Although I sometimes characterize Hooterville as a soulless hellhole, that only a crazy person would live in, there are many spots in the city that are not Wonder Bread blah. This is the 4th Avenue underpass, which opened a week or so ago. It connects North 4th Avenue with downtown. The underpass was built to accommodate cars, bikes, pedestrians and the Old Pueblo Trolley. The City of Hooterville spent about twice what they planned for the underpass, but all the city big shots gathered to congratulate themselves on the project anyhow. The operative phrase they chose for the project was "Connecting the University of Arizona and Downtown." The fact that the old 4th Avenue underpass, which was demolished as part of the project, had been connecting the two areas since the 1920's was conveniently overlooked. Fourth Avenue is a business district of small restaurants, coffee shops, bars, bookstores and shops specializing in handcrafted products. Or as your average Hootervillian would describe it, "A goddamn bunch of hippies, panhandlers and drug addicts." This building in the middle of the Fourth Avenue district, has generally housed thrift stores of one sort or another over the years. It was prominently featured in the movie Tin Cup. This interesting stencil is on the front of a bar. Sort of a mermaid meets the Aztecs. I don't know if you would call this a gargoyle or not, but it guards the door to a shop. The owners of a bar called The Hut hauled this Tiki fellow across town from his previous at a miniature golf course which closed up. He is now the entrance to the bar on North 4th. I have more pictures of Fourth Avenue which I will post tomorrow in part II. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Just trying to be one of the guys. Miss Riley has to have a minor surgical procedure on Tuesday morning. General anesthesia, so while it's routine, it's a bit unnerving, too. Ever hear this quote? "Never pick a fight with a man who buys his ink by the barrel." I've been reminded of it because Sen. Harry Reid D-NV and Majority Leader of the Senate, has started a war he cannot possibly win with the largest newspaper in his state, the Las Vegas Review-Journal. Reid is increasingly unpopular in his state and he blames the paper for his predicament. The Review-Journal's editorial board is not fond of Harry as a senator. Polls show Reid losing 2010 reelection bid two-to-one to about any candidate who is alive and shows up. But this rant is not about Harry Reid. It is about how many people thinks history only extends as far back as they can remember. Google the quote, "Never pick a fight with a man who buys his ink by the barrel", and you will find a lot of citations attributing it to Bill Clinton. And not just citations from ordinary cranks like me, but seemingly reputable websites, too. Bill Clinton? What's next, Al Gore wrote the Ten Commandment? Wait, Al may actually be spreading that one around. People attribute the quote to Franklin, to Twain and later historical figures. Whatever its origin, since I first heard it as a boy, I'm fairly sure it wasn't Clinton's. This is my all-time favorite story from the files of, History Began With Me. I was an older college student, sitting in a Humanities class one Saturday morning when the professor brought up the idea of landmark moments in our lives. Those moments that we will always remember for where we were when they occurred. He used the John Kennedy assassination as an example of one of those moments. I was in the 7th grade lunch line at Mary Naylor Junior High, for the record. During the professor's lecture, an 18ish young woman in front of me turned and asked me, "Kennedy, he was the President or something, right?" Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

