Clocks slay time... time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life. William Faulkner

Time flies. During the in between. Where my favorite holiday is still too far off to even start dreaming of what fun things to create (not really, but I can't admit it or my wife thinks I'm insane). I try to busy myself with other things.

And busy I have been.

Life is at full speed ahead and all I'm trying to do is strap in and hold on.

My office is moving to a new location, and I'm excited at the thought of 'walls'. I've always been out in the middle of everything. Try and make a doctor's appointment for your girly bits, you'll find it is impossible. A door will be a welcome change.

I'm hoping to also decorate in football noir. I want to finally put my jerseys in cases and find a shelf for my helmet from the glory days on the grid iron. I'll dust them off and bring them up from my treasure trove (re: basement)

The new location is swanky. I'll tell you that! Polished floors, gleaming marble and granite. It's a step up and a distance away. I've been spoiled by my 3 mile drive to work. My Nissan Leaf very happy as well, with a small jog to and from. I'll have to plan accordingly if I need to get somewhere after work or during lunch.

I've insisted on an outlet by my parking space. I mean...come ohn! If you're going to have an employee who is trying to save the world on her own, the least you can do is put a plug in, right?

The wife's job, or 3 of them, keeps her busy and me holding a picture of her in my wallet to remember what she looks like. The animals run the house and destroy it a lil more everyday. (a whole other blog will be coming from that)

And in an effort to keep my sanity, I shall return to blogging. It's an outlet, no doubt. If nothing else, a fine way to count the in between days till the return of my burning grin.

Movin' on up.....

I have mentioned before, our lil radio show, the Irish Power Hour. Well...they have asked us, a lil ol one hour, once a week show, to move from the all talk channel to the rock channel, here locally!

I was trying to put this in perspective, as if I was still living in CA.

It would be like having an AM midnight show that got put on, saaaaayyy KROQ fm! Folks in CA will get that analogy, of course. For those of you not in CA...It's HUGE!

With this move, we are hoping to get more advertisers and then be able to pay the bills to be on the radio in the first place.

Yes...we pay to do our lil show. Better to be broke and the master of our own destiny then to be a slave to the man, right? RIGHT?!

cricket cricket cricket.

Ya...I know. This lil venture reminds me a lot of my experiment in owning my women's pro football team. While I earned the right to say, "I played pro football", it set me back a bit of cabbage.

This time we seem to be holding our heads just above the water level, which is more than I ever did with the team. Plus the excitement of seeing web hits and attendance at event grow is at an all time high!

Plus with this venture I don't have to wear a helmet. That's a plus!

Hangin' with the dudes

Being a Lezbaneze tribal chief, there is a certain level of acceptance into the boys club that I'm allowed.

Like if a hot girl is walking down the street in front of the office, they might call me in to approve the selection.

If a certain actress is delicious in a new movie, where she is scantily clad, I'm often panting in agreement with the boys around the water cooler.

But my favorite time...lunch. No salad here!

I just mowed through a basket of wings with not one insecure feeling in my femininity. Sucked on my fingers, double dipped in my blue cheese, quadruple used my napkin till the paper pulled off on my fingers in sticky, orange clumps.

Then I ordered more blue cheese....and napkins.

All the while talk of baseball picks, old girlfriends and co-worker gossip, swirled around the table. I didn't even have to participate! I just kept sucking on my Thai BBQ wings. No one expected me to be 'on'. I didn't have to entertain.

And there were breaks in the conversations that weren't awkward silence. Just the dudes...chillin'.

Schweet!

We all paid separate, to wrestling for who's gonna pay for who. Then we skated out of the place, our foursome of full bellies, burping our approval of the fine meal, on the way to the car.

My over all feeling....boys are gross. Right up to the point that I wanna be just as gross. Then they are just fine.

AAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGHHHH!!!!!

"sweetie, if your going to be two-faced, at least make one of them pretty"

Drama! It's everywhere. I can't seem to get out of it. Now I love to watch drama unfold just as much as anyone. Maybe if you put yourself out there to be a spectator, you get some on ya. But JEH-ZUZ! I was knee deep and wading through a stream of it all weekend long.

My weekend kicked off when one of my co-workers decided to start yelling at us cuz we were leaving early. We have this wicked cool rule that, if we make our budget, we get out a lil early on Fridays. It's one of those things that is just an extra lil tid-bit that makes working here better! Especially when you're an office drone and there are NO benefits, other than keeping your job.

So Mr. 2-Big-4-My-Britches sales guy doesn't like this rule. He's made it very clear. He wants someone to be in the office from 8-5 every day to greet anyone that might come through the door (which there aren't any) or answer the one or two calls on a Friday (which they can forward to their cell phones).

His last steady job was working for his dad in retail, so I'm guessing he thinks he still needs to be greeting John Q. Public during store hours. Well not in this day and age sweetie! It's all portable, digital and mobil! Live and die by that crackberry, baybee.

So as he stood there, using his outside voice INSIDE the office, telling me how I should be there in the office while he, as a sales guy, spends most his time, out of the office, with the freedom to do as much personal stuff as he wants.

That clanking you hear in the background is the shackle on my ankle that is tethered to the desk. I don't get to move freely about the cabin.

The other point I tried to break through his Wisconsin fan, cheese wheel sized head of stubbornness, was that while he could work as many hours as he wanted, and get paid for the fruits of that labor, I get paid FORTY hours a week. No more. I could work 80 hours, but they are only going to pay me 40.

So those couple hours that we might earn, to get out of here early, are like gold bars, gleaming at the end of the work week tunnel. And Mr. I-sleep-on-a-mattress-stuffed-with-Franklins is yelling at me that I shouldn't get that reward.

HEY ASSHOLE......BITE ME!

And just try....TRY to get the 150% I give, every day, out of me now. You're the happy owner of 100% at 40 hours a week. And if you think you can do it all...be my guest. If you can't, put it in my in box. I'll get around to it, sometime this week.

“I don't even know him...I'm harvesting all these fantasies about some man I've never even met...who lives in Seattle.” ~Sleepless in Seattle

Fantasy

We got in a very interesting discussion at lunch. Most likely it could have gotten us all fired if the wrong person had come through the door.

Sex was definitely involved....or at least the illusion of sex.

My co-worker can't cheat on his wife in his fantasies. I was aghast! He would have to do this whole back story about how they broke up and he was driven to the arms of some starlet.

No...really!

Maybe it's cuz I'm a creative person. Imagination is my 8-5 job, with graphic design. And lord knows my other activities, being involved in groups that need to raise money, or marketing my women's pro football team, or even the lil one hour radio show, all require some form or imagination at some point.

I have NO problem thinking up a fantasy! A lil music from the iPod helps sometimes, but I can be knee deep in something torrid with Angelina or Lucy Lawless in the middle of the day at my desk, staring out the window.

Funny enough...Not one ounce of guilt that I'm cheating on my girlfriend!

My office pal's issues tumbled through my brain well after we left our brain trust and went back to our respective offices. I came up with, "the stripper theory".

Men go to strip clubs and they honestly believe that every girl, shakin' her money maker, actually wants them. That they have a chance with the strippers. It's something about the male wiring that makes them think that everyone wants them. (don't tell them that those girls could care less and really just want to get it over with so they can make their next house payment)

A seriously married guy, like my co-worker, would feel guilty cuz there is something in his DNA that he thinks his fantasy girl would really WANT him!

Myself, being a insecure female, like most women, knows that not only would I never land a young Suzanne Pleshette, from "The Birds" days, but she would NEVER be interested in someone like ME.

So imagine away, I say!

A non stop parade of brunette beauties lined up at my door, taking numbers like at a deli counter. Me, in a Hugh Hefner robe and a fist full of vitamins.

Cuz in my head, they all desire me!

They fight over me, in fact!

"Don't fight ladies! There's enough of me for everyone. Or better yet....why don't we all just come in for a drink...mmmmm??"

Thank goodness for my wonderful imagination and low self esteem. It gives me something to do around 3pm in my work day when I can't concentrate on work.

I gotta go....P!nk is on my iPod and she and I have some unfinished business to "discuss".

Feeding the Troops

Just up north of us is Fr. Drum. Home to the 10th Mountain Div. These are the kids that are down on the ground in the Middle East doing the grunt work.

And I do mean kids.

We have, for the past 3 years, participated in Riverfest. It's a big festival they put on for the troops and their families with a carnival and a boat ride around an area called the Thousand Islands. They end up on Heart Island, home to the Bolt Castle http://www.boldtcastle.com/ where volunteers cook and serve enough food for 5500 folks.

That's where we come in.

While it's awesome to support the troops, to meet the Generals that lead them, and get a handshake and a thank you from them, you can't help noticing that none of them are anywhere close to being my age.

Person after person passed by my station, I was in charge of sporks and plates, with a "thank you mam" and a look on their face that was humble and downright sheepish. Most of them had a spouse in tow and a couple kids. Some of them with mom and dad. Some, gaydar told me, were DADT (Don't Ask, Don't Tell) and would ultimately catch my eye, with a knowing nod.

One couple's tot dropped their place setting, the father, an obvious soldier with his buzz cut, looked at us embarrassed, "I'm sorry mam. Honey you have to hold on to it, now pick it up." I smiled and grabbed it from the ground first, "It's OK...we have tons of them! Have a clean one and you," I squatted down to her eye level, "Tell the food servers that you get whatever you want." The little girl, who had to be two or three looked at me, "Anything?" I looked at her dad, who had to be just out of high school, he nodded and smiled. "Yep...anything!", I assured her.

She beamed. It was priceless.

I imagined, a military family, probably was on budget, without each other for months on end and moved often, the thought of "anything your heart desires" was probably a big deal, even for a child.

But I couldn't help thinking....so young. They were all so fucking young!

The oldest among them may have been nearing 30. Those 'older' had a bit of a swagger to them. I wondered silently what they had seen. If the younger crowed was still basic training, had they been over there? Could these meek, mild mannered, men and women actually be the gun slinging heroes that face death every day? Watch their friends get ripped apart by enemy fire. Hold an open wound with their bare hand, the blood seeping between battle torn fingers that rest upon gun oiled triggers.

Off to the side a couple of boys walked away from the crowd. They were darker figures, even from a distance. Their posture, their walk, their shoulders hunched. You could tell they had seen some action. Would they be able to have a normal life. Night times free of horrific dreams and cold sweats brought on by the raging battle that still plays out on the back of their eyelids? They already stood off alone from everyone else.

My guess was no...they were damaged. Damaged so young, so early in life. Protecting a country that would probably not take care of them when they were done.

Is war so important? To send a 19 year old father into a place that, while physically they might return, mentally they never will.

What price is freedom?

For me...it was to stand for 5 hours in chilling rain, soaked to the skin, smile on my face, handing out sporks. And when they said, "Thank you mam." I said, "No......thank YOU."

...at least you have a job.

Ah the silver lining. I'm getting sick and tired of it. It's really no consolation when you're worried you could lose your job at any minute. That's what my gal is going through right now.

I often make a joke that we married poorly, literally. I'm an artist that will never rise any higher in my pay scale and she's a journalist, who is awesome at her job, and works for a paper that has one of the better payouts, but in this day and age, is shaky at best.

So the artist and the writer started the year, that will be known as the "re-depression", with layoffs at the artist job and the newspaper industry crumbling at the writers job. I was forever worried that they would come for me first. They always fire the artist first. For some reason they think they can magically make designs appear in thin air.

As a VP once said about me, "What? She just pokes a button and the stuff comes out of the printer."

When they let an operations guy and our sales assistant go, after the boss told us no one would go, I spent a weepy lunch with my girl, scared that I would be jobless.

"Well...at least you have your job!" And the sinking sensation that any day I could be let go. Some comfort!

Lucky for me, the only thing that came of that lunch was my soggy tenders. I stayed put and we even got our sales asst back. And within weeks of doomsday, the big cheese had a tele-confrence saying we were over the worst of it.

EXcellent!

Then the papers started falling like a black and white print domino set. And while my girl had good things like her bonus still in the hand, they started merging departments, asking for a bigger ratio of ads over content and had meetings were the topics were: what are you doing for us, what more can you do and how can you do it all on line?

But at least she still has her job.

After making her case that she could increase her workload, take on another blog, start doing her own vlogging (with her flip video cam), and create a whole new beat to cover, the publisher announced that they would be asking them all to take 2 weeks unpaid.

Now she had to do all the additional work....with less time.

But at least she still had her job.

The same day this was announced papers around the country, fired hundreds of folks and kept just enough to keep their 'paper' going on line. Michigan's newspapers, for some reason, imploded in on themselves all at once.

And then, due to technical problems, the press didn't print on time this morning. The negative comments on the paper's website started piling up: "THE END IS COMING FOR THIS FISH RAP" "The web is better and nothing to recycle. Start looking for work, the end is near."

"On another note isn't a "pay cut" better than not having a job at all!"

Cuz......at least you have a job.....right?

New Years Crack Down!

It was only a couple days after the clock struck midnight, and the new year was upon us, that my company put a massive lock down on the internet use. (which I might just be violating now, but I figure if I can get on the website, it's mine to get on!)

The list, issued to us in the form of an email, was long. Two columns of dos and don'ts and must nots, that we kinda laughed at. You couldn't get on streaming radio sites. Which I could see...I mean if everyone was streaming, it slowed things up. Got it. Likewise YouTube was out. And time wasting sites were gone, like MySpace and Facebook. You could go to sites about ghosts and the paranormal, but don't even TRY to send an e-card. Yes to wedding sites. No to file sharing sites.

And on it went....

I've never been on drugs, but I gotta think that trying NOT to log into my MySpace to change the background and post funny lil glitter graphic, was a kin to kicking black tar heroin! The shakes only lasted a lil while. You still have to sell me on Facebook; navigating on that thing stinks and I swear if I meet the ass that invented 'little greenies' I'll kill him dead. But with it's suddenly gone - I kinda miss it.

Plus it kinda sucked cuz our artist community at work, finally got an organized Facebook page and then we couldn't use it. Being of the creative folk, you need stuff like that to reset or inspire your think time. It's amazing how something like a lil game of Bejeweled might get me into a different state of mind and the ideas that happen to pop up. (of course any type of Flash based games were zapped as well)

Don't get me started about online radio! I mean...all the different channels to put you into a certain mood to create. I have a subscription to XM and loved having all that available to me on line as well.

But fuggetaboudit!

The funny thing is you could still get on line to ebay, or shopping sites. So you could help the economy by spending money, but you couldn't get inspiration to help at your job to make you more money.

Did I waste time, sure. Did I put off some work for the ability to update my Myspace background by using my graphic powers for evil? Yes. But isn't that the process of creativity?

I'll say this much, at 2:30pm everyday my computer comes to a halt and I wait a snails pace to do a simple task like open an email. Don't even think about opening a 10mg or so of photoshop! The rage in me surging to the point I think I'm going to start Hulking-out and toss my computer through the huge plateglass windows in the front of the office.

So if we didn't save on time by limiting our ability to streaming audio, what the hell? I think a snails pace is better than me having a stroke any day.