I wear ties to work almost every day, rain or shine. I also can’t bring myself to enter a church or go to a wedding or funeral without at least a jacket and tie.
Mona’s uncle passed away recently and we attended his funeral. I wore a dark suit, ironed and starched long sleeve shirt, conservative tie, leather belt and polished leather shoes. I was one of the few men who did.
A couple of guys had on short sleeved shirts and ties, one had a suit on with work boots. There were a couple of guys in golf shirts and Dockers and a few showed up in shorts! I was appalled, simply appalled.
The women weren’t much better. I’ll leave the rules for women to a woman, but I’ll make some “suggestions” for the guys.
There's a good reason that I dress up. It’s about respect. Respect for the people I am working with, celebrating with, worshiping with or mourning with. I show my respect by being freshly showered, shaved, and dressed as well as I can be.
Sure, sometimes I would be more physically comfortable in lighter weight clothing, but not everything is about how I feel. It’s about letting other people know that they are important enough that I would dress up for them.
Mona laughs at me, and asks if I want a black tie funeral. I think that’s a bit much, but have requested business attire.
If you want to know how a suit should fit, take a look at old tapes of Johnny Carson, or any member of the Rat Pack. Those guys were perfectly tailored at all times. And a good tailor can do more with a $150 off the rack suit than you can imagine. You don't need to spend a lot to look good.
Here are a few rules I follow. Even if you don’t wear suits to work, every guy should have at the very least a decent navy blue suit. Charcoal suits are a good second choice. Pinstripes are generally more conservative. Black suits should only be worn by funeral directors. Brown, tan or olive suits can only be worn in the Midwest and states where cowboy hats are appropriate. If you're not from a state where everyone wears hats and boots, don't try it.
Tuxedos come in one color. Black. White dinner jackets are only to be worn if you're James Bond. Tails are only worn on very formal occasions, as are white ties and white vests. Stripped pants are appropriate before 6 PM.
A suit should be made of 100% worsted wool and fully lined. If you can afford it (I can’t) you can wear silk suits. Silk is very comfortable in the heat and sits and moves beautifully. (I have a pair of silk pants from Nautica that I found at TJ Maxx. They were originally $125, I think I got them for $20 or $25.)
The bottom of the jacket should hang about to your knuckles when your arms hang naturally. Sleeves should be about even with your wrist bone in order to show a little of your shirt cuff. Single, double or unvented jackets are basically a fashion decision, but your body type may dictate one or another. Jackets are never buttoned when a vest is being worn. When not wearing vest the lowest button on the jacket should remain unbuttoned. Jackets are to be unbuttoned when sitting and re-buttoned upon standing. Always button the inside button when wearing a double breasted jacket.
Pants should sit at your natural waist. Pockets should lay flat and not bulge or pull. Cuffs are optional, and pants without cuffs are generally thought of as more formal. Pants should rest lightly on the top of the instep and have one single, slight break about 4 inches above the hem. The pant should never touch the floor, nor should it puddle around your ankles.
Belts or suspenders are a personal choice, but must never be worn simultaneously. Belts should be leather and not worn or damaged. Suspenders should be cloth and buttoned to brace buttons in the waistband of the pant.
Shirts should be pressed and starched. Collars should fit comfortably around the neck, neither pinching nor gapping. If your shirt has a place for collar stays you can purchase brass stays that hold the points flat all day. French cuffs are a matter of personal preference.
Neckties should be silk and clip-ons are only acceptable for police officers as a safety precaution. The size of the knot is determined by the distance of the collar points from one another. A wide collar needs a full Windsor. Button downs seem to work best with a half Windsor. Forehand knots are for narrow collars. The point of the tie should just meet the belt buckle. Never use a tie tack, they damage the silk.
Vests should be tailored to fit as well . The vest should button comfortably without pulling. The bottom button should be left unbuttoned.
Socks should be darker than your shoes, not see through and not falling down. White socks are never acceptable.
Shoes should be the same color as the belt. They should be lace ups, with polished leather with leather soles. Rubber soled shoes are for the gym. Plastic shoes are just an abomination.
I don’t expect to expire anytime soon, but if I should, please be dressed appropriately when you come to pay your respects.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Update on the recliner issue
About 2 hours after I sent that email I got a call from a director in Minneapolis. He apologized, told me he’d call back in 10 minutes to tell me whether my chairs would be in on Friday or Saturday, and was sending me a gift card by way of apology.
I’m darned impressed with the turnaround, and have been enjoying my matched recliners for a couple of weeks now.
I’m darned impressed with the turnaround, and have been enjoying my matched recliners for a couple of weeks now.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Pride and Politcis
You may or may not know that I live very near the city of Detroit.