I ran into a conspiracy nut in the store this morning. Not totally unusual, given our clientele, but odd considering that he wanted to interrogate me. This guy comes in from time to time and is a bit on the creepy side anyway. He asked if working in the store had made me crazy yet? Then he went on a long-winded rant about how no one can last more than a couple of years in our store, before they quit in frustration. The source of the frustration was never articulated. He knows this because he has been a customer for eight years, the told me. He asked how long I've worked there and I told him a couple of years. In fact, I added that Bill has been there for 16 years and John for 6. Among the actually Helpful Hardware types, I'm the junior member. "That", he said, "is very unusual." He wanted to know what I liked about the job. I mentioned a lack of pressure and that 90% of customers are pleasant and grateful for the help I provide. Plus, it keeps me in walking around money (as long as I don't do too much walking around). "90% pleasant", he wondered? "Really? I doubt that." He made the mistake of extrapolating from his personal sample size of one. He added that he is "semi-retired", which I took as code for can't hold a job. He said he is considering applying at our store. I think the store on the planet Zork might be a better fit. I believe this says it all. Something else. I am a Netflix subscriber and I choose many of my movies based upon the ratings of other subscribers. I have noticed that any movie involving the Holocaust gets a very high rating on Netflix. Presumably, excluding the latest stink bomb from Tom Cruise. Maybe I'm just a shallow person, but I cannot bring myself to watch movies about six million of my fellow human beings being exterminated. Even if it about those who tried to save them. Life will hand-deliver enough pain and suffering to my door with me seeking it out. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Some Guy Named Bob and I played golf alone this morning. The Seafood King had a family emergency necessitating a trip out of town. From the files of "when it rains, it pours", one of the Seafood King's fish joints caught on fire yesterday. The damage was mostly contained, but the firefighters hatcheted a bunch of holes in the building to get to the fire. This location is going to be closed for about a month. That sucks for the employees who are now out of work. That is how it is in retail. No one covers your wages if there is no work. Place burns down and you're screwed. Of course, so is the owner. Working retail has its pros and cons. On one hand the wages suck. If you have to rely on retail to support yourself, you are not usually living the high life. Even if you are the owner of a retail place, the money generally sucks. More owners than not, simply have a bad-paying job that never gives them any rest. I've only worked in retail at three places in my life. The first two real jobs I had were retail. One was as a fry cook in a restaurant and the other was clerking in a grocery store. I learned early on that retail attracts bullies. A lot of people managing retail operations got the job because they were just plain mean and not real bright. They mistake their nastiness for competence. I'm lucky to work at the hardware store. It is a different attitude for the most part. The manager treats us with respect. When she has to come down hard on someone, it is usually because something has come to the attention of the owners and they are forcing her hand. I have do a fundamental disagreement with what the scope of my job at the hardware store is. I think my job is to be helpful to the customers and to stock and keep my areas neat and orderly. The management agrees with those things, but puts a heavy emphasis on selling additional items. If they want me to sell, they should put me on commission. My crappy hourly wage is insufficient to make me into a true believer. One of my coworkers inadvertently tested the limits of the selling expectation and found himself face-to-face with the owner for a come to Jesus meeting. They made him sign a form acknowledging that another misstep would result in his dismissal. My coworker needs the job so he signed. I would tell them to shove it. And that is the real key to thriving in retail or any job for that matter. I'm lucky to be in a happy-happy employment situation. I'm happy if they fire me and I'm happy if they don't. That's a pro of working a crappy retail job. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

I like to say that there are two kinds of people in the world when it comes to {fill in the blank}. Shopping for clothes is no exception. Some people, mostly women, shop frequently. They pick carefully, trying on things and reflecting on how a new item will coordinate with their existing wardrobe. They use words like "fun" and "cute". These shoppers often come home from the store with a single item of clothing. We can call this group The Gatherers. The second half of my two-group theory, are those people who wear their clothes until strangers begin to give them change on the street. Then, they find a clothing retailer near by and scoop up a giant armful of stuff without regard to color or style coordination or even actual sizing. They use words like "blue" . We can call this second group, The Hunters and I am their leader. Operating on the theory that if one pair of pants fits, they all should fit, I had to make an additional trip to the store to exchange some stuff. Then, because I didn't exactly read the label on something, I had to exchange one of the exchanges. It is no wonder that I dress like a vagrant. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Yesterday was an exciting day at the hardware store. First of all it was every other Friday, as in "I get paid every other Friday." Every other Friday is the day on which I ask my self how people actually live on the money the hardware store or any retail establishment pays? I sometimes wonder if taking a low-paying job simply because I have the luxury of being able to do so, makes me complicit in their not paying a living wage? The real crime is our willingness to buy cheap crap from China in exchange for low prices. At least it seems that way to me. Another exciting thing that happened yesterday is that one of the guys in the store decided it was a good idea to chase down a shoplifter and get some stolen merchandise back. Lucky, no one was injured or worse in the endeavor. This got me to thinking about how people think about right and wrong. For some people, the idea that someone would violate their sense of right and wrong is shocking. So much so, that they would bolt from a store and chase down a thief to retrieve the boss's stuff. I'm of the "shit happens" school of criminal apprehension. I'm not chasing anyone to get my boss's stuff back. Just saying. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

“We cannot learn real patience and tolerance from a guru or a friend. They can be practiced only when we come in contact with someone who creates unpleasant experiences. According to Shantideva, enemies are really good for us as we can learn a lot from them and build our inner strength." The Dalai Lama I don't think I have any real enemies, but I have people who don't like me, I'm sure. As I always tried to teach the Sneed children, whether or not someone likes you is not really your concern. Be nice to people and if they don't reciprocate, don't lose a bunch of sleep over it. The world is full of other people. I do wish that I had the power to tell our more nasty customers to "get out and stay out" of the store. I don't think that their money entitles them to be rude. But I don't own the store so I just refuse to wait on the known a-holes. Wednesday, our regular customer, the crazy Marine for Life, got right up in my face and demanded to know what he had to do to get some keys made? I was busy with someone else and told him that he had to wait his turn because I was busy. He went to get the manager, who pacified the old nut. In his honor I thought this clip from A Few Good Men was in order. Nicholson is always spell-binding. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Young Mr. Noah started kindergarten yesterday. When I spoke with him yesterday afternoon, he was very excited about his first day. This morning his uncle Tim took him to school because Daughter Sneed is teaching on Tuesdays and Thursdays at a local college. Noah was decidedly unenthusiastic about going to school for a second day, apparently believing that one day of education should be enough for anyone. His mom picked him up early at school for his doctor's appointment and she reported that he didn't want to leave, so that's a good sign. I'm reading a book called, In Praise of Doubt. It is about how modern mass communication and living in a plural society makes us question the "certainties" that we thought were true. And how that is a good thing. Every one of us who has every been a bigot or has been close to a bigot knows that, "All {fill in the group} are {fill in the negative attribute}. That is except the people from that group that we know. They are the exception to our stereotype. From a religious perspective, it is easy to see why churches use the themes like the only "true church" or the "only true God" to reinforce their particular brand of belief. And why they decry the ills of modern society and the threat it represents. It is a very thought-provoking book. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

There comes a time in every rightly constructed boy's life that he has a raging desire to go somewhere and dig for hidden treasure.--Mark Twain This weekend was all about Mr. Aiden Sneed, who turned 6. there was not one, but two parties to commemorate the event. Last night both sets of grandparents, along with one aunt and one uncle joined Aiden, Miss Riley and their parents at their house for dinner and cake. Plus presents, of course. It was dubbed, The Family Party. Noah and Riley hold a stare down. She is clearly unimpressed. Aiden stepped in to show her who's boss. Aiden's parents, and by parents I mean his mom, planned the greatest ever kid birthday party today. Aiden is in gymnastics and the gym also hosts birthday parties. They provide staff members to guide the kids in using some of the equipment. What could be more fun for 12 six-year-olds than running, jumping and bouncing on a lot of great stuff? My two favorite guys had loads of fun on the trampoline. They even had a jumping castle in the shape of a dragon. Who could resist that? Not these two yahoos. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Each and every day, the lovely Mrs. Sneed and I receive one and some days multiple emails from the casino folks in Las Vegas offering us ultra-cheap or even free hotel rooms, if we will just show up. That's all the qualifications needed, alive and show up. In case you haven't heard, Las Vegas is in the midst of a recession of Biblical proportion. Gaming revenues are down for about the 16th or 17th consecutive month. Total airline passengers arriving in Las Vegas is down 12% for the year over 2008. And 2008 was no blockbuster, so they are down from a bad year. One of the key measurements for the Las Vegas big shots is the percent of hotel rooms that are occupied on a given day. If occupancy falls below 90% the hotel operators get the shakes...bad. These days occupancy is 82% or so and not getting better. Considering the bazillion new hotel rooms under construction, things don't look to get better soon. As nearly as I can figure, a drop from 90% occupancy to 82% translates to something like 12,000 more empty hotel rooms. You think this would be alarming since the major players in the Las Vegas hotel industry are hocked up to their collective arses. So, when Mrs. Sneed said to me yesterday that we ought to go to Las Vegas over Labor Day weekend, I figured taking advantage of one of the dozens of cheap or free offers residing in my deleted email file, would be a snap. I called the MGM Grand and was told that the Labor Day weekend was "blacked out" for any cheapo deals. The same at the Mirage and NY NY. The person at New York, New York told me that their Saturday night rate is $199. The chances of yours truly paying $199 for a hotel in Las Vegas is zero. Especially New York, New York, which is pretty much a magnet for for drunken 20-somethings. The nice person at the Mirage, told me that the Labor Day weekend was blocked out for obvious reasons. "Which are?", I wondered. "Because of the three-day weekend, of course." She did tell me that their Saturday night rate is $259. I wished her good luck, but because she is just an employee and not setting the rates, she didn't seem to be worried. The Monte Carlo, not one of our favorites, did meet us half way. We have to pay $129 for Saturday, but Sunday is free and we get some free stuff. Well, as free as stuff gets in Las Vegas. I don't understand why people who are desperate to fill hotels are intent on sticking it to the schmucks who show up on a three-day weekend. But I'm just a humble hardware guy. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

