The CEO is in Los Angeles. The L.A. Hilton is everything I hoped it would be. State of the art rooms, design, and furnishings, if the date today was June 5th, 1986. And being next to the airport is nice. You know they fly jets round the clock now? Who’d of guessed that my room would have a view of one of the runways? Sometimes I’m just lucky that way.
I did something the other day I probably haven’t done for a decade: I gave another driver the finger while I was on the road. That sort of thing is not usually the CEO’s style, and in fact I normally make fun of people who take out their frustrations on the highway. Pathetic folk like that are funny, at least until they cause an accident and kill someone.
I was getting off 405 onto 4th Ave when this peroxide blond-used-up-ex-stripper looking woman nearly rear ended me. Then she starts yelling and honking and waving her cigarette and acting all crazy. Before I even knew what was happening, my hand was off the gear shift and Mr. Bird took flight. The best part of it though was that 15 seconds later with her still behind me and raging, we came to a cross-walk. Buses were next to me so she couldn’t pass. Normally I laugh at the pedestrians waiting at the crosswalk and gun it. Get a car, losers!. Not yesterday though. Yesterday when I saw the folks waiting at the crosswalk I immediately stopped, and motioned for them to go. I waited until they were safely across all lanes of traffic, then spent an extra moment making sure that they were OK on the other side of the street. Behind me Miss I’m-so-full-of-anger-because-all-those-other-girls-get-all-the-one-dollar-bills seemed as if she wasn’t accustomed to granting pedestrians their right-of-way. It’s too bad neither of the boys were with me. I could have been a good role model for them. Except for the hand signal I guess.
I drive on her streets, ‘cause she’s my companion
The CEO learned today that I will traveling to wonderful Los Angeles on business next week and staying at the luxurious LAX Hilton. Aside from the boring meetings and the actual work I’m being sent south for, I’ve at least got at a few other possibly fun events on the agenda: a cocktails-n-dinner event at some swanky place on the beach in Santa Monica one night, and a “gala reception” (whatever the hell that means) at Sony Picture Studios the next. The CEO is not a swanky guy; I’m going to have to muster all of my swank in order to pull this next week off. My swank dial will be turned up to 11 all next week, and the gauge most likely red-lined. Wish me luck because I am going to need it.
I’m going to try to have lunch or cocktails (or both!) with a certain sister of the CEO one day while I’m down there. I’d rather she came to my hotel instead of me going out to her; her office is not really in the best neighborhood as I understand it. Sister: My office is in an, er, intersting part of town. Here’s the address. . . CEO: I believe I’ve heard of this ‘Compton’ neighborhood before. Perhaps in a ‘rap’ song of some sort? Just make sure you’re wearing neutral gang colors if you come to visit my office. Er, neutral like gray? What colors are ‘gang colors’? I don’t know. Good luck!
On Sunday morning the CEO oversaw a disappointing spectacle: the Intern got himself baptized, naked in a church pool and everything, and he didn’t even take the opportunity to cut loose in the holy water. I thought all babies did that? Instead of turning the font into his own personal Gervais-Jacuzzi-style bath, he just sat there and let a golden opportunity for hilarity wizz right by. Is it really only the Jr VP who I can count on for baptismal font hijinks?? Admittedly Stinkboy did his work with a chocolate donut and did it just a few weeks ago at the baptism of one of his pals, but still . . .
The CEO was well behaved at the church even though I’m sure there were those in the crowd who may have imagined my responses during the ceremony thusly: Sure yeah, raise him in the Church. Done. Reject Satan’s glamour or whatever. OK, got it. He’s no longer evil. Let’s hope so. Now can we get to the dunking already? I got beer and chili waiting at home and that football game isn’t going to watch itself. The CEO was not like that at all; I took seriously the task at hand and did my best to make it as meaningful as possible for me and everyone involved. I succeeded for the most part. I won’t lie: I was tempted to lose focus and, say, indulge in a bit of glaring at the teenage idjuts who seem to think it’s OK nowadays to show up in church dressed like a hobo, but I wasn’t there that morning for myself. Only just once did I catch myself engaging in a spot of mental telepathy* directed toward the miscreants.
Everything turned out well. The boy of the hour, my little AK, was a very good baby (”best baby in town!” as Stinkboy calls him) and impressed the hell out of everyone there and those fortunate enough to be in attendance at the lavish afterparty. Except for the fact that he won’t urinate on command for Daddy the Intern seems to doing everything right these days. Keep it up little dude and you might give the Jr. VP a run for his money yet.
