Looks like this girl is moving to ATL.
I got a decent offer from a great company and with a little negotiating/finessing later today, I think I'm going to accept. So here's to the end of the tennis metaphors. Now on to winding down with the family business, packing, moving, etc.
Here's a list of things that I'm looking forward to buying with my newfound salary and benefits:
- A bed. A really good one. And new linens to go with it.
- A new handbag. Perhaps some gorgeous little Celine number.
- A trip to the dentist. I'm overdue.
- A trip to Vietnam. Pressie is in.
- A new hat from Lilliput. I'm going to Toronto tomorrow, so why not? Plus, don't Southerners love hats?
- A bit of laser hair removal. Wouldn't it be lovely not to ever have to worry about it again?
- A trailer ball for the Audi. To haul a wee trailer of my worldly goods down past the Mason-Dixon.
- A new Netflix membership. I've missed adding random Italian movies to my queue.
- A ton of stationary. Since I'll be far away, I can indulge in my favorite hobby of letter-writing to far off loved ones.
Ah, change.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Friday, August 25, 2006
Pressie is officially stateside! I talked to him today and will see him sunday at the latest. After the loss of Maritime, this is the best possible news. When I actually get to talk to him I shall have one proposition to put forward: Vietnam. Not that we get involved in any sort of protracted police action, but that we go as tourists for fun. It's being French-speaking certainly adds to its appeal, but it's also ridiculously cheap, I'm told, and full of wonderful dining, shopping, etc. In short, it's our perfect vacation (Mazatlan Spring Break not included, wink wink).
But now for a lyrical send-off for my dear, departed (not dead) friend:
Way up north, (North To Alaska.)
Way up north, (North To Alaska.)
North to Alaska,
They're goin' North, the rush is on.
North to Alaska,
They're goin' North, the rush is on.
Big Sam left Seattle in the year of '92,
With George Pratt, his partner, and brother, Billy, too.
They crossed the Yukon River and found the bonanza gold.
Below that old white mountain just a little south-east of Nome.
Sam crossed the majestic mountains to the valleys far below.
He talked to his team of huskies as he mushed on through the snow.
With the northern lights a-running wild in the land of the midnight sun,
Yes, Sam McCord was a mighty man in the year of nineteen-one.
Where the river is winding,
Big nuggets they're finding.
North to Alaska,
They're goin' North, the rush is on.
Way up north, (North To Alaska.)
Way up north, (North To Alaska.)
North to Alaska,
They're goin' North, the rush is on.
North to Alaska,
They're goin' North, the rush is on.
George turned to Sam with his gold in his hand,
Said: "Sam you're a-lookin'at a lonely, lonely man.
"I'd trade all the gold that's buried in this land,
"For one small band of gold to place on sweet little Ginnie's hand.
"'Cos a man needs a woman to love him all the time.
"Remember, Sam, a true love is so hard to find.
"I'd build for my Ginnie, a honeymoon home.
"Below that old white mountain just a little south-east of Nome."
Where the river is winding,
Big nuggets they're finding.
North to Alaska,
They're goin' North, the rush is on.
North to Alaska,
They're goin' North, the rush is on.
Way up north, (North To Alaska.)
Way up north, (North To Alaska.)
Way up north, (North To Alaska.)
But now for a lyrical send-off for my dear, departed (not dead) friend:
Way up north, (North To Alaska.)
Way up north, (North To Alaska.)
North to Alaska,
They're goin' North, the rush is on.
North to Alaska,
They're goin' North, the rush is on.
Big Sam left Seattle in the year of '92,
With George Pratt, his partner, and brother, Billy, too.
They crossed the Yukon River and found the bonanza gold.
Below that old white mountain just a little south-east of Nome.
Sam crossed the majestic mountains to the valleys far below.
He talked to his team of huskies as he mushed on through the snow.
With the northern lights a-running wild in the land of the midnight sun,
Yes, Sam McCord was a mighty man in the year of nineteen-one.
Where the river is winding,
Big nuggets they're finding.
North to Alaska,
They're goin' North, the rush is on.
Way up north, (North To Alaska.)
Way up north, (North To Alaska.)
