The institutional mouthpiece of Kjel.org

Kjel.org and the Chiefs Bride and Educator are going to Seattle tomorrow. We plan to watch a Mariners game and enjoy some fine dining:

Throw it in the fryer, I don’t care what it is!

Look for us if you are watching the game on TV. Our seats are very low on the third base side and I think that when TV does a closeup sideview of a right handed batter we are part the crowd you can see behind him. I’ll be the guy getting hustled out by security after throwing one too many ice cubes at Willie Bloomquist. I’ll try to make sure that I lose my shirt and/or pants in the process. Go M’s!

I accompanied the CFO to the doctor’s office the other morning. Nothing to worry about, just routine care and maintenance, all covered by warranty. They poked about under the hood a bit, and I believe she had her plugs and filters changed, her fluid levels checked and replenished, and various belts and hoses inspected and tightened as necessary. She may also have had her chassis lubed but I’m not sure; I’m no doctor. I was just there to provide childcare.

I am considering renting out the Intern to single men. Forget about hanging out with a cute puppy; a cute baby kicks any mutt’s ass when it comes to pulling chicks. I was walking around the Kaiser lobby holding the Intern. He was crying a little, so I was hugging him and telling him quiet jokes in his ear to shut him up make him happy. Whoa. You’d of thought I was the dude in the Axe bodyspray commercial based on the way the temperature rose in that lobby. Women were looking at me in a way that no woman but the CFO has looked at me for a very long time (except when I was wearing this Santa suit at a party once, but that’s another story). It was odd, but not odd in a bad way. I doubt it had much actually to do with me; I think that the Intern’s quasi-magical powers were responsible for the phenomena. And, lucky for you, those powers can be rented by the hour. If you’d like to see him in action yourself please contact me for a rate schedule.

Completely unrelated religion side note: the CFO and Stinkboy were talking to the CFO’s parents on the phone last night. The lad has a children’s Bible among his other books, and the last night or two he’s been requesting stories from it. The CFO is happy to oblige. She knew that her parents would be happy to hear it too (I think Stinky’s copy of the Good Book was a gift from them maybe?) so she so she put the lad on the phone. “What book did we read last night?” Nothing from the boy. “C’mon, what did we read?” Still quiet. “Who did we read a story about last night?” (the desired answer was “Jesus“, but I do believe that the judges would have also accepted “God.”) Jr finally decided to end his silence: “Homer!” I gave him a big hug at that point. Both of those boys are magical, I tells ya.

The Jr. VP has a jigsaw puzzle of the U.S. states. He is very good at remembering the names of the various states and where they go on the map. This is even more impressive given that he can’t read, and only remembers the states by shape and location. Watching him do the puzzle has been fun the last few weeks, and you never get tired of saying “Good job! I bet you are the smartest boy in town!” when he finishes it. He is so good it is starting to freak me out some. He picked up a piece and said “South Dakota!” and put it in the right spot. How the hell did he know it was South Dakota, and not North? Or Wyoming? Or any of the several other rectangular shaped states? Maybe he taught himself to read and didn’t bother mentioning it to me and/or Mommy, but more likely he is some kind of geography savant, a Rain Man but with maps instead of math. I’ve always wanted to be a showbiz dad; maybe I can take him out on the circuit. You know, the circuit? The traveling geography savant circuit? They winter in Florida if I’m not mistaken? Good people out on that circuit.

On Sunday the Jr. VP was sick, and his mood was affected accordingly: we had a little meltdown at the Hillsdale farmers market when I tried to convince him that the communication tower we could see (on top of Council Crest maybe?) was not in fact the the Eiffel Tower as he was insisting. We probably shouldn’t have gone to the market, but we thought that might be better then him sitting around all day being sick. We were incorrect. Our trip to the market was brief.

Babies, even ours, seem to like it when you sing to them. Hell if I know why the Intern doesn’t start immediately crying when I bust out into song; the CEO can’t sing to save his life. Still though I try. I like to sing a bit from Oh Brother Where Art Thou? (”Go to sleep you little baby. . .). To the CFO’s great amusement I also go with (parts of) Afternoon Delight (”Gonna find my baby gonna hold him tight…”) The Intern is too young to be disturbed and the CFO knows enough just to laugh, but I probably shouldn’t burst out into that one at the Fred Meyer. The Jr. VP also likes to sing songs to his little brother. He likes the rock and he likes his Johnny Cash; he even likes some music actually meant for kids (Blast those infernal Wiggles!) but he will also sing the classics, or his versions thereof. For example in his version of Rock-a-by Baby, the last two lines are “then Daddy will catch you, then we’ll burn down that tree.” He doesn’t like to fall you know, and he sees no reason why he should sing a song glorifying the act. Smart lad.

