who earned slightly more than my $3.25 an hour.  The beginning of the month however is best that this barren Nordic land can offer.  A breeze with a slight nip tickles the senses just enough as the sun does its job by keeping you warm like a blanket during a bonfire.  A last call for frolfing and taking the garbage out barefoot at anytime of the day.

October used to be a resting time, time to recoop from the summer's go-go-go schedule and September's month of work-work-work.  But, now since some "friends" woke the sleeping academic bear inside of me, I am in my third quarter of studies which include an Introduction to Lit course.  My previous exposure to such lofty writing was back in high school with an English teacher I admired but unfortunately his demands at the time and my already stacked class load which included HP Calculus and Physics along with the rigors of two-a-day baseball practice and part-time job, I took the easy way out and slid over to a different English course whose final consisted of watching Blade Runner as Harrison Ford battled the replicants.

This time there is no such option and nor would I take it, while I don't take my "writing" seriously, I do appreciate the chance to pick up a few pointers from those long dead and maybe mesh their works into my posting here for extra buttery flavor.  And as the leaves fall on a daily basis and 15,347 trips to the county compost site become a weekly occurrance, its one more step in the direction of obtaining that degree.  The steps are getting steeper at this point which more advanced Accounting terminology being introduced and again the Lit course with its 900+ page tome of Shakesphere, Keats, and Plath.  All this as the breaths are starting to show during my son's soccer games and hot chocolate on the sidelines becomes more of a hand warmer than a belly one.

We'll see if the college dream implodes now that the subjects are brand spankin new and if the 35 year old freshman is up to the challenge of juggling school with family, work, and play.  My only hope is to come out of this with a little more knowledge, little more tolerance, and a little more self-awareness in finding out just who am I besides some goofball that enjoys an adult beverage or seven at a card game.

Sunday Notes

Finding the right mix of crazy busy, and remembering to relax enough with the new work on Sunday-School-Work during the week-Kids and finding some time to noodle on here.

Oh and poker.  That unfortunately comes under the if it crap weather outside, kids are sleeping, homework is done, and wife has a headache quadfecta before I'm able to hit the tables (which I'm doing right now since The Masters are on and Mickelson is playing out of his mind, while seemed to have a case of sex withdrawl while yipping a couple of short putts).  All while Vanessa Selbst is current taking apart the NAPT Mohegan Sun final table which is on PokerStars.TV.

Busy is good, just need to keep my eye on that prize at the end of all this which is total enlightenment of course.  Actually, the ride is providing the fun and the reward for going back.  Doing something other than spinning my wheels in place (while typing this sentence Selbst officially won the NAPT event) has made all the hard work worth while.  The hardest is yet to come with SCOOP on the horizon about the same time that I'll be wrapping up my first quarter of school work.

Which reminds me to get out of here and get back the ledgers and balance sheets.

Thing Flips

Instead of the daily posting that I'd like to be mumbling out its been "let's see what I can type in the 15-30 minutes of free time".

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The extended "vacation" at the trailer/cabin for Labor Day was parts relaxing and parts non-stop partying. Whether it was taking the kids to the overflowing pool ladened with illegal teens wearing something that constituted as a bikini. Yes, I looked and yes I have aisle seat to hell thank you very much. The sheer amount of tramp stamps also viewed has me looking into a trailer trash safely vault for my prized daughter as I'll be the one shaking my head in 10 years (please make it a loooooooooong 10 years) as I'll get the speech about how Bobbi-with-an-i got the ancient Japanese word for rice cake tattoo'd across her ass cheeks yesterday and she wants one too.

There are also a dose of cliches waddling around like the 350 lbs. woman (I think) donning a living room drape with the words "I don't think you're getting lucky tonight". After seeing that, I didn't feel at all lucky.

But, freaks aside there's no place in the summer I'd rather be that doesn't contain overflowing Pai Gow Poker tables and LA douchebags looking to score at Sapphire with that one stripper who might come back to their hotel room after a couple grand in lap dances and $35 Captain and Cokes. The economical play would have been to hit up the hooker bar at the casino and get laid minus the glitter of course.

The quarter carnvial with mini-donuts, mini games, mini rides and mini golf suited both the kids and parents senses and wallets with promises of easily breakable light-up toys in exchange for a dash of skill. The park's yearly end-of-the-season activity closes the books on weekend drinking and flailing asleep on undersized beds for 6'4" semi-pro pinball players.

Get your game going if you think you can hang at Addam's Family pinball this December WPBT-go'ers. Tour the mansion and sparkly initials added? Yes sir. Annoyed looked from five people waiting to play? Go check out that Pole Position game in the corner or put a wager on the machine sir.

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Today marks the boy's journey into big boy school as his first day of first grade and all-day school attendance starts after walking into the bus on the corner of 69th and Hemlock. My hopes are as always that he keeps his spirits high and continues to be friendly to anyone within an earshot and doesn't fail where I did at that age.

Elementary school is something I've always looked back at with contempt as the skinny bookworm with a hearing disablity who tried to ingrain himself into some group of people only to find the library, home, and baseball diamonds after school as a place of solace. He has two good ears (as checked throughly yearly) but the acquired big blue eyes and smile from his father which hopefully will get a few smiles in return along with youthful friendship that I lacked growing up.

Good luck Wyatt, may you keep your smile and share it so others can enjoy it as much as your parents do.

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A quick Fantasy Football Draft question for those who still gather up their friends for a live draft:

Is every year a cluster-fuck of "OMG THAT WASN'T IN THE RULES?!?!" and other massive disagreements that take two hours longer then it should have to solve.

As always the food and drink provided by my friend BJ soothed the volleying of draft order, keepers, and points arguments but starting at five and ending somewhere around 10:30 shouldn't happen for a league of close friends that throw in $25.