Another Sign Of The End Of The Store

This is from a couple days ago: After dinner I look for my mail and see that there was only one piece of junk mail.  I don't think that would invite a response, but Mother said from the kitchen that "they don't get too much mail anymore."

Oh, you mean like for The Store?  Great, thanks for reminding me that the family bedrock has been put down, Mother.

One of the sure signs that the seasons are changing is the day I get sick.  When it gets cold I don't add layers of clothing.  It's when my nose starts to run and I get really tired that I add clothing.

Today is that day.  Maybe not wearing a jacket these past several days was the cause.  Probably.  Hopefully I'll be able to watch Dancing With The Stars and Hawaii Five-O and still have enough sleep to feel fully rested for tomorrow.  Ugh.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Gopher volleyball (Last Week: -3).  I am somewhat surprised that after sweeping ranked Ohio St. and being swept by #1 Penn St. last week, the U. volleyballers maintained their #10 ranking.  They won't go down after this week, taking both Michigan teams at the Sports Pavilion.  Last (Saturday) night's victory over Michigan St. was noteworthy in that the Gophers came back to win the last two sets to beat the Spartans in five.

They may clearly be in a tier lower than the Nittany Lions, but they are 5-1 in the Big Ten.  But they played their last four games at home.  They hit the road for the next two games.  Only the first, Friday against Iowa, will count in next week's survey.

#-Infinity: Twins (Last Week: -4).  Well, at least the Twinks were consistent on their way out.  They went to Toronto to finish the regular season, and they got swept.  They finish the year losing five in a row.  After late hopes that they'd eclipse the just-as-rudderless Cleveland Indians, they finished dead last in the American League Central for a second consecutive year.  They are the worst team in the AL for a second consecutive year.  And even though they improved by three games, they finish the regular season 66-96.

So the staff changes that happened after the season was over were expected, even though they came with the usual groans that the firings mean nothing because they don't play.  Third base coach Steve Liddle -- fired.  First base coach Jerry White -- canned.  Athletic trainer Rick McWane, source of more than a couple diagnoses of player injuries that turned out to be wrong -- shitcanned.  Bullpen coach Rick Stelmaszek, who was with the organization for 32 years -- thrown out.  And bench coach Scott Ullger and hitting coach Joe Vavra have been "reassigned" (actually demoted) to instruction duties, mainly for Spring Training.  I agree with all of this; no, I don't see how this makes the players better, but back-to-back shitty seasons, only three years after Minnesota taxpayers contributed $360 million to a ballpark that the Pohlads said would ensure they would be competitive, wells up in me a bloodlust that needed to be satiated.  Heads had to roll.

Two changes that I do like.  Tom Brunansky probably will be called up from AAA Rochester to be the new hitting coach, and Bruno was my favorite player when I was young.  Also, Terry Ryan is no longer the interim General Manager -- he is the General Manager.  I still believe he has the good judgement to clean up the mess Bill Smith gave him.  The sports analogy is: Bill Smith:Terry Ryan::George W. Bush:Barack Obama.  And it probably will take at least eight years to clear away the dead weight and restock the farm system with blue-chip prospects.

But how do you go about beginning the rebuilding?  Do you trade Denard Span?  Do you trade Justin Morneau?  Who are you going to get to fill out the rotation?  (In my opinion, none of the five pitchers who were supposed to be starters for the Twinks on Opening Day should still be with the club.  Get them all out.)  Without a hard salary cap or the Pohlads opening up their personal accounts, the team will have to do with what it's got.  Which is very little.  Which means that they will be bad for a long, long time.  Fuck it all.

By the way, do you know what Josh Willingham finished third in the AL in RBI?  Get out!

Expenses Without Receipt

OK, let me try something different with this.  It's pointless to jot down all the Expenses Without Receipt if I have already written them down in my day planner, but that's what I've done the past few EWR entries.

The month turned a week ago, but as usual I haven't updated my day planner.  I haven't done that because I haven't reconciled the monthly expense report yet, and I can't do that because I forgot all the non-receipt expenses for the month since I did the last EWR.

So I need to pivot this thing.  If I am going to continue to do this on WAF, I'll have to make it useful for something.  I might have it.  Until I update my day planner, I need a place to write down all the stuff I bought and don't have a record for.  Maybe that's what EWR should be.

Of course, I realize this a week after I should have started putting these down.  I have a little catching up to do.  Might as well start.  And I might as well stop doing this in chronological order.  In fact, I'll try this one in reverse chronological order because I remember the stuff I bought yesterday (and today) better than the ones earlier.  Gotta think about those.