I wish this picture was dated. I see what very much resembles the top of a certain red Suby; I also see what looks like a white pickup, a vehicle that not so long ago was driven by the Chief Sniper. There is another car there too. It belongs to the Man from the Dalles perhaps? Could this have been taken on that magical day when I got to swing (and connect with) a sledgehammer both inside and out at the Chief Educator’s home? Maybe. If I’d known we were being photographed I’d have spelled out something on the roof, or at least combed my hair a little better.

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The Good

Kjel.org learned yesterday that the city of Portland will not be going forward with paving our side-street (against our will) and then charging us for it. “We’ve determined that effected property owners are against the formation of the proposed LID, and as such we will not be moving forward with it.” Amazing the persuasive power a few flaming bags of dog poo delivered to City Hall can have. Now, if I can just run the evil sea hag who proposed this thing out of my neighborhood everything will be hunky-dory.

The Bad

Either the boy is getting smarter or I am getting dumber, or more likely, a combination of both. I used to be very good at anticipating what sorts of things would be trouble and removing them from the Jr. VP’s immediate world. For example, the lad likes baseball, but for Jebus sake don’t ever let him see a real-life baseball bat unless you are outside and prepared to play. Dents in walls and shins come into being otherwise. Or don’t let him start throwing things, or playing hitting-type games, because he doesn’t always know when to stop. Lately though it’s like I’ve got the IQ of a starfish, and not the smart one in Finding Nemo. The lad and I were messing around the other day and I let him stand on the kitchen table. Guess where he wants to stand all the time now? We were then playing a game where I drop legos on his belly and he tries not to laugh. Guess what 3-month-old is now having crap dropped on him while another boy yells “Too fun!”? Maybe tonight on the way home we’ll start playing games with the emergency brake in my car, or maybe I’ll show him how a lighter works or something.

The Ugly

At the HQ urine has lately been an issue for the junior members of the Kjel.org team. The other day, through some miracle of mechanics the Intern used his little fireman to put out a pretend fire on his Mom, decorate the walls in his room, then, as a grand finale, let fly with a little bit into his own mouth. Lovely. Even retelling the story the CFO almost gagged. I’m sorry I wasn’t home to see it.

It is high time that the Jr. VP learn how to use a toilet; I think I realized this when an Amazon shipment of diapers arrived that neither the CFO or I had ordered. I was almost out! the lad exclaimed. Lousy one-click ordering process. Anyway, at the CFO’s insistence I’ve been letting Stinkboy watch while I take care of business matter #1. The problem? The Jr. VP loves playing with hoses and squirtguns, and wants to touch any water (or hose) that he sees. In the situation described above I enforce a very strict look-but-don’t-touch policy. Jr. sees this as a challenge, and I end up dancing around the toilet so as to box him out (like we were fighting for rebounding position) all while trying to complete my business without making a mess, if you catch my drift. Jr. might be learning something in there with me but I’m not sure it’s how to use the toilet.

Talk Like a Pirate Day feels a bit played out. Tomorrow I plan to instead celebrate “Talk Like a Character on Deadwood Day.” I hope all of you fucking cocksuckers will join me.

Kjel.org went to church on Sunday for the baptism of a certain Squeely lad, then it was off to a lovely lunch in the dwelling attached to Anna’s Park in Lake O.

The place we were going was described to us as “at the corner of Stafford and 205.” We got to the described location and noted four churches at that particular crossroads. Luckily two of them had their names out on big signs so we could cross them off our list pretty quick. The third was ludicrously enormous and looked like somewhere Benny Hinn would come to preach. “Jesus H Christ is that a church for giants or something?” exclaimed the CFO. The fourth church turned out to be ours.

If I’d been thinking at all I would have shown up at the church dressed like Don Corleone. Even as it was I was still very much overdressed. Wait, are we at the mall? A waterpark? This is a church, right?

While I am not a “believer” as the RC church (or as the Lutherans, Methodists, or pretty much any other established religion on the planet) would understand it, I respect the institution and the deeply held beliefs of its adherents. And, on the rare occasion that I do attend a church service, the idea that ‘these are pretty much good people’ almost never fails to eventually manifest in the CEO’s molasses-like consciousness. Maybe I’m just going to the right churches. Anyway, as such, and as a guest of friends and as a participant in a centuries-old rite (a sacrament even, to a believer) I thought it proper to wear my nicest pants, socks, my best shoes, and a sportcoat — I had even considered going with a suit. Silly me. Looking around at the parishioners it dawned on me that the average Mariner game had nicer dressed people than the church I was in. Ratty T-shirts and shorts abounded and it was not hot even by the CEO’s standards (that means above 61F/16C). Holy crap, you’re in a church; at least tuck in your goddamn shirt and/or make some amount of effort to hide your bra straps. I’m sorry that that message has to come from a heresy (and hearsay, when I’m being cross-examined) spouting heathen, but well, here we are.

It was a good church nonetheless: I appreciated that during the sermon el Padre repeatedly pointed out that pretty much the absolute lowest rungs of Jewish society during Biblical times were thieves, prostitutes and tax collectors. The fact that Jesus would deign to dine with them ticked off the normals (aka the Pharisees) to no end. Good to see that the squares were getting what for even 2000-odd years ago; good also to see that prostitutes and thieves at least have moved up a notch or two since back in the day.

During most of the service Jr. and I read a book (in whispers mind you) about the life and works of Homer J. Simpson. I am raising the lad to be a crypto-Homerian. Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition but still it’s good to be careful.

There was free (”donations optional?” Didn’t I already put a few wadded up bills in the collection plate?) coffee and donuts afterwards. Apparently that is the standard procedure post-Mass. Whoa whoa whoa, you mean they provide free donuts after every service? Do we know anyone getting baptized out here next week? The CFO did not.

The Jr VP almost ended up on a TV show hosted by Bob Saget: during the baptism itself he came pretty close to falling into the pool. It’s possible that someone, i know not who, wasn’t keeping an eye on the boy like they should have been. The sister of Kjel.org’s primary flora vendor quit taking pictures of the ceremony itself and started taking video of the lad, just in case he did in fact take a plunge. No dice, but close. Also, the holy water probably has a bit more chocolate in it today than it did yesterday — after the ceremony Jr. got his hands into it before I could stop him. “I need to wash hands!” Damn straight you do, but not here.

During the baptism ceremony I renounced “The Glamour Of Evil.” I wasn’t really sure what that was at the time but it sounded awfully cool; I made a mental note to look it up later. I may end up calling “fingers crossed” on that particular renouncement.

The junior members of Kjel.org were exceptionally good and aside from Stinkboy’s near-bath, everything went fine at the ceremony and then the lunch. The Jr VP came home from church and Lake O and took a three hour nap. That usually means that an event was, in his words, “Daddy, Too Fun! Hahahaha Too Fun!!”

While Jr was out a guy (son of one of the CFO’s colleagues) came by the HQ and picked up firewood. He had a small pickup; I helped him load it with about 1,500 pounds of not very dry wood. That truck was a lowrider when it (barely) left the HQ. I hope that kid made it home. I told him that if he knew what was good for him he wouldn’t brake or turn. Or exceed 23 mph. He had our phone number and didn’t call from the 7-11, so I am gonna assume he’s OK. Also going to check the news and the paper closely for the next few days.

If you are listening to music with the Jr VP and he requests “Ring of Fire”, it is the Johnny Cash version he intends for you to play. If he requests “Rocking Ring of Fire”, it means he wants to hear Social Distortion perform the song, preferably the version off their 1998 album “Live at the Roxy.” Screw that up and you’ll never hear the end of it from the boy.

Also, after watching this video an essential truth emerges: very few things are funnier than a gallon of PCP.

The CEO making your life better one tip at a time:

If you are getting a sandwich at lunch and grab an extra packet of mayonnaise from the condiment bar, don’t put it in your front pants pocket, especially if you also have your keys in there already. Keys are pokey; plastic mayo packets are weak. It’s always nice to have a big greasy white stain on the front of your pants just in time for the 1:30 management meeting. Walking into Jr’s ’school’ this afternoon should be enjoyable too. Hopefully I’m not tasered in the parking lot by some concerned parent.

I am considering refinancing the Kjel.org HQ. Why now? Because I’ve finally found a financial services provider that I can trust. Whoooooooooo!

Kids are the best, Apu. You can teach them to hate the things you hate. And they practically raise themselves, what with the Internet and all.