Three's been a lot of news coming out of the city recently concerning Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick.
He's been charged with something like 15 counts of perjury stemming from a trial where he testified that he was not having an affair with is the Chief of Staff. Text messages sent on a city owned pager seem to suggest otherwise.
He recently spent a night in the county jail when a judge revoked his bond because the mayor made a trip to Canada without informing the court or asking permission to go.
He's now out on $50,000 bond and wearing a tether.
He will be arraigned today on two counts of felony assault related to claims that he shoved a sheriffs deputy and a process server who were trying to serve a subpoena on one of the mayors friends.
If you're not a local, have you heard about any of this?
What are your thoughts? What do you think of when you think of Detroit? What do you think when someone tells you they're from Detroit?
Three's been a lot of news coming out of the city recently concerning Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick.
He's been charged with something like 15 counts of perjury stemming from a trial where he testified that he was not having an affair with is the Chief of Staff. Text messages sent on a city owned pager seem to suggest otherwise.
He recently spent a night in the county jail when a judge revoked his bond because the mayor made a trip to Canada without informing the court or asking permission to go.
He's now out on $50,000 bond and wearing a tether.
He will be arraigned today on two counts of felony assault related to claims that he shoved a sheriffs deputy and a process server who were trying to serve a subpoena on one of the mayors friends.
If you're not a local, have you heard about any of this?
What are your thoughts? What do you think of when you think of Detroit? What do you think when someone tells you they're from Detroit?
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Let's see where this gets me
I still owe you more stories of dealing with mental patients. I'll get to them, I promise.
I have something else on my mind at the moment.
You might remember me asking a while ago where I should spend some gift cards I had won. Mona and I decided to buy a new PC from Dell, get a 40" LCD TV as a monitor and get a couple of recliners for the repainted and newly cleaned out office.
We've had the TV and PC for a while, but the recliners are an issue. We're sitting in an old office chair and a lawn chair right now. I expressed my frustration with Macys in the following letter to each member of their Board of Directors, CEO, CFO and various VPs.
To Whom It May Concern:
On July 22nd I ordered 2 Lane recliners from the Macy's store at Westland Mall in Westland, Michigan.
The recliners were paid for with gift cards which were awarded to me by my employer (a Fortune 60 company) for outstanding sales performance.
At the time of order, I chose to pick up the recliners in order to a) avoid the $100 delivery fee, b) not miss a day of work and c) pick up the chairs at my convenience. There was a $15 charge for pick up, which I agreed to.
I was told to expect the furniture to arrive in about 10 days. I waited 14 days and finally called to request an update on the status of my order. I was told that the distribution center in Chicago shipped half of my order and that I could expect the other half to arrive the following week.
When I contacted the pick up location at Macy's Northland in Southfield, Michigan I was advised that customer pick up was no longer an option and the second recliner would not be available for pick up.
In fact, the first recliner needed to be returned to the distribution center and reshipped to me directly. There would be another week's delay and an additional delivery fee.
In contacting customer service I spoke to a supervisor and while she was professional, polite and sympathetic, she was unable to assist me. She did agree to credit the delivery fee, but only after I receive the furniture.
This is not acceptable to me. I have been a professional business to business sales representative in a quota bearing environment for more than 15 years. I know what it takes to make a sale and to retain my customers business in the following months and years.
Macy's has not lived up to what I consider the minimum standard of customer service.
I have declined to pay any additional fees and am attempting to secure a refund of my money.
I believe I have a contract with Macy's and your organizations decision to make unannounced changes leading to additional fees is at best, a poor business practice.
The inability of the company to set proper expectations at the time of sale, provide post-sale communication and meet the terms of your agreements is highly disappointing.
Macy's inability to resolve this issue quickly and to my satisfaction will ensure I consider other retailers in the future.
Should you have any questions please feel free to contact me at any time.
Love,
Jorge
(I didn't really sign it like that)
So what do you think will happen?
I have something else on my mind at the moment.
You might remember me asking a while ago where I should spend some gift cards I had won. Mona and I decided to buy a new PC from Dell, get a 40" LCD TV as a monitor and get a couple of recliners for the repainted and newly cleaned out office.
We've had the TV and PC for a while, but the recliners are an issue. We're sitting in an old office chair and a lawn chair right now. I expressed my frustration with Macys in the following letter to each member of their Board of Directors, CEO, CFO and various VPs.
To Whom It May Concern:
On July 22nd I ordered 2 Lane recliners from the Macy's store at Westland Mall in Westland, Michigan.
The recliners were paid for with gift cards which were awarded to me by my employer (a Fortune 60 company) for outstanding sales performance.