* (The CEO’s brainwaves: Jesus-tap-dancing-Christ you stupid assclown, you’re in a goddamn church! Show some fucking class ya dickwad and tuck in that shirt!)
A vast global conspiracy of simian insurgents
Come on humans, wake up! Now they’re targeting our leaders!!
NEW DELHI: A senior government official died Sunday after falling from a balcony during an attack by wild monkeys at his home in the Indian capital, media reported. New Delhi Deputy Mayor S.S. Bajwa was rushed to a hospital after the attack by the gang of Rhesus macaques, but quickly succumbed to head injuries sustained in his fall, the Press Trust of India news agency and The Times of India reported. . . .Over the years, city authorities have employed monkey catchers who use langurs — a larger and fiercer kind of monkey — to scare or catch the macaques, but the problem persists.
That last part is just an excellent example of putting off dealing with a medium sized problem until today’s half-assed ’solution’ becomes a larger problem. Mark my words: your grandkids and mine will someday contemplate the merits of launching a war to liberate our human brethren on the Sub-Continent from their evil langur overlords. I hope they do.
I am jealous as hell of this guy. I wish I could get the Jr. VP to eat pot pies. Or the CFO to let me serve them to him.
Everett father sues over potpies
An Everett father is the latest to sue ConAgra Foods. His 2-year-old daughter was sickened with salmonella poisoning after eating frozen potpies linked to a national outbreak.
Lucky bastard.
It seems that the Jr VP and I may have similar dreams
Upon being woken up this morning, the Jr. VP screamed ENCHILADA! and sprinted for the living room. Afterwards he could not explain why.
The CFO on the phone this morning with an advice nurse regarding the possibility of the Jr VP having an ear infection: “Well, he says that his ears hurt, but then again he also says that there are monkeys playing in our living room.”
Turns out that the lad does have an ear infection. I’m going to go home soon and check out the monkey report.
The president of Doorknob Construction (aka the Chief Sniper) and family made it to the HQ for dinner last night. Thank you Chief for the pizza, salad, and the beer. Two out of those last three were lifesavers. The other? Still pretty good. That Green Goddess is quite a lady.
At one point last night Mr. D was doing something (I forget what) that made the Jr VP laugh hysterically. Stinkboy, through his cackling, pointed at the Chief and yelled “That one’s funny!!” Apparently Jr had declined to learn the names of our guests. That would make some sense I guess: the lad has a bit to learn about being a gracious host. The Jr. Sniper, even though perhaps a bit overwhelmed at first, was a perfect gentleman all night and happy to play with the toy cars and trucks we keep scattered about the HQ. Stinkboy? Let’s just say that a better host would have offered toys to his guest, instead of screaming “I NEED IT!” and trying to snatch it out of his hand whenever his guest picked up something new. A few time-outs were required before the evening was through.
Thanks again guys, and remember: you have the best boy in your town. Jr meant no offense, and it’s not like he was claiming to be the best boy in the whole state or anything.
I read the headline five times thinking it was from the Onion. Nope. Yahoo news:
As violence falls in Iraq, cemetery workers feel the pinch
NAJAF, Iraq — At what’s believed to be the world’s largest cemetery, where Shiite Muslims aspire to be buried and millions already have been, business isn’t good. A drop in violence around Iraq has cut burials in the huge Wadi al Salam cemetery here by at least one-third in the past six months, and that’s cut the pay of thousands of workers who make their living digging graves, washing corpses or selling burial shrouds.
Things over there are really going to hell all right. Next thing you know the last remaining Iraqi baby-crutch factory will be forced to cut back to only one shift.
The Kaufmann’s elk hair caddis. The CEO’s weapon of choice yesterday.
The CEO made it home safe and sound from his journey to the wilds of the North Santiam. I made it out unscathed (save for a pretty wicked scratch on one of my knuckles — good thing there are no piranha in the Santiam) and caught more fish than I have in the last three years combined. Those trout will tell their grandkids about the day back in October of 2007 when they met the Beast.
“I saw the Beast himself! He stood on what looked like two pasty white marshmellowy stumps in the shallows over there. I was minding my own business, about to have a caddis flavored snack, when I hear a roar of Gotcha, fishie! come from the Beast. I was pulled inexorably toward it; there was nothing I could do. I could see that the Beast wore boots and ratty old tan shorts and even from underwater it smelled of beef jerky and malted barley. Then I was next to it, and it reached down and touched me! Honest to God, it touched me! The horror! Suddenly I found I could move again and I raced away for the deep. Many cutthroat and brookies knew what it was to be captured from the depths of the Santiam that day, I can tell you!”
The fishing was good, and the day was nice. Their was one moment of mild panic when I slipped off a rock and went in up to my armpits. I wasn’t afraid of getting wet or drowning or anything, but I had the keys to the Suby in an only semi-waterproof zipper pocket in my vest. If the electronic keys go underwater it’s pretty doubtful the CEO can unlock his car, and I would have then been near the headwaters of a different stream, one called Shit Creek. A smarter person would have his keys in a wholly-waterproof pocket, but then again I wasn’t planning on going in the river much past my knees. On my trip to the bottom of the river I was able to blow my ballast tank and readjust my dive planes just in time and thereby keep those keys dry, but I now I know: when fishing put my keys in a zip lock, just in case I go into the drink. No reason to get stuck out there past dark — that is when the CHUDS (aka Scio residents) come out to feed. I was safely in my car headed up I-5 before that particular risk ever had to be addressed.
The CEO is taking a mental health day
Santiam trout, prepare to feel my wrath!! (Not really guys, sorry. It’s OK. I’ll unhook you and then throw ya back set you gently in the current so you can swim away under your own power happy and free . . .)
The CEO will be off the grid for the better part of Sunday. The October caddis hatch only comes around once a year (pretty much every October) and I plan to take full advantage. Stupid Fall trout are often the only trout that the CEO can catch.
If the CEO’s not back by 11:59 PM Sunday send the smell-hounds up the N. Santiam looking for me starting at about Mill City. If I’m not back by Tuesday please avenge my death per the standard instructions. Thanks.
Everything is under control, you just go relax.
The CFO left us boys alone at the HQ this afternoon. The Jr VP slept, sort of. I was in charge of watching the baby. I watched him.
When hanging out with a group of 3 and 4 year olds the Jr. VP is often the same size as those kids, and superficially looks and acts the same as them. It would be easy to think that Stinkboy is just a smallish and dumb 4-year-old instead of a the 2-year-old Übermensch that he really is. I hope that other people don’t think he is, er, simple. It’s nice that he can tell people that he’s two (and raise two fingers: his pointer and his little finger. Daddy taught him that one), but I’m not sure they always believe him, maybe assuming he doesn’t know his numbers. What they don’t realize is that he not only knows his numbers but knows them in two languages.
The CFO and I often have to remind ourselves that the Jr. VP is only two. He can look and act like such a big boy at times that you expect him to respond to things like a kindergartner. Sorry Stinkboy. Go ahead and be a two a year old. I’m sure when you’re really in kindergarten there’ll be times when I wish you were two. And probably times when I wish you were 25.
The CEO ain’t no Dr. Spock (I’m only occasionally Mr. Spock) but even I know that it’s bad precedent to yield to the Jr. VP once the law has been laid down. So last night, even though in truth I didn’t give a flying fart as to whether or not the lad finished his last bites of applesauce, the Kjel.org parental units had spoken and the CFO and I had to make our stand. I’m done!! I want cookies!! No, you have to finish your applesauce. No!!!!! Take your last bites and then you can have some cookies. I’m done!! Cookies!! Repeat. Add in a little screaming and stomping and rolling around on the kitchen floor. Continue for five minutes.
Then, a moment of clarity for the lad. You could almost see the light bulb flip on over his head. Wait, I like applesauce. What am I screaming about? If I take more bites of it, I then get to have cookies. 1.5 seconds later he was up and running for the table. Applesauce!! Yay!! He attacked that sauce like he’d just been bitten by a cobra and applesauce was the anti-venom. He finished and smiled as if the last five minutes hadn’t happened, then very nicely said May I please have some cookies? Of course you can have some cookies, let me get them for you. Upon opening his little bag of cookies he gets out two cookies but doesn’t eat them. In his sweet little voice: Mommy? Daddy? You want a cookie? I did.
Well, the CEO’s gig is up: Google Map’s new street view feature caught a picture of the red Suby parked at my girlfriend’s house. Her name is Imma. It’s nice of her to also watch the boys while the CFO and I are at work.
Today was the first day that I was responsible for picking up two boys from ’school’. I sat out in the parking lot and laid on the horn. Eventually the two of them showed up; one of them carrying the other. I unlocked the back doors and they climbed into their respective seats and away we went, rock music blaring. Once we got to the HQ I put on a show of helping the lads inside (even going so far as to carry the Intern myself) primarily for the CFO’s benefit. She hates to see the kids grow up so fast, so the boys and I shelter her from it when we can. In fact, there are any number of things that we neglect to tell Mommy about. It’s called “being a good boy”. The three of us are very good boys. Two of us anyways: the Jr VP has a big mouth.
