The Man in the Mirror and Unibomber Walk into a Bar...

The Accounts Man

I have never seen Mad Men. I know I would love it, which is why I have never watched it. I have tried to temper the amount of time I watch television over the years. I have largely drawn a line in the sand when it comes to committing to new shows.

I still watch too much TV, so the embargo must continue. Especially since I have not achieved my goal as far as reading is concerned. I still spend a lot of time on the news and with periodicals, but I have not put enough time or effort into reading books these last couple years. The time I have spent watching TV is partially to blame.

Back to Mad Men... Well, not really, since I have already confessed to never having seen the show. More specifically, back to The Simpsons send-up of Mad Men that aired originally last season. It is one of the better of the modern episodes in which Homer finds himself being accidentally talented at schmoozing customers. It just so happens the old "accounts man", (voiced by the aptly cast but still one of my least favorite actors, John Slattery, who plays a character on Mad Men), is retiring. Homer is tapped to take his place.

The "accounts man" is savvy, sophisticated. He is glib and weary of the meaninglessness of his life, of the constant travel, of the small but significant chunks of his soul he has left behind in the pursuit of doing business. He has an omnipresent cigarette and low ball filled with what one presumes to be single malt scotch. He lives in a retro-fab high rise penthouse overlooking the waterfront. He is single and alone. He is a shell.

Homer is dumpy and stupid and lacks most of the graces of his predecessor. But he makes up for these shortcomings by being earnest and working hard to fulfill his duties. He soon finds it impossible to balance work and family, (and say what you will about Homer Simpson - he loves his family). In one scene, he comes home, bedraggled and exhausted, choosing to have another drink alone in the dark rather than going to bed in his own room next to his wife. He quickly grows weary of the travel and the never ending show. The final act is a classic comedy of errors scenario where Homer is trying to be what he needs to be for work, while also being with his family on vacation where the two worlds collide. Homer realizes he would rather be a half-assed dad and husband to his family than be a success in the business world. The old accounts man comes back after realizing there is nothing left in life for him to enjoy and he just can't go on without his work.

I am Homer Simpson doing the accounts man's job. I have spent a lot of time traveling lately. Networking and schmoozing. Looking for the next score, as it were. Last night was a charity casino night on the waterfront across from Belle Isle on the Detroit River. The venue, 50 years old this year, is a retro-fab place that gives a clue to the former glory of Detroit. It was not unlike the renderings of the animated accounts man's apartment in The Simpsons.

I was having a drink, Dewar's unfortunately at this open bar... no Glenfiddich to be found here, and yucking it up with perfect strangers, treating them as though they were lifelong friends. Pretending to be interested in their work, their family, their lives. I so deeply and thickly congratulated the recipient of the main award of the evening that I thought I was going to give the man diabetes.

And I felt like the accounts man. Unfortunately, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror... from two angles, actually. I realized I may feel like the accounts man, but I sure look a lot more like Homer Simpson.

As for work-life balance? Well, I manage. And I have grown comfortable with the fact that I get paid to gamble, drink, flirt and build relationships with people. It's a pretty cool job, actually. I just wish I could look a lot more like John Slattery and a lot less like Homer Simpson.
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A Place of One's Own

I am the worst type of personality. I am obsessive-impulsive. Not to be confused with obsessive-compulsive. My house isn't as clean and I'm not as organized as someone with OCD, but I am a lot more fun at a party. My newest obsession is a little cabin in the woods in northern Michigan. It's a log cabin. In the woods. It's been a dream for a long time.

I want it. I certainly don't need it, can't afford it, shouldn't have it, but I definitely want it.

When my cousin, Nicholas was a toddler, he would say "I need it" whenever there was an object of his desire. "I need it" came out of his mouth so many times, we began aping him. He had no idea we were making fun of him. My uncle, his father, said "You've got your wants and your needs mixed up, kid."

As do I. I spend far too much time obsessing over that which I think I need, (but really only want), and not enough time working to keep the things I have. Being obsessive-impulsive leads to a less-than-stable life.

So, I am talking to my friend, Greg, showing him the listing for my shangri-la in the woods and he does nothing to dissuade me. Instead, he points out the good value, the great property, the proximity to resort areas, all the things I would love about it.

And I, trying to be circumspect say, "But I don't need it. I can't handle another project. It's the last thing I need."

"Yes," replied Greg, a licensed and practicing counselor, "but that's what you do. You need projects. They provide your motivation."

Good point.

Now I have a therapist telling me to buy this thing.

Therapy is expensive indeed.