At the time of order, I chose to pick up the recliners in order to a) avoid the $100 delivery fee, b) not miss a day of work and c) pick up the chairs at my convenience. There was a $15 charge for pick up, which I agreed to.
I was told to expect the furniture to arrive in about 10 days. I waited 14 days and finally called to request an update on the status of my order. I was told that the distribution center in Chicago shipped half of my order and that I could expect the other half to arrive the following week.
When I contacted the pick up location at Macy's Northland in Southfield, Michigan I was advised that customer pick up was no longer an option and the second recliner would not be available for pick up.
In fact, the first recliner needed to be returned to the distribution center and reshipped to me directly. There would be another week's delay and an additional delivery fee.
In contacting customer service I spoke to a supervisor and while she was professional, polite and sympathetic, she was unable to assist me. She did agree to credit the delivery fee, but only after I receive the furniture.
This is not acceptable to me. I have been a professional business to business sales representative in a quota bearing environment for more than 15 years. I know what it takes to make a sale and to retain my customers business in the following months and years.
Macy's has not lived up to what I consider the minimum standard of customer service.
I have declined to pay any additional fees and am attempting to secure a refund of my money.
I believe I have a contract with Macy's and your organizations decision to make unannounced changes leading to additional fees is at best, a poor business practice.
The inability of the company to set proper expectations at the time of sale, provide post-sale communication and meet the terms of your agreements is highly disappointing.
Macy's inability to resolve this issue quickly and to my satisfaction will ensure I consider other retailers in the future.
Should you have any questions please feel free to contact me at any time.
Love,
Jorge
(I didn't really sign it like that)
So what do you think will happen?
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Mixed Nuts
This entry grew out of a comment I posted on The West Virginia Surf Report. If you’re not a surf reporter yet, you should be.
Mental hospitals.
Oh, I have stories.
My Mom was a psychiatric nurse and for a time she worked at a mental hospital that took only geriatric patients.
When I was 16 or 17 she was working on Easter Sunday. The weather had been warm and stormy, and there were Tornado watches all over the place. Dad made the traditional Easter feast and after dinner he packed a cooler with all kinds of goodies and sent me over to the hospital to deliver it to her. It was the first time I had been asked to take something to the hospital. So I walked in and checked with the security guards in the lobby. They directed me to the elevators and up I went to the 5th floor.
It was a locked down floor, so when I stepped off the elevator I found myself in a locked lobby with wire mesh embedded glass all around. The long wall directly in front of the elevators looked into the day room where the TV’s, chairs, checker boards and such were. The wall to the right was the outside wall and the wall to the left had the door and looked towards the nurses’ station.
Because of the Tornado watches all the patients were required to be in the day room all day. That way they could be evacuated in the event of an emergency. Unfortunately it also meant that they were all confined in a room together all day, stirring one another up. I know that al least one or two of them were upset because the balloons in the parade that was on the televisions had been talking to them.
Mom saw me when I got off the elevator and let me onto the floor. Her patients also saw me and started pouring out of the day room at a shuffle to check out the new face. By the time I set the cooler on the desk at the nurses station there was a herd of a dozen or so patients coming towards me. It reminded me a little of those zombie movies where they all shamble around glassy eyed and slightly unfocused in a dense pack, looking for brains to eat. It’s also worth noting that people who have been on strong psychotropic drugs for a long time develop tremors. And they’re not little tremors like the way your hand’s shake after you narrowly avoid a bad car wreck. No, their hands shake like they’re strumming invisible guitars.
So here come the whackos, a-shufflin’ and a-strummin’ led by a little black lady in a brown floral print house dress. She was about 5 feet tall and somewhere in the neighborhood of 200 Lbs. She smiled and the first thing that I noticed was that her 4 front teeth were missing. She was smiling at me with pretty much just her fangs. As she smiled, strummed and shuffled she said something that I couldn’t make out and then started LIFTING UP HER DRESS!
Mom gets between me and them and starts backing me down the hall to the elevator lobby, explaining that the old lady isn’t really trying to expose herself, she’s just really proud of her gallbladder scar. I didn’t know where to look or what to do. Mom got the lobby door unlocked, shoved me through and I went home a little shaken and a lot wiser.
Story number 2.
This story, like the previous one, I swear is absolutely true.
A few months later it was summer break. Trips to the hospital were fairly common. My brother and I were hanging out at home when Mom called and asked me to bring something, probably a book, to the hospital that she’d forgotten.
At 18 I was in great shape, but I’m not a big guy. I was maybe 5'7" and 150 Lbs. My brother at 14 hadn’t made 5’ yet and was less than 100 Lbs (He grew in college). Mom was a small lady too, and at that time maybe 5’5” and 110 Lbs. She was darn tough, but again, not a large woman. This will be important later.