OK, here goes:

• Today, Saturday, October 6, I had a coffee at the local Caribou after dropping off my car.  With tip: $2.
• I then took the bus to the local mall: $1.75.
• Went to the library to print out a parking pass for tomorrow's Vikings game: 10 cents.
• Yesterday, Friday, October 5 ... working backwards ... Last thing I did was go to Caffetto to work on my column.  With tip: $1.75.
• Before that was the University of Minnesota women's hockey game.  I went because this game was the official unveiling of their title banner.  Program, hot dog and souvenir-size Coke is, I think: $10.50.
• At the building where I work is an eatery on the first floor.  A neat place, quiet, catered stuff.  I took them up on their lunch, haddock with potatoes.  Good, but then I think most food is good.  I hope I have the total memorized correctly: $7.27.
• Thursday, October 4 ... I think the only expense I had was eating at the USC game.  Twenty wings for only five bucks.  Hit a wall around Wing 16.  With beer and tip: $10.50.
• Now my memory gets really fuzzy ... before the 4th, the prior day I spent money was Saturday, September 29.  I'm going to say that I went to Caffetto because I published my column then.  With tip: $1.75.
• And then I think I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version).  Coffee and tips: $10.
• Then I went to My Favorite Late-Night Italian Place.  Soup, big salad, Coke and tip: $9.50.
• Was Friday, September 28 the day I tried that workplace eatery for the first time?  I think it was.  This time it was breakfast, and I hope I remember the total correctly: $3.77.
• Went to a coffeehouse close to the U.  With tip: $2.25.
• And then I went to the first U. women's hockey game.  Program, hot dog, small Coke.  I think I blew the total, but I'm going to say: $8.50.
• I just noticed that I wrote Expenses Without Receipt for this date.  I went to Caffetto on this date as well.  With tip: $1.75.

I wrote down some stuff on my day planner, so I think I can stop here.

Nearly Lost The Gig

Yesterday I replied to an e-mail wanting to know if I was available for the Vikings game this Sunday.  I thought it wasn't a big deal until I saw that she sent out an all-call e-mail the day before.  The message I replied to was a second and final message.  She went out of her way to see if I could work.  She didn't have to do that, and there was a chance I wouldn't be working this Saturday.  Phew!

Voicemail Gone Forever

Just went through my 41 voicemails for two reasons: 1) I have a work opportunity and I needed to write down the phone number of the person I need to answer to; and 2) I don't want to run into that situation (I don't know if others have to go through this) of needing to re-save voicemails that are really old, and I wanted to do them now that I have some free time instead of needing to get to the new voicemails waiting for me.

The first and most ancient voicemail was from my friend, whom I met while we were ushers and with who I now go to sporting events with.  That was one July 3.  The next one was from the next day -- Mother, on the day I regretted forgetting her wish to call home before I drove home.

That brought back bad memories for me, so I decided to delete it.  But then I thought that this is the second-oldest voicemail I have right now.  Plus, many of the voicemails I have are Father yelling into his cell to call him back, so those I will delete as soon as I hear his voice.  Compared to that, I should keep it so I could hear her dulcet tones.  No worries, I thought; I'll just swing through all my voicemail till I get to the beginning and un-delete it.

No dice.  Once I got back to the beginning, the voicemail was gone.  Maybe they don't have an un-delete feature, or maybe I was going through my messages for a long time (I spent more than 20 minutes going through them two-plus times).  Whatever the case, I regret that now, Mother's message for me is cast to the digital winds, forever.

I have to report to work at 7 in the morning.  That sucks because that definitely rules out staying up late at night.  These days I'm in bed at 2 at the latest.  That's an unthinkable time for me.

And since I usually do my daily blog post then, recently I have been fighting to do them in the late afternoon or early evening before the day ends.  It's been a struggle trying to fit this in while needing to do all the things I usually do during the day.

Also, it doesn't help that this is the time of the year where the modem goes on the fritz.  Been that way for the past two or three days now.  Mother has been harping on me for superfast Internet through cable, and I've usually rebuffed them because it's too expensive.  But even I am getting tired of the unconnections, and now I'll have to look into it, again.

Morningwood!!!

I read in Playboy a long time ago that over a normal night's rest a man experiences about four erections, each lasting about 45 minutes.  That leads me to believe that you get erect not because of dreams or anything but the body uses sleep to repair the body, and blood gets in the way.  Your brain needs fixing, so the body pushes all the blood as far away from it as possible.  Thus, a hard-on.

That's a quasi-scientific prelude to saying that I fell asleep early last night and woke up around 4:30 with what has to be the hardest hard-on I've ever had.  Seriously, y'all, I was 85% asleep but even I was going, "Goddamn!  Is that my dick?"  I'm not saying it's as long as it's ever been -- look, I've got what I've got -- but whatever I had I was pushing it to the hilt.

I was hot in my clothes.  Plus, I didn't think it right to pen in my boner in my pants.  So I freed Willy; I pulled off my pants and underwear and slept (underneath my blanket) bottomless, something I usually don't do because I think it's kind of weird.  But hey, but dick was hard and out!

