One of my close friends is getting married for the second time in 5 years. He’s asked if I would be his best man. For the second time. We’ve known each other for something like 25 years, and of course I accepted. I’m please and honored to be asked.
My friend (let’s call him Robert) is easily the most intelligent guy I know. I don’t mean just smart. Hell, I’m just smart. Robert is the kind of guy who would coast along with a 4.0 at someplace like M.I.T. They even tried to recruit him. He decided instead to dedicate his life to his art. As an artist I doubt that it’s unreasonable to say that he is among the top 20 “practitioners” is his field. He is currently out west finishing his PhD, after which he’ll look for a few career type positions as well as a place perform. His soon to be wife is also an artist in a related field who plans on getting her masters shortly.
Robert is also the straightest arrow I have ever met. He is religious without being pious and lives his life according to his beliefs. For example, that doesn’t mean that he won’t have drink from time to time, but you’ll never see him drunk. He didn’t actually try alcohol until well after his 21st birthday. The idea that he would ever lie, cheat, or steal is beyond ridiculous. He is, in all regards, a good and decent person.
The only flaw I can really see is, I think, related to his genius. Like many hyper-intelligent people, he has little common sense. He can learn anything, but simple things often escape his notice. He’s not good with money, but I suspect he can do differential calculus in his head.
So now you have the background. I’ve done the best man thing before. I’ve done it for other friends too. I’m comfortable speaking in front of a crowd, 5 or 500; it’s all the same to me. I enjoy it. But here’s my problem. I used up all my “A” material during my toast at his first wedding. I had some good stuff and my anecdotes were funny and didn’t put Robert in a bad light. Frankly, he’s such a decent guy there aren’t many stories that I have to tell, and I used up the good ones five years ago. Any teasing was light and in good fun.
What am I going to do for an encore? I have been thinking about this on and off for several months (I still have until May) and I can’t come up with any new material. About the only thing I’ve come up with so far is are these two ideas:
Since he is such a good guy I don’t have any stories that end “and that’s when I learned just how hard it is to find a bail bondsman in Tijuana at 3 AM on a Sunday”. And since I can’t tell a story like that truthfully, the following anecdote is a complete lie…
Robert has told me that his fiancé is smarter than he is. I’m not sure that’s actually possible, but if it is then their kids are going to be scary smart. Lucky for us, they’re both such good people we won’t have to worry that they’re going to raise a real life Lex Luthor.
Both seem kind of weak. I need some jokes or some ideas. Are there rules for a second marriage toast? Any help would be received with gratitude. Any really good help may be thanked with cash. Seriously, I’m dying here.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Tell it to the Marines
Recently the etiquette of removing ones hat during the National Anthem was discussed over at The West Virginia Surf Report. For the record, I always remove my hat. But a usual, thinking about the story at length dredged up the memory of one of the most surreal experiences I’ve ever had.
I used to travel all over the eastern U.S. as a sales rep for a small company that is now part of a much larger company. I would spend somewhere in the neighborhood of 120 nights a year on the road. Since I was single it wasn’t a problem. And I had the opportunity to visit some really great places and see some amazing things.
I worked one of my trips to put my in Washington D.C. over a non-working weekend. I figured I’d take some time and see the sights in our nations capitol. I’d been there before but still hadn’t seen everything I wanted. So my plan for Saturday was to get up early, head to the Marine Corps War Memorial and from there walk to the Arlington National Cemetery. For those of you who don't recall, the memorial features the likenesses of the 6 men who raised the second flag over Mt. Suribachi during the battle for Iwo Jima during the closing months of World War II. For those of you who have never visited the memorial it sits on the edge of what resembles a good sized city park. The memorial kind of looks out over this field. To the right of the memorial is a loop for tour buses to drop people off and turn around in. The rest of the details are a little hazy.
I got there fairly early in the morning and there weren’t many other tourists around. There were however, a small number of Marines in their dress blue uniforms. Near the memorial was a Marine color guard quietly drilling for something. At the opposite end of the field was another group sort of milling around.
A marine sergeant was walking by and I stopped him and asked what was going on. He told me that across the park someone was getting married and part of wedding party was being photographed. The color guard was there for a retirement ceremony for an officer that would begin in a short time.
As an aside; I was talking to a marine non-com in his dress blues. I’ve never served in the military. I was standing there in my officially sanctioned tourist outfit (baseball cap, t-shirt, shorts) and he was calling me Sir as we talked. Now, I know that the military values courtesy, and it’s their way of life to be polite (when not actually shooting people or being shot at), and I respect and appreciate it. But to tell the truth I felt a little uncomfortable being called Sir by this man. When a store clerk say it, it’s meaningless. When a member of the military says it, it means a lot. I was uncomfortable because I don’t believe I’ve earned the right to be addressed by him as a superior. And I couldn’t call him Sir in return because he will be the first to tell you that he works for a living. And now back to the story.
Since I had plenty of time I decided to hang around and see what a retirement ceremony looked like. So I hung out as people started to filter in. Marine officers and their families started to arrive and mingle. The color guard formed up, waiting for the start of the event. And here’s where it gets weird.
A tour new looking bus pulled up in the circle drive. It was one of the big, luxurious motor coaches that actually lowers itself a little so that its passengers don’t have to step down too far to get the ground. Out of this bus pours dozens of Japanese tourists who looked like they right out of central casting. They were couples and a family or two, and honest to God every one of them was carrying an expensive looking 35mm camera and photography gear. Part of me thinks that I saw a few Mickey Mouse shirts, but maybe that’s just my imagination gilding the lily.
Anyway, here they come, oblivious to all the dressed up Americans milling around. They start taking pictures and then someone notices the color guard. Holy shit. I swear I am not making this up. They start inserting themselves in between the Marines in the color guard and taking pictures of one another. I didn’t know what to do. I mean here a all these Japanese tourists blithely having their pictures taking with the U.S Marines in front of the Marine Corps War Memorial which commemorates, among other things, KILLING JAPANESE!
I decided that I’d just shut up and follow the Marines lead. After all it’s their memorial. They seemed to more or less tolerate/ignore the shutter bugs. After a while I couldn’t take the weirdness anymore and took myself over to Arlington. Every time I think about that morning I shake my head and laugh.
Tell me about something wierd you saw while out of town.
I used to travel all over the eastern U.S. as a sales rep for a small company that is now part of a much larger company. I would spend somewhere in the neighborhood of 120 nights a year on the road. Since I was single it wasn’t a problem. And I had the opportunity to visit some really great places and see some amazing things.
I worked one of my trips to put my in Washington D.C. over a non-working weekend. I figured I’d take some time and see the sights in our nations capitol. I’d been there before but still hadn’t seen everything I wanted. So my plan for Saturday was to get up early, head to the Marine Corps War Memorial and from there walk to the Arlington National Cemetery. For those of you who don't recall, the memorial features the likenesses of the 6 men who raised the second flag over Mt. Suribachi during the battle for Iwo Jima during the closing months of World War II. For those of you who have never visited the memorial it sits on the edge of what resembles a good sized city park. The memorial kind of looks out over this field. To the right of the memorial is a loop for tour buses to drop people off and turn around in. The rest of the details are a little hazy.