So we jumped into the car and headed over. This time the security people wouldn’t let us up on the floor, which meant Mom had to come down to lobby to meet us.
When she arrived she had company. One of her patients was with her. This patient, let’s call her Jane Jones, was a tall black woman, close to 6’ and looked to be pretty healthy. This lady was one of Mom’s favorites. She often thought she was either God, the Devil, or (and I absolutely swear this is true) Ginger Rogers. When she was tap dancing down the halls Mom used to dance right along with her.
Even medicated, people with serious mental illnesses sometimes are not able to manage their illness and have “episodes”. That day she was with Mom because she was on a one on one watch and could not be left alone because she might harm herself or someone else. Such was the case with Jane.
Anyway, when Mom arrived she waved us over and introduced her patient. We had met patients before and knew the drill. Mom raised us to be polite we were expected to behave towards her patients as we would to any of her friends. Here’s how the conversation went this time:
Mom: “Jane, these are my sons, Jorge and Juan. Boys, this is Ms. Jones.”
Juan: “Hi, how are you?”
Me: (Offering to shake hands) “Hi Ms. Jones, nice to meet you.”
Ms. Jones: “I ain’t Jones, I’m God!”
Me: ”.......”
We had left the book on the security counter and walked over to get it. As we turned back towards them I heard Ms. Jones demand a cigarette from Mom. Mom told her no and was right in front of her when she said it. She said no because Mom’s floor was a behavior modification unit which tried to use positive and negative reinforcement to help patients learn to manage their behavior. Since Ms. Jones had been bad, she wasn’t allowed cigarettes, and Mom told her so. That’s when this very big, very crazy lady raised her right fist over her head and said “Give me a M@&^$*F&$IN’ cigarette.
I looked back at the security guards as they started practicing their “I didn’t see anything” faces. When I turned back around Mom is in this lady’s face, looking up and calmly but firmly explaining why there would be no cigarettes for Ms. Jones, and Ms. Jones still has her fist raised.
Now I know Mom has finally snapped and is about to get herself killed. I’m looking at my little brother and I know he’s not going to be a help because he’s no bigger than most 10 year olds. So when Jane blasts my Mom I’m gonna have to step in.
Mom had often told stories about patients sending three or 4 people to the ER at the same time when they get rough with the staff and need to be restrained. I had 3 things going through my mind:
1. Give her the damn cigarette!
2. I am about to get my ass beat by an old lady.
3. After I get out of the hospital how am I going to explain to a Judge what I’m doing getting into fights with mental patients?
Right at that moment I saw my first miracle. Mom backed her down! Jane said ok and was quiet as a lamb after that. Wow. I was shocked and grateful that whatever crazy she had going on wasn’t quite crazy enough to start smacking my Mom around that day.
Mom took her book and Ms. Jones and went back upstairs. I went home with my brother and a new story to tell.
Any interest in reading an more of these? What about you? Any encounters with the unbalanced that you’d care to relate?
Mental hospitals.
Oh, I have stories.
My Mom was a psychiatric nurse and for a time she worked at a mental hospital that took only geriatric patients.
When I was 16 or 17 she was working on Easter Sunday. The weather had been warm and stormy, and there were Tornado watches all over the place. Dad made the traditional Easter feast and after dinner he packed a cooler with all kinds of goodies and sent me over to the hospital to deliver it to her. It was the first time I had been asked to take something to the hospital. So I walked in and checked with the security guards in the lobby. They directed me to the elevators and up I went to the 5th floor.
It was a locked down floor, so when I stepped off the elevator I found myself in a locked lobby with wire mesh embedded glass all around. The long wall directly in front of the elevators looked into the day room where the TV’s, chairs, checker boards and such were. The wall to the right was the outside wall and the wall to the left had the door and looked towards the nurses’ station.
Because of the Tornado watches all the patients were required to be in the day room all day. That way they could be evacuated in the event of an emergency. Unfortunately it also meant that they were all confined in a room together all day, stirring one another up. I know that al least one or two of them were upset because the balloons in the parade that was on the televisions had been talking to them.
Mom saw me when I got off the elevator and let me onto the floor. Her patients also saw me and started pouring out of the day room at a shuffle to check out the new face. By the time I set the cooler on the desk at the nurses station there was a herd of a dozen or so patients coming towards me. It reminded me a little of those zombie movies where they all shamble around glassy eyed and slightly unfocused in a dense pack, looking for brains to eat. It’s also worth noting that people who have been on strong psychotropic drugs for a long time develop tremors. And they’re not little tremors like the way your hand’s shake after you narrowly avoid a bad car wreck. No, their hands shake like they’re strumming invisible guitars.