And now a few random notes from the CEO
1. I’ve been having a real hard time limiting the language that the Jr. VP is exposed to and subsequently repeats. Loudly. And repeatedly. Just when I think I’ve got my defenses firmly established something new comes in under my radar. I know “Rocking Ring of Fire” well enough to quickly mute it during certain parts of the song (and really who doesn’t want their two year old yelling “let it burn, motherfucker!“) but sometimes I forget about problems in other songs. The beginning of a particular Sublime song is the case in point. The song is entitled “Smoke Two Joints” so I really can’t say that the possibility of a problem just came at me out of the blue. Anyway, spoken at the beginning of the song, a snippet from some old-timey film about bad teens I’m guessing:
“She was living in a single room with three other individuals. One of them was a male and the other two, well, the other two were females. God only know what they were up to in there. And furthermore Susan, I wouldnt be the least bit surprised to learn that all four of them habitually smoke marijuana cigarettes… REEFERS!”
Of course the lad immediately starts yelling Reefers! Reefers! I was very glad that we were headed away from ’school’ instead of toward it; the ladies and other parents at his ’school’ look at me suspiciously enough as it is.
2. I took a phone survey the other week and at the end when they asked if they could me send a more comprehensive written version I said sure. I didn’t really plan to waste my time doing it but figured it might be interesting to look at it at least. The survey arrived Saturday. I opened it up and the first thing I saw was a crisp new $5 bill taped to the front of it. “Ah, trying to use generosity to guilt me into completing the thing, eh? Nice try, but no dice, suckers.” I bought a sandwich today with that $5 bill. It was tasty (the secret is extra mayo) and that survey is now at the bottom of a landfill somewhere.
3. Finally: the Intern is no longer just a hungry animated lump of poop production (that also occasionally barfs); he can now interact with the world around him. I guess we’ll keep him since he is getting to be much more fun now that he can do stuff, like move his head around to watch and even sometimes laugh at my assorted japes and capering. The Jr. VP tries to get him to laugh by laughing himself but Stinkboy’s fake-laugh is pretty bad. It sounds like he is doing an impression of Terminator-era Schwarzenegger when he fake-laughs. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! If he ever laughs like that and then says “I’ll be back” in that same voice I will need a surgeon due to the busted gut I’d incur. I hope that sort of thing can be fixed but if not it’d still probably be worth it.
4. Kjel.org recently got a giant exercise ball. Someone has a new “funnest game in the world“: step 1. Lay on top of said ball. Step 2. Ball rolls forward, boy goes with it. Step 3. Put face into ground. Step 4. Repeat. Too fun Daddy!!! Too fun!!! Whatever, he seems to like it, bloody noses notwithstanding.
5. I’d be remiss if I didn’t wish you a happy Columbus Day. It’s one of my favorite holidays: today I am going to kiss any random Spaniards I come across and slap around any indigenous people I happen to stumble upon. I’ll do it to, you know, celebrate. It’s the spirit of the season! Yay Columbus! Stupid holiday that doesn’t even get the CEO a day off — pretty much mailmen sorry, letter-carriers are the main beneficiary of Columbus Day. Look, Cristobal was not even the first European to set foot in North America, let alone the first person, so honoring him as some legendary explorer is lame. Also, there are reasonable Americans that are offended by the fact that the federal govt sets aside a day to honor Columbus. I don’t share their offense (my side — aka Western Civ — won after all) but I hate to unnecesarily give offense to good people. Columbus Day is stupid; I propose that we instead do this. All-Sports Day. Make it on a Friday in early October every year, and let MLB and college and pro football use the day to schedule games. I expect many other fringe sports would follow suit, and within a year or three the holiday will be accepted and have it’s own fun traditions and norms. It worked for Kwanzaa, so why not this? It’ll be like the Super Bowl, but better — you get the day off, and then a whole weekend to recover from your bacon hangover. In a lot of the country early October is still pretty nice weatherwise, so it could in some ways be like a late Labor Day, but instead honoring something useful. Columbus Day? Overrated. All Sports Day? An idea whose time has come.
6. This could easily happen at Kjel.org, but I have a sneaking suspicion it wouldn’t be Mom with the hardware were this to go down near the HQ:
Mom Allegedly Flashes Gun at Bus Stop
JACKSONVILLE, Fla. (AP) - Jacksonville authorities say a mother pulled out a gun at a school bus stop because her son was being bullied. The police report says 40- year-old Johnna Briggs pointed the gun at other students getting off the bus and said, “Does anyone have something to say?” Her son was being bullied on the school bus and authorities say she wanted to put an end to it. Briggs is charged with improper exhibition of a firearm, a misdemeanor.