He that hath wife and children hath given hostages to fortune...Francis Bacon Sometimes I portray the Sneeds in Waltonesque fashion. There is a lot more of the Bundys in us than I let on. A whole lot more. Just saying. Noah, who starts school next Monday, am I played golf with the usual suspects today. Our weather was uncharacteristically cool and overcast. I fully intended to stay home today and fix the broken toilet in the master bath. When I told the Seafood King that I had to stay home today, he offered to send his maintenance man over to give me a hand after golf, free of charge. How do you turn down a free toilet repair? Besides, the Seafood King owes me because I am always doing him favors. The problem with our broken toilet is that the bolts that hold the toilet to the floor broke and it came loose. As we said in the 60's, that's a bad scene. Maybe you wonder how a toilet is held to the floor? No? Too bad, I'm telling you anyway. There is a flange, a flat ring of steel, that is affixed to your floor, over the sewer pipe under the toilet. Two bolts attached to the flange and stick straight up. The toilet is bolted to the floor using these two bolts. If you look at a toilet you will see two plastic caps, one on either side of the toilet bowl. These cover those bolts. This is the new flange once it is in place. There is a wax seal between the floor flange and the bottom of the toilet to keep everything going down the drain pipe under the toilet and not running out from under it. Over the years, the wax seal leaks a bit and the flange can get rusty and fail. This is what I suspected was our problem. When I came home from golf today, I turned off the water and removed the toilet from its failed mooring. I discovered that the flange was totally rusted away. I got everything I thought I could possible need from our store, so I had a repair flange on hand, just in case. Luckily, about that same time the Seafood King's guy showed up and he was able to replace the rusted out flange with the new one. He had to drill about 6 holes in the concrete floor bolt it down. Then it was just a matter of securing the toilet back in place. I also used this opportunity to replace the working parts in the tank, so we are good for another 100,000...er, miles. Aren't you glad you stayed to the end? Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Talk about your bad days. A local Hootervillian woman had a doozie recently. The woman in question paid a visit to her psychic, to get a preview of coming attractions, as they applied to her. Or at least I think that's why one consults a psychic. The psychic gave this lady a bag of "good luck crystals" to carry with her at all times. After all, who can't use a bag of good luck now and again? Hell, I'll take a grocery-sized bag myself. A few days later our gal was driving home from work, late at night, when a county deputy saw her drive into a turn lane, as though she was going to make a right turn. But then, in a move that could only be thought up by a master criminal, she turned left and back into traffic. That's right, she DIDN'T turn right. How do you explain that? Well, if you are a highly trained police officer, you immediately recognize the obvious; a drunken driver. Fair enough. The layman might think she merely changed her mind, but that's why I'm typing this, sitting in my living room in my boxers, and not patrolling the streets. The officer pulled the suspect over, asked the usual questions and decided that a field sobriety test was in order. After the whole, walk this line, count to ten, touch your nose deal, the deputy concluded she wasn't drunk. Rather than send her on her way, the determined lawman pressed on. He asked if she was on drugs? No. Is it okay to search your car and purse? Sure. The search of the car turned up her bag of lucky crystals. Now ask yourself, what self-respecting officer of the law is going is going to fall for the old bag of good luck story when he knows full well that it is a plain old bag of meth? Somewhere around this point in the story, the officer placed the suspect in handcuffs and put her in his partol car. By all accounts she become hysterical, sobbing and wailing and trying to figure out how to kill the psychic. I made up that last part, but that's what I would want to do. Out comes the drug testing kit and drumroll please, the lucky charms test negative for meth or any other street drug. End of story, right? Not in Hooterville. You simply don't embarrass a police officer like this. Innocence is no excuse for breaking the law. It may not even be an excuse not to break the law. The police officer decided that if the bag of good fortune was not illegal drugs, then she must be a drug dealer who is using fake drugs to fool someone. He arrested her and charged her with having an imitation controlled substance and then he hauled her off to jail. The authorities did call the psychic and she confirmed that she had given the suspect a bag of quartz crystals for good luck. The poor woman had her first day in court and rather than laughing the police and prosecution out of the courtroom, the judge set another hearing in a month, pending the results of an in-depth analysis of the lucky rocks by the crack staff at the state lab. Longtime readers will recall that our mentally ill son was arrested for drunken driving by mistake. I can tell you that it takes months and months for the police and prosecution to swallow their pride and admit it when they are mistaken. She's in for a long ordeal. Not to demean the police and the hard work most of them do, but there is a grain of truth in every parody. Here's one for you. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Some things never change. A boy's main toy is still his imagination. Camping in the kitchen. Still cute after all these months. Merle Wayne Sneed tries to be a caring person. Some would argue against that contention, but... What got me to thinking about this is panhandlers. You might think that even the homeless would have the good sense to abandon Hooterville in the dead of summer, but many don't. I understand that most of the chronic homeless are mentally ill or have substance abuse problems or both. I often give them money, even though the smart folks say not to. I feel for these people, I really do. That said, I am sick to death of having to dodge homeless guys to get from my car to a store. This morning when I went to the bagel place there was a homeless guy out front, like some unkempt toll taker. When ever a car pulled into the lot, he would dash to it, before the driver could even get out. One of my customers, an 86-year-old named Ed, says he keeps tracts in his pocket and preaches Jesus to guys who ask him for money. That seems harsh. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