So here come the whackos, a-shufflin’ and a-strummin’ led by a little black lady in a brown floral print house dress. She was about 5 feet tall and somewhere in the neighborhood of 200 Lbs. She smiled and the first thing that I noticed was that her 4 front teeth were missing. She was smiling at me with pretty much just her fangs. As she smiled, strummed and shuffled she said something that I couldn’t make out and then started LIFTING UP HER DRESS!
Mom gets between me and them and starts backing me down the hall to the elevator lobby, explaining that the old lady isn’t really trying to expose herself, she’s just really proud of her gallbladder scar. I didn’t know where to look or what to do. Mom got the lobby door unlocked, shoved me through and I went home a little shaken and a lot wiser.
Story number 2.
This story, like the previous one, I swear is absolutely true.
A few months later it was summer break. Trips to the hospital were fairly common. My brother and I were hanging out at home when Mom called and asked me to bring something, probably a book, to the hospital that she’d forgotten.
At 18 I was in great shape, but I’m not a big guy. I was maybe 5'7" and 150 Lbs. My brother at 14 hadn’t made 5’ yet and was less than 100 Lbs (He grew in college). Mom was a small lady too, and at that time maybe 5’5” and 110 Lbs. She was darn tough, but again, not a large woman. This will be important later.
So we jumped into the car and headed over. This time the security people wouldn’t let us up on the floor, which meant Mom had to come down to lobby to meet us.
When she arrived she had company. One of her patients was with her. This patient, let’s call her Jane Jones, was a tall black woman, close to 6’ and looked to be pretty healthy. This lady was one of Mom’s favorites. She often thought she was either God, the Devil, or (and I absolutely swear this is true) Ginger Rogers. When she was tap dancing down the halls Mom used to dance right along with her.
Even medicated, people with serious mental illnesses sometimes are not able to manage their illness and have “episodes”. That day she was with Mom because she was on a one on one watch and could not be left alone because she might harm herself or someone else. Such was the case with Jane.
Anyway, when Mom arrived she waved us over and introduced her patient. We had met patients before and knew the drill. Mom raised us to be polite we were expected to behave towards her patients as we would to any of her friends. Here’s how the conversation went this time:
Mom: “Jane, these are my sons, Jorge and Juan. Boys, this is Ms. Jones.”
Juan: “Hi, how are you?”
Me: (Offering to shake hands) “Hi Ms. Jones, nice to meet you.”
Ms. Jones: “I ain’t Jones, I’m God!”
Me: ”.......”
We had left the book on the security counter and walked over to get it. As we turned back towards them I heard Ms. Jones demand a cigarette from Mom. Mom told her no and was right in front of her when she said it. She said no because Mom’s floor was a behavior modification unit which tried to use positive and negative reinforcement to help patients learn to manage their behavior. Since Ms. Jones had been bad, she wasn’t allowed cigarettes, and Mom told her so. That’s when this very big, very crazy lady raised her right fist over her head and said “Give me a M@&^$*F&$IN’ cigarette.
I looked back at the security guards as they started practicing their “I didn’t see anything” faces. When I turned back around Mom is in this lady’s face, looking up and calmly but firmly explaining why there would be no cigarettes for Ms. Jones, and Ms. Jones still has her fist raised.
Now I know Mom has finally snapped and is about to get herself killed. I’m looking at my little brother and I know he’s not going to be a help because he’s no bigger than most 10 year olds. So when Jane blasts my Mom I’m gonna have to step in.
Mom had often told stories about patients sending three or 4 people to the ER at the same time when they get rough with the staff and need to be restrained. I had 3 things going through my mind:
1. Give her the damn cigarette!
2. I am about to get my ass beat by an old lady.
3. After I get out of the hospital how am I going to explain to a Judge what I’m doing getting into fights with mental patients?
Right at that moment I saw my first miracle. Mom backed her down! Jane said ok and was quiet as a lamb after that. Wow. I was shocked and grateful that whatever crazy she had going on wasn’t quite crazy enough to start smacking my Mom around that day.
Mom took her book and Ms. Jones and went back upstairs. I went home with my brother and a new story to tell.
Any interest in reading an more of these? What about you? Any encounters with the unbalanced that you’d care to relate?
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Fun, follies and firearms
My little brother is getting married at the end of the month. Last weekend was his bachelor party. He’s 35 so the party was less about traditional debauchery and more about hanging around with friends. We sat around and made fun of each other and people we know, ate lots of grilled meat, did some target shooting, and in the evenings had a few (but not too many) drinks.