Pills

Best read in the style of a Johnny Cash like talk-singing country drone with a little guitar vamp behind it:

I need a pill to remember if I took my pills
I need a pill to forget all my ills
I need a pill to help my bladder fill
I need to fill the holder that holds my pills

I need one pill to make me pee
I need another pill to help my knee
Yet one more pill to make me smile
Still Another pill so I can live for awhile

I got pills that shake
I got pills that rattle
I got one pill developed for cattle

And they all say terrible things will happen to me

I shouldn't drive
I'd better not drink
One makes me dry
One makes me think
One make me dizzy
One makes me sad
One makes me happy
One makes me mad

One pill says not to go in the sun
Another one says it may give me the runs
Still a third one's warning is really obtuse
It tells me not to drink grape juice

I have no idea what for or why

I got little white pill
A little pink pill
A big pink pill
Another white pill

If I get them mixed up I'm afraid I'll die

I long ago stopped keeping score
I don't know what half of them are for
Their shapes have got me mystified

One's like a football
Another a star
One is short
One is tall
One is chalky
One is smooth

Some are round with writing on it
The writing means nothing I'm sure of it
And some taste really, really bad

I got more pills than a Hollywood doc
Ain't none of them growing my... uh rooster
Because the ones for pain and pleasure I cannot take

I got pills for my kidneys
I got pills for heart disease
I got pills for allergies
Probably even for twins Siamese
God knows for what else

This business of pills
And treating my ills
Is proving hazardous to my health

My Radical Sabbatical. Or, My latest Excuses for not Blogging.

"So, what happened to your blog? Are you on sabbatical?" came the question from a friend of mine at the bottom of an e-mail last week. I realize it has been quite some time since I made a blentry. All the same excuses apply in one order or magnitude or another. Since I don't get paid to write, I write when I can. I have a second now, so I figured I could squeak out a blog post.

A lot has been going on here on Michigan's West Coast. Not one bit of it has to do with sun and nice weather. I have been traveling and working such that I didn't get to mow my lawn last week. Now it's been raining constantly. Did I mention I fertilized the week before? any minute now, I will be able, if I am so inclined to go meet the giant living in the sky who has the goose that lays the golden eggs. I have a lawn that looks like summer wheat only green, with tall stalks topped with seed flowers. It isn't pretty. Looking at the weather, it may get a whole lot uglier before I can get it chopped down. Forget the mower... I need a brush hog.

I dared to take the Corvette more than 25 feet and drive at more than 45 miles per hour, which of course resulted in a blown heater hose. I have the replacement hose. I just haven't put it on. The heater core, which requires the partial removal of the dashboard to replace is also bad. I bypassed it a couple summers ago since we only drive in the summer and never use the heat anyway. Beside, the air conditioning doesn't work, so why should the heat? I guess I am trying to weigh whether to just do the whole job and be done with it.

My new grill came last week and I broke it in yesterday. It is a new infrared induction heat grill. It still uses propane, but the grate system is closed, so only the heat, not the flame hits the food. It is impressively quick to heat up, and unlike my old grill that had a difficult time maintaining 450 degrees, this one goes from 0f to 700f in 10 minutes. I lit it yesterday, put one burner on high and the other 2 on medium and it took 1 minute and 52 seconds to get to 575 degrees.

I grilled beef filets. The heat on the grates allows for instantaneous searing. The meat doesn't stick to the grates and in theory should retain moisture better without the flames hitting it directly. I was concerned at first that it would be too hot, or that the meat wouldn't get that nice flame crust on it that I love so much. I needn't have worried. It really does the job! I also roasted some asparagus and yellow squash. Those, too, were a success. It is a bit of a high bar coming right out of the chute with filets as the first thing to grill all summer- And on a new grill. I am happy to say it all worked out well. Tonight, hotdogs. How's that for a follow-up?

As for my old grill, I think I would like to try and turn it into a smoker. The cabinet is fine, it just rusted inside. All the cheap parts are ripped out now. I need some sheet metal to create a bottom and voila I have a smoker. I should get around to that project around 2024.

This all assumes the weather starts to cooperate and realizes we are now in May. Since February was like April, March was like June, April was like, well, April and May looks a lot the same, it's hard to tell what we're going to get and when. For instance, I listened to the weather people and decided we would get no rain on Saturday and so started staining the deck.  I got halfway before the rain that wasn't supposed to come, did, and when it did, even though it was supposed to stop, it didn't. Oh, bother.

We are going to have a new sliding door and new storm doors put on the house and I am still committed to making good headway on the window restorations, so our anniversary trip to Mackinac Island is off. We just don't have the time and money to afford all the energy and wanderlust we have. Instead, we bought some patio furniture to go with the new grill. If it ever stops raining I will finish staining the deck and we will have a great place right here at home to relax and enjoy.

You are now up to speed. Hopefully I will have a post that has something to do with something semi-funny or at least somewhat amusing for next time. Sorry for the autobiographical boredom.