I want to thank the person that called my cell phone at 3:52 this morning and woke me up. How I heard it ringing in the kitchen is a mystery to me, but I did. Usually, I can't hear for crap. I have old guy hearing loss. I have real trouble with conversations, I can't make out the spoken word very well, especially when there is other noise. Some might say I don't pay attention, but some would be wrong. My swell HMO won't pay for hearing aids so I'm counting on Obama to come through. Until then I'm suck with, "What was that?" On Saturday I have to be at the store by 6:45am, so I get up at the ungodly hour of 5:30 anyway, but this intrusion robbed me of another hour and a half, since I couldn't fall back asleep. Let me tell you about the Larry/Katie, who left the door unlocked situation. Katie called the manager to let her know that Larry left the door unlocked. I was offended by that on behalf of Larry, I told myself. True be known, it offended me more because I perceive Katie as a sort of sad sack who desperately wants to please the boss. I'm the first to grant you that my perceptions are not always accurate, nor fair. The always reasonable Steve commented that he wouldn't want to be the one who didn't tell the boss, should the facts come out. Perhaps that was her real motive in calling the boss. Or maybe she is really just a self-serving rat. Larry survived the incident unscathed, so all's well that ends well, I suppose. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

In case anyone is keeping track, it was 109 here in Hooterville yesterday. Luckily, I was inside most of the day. Here's a question for you. Suppose that you work in a place where a coworker, Larry, is charged with locking up at night, when the business closes. Another coworker, Katie, arrives early in the morning and unlocks the doors. The manager comes to work after the business is open and leaves before it closes, so she never opens or closes. One morning Katie comes in and finds that Larry forgot to lock the door the past evening when he left. She checks the business over and finds nothing out of order. No harm, no foul, as they say. What does Katie do? A) Nothing. It turned out okay. B) Tell Larry what happened so he can take better care in the future. C) Call the manager and tell her what happened, "just in case". D) B and C. I'm none of these people, but I know what happened. What do you think? Lastly, I've posted before that I love the old-time cowboy music and poetry. I was looking at some things today and I found Baxter Black's tribute to his old dog. I was reminded of my friend Reya and her dog Jake. For Reya and Jake. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

