Saturday, January 28, 2006
Monday, January 16, 2006
That's How I Roll. . . .
Once a year, less frequently than a professional teeth cleaning (well, in theory, but I am overdue on getting the choppers shined), I take to the lanes to bowl with the runners on the Universal Sole racing team. I am no bowler and, fortunately, neither is anyone else I rolled with on Saturday night.
Our evening of strikes and spares occurred on a night few acknowledged for its special place in history. The scene was the Lincoln Square Lanes, a bowling alley hidden Anne Frank-like above a hardware store, adjacent to a McDonald's in a part of Chicago that is now home to fancy houses and new condos. LSL hasn't let gentrification change it.
To reach the lanes, one must climb a too steep flight of stairs with mashed down carpet that reveals both the many visitors to this hidden gem and the need for either a significant carpet cleaning with a cleaner that is yet to be invented or, what the heck, rip it out and put in some new carpet.
At the top of the stairs was a homemade sign that marked the history making day: "On Monday January 16, you will no longer be able to smoke here because of the new law," or words to that effect. Unsaid, but implied, was fuck Chicago for taking away our good, beer swilling, cigarette smoking bowlers. That sentiment was very real and obvious to me as I witnesses plenty of non-bowling patrons, puffing away, pulling on a cold beer and watching Denver end New England's playoff hopes.
We had arrived. Before the bowling starts, two important events must always occur, getting shoes and picking a ball.
Bowling shoe rental is always a funny thing. Who didn't have a friend or two in college who brazenly wore stolen bowling alley shoes? If that was you, well, nice job. It always strikes me as odd that I will wear a pair of shoes many other people have worn, but, of course, they have been professionally cleaned by the guy with the cigarette hanging from his lip (but not after Monday January 16) wielding an imposing can of some sort of CFC laden cleaning spray. Funny, you never see that spray in hospitals, but then again, I guess few infections have been reported from bowling shoes. If I am wrong on that, oh dear.
Finding a ball can be maddening. I am the bad combination of weak arms (give me a light ball) and fat fingers (I need big holes) that rarely mates in a lane-provided ball. Ultimately, I select a ball I can barely lift and then use balls others have picked out, some too heavy, some with holes far too small. If I was good at this, I would own a ball, but I am not, and, frankly, if you own your own ball people will talk.
Time to bowl.
We rolled three games, well, really 2 games plus eight frames of game 3 and then we ran out of time. Game 1 for the irregular bowler is always like getting reacquainted with an old friend. Things look familiar, don't feel familiar and most likely, you don't quite do what you think you want to do. In the first game, three of rolled and didn't manage to knock 300 pins down. We all got a chance to find our way into the gutter though.
Games 2 and 3 were much better. We all got the random strike and spare and that brings everyone to their feet for high fives and much cheering. Do real bowlers react this way?
I had a couple ice cold and, oh so delicious Miller High Life beers. There sure are an unnecessary bunch of fancy beers out there. High Life never fails to please me. Mmmm, mmm that is a good beer. As an infrequent drinker, I think I started to feel the second beer and I got a bit loud. In the late frames of Game 2, I found myself banging on the scorer's table everytime someone marked a frame. Is there anything that feels better than a heart felt "woo hoo!!"? For my money, well, ok, there is, but it sure feels good.
There's more, and I might write more later, but here's what I think - I need to bowl more often, and probably, so do you.
Our evening of strikes and spares occurred on a night few acknowledged for its special place in history. The scene was the Lincoln Square Lanes, a bowling alley hidden Anne Frank-like above a hardware store, adjacent to a McDonald's in a part of Chicago that is now home to fancy houses and new condos. LSL hasn't let gentrification change it.
To reach the lanes, one must climb a too steep flight of stairs with mashed down carpet that reveals both the many visitors to this hidden gem and the need for either a significant carpet cleaning with a cleaner that is yet to be invented or, what the heck, rip it out and put in some new carpet.
At the top of the stairs was a homemade sign that marked the history making day: "On Monday January 16, you will no longer be able to smoke here because of the new law," or words to that effect. Unsaid, but implied, was fuck Chicago for taking away our good, beer swilling, cigarette smoking bowlers. That sentiment was very real and obvious to me as I witnesses plenty of non-bowling patrons, puffing away, pulling on a cold beer and watching Denver end New England's playoff hopes.
We had arrived. Before the bowling starts, two important events must always occur, getting shoes and picking a ball.
Bowling shoe rental is always a funny thing. Who didn't have a friend or two in college who brazenly wore stolen bowling alley shoes? If that was you, well, nice job. It always strikes me as odd that I will wear a pair of shoes many other people have worn, but, of course, they have been professionally cleaned by the guy with the cigarette hanging from his lip (but not after Monday January 16) wielding an imposing can of some sort of CFC laden cleaning spray. Funny, you never see that spray in hospitals, but then again, I guess few infections have been reported from bowling shoes. If I am wrong on that, oh dear.
Finding a ball can be maddening. I am the bad combination of weak arms (give me a light ball) and fat fingers (I need big holes) that rarely mates in a lane-provided ball. Ultimately, I select a ball I can barely lift and then use balls others have picked out, some too heavy, some with holes far too small. If I was good at this, I would own a ball, but I am not, and, frankly, if you own your own ball people will talk.
Time to bowl.
We rolled three games, well, really 2 games plus eight frames of game 3 and then we ran out of time. Game 1 for the irregular bowler is always like getting reacquainted with an old friend. Things look familiar, don't feel familiar and most likely, you don't quite do what you think you want to do. In the first game, three of rolled and didn't manage to knock 300 pins down. We all got a chance to find our way into the gutter though.
Games 2 and 3 were much better. We all got the random strike and spare and that brings everyone to their feet for high fives and much cheering. Do real bowlers react this way?
I had a couple ice cold and, oh so delicious Miller High Life beers. There sure are an unnecessary bunch of fancy beers out there. High Life never fails to please me. Mmmm, mmm that is a good beer. As an infrequent drinker, I think I started to feel the second beer and I got a bit loud. In the late frames of Game 2, I found myself banging on the scorer's table everytime someone marked a frame. Is there anything that feels better than a heart felt "woo hoo!!"? For my money, well, ok, there is, but it sure feels good.
There's more, and I might write more later, but here's what I think - I need to bowl more often, and probably, so do you.
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
GTFO
Over the summer, I learned that the company where I worked would be acquired. I did some checking into the big company that would buy the little company where I did my job. It didn't take me long to realize that I wouldn't want to work for what I percieved to be a big company where I wouldn't fit. As I started to interview for new jobs, I took to saying that by fall I would ". . . either be working at a different company (mine under a new name) or a different company."
The new management didn't take well to me from the start. They were told that my compensation was different from other people's who did the same job as I did. They were shown what the differences were. Initially, they said it was fine and that I was welcome to stay and do my thing. Time went by and new co. went slow about confirming my comp in a written agreement. Two lunch meetings were held. At each meeting, my old agreement (that was to be followed in my new agreement) was in my hand and the hand of the person with whom I was meeting. Did you see this, I said, pointing out a section? Yes, I was told, that will be fine. Yada yada yada, we had an oral agreement.
Weeks went by, no written agreement. I received a "on furhter consideration" phone call. We thought about it, I was told, and it's just not going to work for us. GTFO. I was accused of trying to get other employees to quit and start working for a company I didn't work for -- read that again, I was accused of recruiting for a COMPANY I DIDN'T WORK FOR. I said it was the worst kept secret in town that I had interviewed for other jobs while awaiting the outcome of my contract talk (I wanted to type negotiation, but given how this turned out, that would unfairly make it sound like I had a say in things that I didn't) Well, they didn't toss me then, because I was still making money for them. They changed their mind, sort of, and said, hey, agree to the agreement we typed up, even though it is not really your old agreement that we said was OK, and then everything will be fine. (Right, sure it will) They agreed to send over a contract for me to sign.
Weeks go by again, no contract to sign. I emailed my manager and asked him to get me a contract to sign (if I can find the email, I will post the text of it). He said it was coming, I think, I have to check that part. A few days went by, and now I was angry, not just frustrated by not having an agreement anymore, but actually pissed. I marched into my manager's office and made what turns out to have been an apparently inflammatory remark. I have repeated the comment to a few people. No one has said that what I said was a very smart thing to say out loud to the person I said it to. Live and learn.
BUT, and this is critical, I said it to my manager as a friend behind closed doors. That's right, I closed the door and then spouted off. I thought I was just showing how pissed off and frustrated I was. It turns out, I was ending my association with companies old and new. After the conversation, I had no way of knowing what was coming next. . .
A couple days later (a Thursday), I decide to hang out at home so I can take my bike in for some work. I drove my big kids to school and then my phone started to ring. It was the owner of BIG company, call from his cell phone. I didn't answer the first time because I was with my kids. He called about seven or eight times before I finally took his call.
I answered the phone and he immediately began screaming at me. He dropped F-bombs right and left. Then the name calling began. He told me just how little he thought of me and just how awful my remark had been. (As an aside, nothing waters down an angry diatribe more than to use superlatives, "this is the worst," "I have never", "that was the lowest, squirrliest," you get the idea). The yelling was such that Debbie could hear it from across the room. I tried to explain myself. I tried to apologize and I earnestly tried to explain my mindset at the time I made the fateful remark. No chance, pal, no turning back, GTFO. We don't want you here, we will pay you for your work (but, let's see if that really happens), but you are out.
How about a second chance, I asked. Lots of times a person who gets a second chance does great things. Oh, but you already got a second chance, he said, after I caught you trying to recruit people. What? I got a second chance after something I didn't do? Who says that sort of thing?
I said "don't form a negative perception based on something that didn't actually happen." Too late, the damage had been done. He did precisely that, decided I was a bad guy based on something I didn't do -- hard to fight that.
I was cut off from email and told to go clean out my office.
Next, 72 hours of hell. . .
The new management didn't take well to me from the start. They were told that my compensation was different from other people's who did the same job as I did. They were shown what the differences were. Initially, they said it was fine and that I was welcome to stay and do my thing. Time went by and new co. went slow about confirming my comp in a written agreement. Two lunch meetings were held. At each meeting, my old agreement (that was to be followed in my new agreement) was in my hand and the hand of the person with whom I was meeting. Did you see this, I said, pointing out a section? Yes, I was told, that will be fine. Yada yada yada, we had an oral agreement.
Weeks went by, no written agreement. I received a "on furhter consideration" phone call. We thought about it, I was told, and it's just not going to work for us. GTFO. I was accused of trying to get other employees to quit and start working for a company I didn't work for -- read that again, I was accused of recruiting for a COMPANY I DIDN'T WORK FOR. I said it was the worst kept secret in town that I had interviewed for other jobs while awaiting the outcome of my contract talk (I wanted to type negotiation, but given how this turned out, that would unfairly make it sound like I had a say in things that I didn't) Well, they didn't toss me then, because I was still making money for them. They changed their mind, sort of, and said, hey, agree to the agreement we typed up, even though it is not really your old agreement that we said was OK, and then everything will be fine. (Right, sure it will) They agreed to send over a contract for me to sign.
Weeks go by again, no contract to sign. I emailed my manager and asked him to get me a contract to sign (if I can find the email, I will post the text of it). He said it was coming, I think, I have to check that part. A few days went by, and now I was angry, not just frustrated by not having an agreement anymore, but actually pissed. I marched into my manager's office and made what turns out to have been an apparently inflammatory remark. I have repeated the comment to a few people. No one has said that what I said was a very smart thing to say out loud to the person I said it to. Live and learn.
BUT, and this is critical, I said it to my manager as a friend behind closed doors. That's right, I closed the door and then spouted off. I thought I was just showing how pissed off and frustrated I was. It turns out, I was ending my association with companies old and new. After the conversation, I had no way of knowing what was coming next. . .
A couple days later (a Thursday), I decide to hang out at home so I can take my bike in for some work. I drove my big kids to school and then my phone started to ring. It was the owner of BIG company, call from his cell phone. I didn't answer the first time because I was with my kids. He called about seven or eight times before I finally took his call.
I answered the phone and he immediately began screaming at me. He dropped F-bombs right and left. Then the name calling began. He told me just how little he thought of me and just how awful my remark had been. (As an aside, nothing waters down an angry diatribe more than to use superlatives, "this is the worst," "I have never", "that was the lowest, squirrliest," you get the idea). The yelling was such that Debbie could hear it from across the room. I tried to explain myself. I tried to apologize and I earnestly tried to explain my mindset at the time I made the fateful remark. No chance, pal, no turning back, GTFO. We don't want you here, we will pay you for your work (but, let's see if that really happens), but you are out.
How about a second chance, I asked. Lots of times a person who gets a second chance does great things. Oh, but you already got a second chance, he said, after I caught you trying to recruit people. What? I got a second chance after something I didn't do? Who says that sort of thing?
I said "don't form a negative perception based on something that didn't actually happen." Too late, the damage had been done. He did precisely that, decided I was a bad guy based on something I didn't do -- hard to fight that.
I was cut off from email and told to go clean out my office.
Next, 72 hours of hell. . .
Monday, October 31, 2005
Good Morning Earth
I took this picture five years ago when my daughter was two. My wife, my daughter and I joined a group that travelled by Russian spacecraft to the space station and then on to the Moon. We spent two nights at the Sea of Tranquility Hyatt. It was, by far, the nicest hotel I have ever seen. The rooms were plush, the food was great in the four restaurants (hey, we tried them all) and the service was out of this world (pun, not initially intended, but funny enough that I will leave it).
We were on a guided tour of the Moon's surface when I happened to look up and see the Earth overlooking the Moon like a proud parent. I quickly snapped an entire roll of film. This shot was the best one on the roll.
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