The Jr. VP often will put on a shy act when we are out and about and a stranger asks him a question. Saturday when he and I were at the hardware store (where I bought the only almost lethal booby-trapped flashlight. Ha! You’ll have to try harder than that, Chinese assassins!) the clerk saw his Ichiro shirt and asked him if he liked the Mariners. No response. The clerk then asked who his favorite player was. Nothing from the boy. Finally the clerk just exclaimed “Go Mariners!” At this the Jr. VP smiled and yelled Boo Yankees! and then looked for high fives all around. The clerk and other people nearby were exceedingly impressed. “You’re raising that one up right.”

It’s a good thing he didn’t use the term “Skankees” like I’ve been trying to teach him; my heart might have actually exploded inside my chest instead of just swelling up with pride like it did. I’m equally glad that the phrase Fuck the Yankees! didn’t come out of his mouth.

I was in the shower when the CFO poked her head in and said “Planes have hit the World Trade Center! — one of the Towers collapsed!!” Huh? I rinsed off as fast as I could, grabbed a towel and ran out to the front room. Within 5 seconds of me making it to the TV the second tower fell. A smarter, more insightful, more creative (and less vulgar and/or blasphemous) person would have said something meaningful at this point; the CEO was reduced to Holy-motherfucking-shit did that just happen!?!? And then Son-of-a-fucking-bitch. Goddammit. I just watched 5,000 people die. Fuck. The rest of the day was a haze, punctuated by the occasional what the fuck? as some new detail would come out. I’m pretty sure I went to work that day, but I’m equally sure that no work got done.

It’s probably some sort of character flaw but by the time I got home and the enormity of what had happened had penetrated my thick skull, I had a monumentally overwhelming urge to lock the windows, bar the door, pour myself six fingers of bourbon and then stay up all night sitting in a chair in the hallway with a loaded shotgun in my lap. I could have remained in that position for a week. If I could also have had the launch codes for the U.S. nuclear arsenal near my right hand, all the better.

Christ, that was only 2001; back then Kjel.org consisted of just me and the CFO. I can’t imagine what I would do now in the same situation, but it would likely involve a certain someone “going off the deep end” so to speak. If in the future some terrorist shitstain lands another 9-11 sized blow on the U.S. I recommend you call before you come over.

I was gonna start this with “maybe I’m an idiot”, but really, there is no “maybe” involved. A better person would have put most of this behind them by now, but that better person is not the CEO. I very much miss September 10, 2001, and while remembering the day that followed thoroughly sucks, I think also that we forget that day at our peril. I haven’t, even though I sometimes try. Sorry for the downer. Pointless drivel about mundane crap will resume tomorrow.

The Jr. VP acted out a bit this weekend, trying to reinforce the idea that he is the #1 attraction at Kjel.org, Intern be damned. Mind you he is never, ever mean or otherwise untoward with the new lad in any way shape or form; instead he will do something like attempt a back handspring off the couch while screaming “Daddy watch this!!” If I hold, look at, or even think about the little AK for too long the commands of “Watch this!!” just intensify. I feel bad if the Jr. Vp feels ignored. I do my best to pretend that the Intern doesn’t exist, going so far as to hide him in the garage at times but Stinkboy still is rarely satisfied. Sorry son.

Some pics of the Jr VP and his Intern hanging together:

Far and away the most exciting part of Kjel.org’s weekend was buying a refrigerator. I guess we can finally quit keeping all our food in coolers; my ice bill should go down substantially. And no, I didn’t actually buy it on Amazon, although I should have. I buy everything else I could possibly need on the internet, so why not a fridge? They sell everything else I need: food, books, movies, diapers, jewelry, ammo, sex toys. . . just kidding about that last part; Amazon does not sell firearms or ammunition.

Actually it’s for the better that I didn’t use Amazon for this one, as the nice folks at Standard will deliver and install the new fridge whereas Amazon would have left if at the curb. I’m not sure the CFO could have moved it inside by herself.

I also mowed the “lawn” at the HQ this weekend. I wore safety glasses to do it, since last time I mowed I was blinded by all the dust that running the lawnmover over the empty patches in front of my house is apt to raise. I also close all the windows in the HQ; enough dust is going to get in the house as it is. I am beginning to think that the CEO personally should have worn a mask too: based on the amount of particulate matter I picked out of my teeth post-mow, my lungs probably aren’t as pink today as they were on Friday. Inhaling a mixture of dust, powdered dry grass and mower exhaust can’t be good for you. I am keeping an eye out for the early symptoms of Lumber Lung or a similar affliction.

Speaking of harming myself: the Chinese-shoddy-product scandal hit home for the CEO this weekend. Sure, in the last few weeks we’ve had to throw away and/or exchange certain toys because of the poisonous paint, but that didn’t really affect me. It’s not like I was gonna be the one putting those things in my mouth. Yesterday that all changed. The Jr VP and I were at A-Boy buying odds and ends, and I picked up a rechargable flashlight/lantern from one of the sales bins. It was cheap, both price-wise and construction-wise, but I didn’t care. I got it home and plugged it in. A little while later I went to check on it to see if it wa charged. Hmm. That plug feels awfully hot. I wonder if that is normal? And what is that liquid leaking out it? Is that condensation? That water smells funny, and feels weird on my hands. Let me try to smell it again, nice and deep, and maybe figure out what this is. Maybe I’ll take just a little taste . . . ?

I’ll tell you what: battery acid does not feel, smell, or taste very good. The burning started up pretty quickly on the hands, but I was at least able to run to the sink and wash it off. The taste in my mouth took a while longer to go away, and required about six glasses of milk and an Altoid. As far as I can tell no serious internal damage was done. As far as I can tell. The only evidence for that is that I’m not in excruciating pain and I’m not bleeding anywhere the CEO hasn’t bled before, so I got that going for me at least. The nose though? Not sure it’s related, but since I woke up I’ve had a very lowgrade nosebleed. Best to hide your good whites if I am about to blow my nose around you today. I suppose that the bloody nose could just be because of all the blow I’ve been doing lately, but I guess there’s really no way to know.

I’ve recently decided to buy, er, acquire one these. Teacher, mother, secret lover indeed.

On a completely unrelated note, does anyone know when the Chiefs Educator and Bride are going to be out of town?

Tonight I taught the Jr VP to yell (in Monster Voice, no less) “Soy El Chupacabra!!” and then show off his big teeth and look at any nearby listener’s throat. It’ll go over well with the (primarily Latina) teachers at his ’school’ I think.

The Jr VP seems to want and need more attention now that the Intern also lives with us. Since I won’t give it to him in real life, I hope that this is enough. Two things:

1. The Jr. VP never ceases to amaze me. Watching TV last night an ad came on that featured a snippet of the Man in Black’s “Ring of Fire.” The lad immediately starts yelling Ring of Fire! Ring of Fire! The last time I can remember playing “Ring of Fire” at the HQ the Jr VP was 15 months old. Unless they play it for the kids at his ’school’ (seems an odd musical choice for a daycare) I have no idea how he recognizes that song. The Jr VP very possibly has a secret life that both I and the CFO know nothing about. A secret life that somehow involves listening to Johnny Cash.

2. The Jr VP has honed his skill at extending bedtime to the last possible instant. These aren’t one-off tools that he uses; the entire list might be run through in a 90 second period.

Tricks of the trade for the master procrastinator:

“Look, a (queen, puppet, rocket, kitty etc)! Lookit!!” (said as he points to an ABC’s poster showing all kinds of stuff corresponding to letters of the alphabet.)

“Can I tell you a secret?” (one of his classic moves)

“Close the door!” (the closet door MUST BE CLOSED prior to sleep. The lad will make sure you are well aware of this rule)

“More milk please.” (whether he is thirsty or not)

“Where is my puppy?” (one or more stuffed puppies must accompany him to bed every evening)

“I am a puppy!” (not sure about his thinking on this one)

“Looking good Daddy!” (I then must answer “Feeling good, Jr!”)

“I want the Wiggles book!” (I swear he saves this one for when he knows it is out in the car)

“One more hug!” (difficult to refuse; often used when the bedtime situation is looking dire)

“I love you Mommy!” (again, a potent weapon, probably the most powerful one in his arsenal; the boy knows that he will at least get an “I love you too” back from Mommy. Difficult for him to go to the well too many times with that one.)

“Rambling Man?” (a last ditch desperation move. No Stinkboy, we are not going to put on an Allman Brothers cd before bedtime)

I have no doubt that tonight he will ask for Ring of Fire before bed. If he does I just might give in. Hell, there is no just about it — the CEO will fold faster than Superman on laundry day if the lad wants to hear some Johnny Cash before bed. Better let the CFO tuck him in tonight.

1. Is summer over already? It’s feels like it was Memorial Day about two weeks ago. Where did the Kjel.org summer go? Oh yeah:

Life at the HQ is regaining some tiny bit of normalcy; it only took two months. I suppose we were (and will still be) slightly busy. The Intern requires more care than you might think as he can’t feed himself or even move around on his own. And as far as changing his own diaper? Forget about it.

