Come in Tokyo!

Got a new wireless headset for my cell phone yesterday. I've resisted buying one in the past, mostly because the sort of people who feel comfortable wearing them also feel comfortable at Star Trek conventions and Dungeons and Dragons tournaments.

I won't use the "N" word, but you know who I mean. No, not that "N" word, dummy ... Nerd. There, you forced me to use the word, after all.

Anyway, I'm still not comfortable talking on my cell phone while in public. So I'm really not comfortable tooling around town with a little Bluetooth gizmo hanging out of my left ear.

But since I started my new job working out of the home office, it's important that I'm available for incoming calls. And much of the time, those calls turn into interviews which require me to have my hands free to type while talking.

Hence, my purchase of the Official Lt. Ohura Ear Gizmo.

Will it improve my life, the way the lady at the phone store said it would? After wasting two hours trying to get the damnable thing up and running, it seems unlikely.

It turns out there's quite a bit of button pushing, fine tuning and battery charging to be done before you can even turn the thing on. And once it is working, it does so in only the loosest possible interpretation of that word.

My first (and only) call was to my daughter. It went a little like this

ME: Hey, kiddo! How's it going?

D: What? No, it's not snowing. Who is this?

M: It's me, dad.

D: Mad? At who? What?

M: (shouting) No! It's me! Dad!

D: What? I can hardly hear you.

M: (screaming and turning an alarming shade of blue) I'm trying to get my new headset thing to work.

D: I don't think so. Maybe on Tuesday.

M: Tuesday? What are you talking about?

D: No, you know I don't like trout. What?

M: What?
D: What?
M: What?
D: What?

And so on for about ten minutes. Finally I gave up, unplugged headset and finished up the conversation in a more or less normal manner.

According to the lady at the phone store, this headset is the last word in cell phone headset technology. If so, the previous word must have been transmitted between two tin cans via a piece of taut string.

If Only I Were Smarter...

For my new job at the newspaper, I had to shoot a "mugshot," something to run with my weekly column. So, figured I, I'll touch it up heavily, take off 20 years and 30 pounds, and post it here at my blog, as well.

Great plan, eh? Unfortunately, I spent two hours dorking around with the damn thing and couldn't figure out how to upload the photo from within the blog itself. Therefore, I'm blogging it in from Picassa, then working the programming voodoo from there.

Wish me luck. By the way, I look pretty damn good in this photo, don't I? What they need to invent is Photoshop for real life. 

The Home Office and Self-Discipline

Started my new job Thursday. Mostly, I'll be working from my home office, which is not especially roomy (see life-sized photo, left).

I went through and cleaned the place from top to bottom prior to my first day of work. In the past few months, it had gotten pretty cluttered. At one point, in fact, I considered applying for Hurricane Katrina relief money. I'm almost certain I would have qualified.

Due to a temporary personnel shortage at the home office - about an hour's drive from my place - I was thrust into the deep end of the pool on my first day. Basically, I was show my desk, my computer and the phone system, then set loose to do my worst.

I'll only be visiting Galactic Central Point maybe once a week. The rest of the time I'll be here at home trying to convince myself that deadlines still matter even if I don't have an editor looking over my shoulder to make sure I'm interviewing congressmen instead of downloading porn.

Fortunately, I have the self-discipline of a Marine drill sergeant. Yup. That's what I've got alrighty.

I wonder what's on Oprah this afternoon.

Full Circle at the Apple Orchard

Went picking apples with my daughter and grandbabbies (see cute granddaughter, left) late last week. Apples and pumpkins ... they're both available for picking at the orchard I visit every fall.

I first went to the orchard over 15 years ago. Back then it was nothing but apple trees, pumpkins and a hay-wagon to transport city folk in search of a rural experience.

Now it's friggin' Disneyland. Go-cart rides, a petting zoo, pumpkin carriages, a gift shop to rival The Mall of The Americas, inflatable "jump houses," a corn maze, a fence maze ... the list goes on. What was once a pleasant two hours of quiet, agrarian pleasure has morphed into an over-crowded, stressful, tire-your-ass-out extravaganza of hectic activity.