I got there fairly early in the morning and there weren’t many other tourists around. There were however, a small number of Marines in their dress blue uniforms. Near the memorial was a Marine color guard quietly drilling for something. At the opposite end of the field was another group sort of milling around.
A marine sergeant was walking by and I stopped him and asked what was going on. He told me that across the park someone was getting married and part of wedding party was being photographed. The color guard was there for a retirement ceremony for an officer that would begin in a short time.
As an aside; I was talking to a marine non-com in his dress blues. I’ve never served in the military. I was standing there in my officially sanctioned tourist outfit (baseball cap, t-shirt, shorts) and he was calling me Sir as we talked. Now, I know that the military values courtesy, and it’s their way of life to be polite (when not actually shooting people or being shot at), and I respect and appreciate it. But to tell the truth I felt a little uncomfortable being called Sir by this man. When a store clerk say it, it’s meaningless. When a member of the military says it, it means a lot. I was uncomfortable because I don’t believe I’ve earned the right to be addressed by him as a superior. And I couldn’t call him Sir in return because he will be the first to tell you that he works for a living. And now back to the story.
Since I had plenty of time I decided to hang around and see what a retirement ceremony looked like. So I hung out as people started to filter in. Marine officers and their families started to arrive and mingle. The color guard formed up, waiting for the start of the event. And here’s where it gets weird.
A tour new looking bus pulled up in the circle drive. It was one of the big, luxurious motor coaches that actually lowers itself a little so that its passengers don’t have to step down too far to get the ground. Out of this bus pours dozens of Japanese tourists who looked like they right out of central casting. They were couples and a family or two, and honest to God every one of them was carrying an expensive looking 35mm camera and photography gear. Part of me thinks that I saw a few Mickey Mouse shirts, but maybe that’s just my imagination gilding the lily.
Anyway, here they come, oblivious to all the dressed up Americans milling around. They start taking pictures and then someone notices the color guard. Holy shit. I swear I am not making this up. They start inserting themselves in between the Marines in the color guard and taking pictures of one another. I didn’t know what to do. I mean here a all these Japanese tourists blithely having their pictures taking with the U.S Marines in front of the Marine Corps War Memorial which commemorates, among other things, KILLING JAPANESE!
I decided that I’d just shut up and follow the Marines lead. After all it’s their memorial. They seemed to more or less tolerate/ignore the shutter bugs. After a while I couldn’t take the weirdness anymore and took myself over to Arlington. Every time I think about that morning I shake my head and laugh.
Tell me about something wierd you saw while out of town.
Monday, January 14, 2008
On Men, Women and Gravity
Boys and girls are different. I know, I know. Duh. I’m glad of the fact that we’re different but sometimes the seeming enormity of those differences just boggles my mind.
Mona and I have experiences that are basically polar opposite.
She has a sister. She hung out with her girl cousins and did girl stuff, whatever that is, growing up. There are no boys in her family other than her father, step father, and grandfather. She played with Barbies and played house and had crushes on one of those slightly androgynous boy band kids. I don’t think there was much in the way of loud noise or rowdiness. The toilet seat was always down, no one got dirty just for the hell of it, and random acts of violence between siblings were not the order of the day. Her grandmothers taught her to bake and sew. She enjoyed arts and crafts. Things were generally “nice”.
I have a brother. I hung out with him at my cousins’ house. That cousin, let’s call him Dave, was 10 years older than me and had his own home a few blocks away by the time I was 13. We spent every minute we could over there hanging out with Dave and his buddies. We played basketball in the driveway all summer and football in the street in the fall. In the winter it was simulated pro wrestling in the living room. Football was watched ever Sunday. Even though these guys were 10 years older, they didn’t hold back or let us win. Ever. We’d go home with scrapes, bruises, cuts and sprains pretty much every day. And go right back for more. I know it concerned our parents, but they figured if we weren’t complaining then it must not be bad enough to have to put a stop to.
There were stacks of Playboy and Penthouse magazines to peruse (Mom and Dad didn’t hear about those) at our leisure and as much junk food as we could eat. It was like being in a locker room most of the time. Sometimes girls would come by (it was the pre-HIV free love kind of time), sometimes we got to know them a little and developed crushes, and once in a while a party was thrown from which we were banned. All in all it was teenage boy Heaven. It came to an end when I turned 18 and Dave got married. He married a fantastic woman who is as much an older sister to me as Dave is an older brother.
At the same time my father taught me how to use tools and fish and handle firearms and how to hunt with a bow or a gun. I still know how even though I haven’t been in the woods armed in nearly 20 years. And if Mom wasn’t much of a tomboy growing up she was a full citizen of guyville by the time I was 7.
Because our upbringing was so different I don’t understand things that women find fun and Mona has no concept of what boys like.
Case in point, her 7 year old niece, Riley. Riley is a very nice, well behaved little girl. She likes to draw pictures and play with stuffed animals and play games. I can’t hang out with her for more that an hour before I’m ready to try and catch chain saws with my teeth, but my wife thinks it’s great. I just don’t get it.
Conversely, Mona is often horrified by the behavior of little boys. The family across the street has 4 boys between the ages of 13 and 4. They’re good kids and don’t cause any trouble, but they’re boys. I watch them beating the hell out of each other and I laugh. My wife sees them chasing each other around playing guns and wants to run over there and put a stop to the violence. That cracks me up too. She doesn’t understand that they’re just being boys.
I know this sounds like I’m stereotyping, and you’re right. I know that some girls like sports and some boys like to play quietly. I know some women who can hang with the boys and a lot of the girls I know are at least as raunchy, if not raunchier, than some of the animals I call friends. But keep in mind that many stereotypes are grown from a seed of truth.
Now I have a daughter, and yes, she’s a daddies’ girl. Lucky for me, The Peanut is still too small to really show any play time preferences. Funny faces, songs and tickling are enough to send her into fits of giggles. And I know when the time comes I’ll happily have a tea party with her and her favorite dolls and I’m actually looking forward to things like farther-daughter dances. I’m totally OK with that. I’m not a guy who feels the need to have a son, or to pass on the ancestral jock strap.
If I end up just girls in the house I won’t have a single regret or wish to change a thing. Although like every father of a girl, I’m dreading her teenage years. I believe I have a better chance of predicting the appearance, strength and path of a Kansas tornado than I have of predicting what a teenage girl is going to do from one moment to the next. And that scares me. Mona however is totally comfortable with the idea.
I was talking with some of my family about how I expect to have to bury some boy who comes to take The Peanut on a date in my backyard one day. My brother brought me back to reality when he said “What the hell is wrong with you? You never, ever bury someone on your own property!” I’ve shared my fears with Mona, but like most mothers, she was never a teenage boy and has no idea why I worry.