North to Alaska,
They're goin' North, the rush is on.
North to Alaska,
They're goin' North, the rush is on.
George turned to Sam with his gold in his hand,
Said: "Sam you're a-lookin'at a lonely, lonely man.
"I'd trade all the gold that's buried in this land,
"For one small band of gold to place on sweet little Ginnie's hand.
"'Cos a man needs a woman to love him all the time.
"Remember, Sam, a true love is so hard to find.
"I'd build for my Ginnie, a honeymoon home.
"Below that old white mountain just a little south-east of Nome."
Where the river is winding,
Big nuggets they're finding.
North to Alaska,
They're goin' North, the rush is on.
North to Alaska,
They're goin' North, the rush is on.
Way up north, (North To Alaska.)
Way up north, (North To Alaska.)
Way up north, (North To Alaska.)
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Jonesing for a Cessna 172
If The Instructor doesn't call me back, I won't know if I can go to N. MN tomorrow and continue to learn how to fly. In the City World, hereafter referred to as NORMAL, we call people back. Typically right after recieving a voicemail from them. It is how society functions. In NORMAL, we realize that communication is essential to ongoing commerce and the perpetuation of the Capitalist system. I should probably leave economic systems out of it, though. I'm sure urban Communists have an equally difficult time getting their rural commrades to call them back.
Got back from ATL today. My general sense from the two interviews is that I am currently akin to a top seed in the US Open. But I won't know for sure for the next few weeks. Fingers crossed, friends, this one needs a job.
Oh, let's take some time to rant about flying commercially and how unremittingly stupid the general public is.
1. I get that you're a nervous flyer, old guy, but just because they had to unload some baggage to stay under gross weight isn't a sign that we'll go down in a fiery mass of twisted metal. So stay on the goddamn plane.
2. Moustachioed woman, move your church group/marine recruits away from the escalator. Is marshalling frightened and frightening teens through an overly complex airport process difficult? Sure. But the escalator is not going to stop depositing people at the top even if twelve of your slack-jawed charges are blocking any egress. That's why I just tripped over that expectant mother.
3. The spilled liquid by the security checkpoint: Estee Lauder Gentle Eye Makeup Remover for all skin types, or liquid explosive that smells exactly like Estee Lauder Gentle Eye Makeup Remover for all skin types? You be the judge, HAZMAT Team.
4. Signs that your children are ready for air travel, mother of four: when they are eighteen - or - when they have no vocal cords or limbs.
5. To at least eight people, including my seatmates: I'm giving you monosyllabic answers or nods, even occasionally while wearing earplugs, because I don't want to talk to you or hear anything you have to say.
6. Guess what, TSA! I'll take the terrorists any day of the week. Now give me my shoes back before I contract something fungal.
[Seriously, I'm far more concerned about the devastation of an athlete's foot pandemic than anything terrorists could think up. Wait... maybe that was the plan all along. We are literally walking right into that one.]
I just read through this post and there's absolutely no way that this sucker isn't getting flagged for reading by some poor, beleaguered Homeland Security employee. Sorry, guy or gal. But look on the bright side: you get paid to look at the internet all day. And I'm sure you have some really funny anecdotes that will have people buying you drinks for years to come.
PS- on the off chance you decide to tap my phone after this (legally or not) would you mind sending me a tape (or maybe a .wav file, I'm not sure how far your technological capabilities have come) of my voice sped up to Alvin Chipmunk speed? I would just get a kick out of that.
Got back from ATL today. My general sense from the two interviews is that I am currently akin to a top seed in the US Open. But I won't know for sure for the next few weeks. Fingers crossed, friends, this one needs a job.
Oh, let's take some time to rant about flying commercially and how unremittingly stupid the general public is.
1. I get that you're a nervous flyer, old guy, but just because they had to unload some baggage to stay under gross weight isn't a sign that we'll go down in a fiery mass of twisted metal. So stay on the goddamn plane.
2. Moustachioed woman, move your church group/marine recruits away from the escalator. Is marshalling frightened and frightening teens through an overly complex airport process difficult? Sure. But the escalator is not going to stop depositing people at the top even if twelve of your slack-jawed charges are blocking any egress. That's why I just tripped over that expectant mother.