Fortunately, we went during the week, when the crowds are at a minimum and (mercifully) half the "attractions" are not up and running.

The Lovely Mrs. Taylor and I went back again Sunday, this time with the intention of doing a little "guord shopping" in the aforementioned gift store. Our plans changed abruptly, however, when we discovered the nearest parking space was in another time zone. Mrs. T picked up the guords she needed for her annual Halloween display at a nice, little gardening shop down the road instead.

It may sound as though I begrudge the apple people their chance to turn their quiet little orchard into a mega-buck cash cow, but I don't. It's the American way. More power to 'em, I say.

But next year I think I'll go to this other apple orchard a friend recently told me about. It's a small-time operation; one horse-drawn hay-wagon, a bonfire and a gift shop smaller than my living room.

I figure I'd better give it a visit before they get around to installling the monorail and Magic Kingdom.

Life Without Mark

Tonight's the band's first gig without Brother Mark.

Mark and I have been playing together in the same band - The Guinness Brothers - for about six years, I think. Before that, Mark and I worked together in various bands for 15 years or so. So we've been sharing a stage for 20 years, at the very least.

And tonight, at Harvard Tavern, for the first time, I'll be flying solo.

Oh, the rest of the band will be there, sure ... but not Mark. And it's gonna be wired. I'll miss his playing, of course, and his vocal work. But more importantly, I'll miss - I miss already - all the "business stuff" Mark took care of.

He booked the band, he handled disgruntled bar owners, he haggled with managers trying to stiff us, he took care of payroll, taxes ... all the hassle stuff. All I had to do was show up and play. From here on out, I'll be doing it all.

Mark told me he's retiring from the band because he's getting too old to rock and roll. I'm not sure I believe that, but I've been wrong before.

Whatever his reasons, he's going to be missed.

The Vacation is Over

My job search came to an end today. As of next Thursday, I am no longer sucking off the governmental teat, but will be a contributing member of our Great Society

To be honest, I was kinda getting used to the teat. It gave me money and didn't expect anything in return, other than a bi-weekly call to a robot named "Marvin." Marvin would ask me if I'd been looking for work (yes), been available for work (yes), and if I'd turned down any work (no). Then he would send me a nice check, which I would give to my wife, who in turn made sure the bills got paid.

At any rate, it's goodbye teat, as of Thursday. I'll miss Marvin, and more specifically his free money, but nothing good lasts forever (with the possible exception of The Simpsons).

My new job is at a newspaper, again. The company's one of those big monsters that owns dozens of newspapers; I'll be covering a couple communities near Grand Rapids and working primarily from my home office.

This means I'll be able to let the dog out ocassionally and pick up the mail from our Post Office box in the afternoon. Working from home also cuts down on the gasoline consumption, which was killing me in my last job. All told, this looks like a pretty good gig.

My new boss seems like a nice guy and my new editor seems like a nice lady.

It's good to be back to work. But, really ... I am going to miss that teat.

Chili Fritos and Breath Problems

Does anything in the world give you funkier breath than Chili Cheese Fritos? I've gone to bed after consuming shellfish, whiskey, beer, bleu cheese, sauerkraut and anchovies and still not woken up with the breath I had this morning.

Last night, my "one glass of wine with dinner" was followed by five more glasses of wine sans dinner. Perhaps that's why the Chili Cheese Fritos sounded - at around midnight - like such a good idea.

I usually brush my teeth vigorously before bed, but the wine went a long way toward making that idea seem like a bit too much work. So, following a Tivo'd episode of X-Files, I toddled off to semi-drunk dreamland with bits of Chili Cheese Fritos lodged in various dental concavities.

When I woke this morning, it was with the taste of decaying road kill filling my mouth. I tried to breath through my nose, hoping I could trap the godawful scent, but that accomplished nothing but to fill my nasal cavities with the smell.

Mrs. Taylor was sleeping with her back to me, with good reason, I think

I brushed for a looooooong time and gargled with Listerine (which tastes almost as bad as day-old Chili Cheese Fritos) but I can - or imagine I can - still taste those Fritos in there somewhere.

From now on: no more wine if there are Chili Cheese Fritos in the cupboard.