That’s really the only reason I would like to have a boy. Just to put the shoe on the other foot so to speak. I’d love to see how Mona reacts when our son pretends to shoot the cat or gets in a fight with one of his buddies. And how she’ll do when her son brings home some girl she is sure is wrong for him. I know my Mow could handle the shooting and fighting, but I don’t think we ever would have found a girl that was good enough for one of her boys. At least not until the first grandchild arrived, at which point her daughter-in-law would become her second favorite person in the world, following said grandchild.
I love my wife. I love that she’s a woman and thinks and acts like a woman. She forgives me for being a man, which I appreciate. We get along very well and both agree that our marriage and relationship can best be described as “easy”. I doubt my experiences growing up and Mona’s were anything other than more or less typical. I imagine the same will be true for The Peanut. But still, like every other heterosexual couple, we’re very different, just on the basis of gender. I look at my wife, realize just how great she is and wonder what in the hell she is doing with a big hairy, smelly, juvenile oaf like me. And as hard as I try to convince her she refuses to accept that, in addition to all her inner beauty, she’s totally hot.
Sometimes those differences make me wonder how we as a species manage to live with our opposite gender even as well as we do. Sure it’s fun to hang out with the guys, but even excluding sex I sure as hell wouldn’t want to live with, much less be married to any of my buddies. I’m fairly certain that’s true for most men, and probably for a lot of women too. Why is that? Why do we want to live with and marry people whose flaws and idiosyncrasies we wouldn’t tolerate in ourselves or our same sex friends? I’m not saying we should all turn to homosexuality. I’m just making an observation on the lives of straight people and wondering why it works so well. We know it’s not cultural, since every culture I’m aware of has, at its foundation, heterosexual partnership to a greater or lesser degree. Why? I want to understand. What makes it work? To me it’s a little like gravity. I don’t know what makes it work, but I’m sure glad that it does.
On a slightly related note, what don’t you get about the opposite sex? Personally I honestly don’t understand jewelry. I can understand the shoe thing to some extent. I am not a guy who only has 2 pair of shoes. Mona has me beat, but I do my share of collecting. I can understand the talking. And the talking. And the talking. I talk a lot. Even if I don’t fully get it, I do my fair share of talking and talking, so at the least fair is fair. I’ve read some things that explain well why some women enjoy shopping. Fine. Shop away. But try as I might I just can’t get jewelry. What is it about shiny metal and polished rocks that cause women to elicit an emotional response? I don’t mean why is jewelry bought or worn. I mean I don’t understand the seemingly visceral reaction that jewelry seems to bring out. What makes it that special? Why?
Fill me in if you can. And if you need an explanation about something generally considered to be part of the realm of men just ask. Maybe I can shed some light for you.
Mona and I have experiences that are basically polar opposite.
She has a sister. She hung out with her girl cousins and did girl stuff, whatever that is, growing up. There are no boys in her family other than her father, step father, and grandfather. She played with Barbies and played house and had crushes on one of those slightly androgynous boy band kids. I don’t think there was much in the way of loud noise or rowdiness. The toilet seat was always down, no one got dirty just for the hell of it, and random acts of violence between siblings were not the order of the day. Her grandmothers taught her to bake and sew. She enjoyed arts and crafts. Things were generally “nice”.
I have a brother. I hung out with him at my cousins’ house. That cousin, let’s call him Dave, was 10 years older than me and had his own home a few blocks away by the time I was 13. We spent every minute we could over there hanging out with Dave and his buddies. We played basketball in the driveway all summer and football in the street in the fall. In the winter it was simulated pro wrestling in the living room. Football was watched ever Sunday. Even though these guys were 10 years older, they didn’t hold back or let us win. Ever. We’d go home with scrapes, bruises, cuts and sprains pretty much every day. And go right back for more. I know it concerned our parents, but they figured if we weren’t complaining then it must not be bad enough to have to put a stop to.
There were stacks of Playboy and Penthouse magazines to peruse (Mom and Dad didn’t hear about those) at our leisure and as much junk food as we could eat. It was like being in a locker room most of the time. Sometimes girls would come by (it was the pre-HIV free love kind of time), sometimes we got to know them a little and developed crushes, and once in a while a party was thrown from which we were banned. All in all it was teenage boy Heaven. It came to an end when I turned 18 and Dave got married. He married a fantastic woman who is as much an older sister to me as Dave is an older brother.
At the same time my father taught me how to use tools and fish and handle firearms and how to hunt with a bow or a gun. I still know how even though I haven’t been in the woods armed in nearly 20 years. And if Mom wasn’t much of a tomboy growing up she was a full citizen of guyville by the time I was 7.
Because our upbringing was so different I don’t understand things that women find fun and Mona has no concept of what boys like.
Case in point, her 7 year old niece, Riley. Riley is a very nice, well behaved little girl. She likes to draw pictures and play with stuffed animals and play games. I can’t hang out with her for more that an hour before I’m ready to try and catch chain saws with my teeth, but my wife thinks it’s great. I just don’t get it.
Conversely, Mona is often horrified by the behavior of little boys. The family across the street has 4 boys between the ages of 13 and 4. They’re good kids and don’t cause any trouble, but they’re boys. I watch them beating the hell out of each other and I laugh. My wife sees them chasing each other around playing guns and wants to run over there and put a stop to the violence. That cracks me up too. She doesn’t understand that they’re just being boys.
I know this sounds like I’m stereotyping, and you’re right. I know that some girls like sports and some boys like to play quietly. I know some women who can hang with the boys and a lot of the girls I know are at least as raunchy, if not raunchier, than some of the animals I call friends. But keep in mind that many stereotypes are grown from a seed of truth.
Now I have a daughter, and yes, she’s a daddies’ girl. Lucky for me, The Peanut is still too small to really show any play time preferences. Funny faces, songs and tickling are enough to send her into fits of giggles. And I know when the time comes I’ll happily have a tea party with her and her favorite dolls and I’m actually looking forward to things like farther-daughter dances. I’m totally OK with that. I’m not a guy who feels the need to have a son, or to pass on the ancestral jock strap.
If I end up just girls in the house I won’t have a single regret or wish to change a thing. Although like every father of a girl, I’m dreading her teenage years. I believe I have a better chance of predicting the appearance, strength and path of a Kansas tornado than I have of predicting what a teenage girl is going to do from one moment to the next. And that scares me. Mona however is totally comfortable with the idea.
I was talking with some of my family about how I expect to have to bury some boy who comes to take The Peanut on a date in my backyard one day. My brother brought me back to reality when he said “What the hell is wrong with you? You never, ever bury someone on your own property!” I’ve shared my fears with Mona, but like most mothers, she was never a teenage boy and has no idea why I worry.
That’s really the only reason I would like to have a boy. Just to put the shoe on the other foot so to speak. I’d love to see how Mona reacts when our son pretends to shoot the cat or gets in a fight with one of his buddies. And how she’ll do when her son brings home some girl she is sure is wrong for him. I know my Mow could handle the shooting and fighting, but I don’t think we ever would have found a girl that was good enough for one of her boys. At least not until the first grandchild arrived, at which point her daughter-in-law would become her second favorite person in the world, following said grandchild.