If physical violence is ever threatened or visited upon one of the lads’ enemies it’s not going to require CSI Portland to figure out which one of their parents is the more likely suspect. Hmm, which parent has a documented history of threatening to, quote, “maul” anyone who might harm or otherwise inconvenience any member of the this weird Kjel.org cult thingy? CEO: Sorry officer. That smartass fourth grader had it coming.
7. If you are a member of a professional or collegiate sports team of any type you had better hope and pray that the CEO never roots for you to win. As this last weekend has proved, beyond any scintilla of a doubt, the CEO rooting for you guarantees* that you are going to lose. Sorry.
On that note: Go Huskies!!!
* Not an actual guarantee. Kjel.org user terms and conditions can be downloaded at kjel.org/cares
If he’s still breathing when I get home, you’ve done your job well
Out of the Jr. VP’s mouth 1,400 times last night at the HQ: Mulkie watch this! Thanks for babysitting Chiefs Educator and Bride. I owe you both a Coke.
And summer 2007 is now officially over.
Kjel.org and crew is back from Seattle after helping the M’s put one more season in the books. We got to watch a satisfying game, with run-scoring, good Mariner pitching, and about the best seats we will ever have. Not bad at all.
Our afternoon started early at a little sports bar called the Admiral Pub. Not too early though; I was cheated out of an hour or two of Admiral time because of my own stupidity. Note to self: if I actually want the Chief Educator to arrive in Seattle at 2:00, I need to tell him that he should plan on getting there by 1:00. You’d think I’d know this by now. Anyway, once we got there it was all good. We had their always excellent combo of burgers and beer, and this time I actually paid my bartab and even left a tip. Don’t spend those two dollars all at once little sis! (A certain CEO’s sibling manages the place, and was our waitress. Now that’s service!)
Our seats were right behind the visitor (Rangers in this case) dugout. Right behind: when we (by “we” I mean me and the Educator; the ladies were having no part of this) seized an opportunity to inform Sammy Sosa that he sucked he turned around in the on-deck circle and pinned us with his cold dead eyes. “¿Hay un problema aquí?” He then took a few wicked practice cuts while looking at our skulls. Oops. That wasn’t us sir. Good luck sir. Go Dominican! “Usted dos pendejos tienen suerte.” Anyway, our seats were that good.
I’d forgotten about the contest that the Mariners run the 2nd to the last game of every season: if your seat number is called you get to play center field for an inning. The damndest thing: guess who’s number was called?
Ichiro likely would have made the same play, but would he have looked as good? Doubtful. Well maybe. He is a fine looking man.
The Chief Educator and the CEO have a standing bet on Safeco hydroplane races ($50) and I continued my grand tradition of gambling domination. Unless we are talking about football. Or cards. Or greyhounds. Or really any other wagering opportunity other than counting on the green hydro to come through for me again. You owe me $50 Chief. We can let that one ride if you want to.
During the 7th inning stretch there was dancing. The Jumbotron was showing pictures of various folk around the stadium jumping around spastically enough to get onto the big screen. I was looking back at the press booth trying to pick out Niehaus when several people near me began to scream. I spun around and saw the big screen. Holy shit those kids on the screen are seated right behind us! A bunch of middle school miscreants were getting all funky behind me and the big screen was showing it. Wait a minute, if those kids are being shown. . .uh oh. I spun another 90 degrees and saw the dude with the remote cam right next to us, pointing it in our general direction. The Chief Educator and I had that same thought simultaneously (ie: Aaaaaaaa!!) and tried to hide under our seats.
The two dancing queens the Chief and I had with us felt differently about the matter. They of course immediately started to get down, and were so, um, expressive that remote-camera-man made it so that it was just the two of them up there shaking it on the Jumbotron. The Bride even attempted to sexually harass the Edumacator on camera but he was able to escape with his anonymity; since I wasn’t sitting by the CFO I was in no such danger. Finally it was over. I was literally rendered speechless. The CEO normally can produce a comment (not an appropriate or germane comment, but a comment nonetheless) for any and all situations. Not this time. The Chief’s response to seeing the ladies on the big screen mirrored mine pretty closely.
We allowed the CFO’s parents to serve us breakfast the following morning, then it was back to Portland. We dodged about a dozen accidents on I-5 during the monsoon but we were never in any danger. As far as the CFO is aware of. You know what’s funny? When you replace the wiper blade that goes in front of the driver with one brand new and functional, but leave the horrible old non-working one on the passenger side. Ignorance was the CFO’s bliss. . .