This is the time of the year when I am reminded that living through the summer in the desert is hell. May and June usually fool me. The highs in the 90s lull me into thinking that this year won't be so bad after all. The mornings remain cool, as do the evenings. The plants look healthy and vibrant and the electric bill seems lower than I expect it to be. Then we get to late July and August. The highs reach beyond 105 and it becomes a steady day after day pounding of relentless heat. Sucks. The AARP recently ranked Hooterville as the number one place for retirees to live a simple life. I have just one one word to describe that ranking. BOGUS! I met a couple yesterday who had just retired here from Westchester County, NY. I asked them why Hooterville? They told me that they had retired and it was just too expensive to live in NY on their pensions. It is cheaper to live in Hooterville, no question, but it isn't an either or to me. Lots of places are cheaper than NY but as low-cost as Hooterville. Plus, they aren't located on the outskirts of Hell. Then again, when much of the country is freezing, Hooterville is a nice place to be in February. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

One thing I thought I had discovered about the new car is that there is no way to play my iPod through the car's radio. I read the owner's manual and discovered that the more souped up models come with a set up in the center console that allows one to use the car radio to control an iPod. My mid-line car does not come with that feature. Maybe you can spot the auxiliary jack, I couldn't. Bright and early this morning Noah and I headed out to a local car audio shop to find out if there was some gizmo that could be connected to the radio that would allow an iPod to be plugged in. The fellow at the audio place patiently explained to me that the car's radio/CD player is integrated into the dash and cannot be replaced. He asked me to show him the car. When we did, he reached under the power source (formerly, the cigarette lighter), flipped up a tab and said, "Your only choice is to use this". The "this" was a jack that lets me plug in the iPod. It's all in knowing where to look. If you don't live in a small or medium sized city you may not have experienced this phenomenon. I like to call it the "Oh, God please let it happen to us, too", and it is a longing of small market media people. For instance, if a plane crashes in New York, local news types in smaller cities all over the country run that story with an accompanying sidebar story that asks, "Could this happen here?" Usually the words are uttered by some field reporter standing in front of the airport. After all, if there are going to be tragedies anyway, why should we be left out? You may have heard that there was a fairly big earthquake in Mexico this morning. It was about 330 miles SE of Tijuana. Hooterville is 450 miles east of Tijuana so, using the Pythagorean theorem, we can conclude that Hooterville is about 550 miles from the epicenter. Several local citizens were queried about how the "Big One" affected them. Comments ranged from, things swaying, to one guy who said his coworkers felt something to a woman who said her dogs had been acting "weird" all day. As for me, I'm oblivious. As always. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

There were a couple of reminders of bosses of the past for me this weekend. First, an old boss from Tedious Systems came into the store. I worked under this guy from 1985-1992 and let me tell you, it was not that thrilling. Blowhard is too kind a description. Blowhard had delusions of grandeur. Once when I was on vacation in Colorado, he called the police station in Glenwood Springs and had them track me down so that I could be on a conference call. It was his monthly staff meeting and he thought I should attend even if by phone. But that is not his most egregious display of buffoonery. He called another guy at his hotel in Rio de Janeiro for the same reason. He was in town to have lunch with an old friend who unfortunately is a regular in the store. During their lunch, one thing led to another and they decided to pop in for old times sake. I hate the pop in. The first words out of Blowhard's mouth were, "You have sure put on weight." He has always been a weight bigot. I thought of asking if he was still a drunk, but of course I didn't. In about 1993 Blowhard got fired for mistaking his boss's explicit instruction for a suggestion. It was a happy day for many, me included. I gave Blowhard the bum's rush, telling him that a lowly hardware man couldn't stand around chatting. Hopefully, I'll never see him again. I read about the other former boss in the newspaper. Nothing is better than reading bad news about a former boss in the paper. During my brief and undistinguished public teaching career, I spent one year in a middle school, herding miscreants. During that year, my principal was a very unfriendly woman, who mistook her principalship for the monarchy. She simply didn't think that she had to interact with the likes of me. During my year there, even though my room was the first from her office, she never engaged me in conversation. Her policy was that the little folks could communicate with her through her staff of assistant principals. Hooterville Unified Schools has a new superintendent. According to her, she is loaded with good ideas for turning around the bastion of failure that HUSD has become. The jury is still out on how she's doing. Anyway, the new superintendent had this idea to survey the school staffs in the district, to see how they thought their principals were doing. She got a big old vote of no confidence from her teachers. She resigned to "pursue other opportunities". Bureaucrat speak for fired. Good riddance. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

You may have heard I was buying a new car. Well, I did and here it is. Keith the Car Guy called me at work about ten til six and told me that he had the car, so I zoomed over and in 15 minutes, I was the proud owner. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky