My Job: A Whining Session Turned Humorous Account

I apologize for the long hiatus. Life can get busy here apparently. Actually, I think life is always busy, at least for me. I remember back in college, juggling a part time job, papers due, ridiculous physics problems (and concepts to understand), trying to maintain about 50 friendships... and thinking, "well, I may be busy now, but at least when I graduate I'll just work a regular job, and after each work day I'll have so much free time!!!" I currently work one of those jobs (not even the kind with take-home work) and I even live out in the boonies where friends are far away, and I am even more busy than before (or it sometimes feels like it).

Often I feel that my job takes up more of my time than I would like. [Whininess alert! (Wow, "whininess" looks so weird to write, but I can't think of how else one would spell it...)] Theoretically, Colin and I put in around 40 hours a week and can take vacation flexibly, within reason. This was the case for my first 2 or 3 months here, but lately things have been getting seemingly crazier. Granted, we are nearing harvest, but this does not account for all the business. In the past month I've been averaging around 9 hours a day, been forced to work 2 Saturdays and had to work one crazy 12 and a half hour day. Now I understand that plenty of farm interns in the area work this and much more for a mere stipend (= much less money), but this is not what I signed up for. And I guess what frustrates me most is that a good majority of the work that I deem "excessive" comes as a result of poor planning on the part of my employers (or it seems more excessive than it should because they only tell us of extra hours we have to work a day or two (or sometimes a few hours) before we have to work them) - we have to bottle gin this Saturday because we've been backordered for weeks (because we ran out of bottles), yesterday Colin was informed at the beginning of the day that he was to accompany Lance to an event in Grand Junction all afternoon/evening - so much for canning tomatoes... And so it goes. Sometimes Colin and I can find humor in all of it, and sometimes we're just pissed. Last Monday we found humor and good fun - barely - in a day packed with frenzied and panicked preparations for a farm dinner; it was a cold day so dining under the cottonwood tree was out, and so we had to figure out where to put 50 guests indoors. [I don't mean to nitpicky, but aren't Plan B's more effective if you come up with them before you need them??] What follows is the tale of that eventful day.

The day began as usual, only colder. And I was tired. The past weekend some friends and I had gone backpacking in the Maroon Bells - Snowmass Wilderness Area (gorgeous, and with the Aspens beginning to turn yellow, what's more). It was a spledid trip, though on our last day we hiked out in a considerable amount of cold rain. It seemed that autumn had arrived. We all celebrated our feat of energy expension by eating cookies and watching a movie, only Colin and I didn't arrive back at our home until well after bedtime. Bummer.


I was tired, and it was cold. Whereas the week before I donned Chacos and shorts I took one step outside and realized that jeans and shoes would be necessary. The second step told me that a flannel shirt might also be advisable. The morning briefing told me that I would spend the morning moving wine from the winery to the newly-built storage area in the barn and that Colin would distill gin all day. True, guests would be arriving for our second and last (for this season) farm dinner by 4 or 5 pm, but all we would need to do in preparation was set up tables and chairs, maybe do a bit of cleaning - nothing that couldn't be accomplished in an afternoon. All right! Forklift time! (As an aside, driving the forklift is probably my new favorite thing. There are so many neat levers to operate and it is a very spacial and careful task. It's kind of like a routine joyride for me [for which I get paid] ... until I do some math and - yipe! - that vat I'm moving contains around $50,000 in wine. Con cuidado, Mateo, con cuidado...)

I set about my chore (not easy, as all the wine I was to move was blocked in by approximately five gazillion other pallates) and soon realized that the rising sun was not doing much to bring relief from the cold. The flannel shirt would stay on! (Unless I was being totally buff and lifting really heavy things. Then I would take it off, misplace it, then get cold again and curse my forgetfulness as soon as I was done being buff.) Shortly before lunch, the reality of the weather began to sink in. If it's cold now... Yes, guests dining out of doors would indeed become popsicles, especially once the sun went down. Lance started to consider moving the party indoors. Anna was not at first convinced but was gradually won over. Underpaid workers: enact... 'Plan B'!!!! But as the discerning reader has already noted, there was no Plan B. The wine thankfully moved, Anna and I set about the full-time task of discovering Plan B.

We can fit fifty people into the distilling shed right? (She meant sitting comfortably at tables. I wondered if fifty people could stand in there.) We cleared tanks and pallates of bottles out and then proceeded to play rearrange the folding tables with Colin's help. Unfortunately the folding tables won and only allowed us to fit around 35 people inside (assuming that all the servers had a profile slimmer than the 6 or 7 inches left between the rows made once folding chairs were set up). Where could we put fifteen more people? The kitchen/dining room? That was soon ruled out. Mark Fischer, chef extraordinaire and owner of two amazing Carbondale restaurants, arrived midafternoon with his whole posse, and it became clear that they would take up most or all of the kitchen. Where else?... Colin's suggestion won the day. If we could move most of the barrels out of the aging room, maybe (just maybe) we could squeeze 15 people in. It's mid-afternoon already. We are all starting to panic.

Anna and I drive to the barn to get the pallet jack (inconveniently left over there) to help us move barrels. Even though the pallet jack aids us in dealing with the weight of the barrels, it doesn't make the aging room any larger. It's like gridlock (the puzzle game) meets tug of war... with the Countdown Clock of Impending Doom thrown in the mix just for fun (T minus 2 hours until guests begin to arrive). After much rearranging, we manage to squeeze two tables in the small room. Anna and I high five each other. Hopefully the wine the guests will be served will prove an adequate adornment for the bare cement slab walls and dim lighting that the aging room features...

"Now what do I do?" I ask Lance. There is an immense sense of unpreparedness all around and yet I can't think of any one thing that needs to be done that I can do. Lance thinks a moment and tells me to go down by the cottonwood and right the overturned tables (that have been sitting down there for 2 weeks, since the last farm dinner) and relocate (i.e. shovel into an inconspicuous pile) the numerous cow patties that have accumulated under the tree. [Apparently even though it is cold, guests will be served cocktails under the tree. Apparently during the last farm dinner guests did not appreciate the rustic and "authentic farm touch" that stepping in cow shit had to offer. Apparently when the cows escaped (twice) during the past week, they only traveled several feet to the shade of the cottonwood... and managed to triple the Cow Shit Density factor of the surrounding area.] Glad I could be of help. A few shovelfuls of crap later, and I spy a bemusing scene. I pause, bite my lip and call Lance: "Yeah, so uh, one of the tables blew over in the wind... and a cow took a huge dump on it. Do you want me to take it up and pressure wash it or just leave it?" I loaded the table into the RTV, and hauled it up to the winery, chuckling to myself. Apparently by this point Lance was laughing at the whole situation too, as were Colin and Anna. We're not ready. This is crazy. What more can you do but laugh? And as the "doom" continued to impend, laugh we did. And as it turned out, once the doom arrived, it turned out to be just a fun party.

After I cleaned up the table (I may or may not have pressure washed cow doo doo onto Mark Fischer's car...) Lance gave me the go ahead to zip home and change into nicer clothes. Apparently tattered jeans and a sunbleached ball cap are not befitting to a server of a 5 or 6 (lost count) course gourmet meal. Also, while home I was to inform Howard (resident grandpa) that he should print out 50 menus, the PDF emailed to him - the printer at the winery had just run out of toner. Perfect. I relayed the message to Howard and selected a nicer outfit. As I prepared to leave for the winery again, I knocked on Howard's door. No answer. Oh well. Colin still had to change, so he could pick the menus up. I returned to the growing festivities. Anna accosted me. "Where are the menus? Howard said he left them on the table for you." Uh... What? I was pretty sure someone was crazy. I mentally ruled myself out while Anna decided that Howard was probably just confused. Later Colin arrived with the menus and provided me with a more satisfactory explaination: After I took over his post at the still he had gone home to change. Upon arriving home, however, first priority was taking a dump. And - of course - as soon as he sat down to do his thing Howard knocked on the door. Howard is a bit hard of hearing and does not take no for an answer. These qualities may have contributed to the fact that he hollered and hollered at the door (Colin mentally willing him away) until finally Colin broke down and hollered back. Only Howard thought Colin was me, not yet changed and dropping a load. So at approximately 4:30 pm last Monday I broke some law of physics (I've been out of school for over a year, so I'm allowed to forget exactly which one) and existed at two places at once - checking the proof on gin coming out of the still (surrounded by inquisitive guests) and negotiating a drop location for fifty menus with a semi-deaf man while yelling at the top of my lungs and taking a crap. What an epic way to make scientific history...


The rest of the evening was much less stressful, mostly fun and enjoyable, and therefore much less humorous-account-worthy (guests never did meander down to the cottonwood that I had so diligently deshitified...). We hung out with an amazing chef (He assured us that he was just the figurehead - Bryce, the cook who came along was the real hero. Whatever the case the food rocked.), ate his amazing food (four-way tie for best course: arepes with BBQ lamb, warm Olathe corn soup, roast Berkshire pork with grits, mozarella and peaches and apple bread pudding with caramel, spiced pecans, and sweet creme friache), and schmoozed with the guests.


Later, after most people left, we hung out with Ron - one of the guests as well as our winery's soils specialist and a good friend of Lance and Anna's - who had brought his telescope. He showed us Jupiter's moons and the Andromeda Galaxy with his telescope and a good many constellations besides. What fun. And after that Colin and I came inside to listen to some musician friends of Lance and Anna's jamming in the kitchen. They had come to serenade the dining guests, but after most of them left they retired to the kitchen to rehearse for an upcoming gig. And it was awesome.


And here in the course of one long writing I've gone from being extremely negative about my work situation to loving it (or rather, the opportunities it brings me) immensely. So, ask me if I like working here. Depending on the day the answer will vary. But I can say consistently that work here is varied, exciting [written with a tinge of irony] and full of surprises. Also, I find it humorous to note that the title of this post, while accurately describing the post, essentially sums up my work here. I complain a lot, but in retrospect it makes for a fun and interesting story...

My Life is Amazing; My Life Sucks: A Paradox

I am tired. I am worn out. I began the day trying to wake up after my alarm went off at 7 am. Usually I pop right up, shut the darned thing off and start making breakfast. Today I rolled around, tried not to slip back into unconsciousness (that's a very real danger as my snooze button fell off several years back - there is no second wake-up call...), and eventually got myself out of bed. I called Anna: so, uh, did you want us to come in today? (Please God, no, no, no.) Yes, we're going to bottle. [pause] Okay, see you soon. And so we spent Labor Day laboring away - that's what you're supposed to do, right? And we labored and labored, bottling a ton of vodka followed by three different kinds of grappa. Evening plans were made with friends in Paonia over lunch. They were called into question at around 7 pm, and by 8:30 - when we finally finished - they were no more. I put in a 12.5-hour day, I'm beat and I feel that it all could have been avoided by some forethought on the part of my bosses (or at least they could have warned us of the longevity of today's labors...). AND today's events are in some ways simply par for the course. My life sucks.


Two days ago, our winery co-hosted a huge dinner party with renowned chef Kelly Liken of Kelly Liken's in Vail. Though we had to clean and organize all morning, in the evening Colin, visiting friend Kate and I got to help serve the guests as well as socialize with them. In down time, we got to hang out with Kelly in the kitchen while we chowed down on her amazing cucumber and tomato salads, succotash, and rack of lamb with chimichurri sauce - sooooo good. And Kelly is just one many very interesting people that I've had the privilege to meet here at the winery. (And the party was fun.) My life is amazing.

The art of winemaking is fascinating, and I have already learned a great deal since I began working here at the winery. I very much enjoy the variation in work from day to day, and it's great being a part of the winemaking process from planting to bottling. My life is amazing.

There are plenty of days when I do the same redundant thing over and over for 8+ hours, using my brain only to decide what album to listen to next on my iPod. Sometimes these chores are accompanied by Lance's abundant yet less-than-constructive criticisms. My life sucks.













Since moving out west, a great many close friends (all from college) have come out to visit me. Their time spent here has been a true joy, and I love catching up with them, exploring the outdoors in their company, cooking them breakfast and being reminded of the good ol' days of my time spent at Goshen College. I'm flattered by their visits to Colin and me out here in the boonies (though maybe I shouldn't be; Colin and the scenery would be enough to get me out here without me being here...), and I'm always a bit sad to see them go. My life is amazing.

Google just ate a toad. And now he's farting. My life sucks (kinda).

I live in Western Colorado. It's gorgeous here. So many vistas, so many outdoor sports to enjoy... I could (and might) stay out here forever. My life is amazing.

I am making plenty of new friends. Many are the type where a few hours after meeting we are swapping back-rubs. People are nice out here. My life is amazing.

(Most of those above-mentioned friends live a good 30-minutes' drive from my house. Also, even if I were to stay out here forever, the majority of said friends would be moving away in a less than a year anyway because they are just interns - like me... here for a while - just one adventure out of many in the youthful days of their lives. My life sucks.)


Whatever comes my way - good or evil, uplifting or depressing - I live with one cool dude named Colin, and he helps me weather it. (Jonathan used to help fill this roll, but now he's off to Purdue getting smarter and all. Poor guy... [and then there are those days when I would love nothing more than to solve a really difficult differential equation...]) We find new music together, cook together, explore nature together, discuss life, politics and women together, (work together), sit in the living room staring at our computers together... And when work sucks, we comiserate together. Colin is a good friend. My life is amazing.

Despite all the shit that comes my way, I manage to keep a positive outlook on life. Life is an adventure, right? and mine is amazing.

My* Dog

It's about time that I wrote a bit about Google (aka Googs, Googley Puff, Googley Poo, Googmeister...) the dog - the one that lives with Colin and I.

To begin, I will explain the asterisk. I am not a dog person. Don't get me wrong, I don't dislike dogs... I quite enjoy romping with them, scratching their bellies, playing fetch, and having them accompany me on walks in the woods. It's just that... well... for me all of these joys don't outweigh the dirtiness, the jumping, the slobber, the barking, the destroying of personal effects, the pooping, the humping and the continual need for affection and attention. Therefore, it was with mixed feelings that I replied, "Oh. Great." to Colin's announcement (over phone) that he and Jonathan had brought home a puppy. I was still in Indiana at this point, and since I hadn't yet met the dog named Google, I tried to have an open mind. But this was not going to be my dog. So, when I title this post "my dog" what I am saying is that despite my occasional grumpiness toward him, I still do my part to feed him and play with him. (And when attractive women are met in passing: "Why, yes. He is my dog.")

Now that I've said all that - and dog lovers everywhere are amassing to write angry letters to me, condemning my hateful language - let me describe all of the cute and cool little personality quirks of Google's that have so won me over (to him, at least, not the entire dog nation).

Jonathan and Colin gave Google his name because before he even came home with them from the shelter they had dreamed of owning a dog with the informational capacity of the internet. Now the running joke is that while he is somewhere in the j's, memorizing the internets, he hasn't yet learned English and so his vast knowledge is somewhat useless. (He is a smart dog in other ways, though. In the first week I was in Colorado we made him a good-sized adjustable hurdle and taught him the command "jump." He can also, sit, stay, "slap you some skin," and accurately find and fetch any generic-looking rock that you huck into a field of sage brush.


Actually, Google loves rocks so much that even if you don't throw one for him, he'll find one he likes and start kicking it around with his front paws (like one hiking a football) while yelling at it. Believe it or not, this can be annoying. One way to get him to shut up is to pick up the rock of his present attention and throw it. Then he promptly fetches it and the cycle repeats - only you've now been sucked into his game. A further testimony to his brilliance. (Sometimes we would try to explain his eccentric actions by theorizing that Google was secretly a world-renowned geologist. He would fetch a rock, start yelling "Look, look! I found a brilliant specimen here, practically flawless!" Then we would throw it, he would get pissed, bring it back, yelping, "No, you fools! That is a priceless fossil! You can't just throw it! No no no!!) One scary downside to his fascination with rocks is that one must be careful to throw them very far away. Google has gotten so good at reading the flight paths of frisbees and rocks and the like that if he gets a good enough head start (or if you don't throw it far enough) he will try to catch the rock in his mouth. OUCH! We try to avoid this.


Other quirks: He likes to eat lying down. We attribute this to laziness. He also likes to pass out in the most uncomfortable-looking positions possible! Most dogs I've seen lie on their stomachs and their feet tuck under or sprawl. But Google like to lie on his back, contort his spine and then put his head and legs wherever they look like they shouldn't go. And he does not reserve these bizarre shows for the evenings. No, he will follow you around outside all day, but the moment he enters a building with you he passes out. It's as though he is a computer with a power save mode and once inside his mouse is no longer being moved. Only messing with him (or going back outside) can possibly rouse him. And mess with him we do. Favorite games include wrestling, hugging, running around the house really fast and wheelbarrow races.


But as much fun as Google can be, what has struck me most in these past few months of getting to know him is what a responsibility he is. In the words of a friend, dogs are essentially "practice babies." They want love and attention, they can be a financial burden, they can wake you up at night, they can poo in places you don't want them to poo and they can even die if you screw up one little thing even once. Yep, Googs is a real bundle-o-responsibility. He's also taught me several good lessons in patience. Often after leaving him at home unattended for varying lengths of time (sometimes as short as 45 minutes!) I will return to find the living room in shambles and various possessions of mine in various states of chewed-up-ness (I've recently given him the nickname Shiva). I want to punt his whiny ass into the cow pasture, but then I remember that he will have no idea why I'm doing it. So I bite my tongue, pet him and vow to remember to lock him outside (and all of my shoes inside) next time.

At times like that I can't help but make the comparison to having a child to care for (he/she didn't know that those were Daddy's important books). He has so many needs, and attention seems to be at the forefront. It has been a real challenge for me to find the energy to play with him when he's bored, and when he whines for attention or tears stuff up it certainly tries my patience. In fact, if I couldn't assure myself that any future kid of mine would be physically incapable of chewing through a Chaco sandal strap (and half of War and Peace in the same sitting!), I'm not sure that I could maintain the notion that I want to have children some (far, far off) day. I guess my future children also have a leg up on Google in that they will be able to learn to read, talk, joke and eventually keep me entertained in my old age...

But on the whole, Google's all right. He's a pain in the rear sometimes, but he's mostly cool and fun to have around. And I do try to get him back whenever I can. In fact, when I imagine that I'm his big brother - rather than responsible parent - I feel much more justified in messing with him and occasionally ignoring him as long as I still remember to feed him...

I'm Dumb: Scene II

Believe it or not, I'm still a dumb person. I know it's been a while since I last commented on this aspect of myself, but after this afternoon's adventures I couldn't help but remind you all (How many is "all" these days? I'm predicting single digits, but sometimes I like to pretend that I'm writing to an expansive audience that just can't wait to hear what crazy $hit will happen to me next...) just how dumb I can be.

As a brief prologue to this afternoon's events, let me begin this paragraph by titling it Chapter XVII: In Which Matthew and Guinnevere Continue to Bicker and Finally Seek Out Relationship Counseling. So, I forget when my last car update was. I believe I had already mentioned putting too much oil in, discovering a rear wobbling, then having it not start and towing it to the shop (thanks boss' pickup truck!) to get repaired AND having one tire blow out en route. But only the broken off exhaust pipe was repaired then (oh, did I forget to mention that?). I drove back from the shop on my donut, eventually bought a new tire and finally: Gwen was good to go! To celebrate Colin and I hopped in and cranked some tunes on the way to frisbee!... oh, wait, it was still really wobbly. If I let go of the wheel it the whole car would violently veer to the right. It was kinda scary. Gwen was sent back to the infirmary for the time being. Now it just so happened that early this morning I had to drive Colin to the Grand Junction airport. I brilliantly decided to drop my car off at the local Kwiki Tire on the way to have the alignment problem fixed. Driving back from Junction, I got a call. "Mr. Rody? Yeah, we got your alignment squared away. But, uh, two of your tires - they look to be the same brand - the tread is about to come clean off of 'em." Crap. "And it's probably good to replace the other just for good measure, right?" He said I might be able to get away with not, but sooner or later it would go. What the hell. If I go for that extra tire, I thought, maybe I can completely pay for my car over again!! (Despite all the emoticons that our generation has to offer, I still have yet to see the "sarcastic double exclamation point." Someone please figure that one out.) The work was quickly done, and I could pick it up any time this afternoon. Great. Now, fast forward to the end of the work day.

I had talked to Lance at lunch and asked if I might get a ride into Delta to pick up my car. He said, sure, someone could take me. I said I could also ride my bike if it was a problem (though I hoped it wouldn't be, as it would be a good 15 miles in a fairly short period of time). At about 3:45 I noticed two cars pull in the driveway. They looked like tourists. I wondered if Lance would be needing to give a tour. We would need to be leaving soon (sooner if I had to bike), as the garage closed at 5:30. I called Lance. (Yes I'm too lazy to walk several hundred feet.) He didn't pick up. Anna? Nope. Evan? Nope. Anna called back. Could you take me to Delta? She had just come from Delta. Frick! And now they had family plans. Maybe I could work something out with the on-farm grandpa (Lance's dad). Nah, easier to not. The clock was ticking.

15 miles, mostly downhill. I could average at least that, right? So if I left... now! I could make it. I ran up to the house, remembering to recieve my instructions for the next day, since I would be running the place myself with everyone else taking Evan to college. [Okay, Anna... stop talking... need to go...] Back to the house. I packed enough water to survive. Helmet, glasses, air in tires... check, check, check. I left my driveway at 4:45. I decided to not do the math and just pedal really, really hard.

The first leg of my journey was easy enough as it was straight down the side of the mesa. And it was a rush! My speedometer long ago stopped working, but I estimated that I was going around 40 mph... but even going slower I was making great time. I'll be at Kwiki in no time. And then I turned onto the highway, straight into that confounded dry, hot, dusty desert wind. Even going slightly down hill I could not have been going more than 13 or 14 mph. My estimates got more and more pessimistic: Maybe I could still make it. Maybe I could still make it if I called ahead and said to stay in the store until I got there 10 minutes late. Maybe I could find enough sense to turn around NOW and save myself the extra mileage on the bike ride home...

I pressed on. The wind did not abate. I hit construction. I had thought about the construction before I left - in terms of bikes being able to fly by slow-moving cars on the shoulder. But wait... construction narrowed traffic down to one tiny, gravelly lane for at least few miles. MAN I'm dumb. Even if I could avoid getting hit, my tiny little road tires would bounce me to kingdom come! The time had come to deviate from the original plan (but when had I been following that?! And what was that plan anyway? Something like buy a nice reliable used car - Civics are good - and drive it to its death with no car troubles ever...).

I approached a long line of stalled cars. I rolled to a stop next to the first pickup truck and stuck out my thumb. No luck. I'm only going to Austin. "Sorry I can't help. Good luck mi hijo!" The target of my next attempt was an SUV, empty in the back with a young male driver. "You going to Delta?" "Sure, hop in." That was easy. And the rest is history. I negated some "dumb points" with some hard-earned "improvisation points" and "meeting cool new people points." James, a young paramedic, was my savior, and he was even cool enough to drive me directly to the garage (we pulled in at 5:26). I thanked him profusely and promptly got slapped in the face by three new tires of negative money. Oh well. At least my car was totally good to go. It's smart to fix your car, right? More dumb points negated.

Oh yeah. But it seems that I neglected to anticipate how sprinting furiously on a bicycle - while totally out of shape - would affect my frisbee game later that evening. I guess we can't all be smart...

Opportunites, Missed and Taken

This afternoon, as my plane made preparations to carry me on the first leg of my 3-flight trip home, an announcement was made that perked up my ears. Springfield, MO was experiencing thunderstorms and in order to prepare for a potential trip to Arkansas instead, my plane would have to extend its time in O'Hare long enough to take on more fuel. So much for having a comfortable buffer of time between flights. Several minutes later the announcement was made that with the addition of the extra fuel our plane was now officially "too heavy," and volunteers were asked for to exit the plane, fortunately still on the ground at this point. These volunteers would of course be recompensed with a seat on the next available flight as well as a voucher for a round-trip ticket to anywhere in the contiguous United States. My heart jumped up into my throat and started pounding abnormally. Here was my chance - a free ticket home for Christmas! And at this juncture, the genes I received from my mother hijacked my go-with-the-flow brain and started thinking of everything that could possibly go wrong with this plan: I could miss a whole slew of connecting flights and be stranded in Missouri long enough for the bump to lose its worth, my employers could be expecting me back today and have me slated for something extremely important the following day... and before I could conjure up images of tyrannosaurs in F-16s blowing up the airport minutes after seeing my once plane take off, two other people volunteered. Poop.

I hate it when I don't act on opportunities. Sometimes, like in this instance, I just don't act quickly enough - my mental every-possible-scenario-figurer-outer simply can't process with the speed necessary to decide something is in fact a good option before it ceases to be an option. (This frequently gets me when it comes to spontaneous acts of altruism - Do I pick up the hitch-hiker? Do I tip the street musician? Do I help the lady with the papers flying everywhere? ... Too often the answer is, "Well, too late for that one, I guess.") Other times, I chicken out entirely - working up the nerve to ask for a date, taking a ridiculously cool job (yet one that would require a longer commitment) and so forth. I'm getting better about making the most of my opportunities, but I still pass up enough that I routinely kick myself in the butt and resolve to take the next opportunity I get.

One particularly memorable missed opportunity occured within the last year. I had given myself a late Christmas present and splurged on a good seat to the concert Bobby McFerrin gave when he came to Sauder Hall at Goshen College. During the entire performance I sat enraptured by the sounds coming from this man's voice (and body!). Bobby has a vocal range of many octaves and has the ability to sing the melody of a song while simultaneously humming out a bassline and singing various harmonies. And the whole time I was sitting there thinking, man, I would love to be him and do this stuff for a living. And during the songs in which he called for audience participation, I remember thinking how fun it would be to just sit around and sing with this phenomenal musician. And then, as if God was speaking from the heavens (Bobby's talking voice is low), he invited someone down to stage to sing something - anything - with him (he is also an extremely skilled improviser). And instantaneously my soul was sprinting up to the stage. But my [bleepity-bleepin'] mind didn't let me. What if I couldn't think of anything to sing? What if I messed up a song if I did think of one. What if I myself tried to improvise but then utterly failed? And so I didn't go up. Three times (he extended the offer twice more). And though I did end up going when he invited a large group (to make up a choir), that day I was the maddest I have been at myself in a while. Screw inhibitions! I thought later. They only lead to sitting down and watching others have all the fun in life (and occasionally keep you from foolishly killing yourself)! And I resolved - as I always do - to not let another such opportunity pass itself up.


Really, though... I think life is much more rewarding when you don't let little nagging doubts prevent you from taking amazing opportunities. After watching the movie Yes Man I was struck by the message it seemed to be sending (though I didn't really care for the film itself). In it, Jim Carrey played a very boring man, challenged by a friend to literally say "yes" to everything, and his life was completely opened up to a world of possiblities because of his actions. There are always exceptions where it is still wise to exercise caution - as the movie pointed out in the end - but as a general policy it's good and life giving, seized opportunities begetting more opportunities and so on.

On these thoughts and more I reflected on my way to Springfield, then Denver... and it was while waiting to board my flight to Grand Junction that I heard those magical words, "Passengers on flight [number], we're sorry to announce that we've overbooked this flight..." If I didn't act this time then I might as well give up on myself now and save myself the trouble. My phone was already in my hand calling Lance as I popped up and headed for the counter. "Yes, I'm willing to take the bump. Let me just quick make this call." Lance only encouraged me and gave me his blessing. All right. No qualms about taking yet another vacation day. I surrendered my boarding pass right then and there. And now I'm sitting on my nice double bed ("I'm sorry sir, but I'm giving you a double. All the kings are booked."), looking over at my other nice double bed, digesting my free supper, and preparing to get my beauty sleep before my flight out tomorrow. And I have in my pocket a voucher that will fly me home (or, to one of them, at least) for Christmas. Cha-ching!

Small Town Community

My glorious and anything-but-restful vacation is soon coming to an end, and presently I find myself with a few hours of down time found within a nearly constant barrage of coffee dates, breakfast dates, hang-out times and all of that fun stuff. Part of the reason for this mayhem is that I am in Goshen (my place of residence for five years, up until 3 months ago) for a wedding that took place yesterday. And weddings draw friends that you haven't seen for a while (my conspiring still-single friends and I joked about making sure we married off all of our other mutual friends at regular intervals so that we could continue to find excuses to fly/drive long distances to see each other). So I've been doing lots of catching up with other out-of-towners, all former students and classmates.

BUT as it turns out, living in a small community for even as short a span as 5 years gives one a great many connections, and I've been startled to walk down the streets of Goshen and know about half the people I see (as well as where they live, who they're related to and so forth). The highlight reel from my few brief days in Goshen:

• Going to see the local bluegrass band - The Goldmine Pickers - I recognized two of four members as regular customers in the bakery where I once worked and said a few words to each. (One I used to see regularly on the mill race, walking his dog, as I skied by.) Another band member I recognized as the son of two other fun customers at the bakery/restaurant.
• At the farmers market yesterday I met up with one vendor friend and caught up. She gave me a tip on a good U-pick blueberry farm and then offered some free cucumbers. I then proceeded to another stall, said hi to another vendor, bought some delicious sungold tomatoes, found out that he and his wife grew the flowers for the wedding I was getting later for, and that one of their farm employees was the same guy who was a classmate of mine... and playing the prelude for the wedding on his classical guitar.
• While walking around town with one friend, we stopped by a house to see another friend. We walked in and through - without knocking - and found the friend outside, eating with his parents. The dad - a contractor and my employer last summer - said hi, and the mom - my former song leading professor - invited us to some apple crisp that she was just bringing out to the table.
• This morning I woke up in the basement of the house owned by two former housemates (happily married as of last spring). I proceeded to walk four houses down and eat breakfast with a good friend (now living in Virginia) who was in town for the wedding and staying with her sister and brother-in-law. At about 11:30 I got a call that the brunch organized by my old Sunday school class was under way. I said goodbye to my friend and walked directly across the street to the house of my former pastor (also the officiating minister at the wedding) where I ate a delicious brunch and caught up with many good church friends.

So many friends and acquaintances... I'm almost overwhelmed. And yet, it's comforting to know people and to be surrounded by a community of people that I trust and am familiar with. And perhaps part of why I am overwhelmed now is that I recently moved to a very rural place in this country. And it's been a good three years since I've really had to make friends (I'm kind of out of practice). So as a result, I often find myself feeling somewhat isolated from community out in Hotchkiss. And I miss Goshen. Yet, maybe it's okay (or arguably good) to leave such a community in search of who I am (and how I react to a world when on my own... or with two (now one) dear college roommates). And really, I am starting to make friends and connections where I am now, so perhaps I am finding out what I kind of already knew: there is community everywhere - you just have to find it and invest in it. The only tricky part, as brought up in a recent conversation among friends, is how to reconcile the contrasting urges to explore the world and find a community. But I will have to wrestle with that later since I just got a call telling me that yet another hangout session is about to begin...

This One Dude I Met (WARNING: extreme length advisory)

[At this point I would like to make a shout out to my good friend Reuben and his renowned Fair Street tales...]

Foreword: I am about to embark on an adventure that is a family camping trip in the Adirondacks of up-state New York. Though these trips are often wild and crazy and the expectation of coming back alive is never certain, I am not writing this post as a last-communication-with-the-world note. No, in fact the reason is somewhat of a story in itself, a story that goes like this:

Once upon a time I found myself on a greyhound bus going from Denver to Grand Junction. This happened (as all of my bus rides seem to) as a result of going somewhere (in this instance, Denver, to get a ride to a Nebraska wedding) without having a definite plan for getting back home. On the bus ride I happened to be sitting next to a very... unique man - one of his many interesting qualities being that he talked for practically the entire duration of the 5-hour trip. And when I say "he talked," please note the lack of indirect object. At times he talked to me (or to anyone else he could find), but even when he could find no one's gaze to meet with his own, he would continue his rambling speech, saying what I perceived to be whatever came first to his head.

At first I was amused. Then annoyed. Finally, as a survival instinct, perhaps, or maybe in following my make the best of the situation mentality, I became intrigued. I kept my crossword puzzle book in front of me, but turned my attention from the yet empty squares and stumping clues to the words pouring forth from this man's mouth, like popcorn from an overflowing kettle. My pen scratched furiously, now recording as many as possible of these disconnected thoughts in the margins of my crossword book. To the observant onlooker, my actions were by no means discreet, but I did not fear detection. I simply wrote, a scribe for his unwitting dictations.

How is this relevant to the necessity of me writing this now, you might ask? It so happens that presently I only own one book of crossword puzzles, the same that contains my hastily scribbled notes. And this book is accompanying me on our backpacking trip. And it will likely rain... and be wet. And I do not want to risk any situation other than this man (whose name I never learned) being immortalized forever in the pages [?] of my blog. And so, without further ado, please enjoy the musings of This One Dude I Met, as recreated from my personal notes.

[For purposes of continuity, or lack thereof, and accurate portrayal I will attempt to mimic in my writing his manner of speech, minimalizing my own thoughts and questions and relying mostly on things he said. I will make a few small notes when they help with context.]

Look a'that hill up there [very tiny, with condos at the bottom]. Wouldn't you like to take a snowboard down that hill. That fence would probably stop you, though. Or maybe the highway. I wonder if you could get enough air to make it to the highway. Wouldn't you like to have been in New York during 9/11? I hear there was a lotta gold under them towers. The took all the gold from Ft. Knox and put it down there in the basement. And all those firefighters who got to go around through the rubble afterwards. Man I woulda liked to be there. Think of all a that gold. Look at that train there. Once I was riding a freight train down in Louisiana, but it stopped right in the middle of a big swamp. The tracks up ahead were all blocked from the hurricane. The train just sat there, and I got all ate up by mosquitos. Man I hate mosquitos. They bit me all over, just swarms of 'em. They had to take me to the hospital afterwards. How did all that snow get up there [on the moutains]? Is it gonna melt and snowball down, in a big snowball the size of a house? And how did the injuns live up there, back in the day? Did they have to wear warm stuff - big parkas and all - to live in the snow? Man, wouldn't you like to throw something off the side of the grand canyon, like a big 'ol jug of wine or somethin'? Just kinda toss it over the edge? It would just fall and fall and POP! That would be a rush. When's the next smoke break? Is that a balloon up on that hill [referring to a large, oval-shaped mansion on top of a hill]? Or is it a house? It's not a UFO [matter-of-factly]. They can't hide in the forest. They're either in the skies or under the oceans. The reason they come to Earth in the first place is 'cuz out where they're from they don't have gravity. They got all sorts of crazy stuff on their ships - particle accelerators and what not. I read some books on all that stuff, quantum physics and Einstein's theory of relativity and all. That's how they generate their power. But they didn't know about gravity, so when they flew by Earth they just kinda got sucked in. And the reason the hafta stay under the oceans is to recharge their power. Look at that mountain there. Bet there's a lotta gold in it. All the real gold's deep in the mountain, not on top... there's still alot in there. But I wouldn't know. I'm no geologist. What's that? The radiator? If the radiator needs water we can all pee in it. Do you think it's possible for the boulder the size of a house to come down the mountain and land in the river? It'd make a big splash. I wouldn't like to be in the house, though! They got a choo choo train down there [in the valley]. Old one too. Did you see them goats? Must be homeless. They were dirty. I hear their horns are ivory. I'd cut 'em off with an axe, or a hatchet. Do you think you could take a bungee cord and jump off one-a them trees? Might hit your head on a rock, though. That wouldn't be any good. I think the bears must be hibernating now. I haven't seen any get hit on the road yet. Is that the driveshaft? ["No, it's the rumble strip."] Oh, I thought it was the motor. It's a long way to the nearest town. We might have to roast an antelope or something. If we need a fire, I know howta make a hand warmer. An old hippie told me on a freight train. You just gotta take a big can - like a coffee can - and put a toilet paper roll in it and fill it with kerosene. It just soaks it right up and it's a good little hand warmer. Even Rambo couldn't get through them woods. How many miles is that? I can't tell. Are those pine trees or douglas fir? Are there little Christmas trees too? Where are the pine cones? How big are the pine cones? I want one-a them big pine cones. You think I could find one in the city somewhere, like in the public library? I sure don't wanna go out in the woods lookin' for them. There might be poison ivy. I don't got medicine for that. Yeah, I'm riding out to LA now to get my ID. I'm from Indianapolis, but I need my ID to get food stamps. I didn't wanna be born in LA, but I didn't have any say in the matter. I wanted to be born in Indiana! Now I gotta go get my birth certificate so I can get food stamps. There's no jobs there, but I'm just a mooch anyway. I had to go there once before to get my birth certificate. Wouldn't'a worked either. I guess you gotta have some other sorta ID, social security or driver's license or something, but I don't have none'a that. The clerk there in LA told me I needed some other kind of ID, but I slipped him 2 fifties, and he said that'd be fine. I got lucky there. Can't those trucks just shift down to neutral or reverse or something? Do you hafta downshift? How many brakes does a semi got? If they all go out, they're really up a creek! Man, we can't stop to smoke for a minute? Makes a guy so angry. I almost wanna rip a fart in the aisle and light it, all the way up to the front! 'Course that's not possible. I don't understand them crazies - the ones that stock up on guns and then go and shoot everyone. Those are the people who lost all their money in the stocks - didn't wanna take it out. They shoulda put their money in the [as if letting me in on a secret] B-A-N-K. Look at the shocks on that car. I saw this one movie. It was a Wyann Brother's movie. In this one part an old lady was driving around in this car with them bouncin' shocks. These guys pull up in a Cadillac with the bouncing shocks too, and they've got gold chains with dollars signs and one's got a gold tooth. And they're like, "What up, Grandma?" And she flashes some gang sign [here he tries to make several gang signs with little success] and says, "What up, nigga?" I don't know what that means. I don't understand that rap stuff. But it was funny. There's some nice granite. I'd like a piece a' that but only 'bout this big [he indicates with his fist]. Don't wanna take it from the side of the mountain, though. It'd probably pull the whole thing down on me with my luck. Startin' to feel kinda sick. Back in the Navy, on the boats you could get sick pretty easy. We'd sleep on hammocks so as not to get sick. They would be real comfortable and you wouldn't get sick as long as you'd sleep on them and not a bed, but most people don't know that. All these problems we got with crime, it's because of the dope fiends. If I was a dope dealer, I'd slip some poison in - every poison you can think of - rat poison, cyanide. What's that one with the skull and crossbones? ... Anthrax! I'd put anthrax in, put in everything - bad case of poison ivy, crab lice... They smoke it and I'd give it away for free - kill all the dope fiends. That'd stop the crime problem. That's my outlook. It was the dope fiends that got my birth certificate, y'know? I had three... no four hundred dollars cash, rolled up in tin foil in the back of the fridge. But they didn't even touch that! They went right for my birth certificate, even though it was under my mattress. Now how did they know to look there? I figured no one would find it there. But they broke in and took my birth certificate. I hear they go for a hundred bucks on the street - probably used it to buy crack. The police said it was dope fiends that stole it, probably. But they didn't take my money. I even had another 300 dollars I hid away behind my bathroom mirror. I got that money from this one pond up at the mall. People gotta throw quarters on this platform thing to try to win a free TV or something, so there's all these quarters laying in the water there. So I come in there when no one's around with this pillowcase and a dust pan - like you sweep into, ya know? - and I filled up that pillowcase 4 times! I took all those quarters to the supermarket where they got one a' those coin machines that give you cash, I didn't wanna mess around with banks or nothin'. It came out to a thousand dollars! The guy told me they only had three hundred dollars cash but could write me a check or something. I just told 'em to keep the rest. I didn't wanna mess around with checks or names or anything. That's where that money came from. Can't be too safe, though. There's sneak theives too. They come in a steal stuff right out from under your nose. I'm on to them though. One time I come home and I notice that my toilet seat's up. But I never leave it up - the toilet's for poopin' in, not peeing. The sink's for peeing in. I always pee in the sink. The neighbor downstair always shouts up, "Hey! Is someone peein' in the sink up there?!" An' I say, "Nope!" but of course I really am. I don't know how those sneak theives get in, though. One time I figured it might be up the fire escape, so I went out and jumped on it 'til it falls off. The landlord was like, "Did you break that off?" but I told him, "no, I just stepped on it once and it musta been loose 'cuz it just fell right off." One time I made a test, right? to see if there was theives comin' and snooping around my place. I found an old safe - like you store valuables in - down in the alley. I couldn't carry it up the stairs it was so heavy, so I had to pull it up, with pulleys and all. I couldn't figure out the combination, but I set it right there in my living room with the dial set to zero. And sure enough, when I came back the next day the dial was moved and there was scratch marks - like from a knife - next to it, so I know there was sneak theives in my apartment. I just don't know how they get in. Hey, are you gonna eat the rest of your candy bar? Thanks. I haven't eaten since yesterday. When are we gonna get a smoke break anyway?...

And at some point, not even intrigue could compete with the fatigue of both my hand mind. I listened some as he carried on, my memory buffer completely full. And as I sat there I thought, wow, this is the kind of person you encounter in novels and wonder how the author creates such characters. It was then that I had the realization that such great characters are not fabricated; they are met... on park benches, at bars, on greyhound buses... And the aspiring author had the foresight to capture these people's essence in his/her mind's eye. And at this point in time, I resolved to purchase a digital recorder for future such occasions. And while I may never write novels or other such works of literature, I do enjoy writing creatively. So when my short story involving Frank, foe of the dope fiends arrives, you will all know my secret...

Afterword: I waivered on the fence for a bit on the subject of whether or not to post on this. On the one hand, this dude's story is a bit sad, and I felt a bit guilty for "taking notes" and making light of his situation. But then I reflected on his seeming contentedness with life, and decided that he would not mind. Rather, immortalizing him in this story was one small thing I could do for him, aside from giving him half of my candy bar...