January 2004 Archives

When I was a wee lad living in my hometown in Virginia, to get home from the grocery store or any errand in town, we'd have to drive across the railroad tracks. A large brown-and-yellow billboard proclaiming the real-estate professionalism of Century 21 greeted us each time we re-entered our subdivision.

Back then in Century 20, I always wondered what Century 21 would do when we began living in Century 21. Would it stay the same? Would they no longer be 100 years ahead of their time? I think we all know the answers to those questions ... yes and no, respectively. So much for forward thinking.

I also wondered the same thing about 20th-Century Fox. That large company distributed the Star Wars films, and the little 20th-Century Fox logo was on practically all the Star Wars-toy boxes as part of the licensing crap. I remember when Star Wars came out (the first time, in the late 1970s for you newbies who missed the boat). I had the toys. This burning question about the movie company burned in my young mind. The answer is, as I see it, shown by the shortening of the name to simply Fox. In fact, it's FOX in all caps because the accompanying broadcast and cable operations seek to be IN OUR FACES.

So profound! It makes me want to go out and find a 1999 Mazda Millenia. Or maybe a 2000, just so I could explain once again to someone that the new millenium did not begin until 2001. Sheesh, stick to Hondas and Toyotas; at least both of them just use obscure or made-up words to name their cars.

In another date-related nugget of trivia, you may or may not have noticed that next Tuesday is 02-03-04. How come I notice? My newspaper publishes each Tuesday, and we put out the 02-03-04 tomorrow (Saturday). How's that for a time mixup? Happy weekend!

Nobody tells you in journalism school that your No. 1 job (especially as editor of a small newspaper) is customer service. Maybe it’s because all too often it’s forgotten amid classes on writing, editing and reporting. But really, it doesn’t matter how accurate my headlines are if I can’t relate to the readers.

Lately I’ve felt sort of like a hostage negotiator. Or maybe a pseudo-psychologist. This week I’ve already talked several people down from the ledge of anger and resentment toward the paper. Even when people call or stop by the office to complain, they often walk away happy after talking to T-Bone. It doesn’t come naturally. In fact, it took years of practice to get where I am – still not in sight of perfection.

Every job requires some aspect of customer service, even if “customers” are co-workers to whom you provide a service. No employee is an island; at some point we’re probably going to need somebody else’s help in our jobs. It’s easier to build a bridge to them with solid planks rather than termite-infested manners (What? Oh, I don’t know, either).

Here are customer-service tips I’ve learned through trial and several errors:

Time stops for nobody, and lately I've been reminded of that all too well. Here are some ways to tell you're getting old:

• People born the year you graduated from high school are now teen-agers. Or worse, they have teen-agers of their own.
• Your local classic rock station plays all your favorite music. And you remember when all of it was new. Or worse, the same holds true for the Oldies station.
• You need your glasses to find your nose. Or worse, you look for your glasses and find that you're already wearing them.
• You have to read the instructions that come with any newfangled electronic device. Or worse, you remember life before electricty.
• You use words like "newfangled" and "whippersnapper." Or worse, the second word hasn't applied to you in more than four decades.
• People roll their eyes when you lament about how old you are. Or worse, they agree.
• You start to see gray hairs when you look in the mirror. Or worse, those gray hairs are sprouting in large tufts from your ears. Even worse, you don't need a mirror to see them.

Embrace each new day as an opportunity – not necessarily for more wrinkles or gray hair, but as one in which you can make a difference. Just strive for a difference that makes a positive impression. Geezer!

I've been re-evaluating things I collect around the house. I'm not a packrat by any means, and am getting tense at all the piles of things in the house. We've donated a lot of things to charity lately, but there still seems to be a multifamily garage sale in the making.

Here's a short list of my collections:

When the U.S. President gives his annual State of the Union address, it is full of political posturing, feel-good concepts and promises for a better tomorrow. This is the way it has been as long as I've ever seen them; doesn't really matter who is president. In the era of mass-media marketing, I think the speech is partially given to show the rest of the world that America is still kicking. Sometimes, we're just kicking ourselves.

But all that's too deep for a Friday, isn't it?

The Petite Filet and the Cutlet arrived home safely on Sunday afternoon, which was also the PF’s birthday. She turned 18 with 12 years’ experience. Now I’m not the only one in our house with three decades of turning oxygen into carbon dioxide! Yippee!

For her special day, I gave her a few lame-o husbandly gifts:

For you bloggers-come-lately, you have no idea what the Dinner Project is, so I'll give you a little history ...

Just about every positive relationship we have can be put into some sort of category (I know that's a stretch, but humor me if you will). I’ve narrowed those categories to three for simplicity’s sake: like, love and smart love. Let me demonstrate what I mean:

I got a press release from a temp agency listing some results from a rather hilarious study on reasons why people requested days off from work. It was conducted by an independent research firm and features responses from 150 executives from the 1,000 biggest companies in the U.S. The question: "What are the most unusual reasons you have heard for why employees request time off?"