I love my wife. I love that she’s a woman and thinks and acts like a woman. She forgives me for being a man, which I appreciate. We get along very well and both agree that our marriage and relationship can best be described as “easy”. I doubt my experiences growing up and Mona’s were anything other than more or less typical. I imagine the same will be true for The Peanut. But still, like every other heterosexual couple, we’re very different, just on the basis of gender. I look at my wife, realize just how great she is and wonder what in the hell she is doing with a big hairy, smelly, juvenile oaf like me. And as hard as I try to convince her she refuses to accept that, in addition to all her inner beauty, she’s totally hot.
Sometimes those differences make me wonder how we as a species manage to live with our opposite gender even as well as we do. Sure it’s fun to hang out with the guys, but even excluding sex I sure as hell wouldn’t want to live with, much less be married to any of my buddies. I’m fairly certain that’s true for most men, and probably for a lot of women too. Why is that? Why do we want to live with and marry people whose flaws and idiosyncrasies we wouldn’t tolerate in ourselves or our same sex friends? I’m not saying we should all turn to homosexuality. I’m just making an observation on the lives of straight people and wondering why it works so well. We know it’s not cultural, since every culture I’m aware of has, at its foundation, heterosexual partnership to a greater or lesser degree. Why? I want to understand. What makes it work? To me it’s a little like gravity. I don’t know what makes it work, but I’m sure glad that it does.
On a slightly related note, what don’t you get about the opposite sex? Personally I honestly don’t understand jewelry. I can understand the shoe thing to some extent. I am not a guy who only has 2 pair of shoes. Mona has me beat, but I do my share of collecting. I can understand the talking. And the talking. And the talking. I talk a lot. Even if I don’t fully get it, I do my fair share of talking and talking, so at the least fair is fair. I’ve read some things that explain well why some women enjoy shopping. Fine. Shop away. But try as I might I just can’t get jewelry. What is it about shiny metal and polished rocks that cause women to elicit an emotional response? I don’t mean why is jewelry bought or worn. I mean I don’t understand the seemingly visceral reaction that jewelry seems to bring out. What makes it that special? Why?
Fill me in if you can. And if you need an explanation about something generally considered to be part of the realm of men just ask. Maybe I can shed some light for you.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Whereabouts, Whatabouts and Whyabouts (and many parenthetical references).
You may have noticed that I haven’t posted in a while. Some of you (and you know who you are) have even asked where I’ve been and sent along good wishes. Thank you, I appreciate them all.
The good news is that from a health and happiness standpoint all is well. There is no actual bad news. “Great!” you say. “So what’s up? Where have you been?” For those of you with enquiring minds that want to know, I will tell you. As usual it’s a long story. Keep in mind as you read this that I am not complaining. Seriously. My attitude is pretty positive and I’m feeling upbeat over all.
Now on to the story.
By know you know that I’m a sales rep, and that I love it so much that I’m looking to make a radical career change (with an option to return to sales, just in case). You know that sometimes I struggle to hit my quota and now and then I over achieve and make pretty good money.
I struggled through most of 2007 and spent the bulk of the year on probation. In July I came within a day, literally, of losing my job. (As a side note, I know what literally means and am using it correctly here.) It was 95% my fault too. I started work somewhere around 10 AM, took a 90 minute lunch starting at 11:30 and usually left by 3:00. And I didn’t do much of anything while I was at the office. Since I was planning to leave in April of this year, I pretty much coasted last year. I found out in December that I have to stay another 16 months. Anyway, one of the results of my poor performance last year was a demotion (kinda-sorta) from corporate sales down to what we call general business. There only real changes are a lower quota (half of my old number), smaller customers, different title, and a new manager. My salary, benefits and commission structure are unchanged. Not a whole lot of downside really.
But now the new boss is looking for me to perform. It’s not an unreasonable expectation and I honestly believe he’s interested in my success. Plus, when I’m making money, he’s making money. Everything I sell rolls up to him. I hit my target in November (the first month I worked for him) and missed it in December. It didn’t help that I took 7 days off around Christmas either, but the rule is use the days or lose them. So I used them. Oh, and just before I started my vacation I blew a training presentation in a big way, which pissed him off. Once I finished I figured out that I blew it, so I earned a talking-to.
At any rate, the boss has decided to “aggressively coach me”. He’s set some daily performance goals for me (some are the same for all my peers regardless of performance), asked that he be invited on all my sales calls, and required a daily “What I did today” email every evening detailing who I called along with supporting notes in our customer relationship manager software.
It’s not fun but I am taking it in the spirit in which I believe it was conceived. If I do the things he’s asking I shouldn’t have a problem hitting my numbers. The only real downside is the amount of time it now takes up. I’m working full days again.
Plus 2 days this week I was required to be in the office at 8 sharp (which is barbarically early) for training. Getting The Peanut up, dressed, and over to daycare just added a degree of difficulty.
And now the kicker. School started back up this week. I’d been off since December 17th and had gotten used to being home. Now I have classes on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday from 6 to 9 each day. That was putting me out of the house for over 14 hours, which I am definitely not used to.
And the classes aren’t easy, either. Monday and Wednesday are Anatomy and Physiology II. Lots of detail and memorization. I don’t typically study that way but ask any medical professional and they’ll tell you that’s the only way to deal with A&P. The instructors actually require it. There’s no way to just learn a concept and apply it. The 12 major cranial nerves never change. And from what I have read on ratemyprofessors.com the lady I have teaching isn’t easy.
Tuesdays are Microbiology with a focus on human disease. I don’t think this one will be bad, but again lots of memorization. The instructor for this one is not on ratemyprof, despite having taught for at least 12 years. I am taking that as a good sign. If no one is bitching (or happily raving) then I am hoping it’s because he’s just kind of middle of road and reasonably passable.
Realistically I only need a B- in each class to not have a problem. I’ve carried a 3.4 GPA through 6 years of college now and have only 2 C’s on my transcript (Accounting I and II), so I should really just calm down, do what I have to do and get my A or B. But with all the rest going on at work I’ll admit to being somewhat concerned.
At home things are pretty good. Mona takes good care of The Peanut (certainly better than I would) and keeps things from getting too out of hand. She manages the house and we try and split or share the housework on the weekends. The house is currently ahead of us as a result of the holidays and holiday construction but we should be able to get it tamed this weekend.
Still with all the time away from the house I don’t see her or The Peanut as much as any of us would like.
Taken separately none of this is a big deal. Taken together it’s a little difficult, but not overwhelming. I have enough of a sense of perspective to know that it will end relatively soon, everything will work out, and that there a lot of people out there who would kill to have my problems.
Still, with all time away from hearth and home, I expect The Jorge Experience to suffer a little. At least until I have a schedule of some sort worked out and find a way to cram everything in comfortably. All I have to do now is figure out where to find time to study and I’m all set.
The only reason I have time to do this is because The Peanut is asleep and Mona took herself to the walk-in clinic for a strep test. Everyone here is or has been, to varying degrees, ill for the last several weeks. Again, nothing serious, just inconvenient.
I suppose that I’ll have to give up TV (my chair is already losing my ass-groove) and forget about Netflix, but those are small, small sacrifices.
So anyway, that’s why I’ve not been around much. What’s your schedule look like?
The good news is that from a health and happiness standpoint all is well. There is no actual bad news. “Great!” you say. “So what’s up? Where have you been?” For those of you with enquiring minds that want to know, I will tell you. As usual it’s a long story. Keep in mind as you read this that I am not complaining. Seriously. My attitude is pretty positive and I’m feeling upbeat over all.
Now on to the story.
By know you know that I’m a sales rep, and that I love it so much that I’m looking to make a radical career change (with an option to return to sales, just in case). You know that sometimes I struggle to hit my quota and now and then I over achieve and make pretty good money.
I struggled through most of 2007 and spent the bulk of the year on probation. In July I came within a day, literally, of losing my job. (As a side note, I know what literally means and am using it correctly here.) It was 95% my fault too. I started work somewhere around 10 AM, took a 90 minute lunch starting at 11:30 and usually left by 3:00. And I didn’t do much of anything while I was at the office. Since I was planning to leave in April of this year, I pretty much coasted last year. I found out in December that I have to stay another 16 months. Anyway, one of the results of my poor performance last year was a demotion (kinda-sorta) from corporate sales down to what we call general business. There only real changes are a lower quota (half of my old number), smaller customers, different title, and a new manager. My salary, benefits and commission structure are unchanged. Not a whole lot of downside really.
But now the new boss is looking for me to perform. It’s not an unreasonable expectation and I honestly believe he’s interested in my success. Plus, when I’m making money, he’s making money. Everything I sell rolls up to him. I hit my target in November (the first month I worked for him) and missed it in December. It didn’t help that I took 7 days off around Christmas either, but the rule is use the days or lose them. So I used them. Oh, and just before I started my vacation I blew a training presentation in a big way, which pissed him off. Once I finished I figured out that I blew it, so I earned a talking-to.
At any rate, the boss has decided to “aggressively coach me”. He’s set some daily performance goals for me (some are the same for all my peers regardless of performance), asked that he be invited on all my sales calls, and required a daily “What I did today” email every evening detailing who I called along with supporting notes in our customer relationship manager software.
It’s not fun but I am taking it in the spirit in which I believe it was conceived. If I do the things he’s asking I shouldn’t have a problem hitting my numbers. The only real downside is the amount of time it now takes up. I’m working full days again.
Plus 2 days this week I was required to be in the office at 8 sharp (which is barbarically early) for training. Getting The Peanut up, dressed, and over to daycare just added a degree of difficulty.
And now the kicker. School started back up this week. I’d been off since December 17th and had gotten used to being home. Now I have classes on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday from 6 to 9 each day. That was putting me out of the house for over 14 hours, which I am definitely not used to.
And the classes aren’t easy, either. Monday and Wednesday are Anatomy and Physiology II. Lots of detail and memorization. I don’t typically study that way but ask any medical professional and they’ll tell you that’s the only way to deal with A&P. The instructors actually require it. There’s no way to just learn a concept and apply it. The 12 major cranial nerves never change. And from what I have read on ratemyprofessors.com the lady I have teaching isn’t easy.
Tuesdays are Microbiology with a focus on human disease. I don’t think this one will be bad, but again lots of memorization. The instructor for this one is not on ratemyprof, despite having taught for at least 12 years. I am taking that as a good sign. If no one is bitching (or happily raving) then I am hoping it’s because he’s just kind of middle of road and reasonably passable.
Realistically I only need a B- in each class to not have a problem. I’ve carried a 3.4 GPA through 6 years of college now and have only 2 C’s on my transcript (Accounting I and II), so I should really just calm down, do what I have to do and get my A or B. But with all the rest going on at work I’ll admit to being somewhat concerned.
At home things are pretty good. Mona takes good care of The Peanut (certainly better than I would) and keeps things from getting too out of hand. She manages the house and we try and split or share the housework on the weekends. The house is currently ahead of us as a result of the holidays and holiday construction but we should be able to get it tamed this weekend.
Still with all the time away from the house I don’t see her or The Peanut as much as any of us would like.
Taken separately none of this is a big deal. Taken together it’s a little difficult, but not overwhelming. I have enough of a sense of perspective to know that it will end relatively soon, everything will work out, and that there a lot of people out there who would kill to have my problems.
Still, with all time away from hearth and home, I expect The Jorge Experience to suffer a little. At least until I have a schedule of some sort worked out and find a way to cram everything in comfortably. All I have to do now is figure out where to find time to study and I’m all set.
The only reason I have time to do this is because The Peanut is asleep and Mona took herself to the walk-in clinic for a strep test. Everyone here is or has been, to varying degrees, ill for the last several weeks. Again, nothing serious, just inconvenient.
I suppose that I’ll have to give up TV (my chair is already losing my ass-groove) and forget about Netflix, but those are small, small sacrifices.
So anyway, that’s why I’ve not been around much. What’s your schedule look like?
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Loot, Literature, and Lies
I promised I was going to talk about my Christmas loot, and I shall.
I asked for a few things and was really looking forward to getting some, if not all of the books on my list. The ones I requested were:
“Brothers in Battle, Best of Friends” by Bill Guarnere , Edward “Babe Heffron” and Robyn Post. This, for those of you who aren’t familiar with those names, is a companion book to Band of Brothers by Stephen Ambrose. It was written by two of the central contributors to that book. I didn’t get this one but it will stay on the must buy list.
“Tenacious” by Julian Stockwin. If you are a fan of Patrick O’Brian you’ll be hooked. I much prefer this series of novels, which follow Thomas Kydd into the golden age of the Royal Navy, over both the Hornblower and Bolitho series. I also didn’t get this one, but will eventually.
“In at the Death” by Harry Turtledove. This falls into the Sci-Fi category for some reason although I would call it more general fiction and alternative history. There is no Sci-Fi or Fantasy in the book whatsoever. This is the end of a series that begins with a book called “How Few Remain” which begins with the supposition that the South won the civil war and 2 countries, hostile to one another, now occupy the land between Canada and Mexico and deals with the Spanish-American War. “In at the Death” takes us up through the end of the Second World War and is an interesting, if somewhat uncomplicated, exercise in what if. I read this one in about 5 days.
“The Darkest Evening of the Year” by Dean Koontz. I like the books although they are getting a little formulaic. Part of me thinks Koontz wrote this one just to mess with his publisher. Still, it was a decent story but I think it could have been fleshed out a little. I read this in 2 days.
“Confessor” by Terry Goodkind. This one is the end of a series of Sci-Fi / Fantasy books that go back quite a way. The first books in the series I thought were very strong. There were interesting characters, solid plots, good twists and just generally good reading. Later books started to get a little “preachy” in my opinion. One seemed completely tangential to the whole thing and appeared to be the authors’ thinly veiled vehicle for explaining his personal political and moral philosophy. This final book was basically a series of philosophical arguments strung together with a minimum of care. Everything seemed to me to wrap up just a little too easily. Characters that were miles apart for book after book just conveniently reappeared with trite little plot devices. Story lines were wrapped up almost as an afterthought to, again, the authors’ explanation of his world view. This one took me about 4 days.
This brings me to something that has been bothering me for some time. Why does it seem like so many authors, once they get a few best sellers under their belts, feel the need to blatantly interject their opinions into their writing? Even when I agree wholly or partially with them it drives me crazy.
Tom Clancy did it when he made Jack Ryan President. Want to know Clancy’s view on how to fix government? Buy Executive Orders. Ann Rice went into some kind of existential meltdown when she wrote Memnoch the Devil. Goodkind, who I mentioned seconds ago just about bludgeons his readers with his personal philosophy. The only way he could be any more heavy handed is for him to show up to my house, force his way in and then start lecturing me like some sort of zealot missionary. And for the most part, I agree with his general outlook. Dean Koontz is similar but at least he’s a lot less preachy.
Not every author falls into this trap, but it seems many do. I don’t think Stephen King ever did, but he should have stopped writing at either “Hearts in Atlantis” or “Dreamcatcher”, whichever came first. Cell was a decent book however.
One of my other favorites, Robert Jordan (real name James Rigney), got so big that his publishers let his wife edit his books. The result was four or five books introducing more characters than the Iliad and the Odyssey combined and a plot that moved so slowly it might almost have been a text book. Two or three whole books could easily be edited into a single volume. Unfortunately Jordan passed away this summer with his series unfinished. I’ve heard that he left copious instructions for the wrapping up of the series but I’m not holding my breath.
Is it the isolation of writing? Is it the adoring public hanging on every word? Is it the huge royalty checks? What?
Sure, I realize that I’m doing the same thing that I’m bitching about but I think there’s a subtle but important distinction. This is a blog, which means it’s supposed to be somewhat autobiographical and filled with opinion. You know that going in. Writers who suck you in to a book or series of books and then start using those books to tell you what they think are performing, in my opinion, a bait and switch. If I want to be lectured I’ll pay for the privilege by the credit hour. If I want to be preached to I’ll make an appointment on Sunday mornings. Just entertain me.
As for the rest of the loot, socks, slippers, a new drill (which is pretty cool), some sweats and a couple of knives from a cousin who always gets me knives. I’ll explain that some other time.
What about you? Any good stuff? I’m interested to know.
I asked for a few things and was really looking forward to getting some, if not all of the books on my list. The ones I requested were:
“Brothers in Battle, Best of Friends” by Bill Guarnere , Edward “Babe Heffron” and Robyn Post. This, for those of you who aren’t familiar with those names, is a companion book to Band of Brothers by Stephen Ambrose. It was written by two of the central contributors to that book. I didn’t get this one but it will stay on the must buy list.
“Tenacious” by Julian Stockwin. If you are a fan of Patrick O’Brian you’ll be hooked. I much prefer this series of novels, which follow Thomas Kydd into the golden age of the Royal Navy, over both the Hornblower and Bolitho series. I also didn’t get this one, but will eventually.
“In at the Death” by Harry Turtledove. This falls into the Sci-Fi category for some reason although I would call it more general fiction and alternative history. There is no Sci-Fi or Fantasy in the book whatsoever. This is the end of a series that begins with a book called “How Few Remain” which begins with the supposition that the South won the civil war and 2 countries, hostile to one another, now occupy the land between Canada and Mexico and deals with the Spanish-American War. “In at the Death” takes us up through the end of the Second World War and is an interesting, if somewhat uncomplicated, exercise in what if. I read this one in about 5 days.
“The Darkest Evening of the Year” by Dean Koontz. I like the books although they are getting a little formulaic. Part of me thinks Koontz wrote this one just to mess with his publisher. Still, it was a decent story but I think it could have been fleshed out a little. I read this in 2 days.
“Confessor” by Terry Goodkind. This one is the end of a series of Sci-Fi / Fantasy books that go back quite a way. The first books in the series I thought were very strong. There were interesting characters, solid plots, good twists and just generally good reading. Later books started to get a little “preachy” in my opinion. One seemed completely tangential to the whole thing and appeared to be the authors’ thinly veiled vehicle for explaining his personal political and moral philosophy. This final book was basically a series of philosophical arguments strung together with a minimum of care. Everything seemed to me to wrap up just a little too easily. Characters that were miles apart for book after book just conveniently reappeared with trite little plot devices. Story lines were wrapped up almost as an afterthought to, again, the authors’ explanation of his world view. This one took me about 4 days.
This brings me to something that has been bothering me for some time. Why does it seem like so many authors, once they get a few best sellers under their belts, feel the need to blatantly interject their opinions into their writing? Even when I agree wholly or partially with them it drives me crazy.
Tom Clancy did it when he made Jack Ryan President. Want to know Clancy’s view on how to fix government? Buy Executive Orders. Ann Rice went into some kind of existential meltdown when she wrote Memnoch the Devil. Goodkind, who I mentioned seconds ago just about bludgeons his readers with his personal philosophy. The only way he could be any more heavy handed is for him to show up to my house, force his way in and then start lecturing me like some sort of zealot missionary. And for the most part, I agree with his general outlook. Dean Koontz is similar but at least he’s a lot less preachy.
Not every author falls into this trap, but it seems many do. I don’t think Stephen King ever did, but he should have stopped writing at either “Hearts in Atlantis” or “Dreamcatcher”, whichever came first. Cell was a decent book however.
One of my other favorites, Robert Jordan (real name James Rigney), got so big that his publishers let his wife edit his books. The result was four or five books introducing more characters than the Iliad and the Odyssey combined and a plot that moved so slowly it might almost have been a text book. Two or three whole books could easily be edited into a single volume. Unfortunately Jordan passed away this summer with his series unfinished. I’ve heard that he left copious instructions for the wrapping up of the series but I’m not holding my breath.
Is it the isolation of writing? Is it the adoring public hanging on every word? Is it the huge royalty checks? What?
Sure, I realize that I’m doing the same thing that I’m bitching about but I think there’s a subtle but important distinction. This is a blog, which means it’s supposed to be somewhat autobiographical and filled with opinion. You know that going in. Writers who suck you in to a book or series of books and then start using those books to tell you what they think are performing, in my opinion, a bait and switch. If I want to be lectured I’ll pay for the privilege by the credit hour. If I want to be preached to I’ll make an appointment on Sunday mornings. Just entertain me.
As for the rest of the loot, socks, slippers, a new drill (which is pretty cool), some sweats and a couple of knives from a cousin who always gets me knives. I’ll explain that some other time.
What about you? Any good stuff? I’m interested to know.
Friday, January 4, 2008
Christmas Under Construction, Part 2
So while we were having all this work done my wife decided we may as well make some other changes.
She has wanted to upgrade from a queen bed to a king for some time. We live in a small house and our bedroom was too small for a king unless we got rid of all the furniture. We’d have to move to the main floor and into the room we currently use as a guest room.
I told her I would think about it under the following conditions.
First, she must prove that a king bed would fit with enough room for 2 dressers without making the room impassable. In order to convince me I would require a scale drawing along with to scale paper cut outs of the furniture. She is a landscape designer, so she has training and practical experience in scale drawing. She did the drawing and everything fit, even with the additions of 2 nightstands.
Second, she must get rid of the queen bed in the guest room.
She sold it on Craigs List in 24 hours.
Third, we must not dip into savings to make the purchase.
She had Christmas and Birthday money and Craigs List money all set aside.
I was trapped.
She ordered a Sleep Number bed from Select Comfort and it arrived just before Christmas. We left The Peanut in daycare over the holidays in order to be able to get as much work done as possible.
On the 26th we cleared out the guest room of the junk that had piled up and moved a dresser with a hutch to the basement where it was converted to a book case and game and toy storge. On the 27th I removed the old closet system the former owners had installed and painted the trim and the ceiling and closet. On the 28th we painted the walls installed a new closet system and I found myself in Ikea at 8 in the evening. After handing my credit card to the cashier there and ensuring some Swedish kid would got to college for another semester I had what seemed like half a ton of pressboard furniture piled dangerously in the Family Truckster.
We got home, got The Peanut to bed and decided to assemble the bed frame and mattress. We got that done, made the bed up and I went to Taco Bell for a late night snack. We got to bed around one AM and slept in a room with no curtains and just a bed.
The next day we built the 2 dressers and night stands, tried to straighten up the rest of the house and hung the curtains and started to get the bathroom cleaned up and prepped for priming and painting.
I don’t know what we did on the 30th, probably more cleaning. New Years Eve we slept in a little and got our shit together to go over to one of her friends houses to ring in the New Year.
Since we got a metric ass load of snow that night and into the early morning my wife went to bed and slept until 11am. She works for a Company We All Know and in the winter part of her job is to act as a dispatcher for their plowing and salting crews. She was worried about being called in at 2 or 3am and having to work 12 hours. She left orders for me to let her sleep so that she could get as much rest as possible against the chance she might be summoned.
They called on New Years Day to tell her there was a 50-50 chance of either working an afternoon shift or not getting called at all. That let me help with laundry and then do some snowblowing until I got the machine tangled up in the chain link fence and broke a pair of shear pins on the right hand blades. The pins did what they were supposed to luckily, but that took my machine down to below 50% effective. Luckily a neighbor polished off the rest of the driveway for me.
I went over to Lowes to see about a couple of new sheer pins. When I got into the parking lot my wife called to tell me that she had to be at work in an hour. I hurried through there, first looking for sheer pins (they only had ones for older model machines) checking on some doors for the linen closet and laundry chute (delayed again) then over to paint for another quart of Olympic semi gloss interior latex Fragrant Cloves (orange) paint and finally into hardware to see if they had some sheer pins that would work (no dice).
I made it home as my wife was packing her dinner and getting ready to head out. She took off, I hung out with The Peanut, fed her dinner and put her to bed. I read one of my Christmas books and went to bed. My wife (let’s call her Mona from now on) came home around 2:30am. The next morning it was back to the office for a rest.
Next time I’ll tell you about my Christmas loot and keep you updated on the bathroom as events warrant. We hope to have most of it complete and functioning this weekend.
Wish me luck.
She has wanted to upgrade from a queen bed to a king for some time. We live in a small house and our bedroom was too small for a king unless we got rid of all the furniture. We’d have to move to the main floor and into the room we currently use as a guest room.
I told her I would think about it under the following conditions.
First, she must prove that a king bed would fit with enough room for 2 dressers without making the room impassable. In order to convince me I would require a scale drawing along with to scale paper cut outs of the furniture. She is a landscape designer, so she has training and practical experience in scale drawing. She did the drawing and everything fit, even with the additions of 2 nightstands.
Second, she must get rid of the queen bed in the guest room.
She sold it on Craigs List in 24 hours.
Third, we must not dip into savings to make the purchase.
She had Christmas and Birthday money and Craigs List money all set aside.
I was trapped.
She ordered a Sleep Number bed from Select Comfort and it arrived just before Christmas. We left The Peanut in daycare over the holidays in order to be able to get as much work done as possible.
On the 26th we cleared out the guest room of the junk that had piled up and moved a dresser with a hutch to the basement where it was converted to a book case and game and toy storge. On the 27th I removed the old closet system the former owners had installed and painted the trim and the ceiling and closet. On the 28th we painted the walls installed a new closet system and I found myself in Ikea at 8 in the evening. After handing my credit card to the cashier there and ensuring some Swedish kid would got to college for another semester I had what seemed like half a ton of pressboard furniture piled dangerously in the Family Truckster.
We got home, got The Peanut to bed and decided to assemble the bed frame and mattress. We got that done, made the bed up and I went to Taco Bell for a late night snack. We got to bed around one AM and slept in a room with no curtains and just a bed.
The next day we built the 2 dressers and night stands, tried to straighten up the rest of the house and hung the curtains and started to get the bathroom cleaned up and prepped for priming and painting.
I don’t know what we did on the 30th, probably more cleaning. New Years Eve we slept in a little and got our shit together to go over to one of her friends houses to ring in the New Year.
Since we got a metric ass load of snow that night and into the early morning my wife went to bed and slept until 11am. She works for a Company We All Know and in the winter part of her job is to act as a dispatcher for their plowing and salting crews. She was worried about being called in at 2 or 3am and having to work 12 hours. She left orders for me to let her sleep so that she could get as much rest as possible against the chance she might be summoned.
They called on New Years Day to tell her there was a 50-50 chance of either working an afternoon shift or not getting called at all. That let me help with laundry and then do some snowblowing until I got the machine tangled up in the chain link fence and broke a pair of shear pins on the right hand blades. The pins did what they were supposed to luckily, but that took my machine down to below 50% effective. Luckily a neighbor polished off the rest of the driveway for me.
I went over to Lowes to see about a couple of new sheer pins. When I got into the parking lot my wife called to tell me that she had to be at work in an hour. I hurried through there, first looking for sheer pins (they only had ones for older model machines) checking on some doors for the linen closet and laundry chute (delayed again) then over to paint for another quart of Olympic semi gloss interior latex Fragrant Cloves (orange) paint and finally into hardware to see if they had some sheer pins that would work (no dice).
I made it home as my wife was packing her dinner and getting ready to head out. She took off, I hung out with The Peanut, fed her dinner and put her to bed. I read one of my Christmas books and went to bed. My wife (let’s call her Mona from now on) came home around 2:30am. The next morning it was back to the office for a rest.
Next time I’ll tell you about my Christmas loot and keep you updated on the bathroom as events warrant. We hope to have most of it complete and functioning this weekend.
Wish me luck.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Christmas Under Construction, Part 1
I was going to make this a “What I did on Christmas Vacation” story but it sort of evolved into something else as I went along. I’ll have more about Christmas later.
Last spring I redid our bathroom. It was a long and difficult job. I had to redo it because the guy I bought the house from was an idiot. Here’s a good rule of thumb. Never give an electrical engineer tools. Or glue.
The house is a prewar bungalow. The bathroom was built like all other bathrooms at the time; ceramic tile set in 2 inches of concrete over metal lathe that was tacked to the studs. It’s a great way to insure that if water gets on the floor it’s going to stay there and not leak into the basement or wreck your floor joists. It is also very hard to remove.
So the guy who sold me the house decided not to remove it. He engineered a solution. First, he cut a 47” hole in the wall of the bedroom behind the bathroom sink. The he went though the back and cut out a 31” hole in the tile, moved some plumbing (more on this later) and set in a vanity and sink. Then he built a frame in the bedroom (poorly) and put up some paneling.
Since he had destroyed the tile he got some 1/16th paneling with what looked like linoleum on the face and glued that to the rest of the walls. He also glued acoustic tiles to the ceiling.
When I took the paneling off it was obvious there was no way to save the tile. And the plumbing he did looked like it was designed by the little rascals. The only thing missing was the blue and white polka dot handkerchief wrapped around a leaking pipe joint.
I had a neighbor who is a plumber fix that mess and a cousin helped me redo the electrical.
Then I hired a guy who was dry walling my cousins’ basement to do my new drywall. Turns out I was his second drywall job ever. His real job was power washing decks and occasionally working as a bouncer. He was a hell of a bouncer for a drywaller.
The result of his work was, shall we say, sub par? The holes he cut for the can lights and the switches were larger than the covers, so we had big gaps into the walls and ceiling. He didn’t use any tape on the seams, so the mud started cracking quickly. None of the corners were square, and because the original walls were 2” thick the single sheets of green board around the doors were so shallow that we couldn’t put trim on them. There’s a great deal more, but you get the picture.
In addition, during my demolition I think the door frame was pushed out of shape and we could no longer close the door. I refused to replace the door with a new one because this one, like all the other doors in the house, is an unpainted original, custom made and still with it’s original hardware.
After living with this nightmare for 5 months we finally gave in. We decided to tear out bathroom again and hire some professionals to redo the walls.
Friday was when the work started. I spent a good deal of time tearing out our bathroom. I went down to the studs. The only thing I left was the shower surround, tub and floor. I had already done this in the spring and now I had to do it again. On the plus side, it was a heck of a lot easier this time with just drywall instead of tile to remove.
The weekend was all about Christmas with my wife’s family and we did some chores on Christmas Eve.
The construction started on Thursday after I called the contractor on Wednesday to ask him where his guys were. They showed up around 10 and got to work. They replaced our bathroom window, fixed the door and reworked some of the framing that was messed up. On Friday they had the drywall up and mudded and on Saturday they sanded and did a second coat of mud. Then they told us they were done. We were under the impression that they were going to prime the walls. Not so much, they said. My wife is still pissed.
They were also going to leave the window unframed. We won that one.
But as a result we spent New Years eve and New Years day priming and painting. We’re still not done. I have to paint the walls still, replace some floor tiles and reinstall the medicine cabinet and toilet and reconnect all the plumbing. Looks like we’ll wrap up hopefully on Saturday.
Next time I’ll tell you what we were doing while all this was going on.
Last spring I redid our bathroom. It was a long and difficult job. I had to redo it because the guy I bought the house from was an idiot. Here’s a good rule of thumb. Never give an electrical engineer tools. Or glue.
The house is a prewar bungalow. The bathroom was built like all other bathrooms at the time; ceramic tile set in 2 inches of concrete over metal lathe that was tacked to the studs. It’s a great way to insure that if water gets on the floor it’s going to stay there and not leak into the basement or wreck your floor joists. It is also very hard to remove.
So the guy who sold me the house decided not to remove it. He engineered a solution. First, he cut a 47” hole in the wall of the bedroom behind the bathroom sink. The he went though the back and cut out a 31” hole in the tile, moved some plumbing (more on this later) and set in a vanity and sink. Then he built a frame in the bedroom (poorly) and put up some paneling.
Since he had destroyed the tile he got some 1/16th paneling with what looked like linoleum on the face and glued that to the rest of the walls. He also glued acoustic tiles to the ceiling.
When I took the paneling off it was obvious there was no way to save the tile. And the plumbing he did looked like it was designed by the little rascals. The only thing missing was the blue and white polka dot handkerchief wrapped around a leaking pipe joint.
I had a neighbor who is a plumber fix that mess and a cousin helped me redo the electrical.
Then I hired a guy who was dry walling my cousins’ basement to do my new drywall. Turns out I was his second drywall job ever. His real job was power washing decks and occasionally working as a bouncer. He was a hell of a bouncer for a drywaller.
The result of his work was, shall we say, sub par? The holes he cut for the can lights and the switches were larger than the covers, so we had big gaps into the walls and ceiling. He didn’t use any tape on the seams, so the mud started cracking quickly. None of the corners were square, and because the original walls were 2” thick the single sheets of green board around the doors were so shallow that we couldn’t put trim on them. There’s a great deal more, but you get the picture.
In addition, during my demolition I think the door frame was pushed out of shape and we could no longer close the door. I refused to replace the door with a new one because this one, like all the other doors in the house, is an unpainted original, custom made and still with it’s original hardware.
After living with this nightmare for 5 months we finally gave in. We decided to tear out bathroom again and hire some professionals to redo the walls.
Friday was when the work started. I spent a good deal of time tearing out our bathroom. I went down to the studs. The only thing I left was the shower surround, tub and floor. I had already done this in the spring and now I had to do it again. On the plus side, it was a heck of a lot easier this time with just drywall instead of tile to remove.
The weekend was all about Christmas with my wife’s family and we did some chores on Christmas Eve.
The construction started on Thursday after I called the contractor on Wednesday to ask him where his guys were. They showed up around 10 and got to work. They replaced our bathroom window, fixed the door and reworked some of the framing that was messed up. On Friday they had the drywall up and mudded and on Saturday they sanded and did a second coat of mud. Then they told us they were done. We were under the impression that they were going to prime the walls. Not so much, they said. My wife is still pissed.
They were also going to leave the window unframed. We won that one.
But as a result we spent New Years eve and New Years day priming and painting. We’re still not done. I have to paint the walls still, replace some floor tiles and reinstall the medicine cabinet and toilet and reconnect all the plumbing. Looks like we’ll wrap up hopefully on Saturday.
Next time I’ll tell you what we were doing while all this was going on.
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