3. The spilled liquid by the security checkpoint: Estee Lauder Gentle Eye Makeup Remover for all skin types, or liquid explosive that smells exactly like Estee Lauder Gentle Eye Makeup Remover for all skin types? You be the judge, HAZMAT Team.
4. Signs that your children are ready for air travel, mother of four: when they are eighteen - or - when they have no vocal cords or limbs.
5. To at least eight people, including my seatmates: I'm giving you monosyllabic answers or nods, even occasionally while wearing earplugs, because I don't want to talk to you or hear anything you have to say.
6. Guess what, TSA! I'll take the terrorists any day of the week. Now give me my shoes back before I contract something fungal.
[Seriously, I'm far more concerned about the devastation of an athlete's foot pandemic than anything terrorists could think up. Wait... maybe that was the plan all along. We are literally walking right into that one.]
I just read through this post and there's absolutely no way that this sucker isn't getting flagged for reading by some poor, beleaguered Homeland Security employee. Sorry, guy or gal. But look on the bright side: you get paid to look at the internet all day. And I'm sure you have some really funny anecdotes that will have people buying you drinks for years to come.
PS- on the off chance you decide to tap my phone after this (legally or not) would you mind sending me a tape (or maybe a .wav file, I'm not sure how far your technological capabilities have come) of my voice sped up to Alvin Chipmunk speed? I would just get a kick out of that.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
It wasn't that bad.
The 80's themed wedding was pretty enjoyable, actually. I discovered that even though I look like a chubby nine-year-old in a leotard, there's something very freeing about being in essentially a swimsuit when everyone else around you is fully dressed. There's absolutely no room for posing. Your ass is hanging out, you gotta own it. The girls from the Robert Palmer "Addicted to Love" video, George Michael a la "Faith", and the white guy channeling Michael Jackson were real highlights. I suspect my off-the-cuff maid of honor speech was not. I closed with: "May you have all the time in the world to do justice to all the love in your hearts." Seriously. It was almost as inspired as the time I pleaded explosive diahrrea to get out of a social engagement.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Just got back from a vacation I could take again and again and again. Maritime and her family opened up thier arms and I fell right into thier gracious cabin hospitality. We hiked, introduced the boys to Mille Bornes, and had fabulous meals up and down the north shore. I am now on very intimate terms with Gitchi Gumi both in and out of a kayak. It was the perfect break and a chance for great conversations about life with someone who knows what she's talking about.
Now to sort it all out in my little corner of reality...
Now to sort it all out in my little corner of reality...
Friday, August 11, 2006
They call us 'Citiots'
Finally back. I didn't actually solo due to lack of a medical certificate (they like to know that you won't stop suddenly while flying) and marginal weather. But I did have my first actual in-flight emergency! We were 3 mi. north of the Brainerd airport when I smelled a suspicious burning smell. We couldn't at first diagnose it, but when the Instructor saw a little billow of smoke rise up from under the transponder, she very efficiently and capably declared an emergency and landed. The Brainerd rescue team (I think his name is Don) wasn't exactly Johnny-on-the-spot. Or should it be Donny-on-the-spot in this case? Anyway, it took the guy like 5-10 minutes to roll up in his truck after we landed and were standing, by correct emergency procedures, 50' upwind of the airplane. You hope that announcing that your plane is potentially on fire would have a more galvanizing effect on emergency rescue personnel. All was fine in the end, just a transponder that thought it was a toaster.
The major highlight of being back home so far (and only b/c I haven't yet seen Maritime, Kovsky, or #2): vegetables. I don't know what Northern Minnesota's problem is because they grow plenty of them, but they sure aren't eating many. The entire 4.5 days I was there the only vegetable (and I use the term loosely) I had unless you count pickles was Iceburg lettuce. Seriously, just the bad lettuce and pickles. My colon put the brakes on fast, if you get my meaning. My entire digestive system was thrown for a total loop. And I am developping a theory that long-term constipation, the product of years, even decades without sufficient vegetable intake, results in decorating with tchotchkies and 'collectables'. The Instructor's grandmother's house was like one of those German/Scandanavian restaurant/gift shops. Every single box of tissues was in some sort of cozy. It was like some sort of urgent, snot-driven, Where's Waldo search everytime I needed to blow my nose. And in that sort of frilly environment, just because something has a plume of white material coming out of the top doesn't necessarily mean that it's a kleenex. One cozy was a scale replica of the couch. I'm not even kidding.
Oh! And here's an illustrative tidbit about small-town Northern MN life: I went to the 'fancy' restaurant in town (I can recommend the breaded cheese and black olive mixture) and the entryway glass display case featured a dreamcatcher with a little patch in the middle that simply said 'Diabetes'. It was presented by the Lions Club. There are so many layers to explore in that even aside from the higher incidence of diabetes in both Native Americans and Lions Club members. An absolute dreamcatcher. I'm still just amazed by the whole thing.
The major highlight of being back home so far (and only b/c I haven't yet seen Maritime, Kovsky, or #2): vegetables. I don't know what Northern Minnesota's problem is because they grow plenty of them, but they sure aren't eating many. The entire 4.5 days I was there the only vegetable (and I use the term loosely) I had unless you count pickles was Iceburg lettuce. Seriously, just the bad lettuce and pickles. My colon put the brakes on fast, if you get my meaning. My entire digestive system was thrown for a total loop. And I am developping a theory that long-term constipation, the product of years, even decades without sufficient vegetable intake, results in decorating with tchotchkies and 'collectables'. The Instructor's grandmother's house was like one of those German/Scandanavian restaurant/gift shops. Every single box of tissues was in some sort of cozy. It was like some sort of urgent, snot-driven, Where's Waldo search everytime I needed to blow my nose. And in that sort of frilly environment, just because something has a plume of white material coming out of the top doesn't necessarily mean that it's a kleenex. One cozy was a scale replica of the couch. I'm not even kidding.
Oh! And here's an illustrative tidbit about small-town Northern MN life: I went to the 'fancy' restaurant in town (I can recommend the breaded cheese and black olive mixture) and the entryway glass display case featured a dreamcatcher with a little patch in the middle that simply said 'Diabetes'. It was presented by the Lions Club. There are so many layers to explore in that even aside from the higher incidence of diabetes in both Native Americans and Lions Club members. An absolute dreamcatcher. I'm still just amazed by the whole thing.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Actual Training
Off I go to the wilds of Northern Minnesota to learn once and for all how to fly a plane. Actually, flying is not hard at all, it's the landing that's difficult. There's a double meaning in that. But if I belabor the aviation-as-life metaphor any more I think I'll drive my few readers away en masse.
The goal by the end of this week is to take off, fly, and (keep your fingers crossed, here's the tricky part) land an airplane all by myself. I am trying to be calm and collected and totally nonchalant about this prospect to show how pragmatic and put-together I am. The reality is that I am simultaneously thrilled to death and scared shitless. Which, upon further reflection, would make me cadaver with a clean colon. Wow, what's with my blog and scatology?
Into the wild blue yonder,
M
The goal by the end of this week is to take off, fly, and (keep your fingers crossed, here's the tricky part) land an airplane all by myself. I am trying to be calm and collected and totally nonchalant about this prospect to show how pragmatic and put-together I am. The reality is that I am simultaneously thrilled to death and scared shitless. Which, upon further reflection, would make me cadaver with a clean colon. Wow, what's with my blog and scatology?
Into the wild blue yonder,
M
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Game, Set, and...
To carry on with the career-search-as-tennis-match thing: I returned some pretty tough serves and volleys today and think I've at least pushed it into a third set. I wish I could pump a raquet in the air or something to demonstrate my satisfaction with the interview. How weird is it that everything else on the blog has some sort of aviation metaphor, but when it comes time for me to talk about getting a job in aviation I retreat into tennis? And every sport (with the possible exception of midget bowling) lends itself to fairly facile metaphors and similes. I should really have been trying harder. I apologize. But I probably won't stop, so don't bother getting your hopes up.
Ooh, my replacement phone just came!
Ooh, my replacement phone just came!
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