One of his college roommates had offered to host all of us at his cabin in a place about 10 miles south of Lewiston Mi. If you take a look at a Google satellite map you’ll it’s just a place in the woods with darn few neighbors.
When I arrived, I went to take some things out of the back of my Focus. The lift gate doesn’t always go all the way up and I don’t always remember to check. So I walked into the bottom corner of the thing. It got my on the top of the head and man did that hurt. My left eye wanted to close and crawl into my skull to try and fill the dent I made. Fortunately I recovered swiftly.
Then we went out target shooting. I was firing my hunting rifle for the first time in more that 15 years. I had forgotten how much recoil there was. Today I still have some bruising on my shoulder. A lot of innocent paper targets had to die so that I could get that bruise, but it was worth it.
The cabin was small but well made, with 2 bedrooms, a kitchen and sitting area and running water and electricity. Not too rustic, but also not designed for long term residence (no closets, for example). There wasn’t room for everyone, so one guy slept on couch cushions while another used the sleeper sofa. Another had a tent and someone else slept on an air mattress on the porch. I knew that space was at a premium, and had a plan.
In the late summer of 2003 we had a power outage that affected most of the northeastern US. 10’s of millions were without power and the news suggested that it would take some time to get everyone up and running. It was also ridiculously hot and humid. I didn’t sleep that night and decided that sleeping outdoors might be cooler than staying inside with the windows open. But I didn’t have any camping gear, so buying a tent and an air mattress and setting everything up in the yard was too much expense for a day or two. Sleeping without some sort of protection also seemed like a bad idea. At the very least I am a mosquito magnet.
My solution? I went to an Army Surplus store in my neighborhood and bought a jungle hammock. It has a nylon roof and sides made of mosquito netting, so I figured I’d be kept cool and free of pests. Not long after setting it up in my yard on the hooks where my clothes line was, power was restored. I took it down without ever having slept in it. But with the bachelor party coming up I thought “Here’s my chance!”
The weather had been warm, but generally not oppressive. The nights cool but not cold. So I bought some new rope to tie the hammock to a pair of suitable trees and headed for the party in the woods.
After l arrived I set the thing up. The biggest downside to the hammock is the ridicule it invites and the fact that with all the lines you need it looks like a homeless and slightly deranged sailor is living in your yard. I was prepared for the jokes and didn’t mind it, since my comfort was my paramount concern. I was never a sailor however, and while I can tie a knot in a pinch, the job I do is serviceable but not very efficient or in any way elegant. But it was up and it held my weight when I tested it.
It was later in the evening when things went wrong. I had expected some rain and was right. But I sort of lashed the hammock up under its own roof and it stayed dry during the storm. What I hadn’t anticipated was the cold front that was causing the storms. After the rain stopped the temperature dropped to the low 50’s. Because it had not been that cool in some time I had expected to sleep in no more than sweats and be comfortable.
But those temperatures require some kind of insulation, especially when one is off the ground. One of the guys let me borrow a sleeping bag. It was made of very satiny nylon and (unbeknownst to me) had a right had zipper. More on this later.
When I first sat down in the hammock in preparation to remove my shoes and climb in there was a loud *SNAP* that was heard (followed quickly by my use of an expletive to convey surprise) in the cabin. A line on the roof had snapped and the hammock rolled over, trapping me mostly inside with my feet sticking up into the air. I was trapped, resting mostly on my shoulders and upper back.
The guys at the party heard the snap and immediately dissolved into paroxysms of laughter. They were still laughing as I called out “A little help! Little help here!” By the time my brother and one of his friends came out it was getting a little hard to breathe. But they pulled me out, laughing the entire time. I had a little bump on my right shoulder, but was generally OK.
After enjoying their hilarity for a while I tried to figure out what snapped and affect a repair. I never did figure it out and retied most of the lines. When I was finally ready I went inside, retrieved the sleeping bag, shut off the exterior light and stepped out onto the porch. Then I forgot where the next step was, stepped half off it, and rolled my left ankle. I’ve sprained it in the past, which makes it more likely to happen now. So now I had a bump on the head, bruised shoulders and a sprained ankle. But I still had my sense of humor and a tiny, tiny scrap of dignity.
Back to the sleeping bag. I put it in upside down (again unknowingly) and struggled into it. Because the bottom is longer than the top I couldn’t get my back covered without covering my face. I thought it was just an issue of the bag sliding around.
And because the hammock sustained a little minor damaged (I was unaware of this, too) it was now off balance and had a tendency to want to roll to the right. So I needed some help getting in and getting balanced. This created more mirth. I took it well. Really. It was pretty funny. Eventually the roll and the sleeping bag annoyed me enough to get me to get out and once again re-tie everything.
While all this was going on I could hear laughter from the cabin. After another few attempts I checked my Navy Seal Watch. The glow in the dark face said 2:30 AM. That’s also known as time to give up. So I took the sleeping bag inside and slept on the kitchen floor.
I got about 4 hours of sleep, had breakfast, enjoyed everyone’s retelling the story of my night over breakfast, went home, showered and took a nap.
Good times.
One of his college roommates had offered to host all of us at his cabin in a place about 10 miles south of Lewiston Mi. If you take a look at a Google satellite map you’ll it’s just a place in the woods with darn few neighbors.
When I arrived, I went to take some things out of the back of my Focus. The lift gate doesn’t always go all the way up and I don’t always remember to check. So I walked into the bottom corner of the thing. It got my on the top of the head and man did that hurt. My left eye wanted to close and crawl into my skull to try and fill the dent I made. Fortunately I recovered swiftly.
Then we went out target shooting. I was firing my hunting rifle for the first time in more that 15 years. I had forgotten how much recoil there was. Today I still have some bruising on my shoulder. A lot of innocent paper targets had to die so that I could get that bruise, but it was worth it.
The cabin was small but well made, with 2 bedrooms, a kitchen and sitting area and running water and electricity. Not too rustic, but also not designed for long term residence (no closets, for example). There wasn’t room for everyone, so one guy slept on couch cushions while another used the sleeper sofa. Another had a tent and someone else slept on an air mattress on the porch. I knew that space was at a premium, and had a plan.
In the late summer of 2003 we had a power outage that affected most of the northeastern US. 10’s of millions were without power and the news suggested that it would take some time to get everyone up and running. It was also ridiculously hot and humid. I didn’t sleep that night and decided that sleeping outdoors might be cooler than staying inside with the windows open. But I didn’t have any camping gear, so buying a tent and an air mattress and setting everything up in the yard was too much expense for a day or two. Sleeping without some sort of protection also seemed like a bad idea. At the very least I am a mosquito magnet.
My solution? I went to an Army Surplus store in my neighborhood and bought a jungle hammock. It has a nylon roof and sides made of mosquito netting, so I figured I’d be kept cool and free of pests. Not long after setting it up in my yard on the hooks where my clothes line was, power was restored. I took it down without ever having slept in it. But with the bachelor party coming up I thought “Here’s my chance!”
The weather had been warm, but generally not oppressive. The nights cool but not cold. So I bought some new rope to tie the hammock to a pair of suitable trees and headed for the party in the woods.
After l arrived I set the thing up. The biggest downside to the hammock is the ridicule it invites and the fact that with all the lines you need it looks like a homeless and slightly deranged sailor is living in your yard. I was prepared for the jokes and didn’t mind it, since my comfort was my paramount concern. I was never a sailor however, and while I can tie a knot in a pinch, the job I do is serviceable but not very efficient or in any way elegant. But it was up and it held my weight when I tested it.
It was later in the evening when things went wrong. I had expected some rain and was right. But I sort of lashed the hammock up under its own roof and it stayed dry during the storm. What I hadn’t anticipated was the cold front that was causing the storms. After the rain stopped the temperature dropped to the low 50’s. Because it had not been that cool in some time I had expected to sleep in no more than sweats and be comfortable.
But those temperatures require some kind of insulation, especially when one is off the ground. One of the guys let me borrow a sleeping bag. It was made of very satiny nylon and (unbeknownst to me) had a right had zipper. More on this later.
When I first sat down in the hammock in preparation to remove my shoes and climb in there was a loud *SNAP* that was heard (followed quickly by my use of an expletive to convey surprise) in the cabin. A line on the roof had snapped and the hammock rolled over, trapping me mostly inside with my feet sticking up into the air. I was trapped, resting mostly on my shoulders and upper back.
The guys at the party heard the snap and immediately dissolved into paroxysms of laughter. They were still laughing as I called out “A little help! Little help here!” By the time my brother and one of his friends came out it was getting a little hard to breathe. But they pulled me out, laughing the entire time. I had a little bump on my right shoulder, but was generally OK.
After enjoying their hilarity for a while I tried to figure out what snapped and affect a repair. I never did figure it out and retied most of the lines. When I was finally ready I went inside, retrieved the sleeping bag, shut off the exterior light and stepped out onto the porch. Then I forgot where the next step was, stepped half off it, and rolled my left ankle. I’ve sprained it in the past, which makes it more likely to happen now. So now I had a bump on the head, bruised shoulders and a sprained ankle. But I still had my sense of humor and a tiny, tiny scrap of dignity.
Back to the sleeping bag. I put it in upside down (again unknowingly) and struggled into it. Because the bottom is longer than the top I couldn’t get my back covered without covering my face. I thought it was just an issue of the bag sliding around.
And because the hammock sustained a little minor damaged (I was unaware of this, too) it was now off balance and had a tendency to want to roll to the right. So I needed some help getting in and getting balanced. This created more mirth. I took it well. Really. It was pretty funny. Eventually the roll and the sleeping bag annoyed me enough to get me to get out and once again re-tie everything.
While all this was going on I could hear laughter from the cabin. After another few attempts I checked my Navy Seal Watch. The glow in the dark face said 2:30 AM. That’s also known as time to give up. So I took the sleeping bag inside and slept on the kitchen floor.
I got about 4 hours of sleep, had breakfast, enjoyed everyone’s retelling the story of my night over breakfast, went home, showered and took a nap.
Good times.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Another request for you
As you may know, I am a SCUBA diver. I enjoy the heck out of it and have even done some instructing. I’ve been inactive over the last year or two mostly due to the fact that my favorite dive shop closed and work and family have placed increased demands on my time.
Mona is not a SCUBA diver, nor do I think she will ever be one. I should say that the likelihood of her learning to dive is about the same as it is for me to give birth to our next child. I accept that.
Neither one of us is in the kind of physical shape we were in when we met.
Mona is actually thinner, but when we met she worked outdoors a lot and took regular Yoga classes.
I am about 20 to 25 pounds heavier. When we met I was teaching SCUBA 2 or 3 times a week and was in the gym 11 times a week. Heck, I was almost buff.
Now neither of us do those things anymore.
So Mona, largely in an effort to help me get into better shape and get her out of the house more, has suggested we find a new hobby we can take up.
I’m giving some thought to Krav Maga classes, but it’s not a great deal. And in addition to not being a diver, Mona is not interested in punching someone or worse yet, being punched herself.
Which brings me here. You guys were great when I asked about financial aid for school, so I’m coming to you, my trusted advisors, once again. I need some suggestions for things that we can do together to have some fun and get a little exercise. If we can involve The Peanut so much the better.
One final note of caution: I have 2 mild to moderately herniated discs in my lower back. It has forced me to give up golf (a game I really enjoyed at one time and that Mona would like to learn) because I can’t bend and turn at the same time. Skating whether on ice or pavement also guarantees a back injury for me.
I can carry heavy loads as long as they are on my back. Out in front of me is no good. I am also recognized by Guinness as the world’s second slowest human, so competitive track and field is pretty much out.
Other than those restrictions there shouldn’t be anything I or Mona can’t do.
So there it is. Your chance to pick my new hobby. Have at it, and as always, all suggestions are given full consideration and received with genuine gratitude.
The winning suggestion may be announced and rewarded with heartfelt thanks and possibly a warm handshake should we ever meet in real life.
Mona is not a SCUBA diver, nor do I think she will ever be one. I should say that the likelihood of her learning to dive is about the same as it is for me to give birth to our next child. I accept that.
Neither one of us is in the kind of physical shape we were in when we met.
Mona is actually thinner, but when we met she worked outdoors a lot and took regular Yoga classes.
I am about 20 to 25 pounds heavier. When we met I was teaching SCUBA 2 or 3 times a week and was in the gym 11 times a week. Heck, I was almost buff.
Now neither of us do those things anymore.
So Mona, largely in an effort to help me get into better shape and get her out of the house more, has suggested we find a new hobby we can take up.
I’m giving some thought to Krav Maga classes, but it’s not a great deal. And in addition to not being a diver, Mona is not interested in punching someone or worse yet, being punched herself.
Which brings me here. You guys were great when I asked about financial aid for school, so I’m coming to you, my trusted advisors, once again. I need some suggestions for things that we can do together to have some fun and get a little exercise. If we can involve The Peanut so much the better.
One final note of caution: I have 2 mild to moderately herniated discs in my lower back. It has forced me to give up golf (a game I really enjoyed at one time and that Mona would like to learn) because I can’t bend and turn at the same time. Skating whether on ice or pavement also guarantees a back injury for me.
I can carry heavy loads as long as they are on my back. Out in front of me is no good. I am also recognized by Guinness as the world’s second slowest human, so competitive track and field is pretty much out.
Other than those restrictions there shouldn’t be anything I or Mona can’t do.
So there it is. Your chance to pick my new hobby. Have at it, and as always, all suggestions are given full consideration and received with genuine gratitude.
The winning suggestion may be announced and rewarded with heartfelt thanks and possibly a warm handshake should we ever meet in real life.
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