2. The Chief Educator has been TV shopping lately; I’ve been reading about some of the options he is looking at for his newly remodeled family room. Wow. New TV’s are pretty damn awesome. As the Jr VP said the other night before bed, I love you TV. Kjel.org is probably not in the market for a new TV for at least a year or so, but watching the Chief shop for a new one is making me rethink my priorities. The CFO doesn’t really need a new car . . .

Here is the lad enjoying some football on Kjel.org’s old fashioned TV this last weekend. He’s cheering as WSU goes up 14-7 on Wisconsin. There wasn’t too much cheering after that.

3. Kjel.org took a nice trip to Banks Lake in north central Washington last week with the CEO’s whole family. The Intern has been taking notes from the Jr VP: he charmed the heck out of his Grandmama just like Stinkboy does on a regular basis. You’re learning from the best, Intern. Keep paying attention to how he operates and you’ll be fine. Here is a picture of the Jr VP and his cousin Chuckles at the beach house. One seems much more interested in snuggling than the other. Hmm. Remember Stinkboy, no means no!

4. The Jr. VP might be getting over his authoritarian tendencies. A little bit at least. His familiar commands (ie No Talking!) are now supplemented by comments giving people permission. My favorite from the other day: As we are getting into the car he says “You want to drive, Daddy?” Don’t mind if I do, Stinkboy.

5. My list of justifiable asses to kick just got one longer: welcome to the list, Jack. You are listed right under Muamar Quadafi. Let’s hope we never meet. Same goes for you too, Muamar.

6. If you are a Mariner fan tonight’s game against the Yankees (or the Skankees, as I’ve taught Jr to call them) pretty much a season decider. This one is important: win and the M’s are still legitimate wild-card contenders, lose and it relegates the M’s to need-a-miracle status. I’m not saying that Ichiro can’t pull a miracle or three out of his hat, I just don’t want him to be required to do it in order for the M’s to have a shot.

7. The CEO’s 2007 Gambletron College Football Derby is now fully operational. Email me if you want in. It’s quite a commitment so don’t undertake it lightly. And once you are in, you are in. Don’t make me send “Mr. Pink” from N. Portland (aka the Chief Gambletron Enforcer) around to your place.

8. Anyone need any firewood? We are having some trees around the HQ trimmed pretty soon and should have a decent stack of wood left over. First person to claim it gets it. Unless someone else who wants it beats that person to it — it’ll be stacked next to the HQ, come ‘n get it.

The CFO and the Intern were in Seattle Friday and Saturday night. So what are Daddy and a boy to do while Mommy is out of town? Friday night we got a pizza and watched movies. Saturday, he got up early to watch TV; I got up with him but fell back asleep on the couch. On the couch I was having a dream in which I was getting beaten up; I awoke to find the Jr. VP sitting on my back and kicking me with his ball-peen-hammer-like heels. About one o clock or so the Chief Educator came over and the three of us spent the next five hours watching football and drinking tequila. We also ate an entire bag of pizza rolls. A parenting side-note: In a child sized plastic cup you can mix one part Mr and Mrs T’s margarita mix with one part cold water, garnish it with two ice cubes, and present it to your toddler as “lemonade.” I was a little worried that Jr. would ask me to salt the rim — tough to do on a sippy cup.

Sunday morning we packed a lunch (pizza, of course) and headed down the street to the park. The skater punk teens were well behaved today, but there was one obnoxious 12 year old going around to all the parents at the park and asking them if they wanted to buy toys from him. This kid looked a lot like Chunk from the Goonies. He had a collection of toys laid out on a blanket, and would say stuff like: “Hey excuse me! You have kids right? Don’t you like to buy stuff for them? What, you don’t want to buy toys for them? They aren’t very expensive if that is what you’re worried about. Why won’t you even come over here look at them?” I hope that the kid was selling his brother’s toys; that would almost make his obnoxiousness acceptable. When he tried his spiel on me I asked to see his City of Portland business license. And then told him he could go to jail if the cops showed up here (that last bit of inspiration hit me when I saw a cop car pulling off 49th to cruise down the street between the library and the park). If there is anything better than messing with an irritating 6th graders head, the CEO hasn’t found it.

Then we went home to await the CFO’s arrival and do a quickie pick-up at the HQ, trying to hide the evidence of our recent depravity. Mission accomplished.