That's all I wanted to say.

Now It's Mother's Turn To Yell At Me

I still need work at the MRI at the U. to shore up my expenses.  But when I was told I got a session this (Monday) night at 9, I kind of thought, Oh, shit.  Because how am I going to explain to my parents that I'm going to work so late, especially when I have to wake up the next morning?

The only thing I had was to use the same excuse I used when I went back to the party that I eventually did not go back to: I was called in to help at the U.  So I bolt downstairs and tell Mother, who was rooting around her closet, that I had to go.

I am always prepared to see my folks go ballistic whenever I say anything they don't like, because much of what I say they don't like.  But even I wasn't ready for how she reacted.  The only positive I could take away from this was to further parse what fucked-up parts of me come from Mother instead of Father.

First, she asks if I'm getting triple pay for this.  No, I said.  Then she accused me of favoring my "boss" over them: "You talk to your boss like he your father, and then you talk to Father and me like we're another person."  That makes no sense, but I understand what she meant ... and still made no fucking sense.

But then the bitch really lays into me, dragging out a conversation about my car.  "Did you take the car to the dealer yet?"  No, I said -- I've been fucking busy.  "I remind you already.  It winter," she harped, "I worry about you.  I take care of you, you don't take care of yourself."

OK, so that she thinks I value this mythical supervisor over them shows that I get my inferiority complex from Mother.  Doesn't matter if it's true, that's not the issue here.  Her guilt trip reminds me of the times my folks got into arguments with each other and quickly Father turns to me and says, "She crazy."  What I mean by that is, HOW IN THE FUCK DOES GOING TO WORK FOR A COUPLE HOURS MEAN I CAN'T GODDAMN TAKE CARE OF MYSELF?!?!?!  HOW THE FUCK DO YOU GET FROM ONE THOUGHT TO THE OTHER?!?!?!  So maybe he's right and she's crazy, therefore they're both crazy.

"This is second time I tell you to take the car to the dealer, now this is the third time," Mother said, and ah!  This is the Mother I know and have hated all my life.  The one with the threats and the ultimatums, the one who throws around warnings in spite of her not knowing that Father is thinking of putting the Mercedes in operation and refusing to believe the car is running condition.  Because you know what?  Since she fucking harped on the whole car, I'm going to stick my neck out and say that the car is running fine, and that it'll definitely last another winter.  The window might be a problem, but hey, if it's just a regulator, I'll pay the $300 for it.  Fuck you, Mother, I will not take this beautiful car that stores all my good memories of childhood to the crusher, at least not yet.  I'll just tell you I did to fucking get you off my back, OK?

And now I will go the fuck to sleep.

Doing Away With My Car, And It Might Feel Good

Is it easier to let things go if you come to resent it?  If so, is that a feeling that most people have?

While helping out Father with the yardwork chores he wanted to do today he came across my car a few times.  Certainly he saw the rear passenger-side window taped up and figured something happened to it.  But he didn't say anything.  And yet might have been referring to that when, in passing, he said that maybe he'll break out the Mercedes-Benz SUV for the winter and help sell the car (or sell the car on his own).

Hearing that, I was surprisingly lightened, as if a weight came off my shoulders.  For one thing Father wasn't echoing Mother's suggestion that I should trade in the Lexus and buy a Kia, thank God.  But it's knowing that someone would help me with a back-up plan, that not only would I be able to maintain my freedom but also clean up the mess that comes with this huge change, that put a smile on the inside me.

This means that I can see the end of my car.  And yet I feel strangely detached from it.  One of the things I keep replaying in my head is how much I have spent on it just in the past year:

• $400 for new tires;
• $70 for a new battery;
• $1200 for a tuneup and new fuel injector;
• $870 to replace the timing belt;
• $230 for a coolant and power steering flush;
• $1,000 to seal up all the engine leaks

This, I think, still is way less than what I would pay for a new or even used car; that's why I hated Mother's suggestion that I get something else.  But how about using a car that's seven years younger, and, more importantly, one that's doing nothing but collecting dust behind the house?  It makes sense, and not only would I not have to deal with huge expenses (at least not now) but I would also be spared of, what my friend said when I asked him to use his dad's car instead of mine to go all the way to My Favorite Stripclub (Cover Division) the "psychic pain" of waiting for the next shoe to drop when it comes to my car.

And that's what is has come down to.  This has been my car since I was 18, and since this came to me new, no one else has ever driven it as regularly as I have.  But the great memories I have of it have been replaced by oil leaks, weird noises, worries over the transmission, constant checking of fluid levels, and now white trash repairs to keep up windows.  It can make a lovely relationship turn bitterly sour.

I'm at that point now.  And although a part of me is sad, a part of me is relieved that I can leave this piece of shit, this four-wheeled love of my life, behind now.  What the hell is wrong with me??