Here's what they found (with additional commentary by T-Bone):

On the days I run, I head out in the early morning darkness before work. Wednesday morning was dark and foggy. My time on the road gives me some time to think. While it's sometimes tempting to draw parallels with my jogging route and life (as both have their ups and downs, hills and valleys, stray dogs and potholes), that's just too deep. It's just excercise, not philosophy.

But the fog made me realize that, for whatever reason, I've rarely "run through fog" in my life. Sure, I have and continue to face difficult times, but (knock on fake laminated simulated wood) nothing too serious to overcome with a little time, faith and patience.

I've always had a direction in mind and have accomplished most of what I've set out to do so far. That fact almost saddens me. No, I'm not lamenting having a fairly easy life (I've worked hard for my "easy" life) and lack of lasting trauma. Rather, I wonder how boring my journey has been without some of the bumps, dead-ends and times of tribulation others have experienced. Where's the angst? Where's the constant struggle? What am I missing? My regular blog buddies know I frequently count my blessings, and I know I don't deserve them in the least. It's stupid to want problems – I don't.

So instead, I offer you my tips and observations on running through fog, in the literal and figurative senses:

Encompassing. Pervasive. Enveloping. Surrounding. Immersing. No escape.

It’s like boring party guests who overstay their welcome. Kind of like hungry termites who are bent on reducing everything you own to splinters. Or maybe it’s like an angry audit by an irritable IRS agent, and he’s going through every scrap of paper that has any sort of number on it. Look at that, it’s oozing out of the walls like fresh mint (tartar-control) toothpaste! There’s a tsunami of it about to wash over me. I see the wave cresting on the horizon. Wait ... wait ... crash! There it is, I’m drowning in it!

The house is quiet. The family’s out of town for a week. And it’s driving me crazy.

Just a little shameless number-crunching on the ol' blog here. This is entry #293, and since moving to this Web address, there have been 1,896 comments. Granted, half of those are from myself and some recent spammers, but still, it sounds like a lot. I wonder how many comments that would be added to those old Squawkbox comments that disappeared when I wouldn't pony up the continuation-of-service fee, and then supplemented by the comments left via Haloscan, also on my old blog. At any rate, it just shows that there are some great people who have something interesting to say, and thankfully they've left little nuggets in response to some of my drivel. Thanks! I know I don't post as often, but I firmly believe quality is better than quantity anyday. Of course, I need to work on quality as well!

Just realized my little intro blurb is almost as long my actual post will be. Basically, I'm just saying hey-howdy-hey before heading out to enjoy yet another Indian Summer (or for you politically correctors, Native-American Warming Trend). It's warm and sunny in Texas, again, despite a few nights of freezing temperatures. But who am I to complain?

I may be around the Blogworld a little more often next week, that is if the Petite Filet gets over her illness and does get on a plane Tuesday. She and the Cutlet are going up to see the grandparents and go to a business meeting (well, the PF is). I've got to update some links, as I've been contacted by at least a few of my longtime blog-reads that they've hopped to other addresses. And I'll play a little "catchup" as well among other regular reads – and some not-so-regular reads – to see how they're doing.

Until then, have a great day!

A good college buddy is getting married in March. He lives in Orlando now, and because there are still a few good friends of his in Texas, the bachelor party weekend meets somewhat in the middle at New Orleans early next month.

Haven’t seen the guy in quite some time. I went to high school with his college roommate, and I haven’t seen him for a while, either. It’s like a Pasty White Boy Reunion (although the groom-to-be’s Florida address has probably rendered him some sort of tan).

Have you ever had one of those days?

Of course you have, because chances are you are older than 5, and that is the age when things truly start to hit the fan. By our teens, 20s, 30s, 40s and beyond, the fan is gone the problems we face keep getting bigger.

Well, our woe is not cataclysmic on a grand scale. Still, life hands us lemons and poo like everyone else. When it’s happening to you, it’s a big deal. For example:

I’ve written about Texas weather before, how it’s unpredictable, sometimes the opposite of what we’d like it to be (warm and sunny in December, chilly in April), and how a lull in conversation often brings it up.

Well, call this a lull if you will. Promise it’s not! I’ve got all sorts of other things to discuss, like our bathtub is leaking, a college buddy is getting married in March (in Florida, where the weather is anything if not predictable), and the job is still great.

The weather’s just on my mind again lately. Here’s why:

New Year’s Day started off quite nicely, and I’ll let you use your imagination to determine exactly how. Oh yeah! From that pinnacle, the day kind of went downhill. I’m hoping it’s not a harbinger of the year to come.

For example:

I was remiss in not recounting at least a little of the joys this holiday season brought us. The Cutlet, who turned 1 on Dec. 26, has been making us smile, giving us near heart attacks and then filling our hearts with so much love for an entire year. This year, Christmas was all about him. And it turned out to be one of our best ever because of that. Really, all I wanted was to get some socks and underwear for myself (sadly I didn't).

Some of you don't enjoy stories about children, so I'll make as painless and brief as possible. My son is so important to me, however, so here's a list of what the Cutlet has given me and the Petite Filet over the past year: