September 2003

My dad’s dog ate my mom’s bird last weekend.

Dandelion was really the family’s pet, but my mom took the most care of it and was more heartbroken than anyone. I was partial to our last bird, Clover, who still sits in the freezer after about 4 years. This one looked nice and pretty but usually bit me when I forgot and tried to pet it for the umpteenth time.

No-one really expected Dandy to flutter to the floor where Manchu could get at it though I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later. Sure, everyone was afraid of the bird even when it was on the floor, but we only avoided hurting the little bugger because it’s generally impolite to squash someone’s pet. The dog had no such qualms and I’m told there were feathers everywhere from the ensuing clash. Like my mom, I hope Dandy got a few good pecks in before she succumbed to Manchu’s three teeth.

Rest in peace, little bird.

“…Working down, down, down.” I’ve already worked 41 hours this week and still have all day tomorrow to earn overtime. The best part is that I still found time to workout (albeit only once), play Quizzo, and hangout at Casper’s. It’s been a hectic week with many more to follow, but I’ve still found time to relax. I spent Wednesday morning from 9 a.m. to 12:30 p.m. at the North Brunswick courthouse contesting my speeding ticket, and since most of it was standing/sitting around I enjoyed myself and read the whole time. After I rolled to work late for even my new 11-7 shift, I waltzed into Human Resources and had them apply some personal time for that morning. There’s no point in working 11-hour days if I’m going to lose all my overtime because of a silly speeding ticket. And about that: I talked to the prosecutor like everyone else and the lady cut the number of points in half, but neglected to mention that the judge would give me the maximum fine as a result. So I ended up paying $180 instead of $98, but received only two points in the bargain.

The extra time I’ve been spending at work has been really rewarding. Insurance forms aren’t usually a blast, but they become one giant puzzle to solve when a large chunk of forms have to be changed without affecting others and they’re created about four different ways. Adding to the problem is that we have temps assisting us and I’m somewhat in charge of making sure they’re not idle yet aren’t messing anything up either. We had two real losers come in and get absolutely everything wrong. Their task was pretty much cutting/pasting in Quark and they couldn’t even get that right — it was pretty obvious, to me at least, that when pasting text into a document that the fonts should match up and stuff like that. Smelling like urine didn’t help their case either.

So I get to work early to finish my part so the temps can proofread and correct my work, and I stay late to think after everyone’s gone home. I’m getting paid overtime for the crazy hours, but that’s not why I’m doing it. I definitely like the problem-solving aspect of the project, the dependence that my bosses have on me and knowing that I’ll wow them when the job is done ahead of schedule, and most of all the sense of satisfaction I get when my headache fades away leaving the solution to a particular step in its wake. I got over the most recent hurdle using only a few simple commands in BBEdit, but no one came up with my solution during the last three times our department went through the same process so it was no small accomplishment. It also saved two full weeks of work for me and one of my co-workers.

If all this weren’t convincing enough, then take into consideration that I worked 12.5 hours today and didn’t even go to lunch — a litmus test for job satisfaction in any field; I ate a sandwich standing up while waiting for press proofs to print out.

It bothers me a little that I don’t have as much time to follow my two-birds-with-one-stone “reading on the exercise bike” plan or play with my cats, but if those are the least of my worries then I’m golden. I see Dia just as much as I ever did because she has always worked this hard, and tomorrow I’ll even have time for a run. I’ve been itching to clear my head for a while so it won’t be hard to get up in the morning. The fact that it’s payday also helps.

With the Eagles/Buccaneers game on in the background I was checking up to see how everyone was doing; with a week of 12-hour days ahead this was my last chance for… well, about a week.

I was might disturbed to see that Matt’s blog is down — for good, it would seem. I sent him an e-mail asking what the deal is but it’ll likely be a while before he gets around to responding. I hope this is just some ploy to get care packages out of me because it could work. What won’t work is not having a daily O’Connell feed. It was pretty boring stuff when he was sitting around, unemployed and living with his mom but it has been exciting recently.

Google cached the whole thing, which I plan to harvest at some point and store for posterity. For now, though, I’m focused on Matt. I can picture him in a cooler somewhere being tortured by his higher ups, and hope they know what they’re getting into. He’s a formidable opponent.

Camping over Labor Day weekend was nothing short of spectacular. After some minor waffling on Dre’s part due to the weather and airline troubles for EZ, not to mention a long drive for Lex, the weekend went as smooth as any other.

Even the van made it down and back without incident. I can’t say the same for myself, however, as I got another speeding ticket in Virginia. I was apparently doing 83 in a 65 mph zone when I passed a State Police cruiser. I saw its wheels start turning to pull out even before I passed him and knew it was too late to do anything but get in the slow lane and wait to be pulled over. Even though there was a chance my wallet was in my backpack right by the driver’s seat, I told the officer it was probably in my pack in the trunk; all too often cops get the documents they need and don’t give the driver a chance to explain and I was determined that I’d at least give myself a chance to schmooze a little. After I opened the hatchback, I started to dive in and the officer spoke up quickly to have me stop. He patted me down for a weapon and asked me exactly where my license might be in the mountain of packs, duffels, and supplies. When I told him I didn’t have the foggiest, he told me to come have a seat in the cruiser so he could write up a ticket without it. While he was writing the ticket up, he asked me where I was headed so took the opportunity to ask him for directions to I-81 from Route 66. The biggest questions on his mind were whether I had any alcohol, explosives, fireworks, knives or “wacky tabaccy” in the van. I answered each question with a simple “no”, except for the last two. When I first said “LOTS of knives”, he raised an eyebrow before he remembered that we were going camping. As for the drug reference, I smirked and told him definitely not. When he asked if any of my friends has any drugs on them, I said I probably not. He didn’t like that answer too much because he added, “But you’re not sure?” I explained that one can never be sure about anything, but again, probably not. We exchanged a few other sentences and I was as charismatic and polite as I’ve ever been, and it paid off: he told me he lowered my speed to 80 mph so I could avoid a costly Reckless Driving charge and pay only the speeding costs (which turned out to be $5 for every mile over the limit in Fanquier County). The bastard still gave me a ticket for “not having an operator’s license”, but I could at least fax a copy of my license later — which I did Tuesday — to avoid that fine.

We arrived at the mountain fashionably late because we had to get some supplies, figure out where we were going, and get the van up myriad hills. It wasn’t a big deal since we only had to hike 2 miles that afternoon; besides, the road trip is always half the fun anyway. During the next three days we hiked 9.9 miles in a counter-clockwise route mainly along the Red River over rocky, wooded and muddy paths. We passed by our first campsite — the place where we stayed back in 1995 — and spent the afternoon of our first full day swimming in the waterfall and cooking lunch beside it. We passed a family of hikers along the path while we were in our boxers, but the bulk of the nudity had already passed and Canteen Boy had already come and gone. We also chatted with some other hikers, three old guys with whom we played leap frog for about a day; there was some unspoken tension between our two groups before we realized we wouldn’t be competing for a campsite.

Later that day, Andrew and I learned that a “scramble path” meant making our own way over rocks, but we made it to the top of Breathed Mountain regardless while Steve and Alex climbed back down to the trail early.

The second night we spent in a relative mud pit only to pass through a camping haven the next afternoon: a lush clearing with a stream running through it. It would have been sweet to camp there with the moonlight sparkling off the water. It’s definitely a spot I’d like to take Dia someday if she ever decides she can handle it.

The weather held out for most of the weekend, and the rain was for the most part limited to times when we were in our tents or hiking. The sun came out for most of our last day when we went floating in the river for an hour or two. I had the brilliant idea to use my inflatable sleeping pad as a raft and floated on that for a little while. When it started raining I stayed out for a little while longer and took a bath with my Huck Finn biodegradable soap, which I had brought every single trip and not used except to clean a pot here or there before I found that leaves work much better. When I tired of the water and sitting under a tarp chatting with Steve and Alex, I put on my last set of clean clothes and jumped into the tent to read for two hours. At the first break in the rain, at which point it was pretty dark, Andrew got it into his head that he was going to attempt to build a fire anyway. To our surprise he was able to pull it off and the rest of us gathered wood to last us two bags of marshmallows and the last of our Swisher Sweets.

Our hike out was considerably shorter that we had anticipated, and by 10:00 a.m. we were on our way home. We stopped at the Southern Diner for lunch, but otherwise it was a straight shot home. Dia had dinner waiting for Alex and me when we got to Levittown, and we had a nice meal together not knowing that it would take him until 2:30 a.m. to get home in his oil-burning, 15-year-old Volvo. Long live the RVan.

I’m glad I could convince Andrew to brave the elements too; three of us would have had a fine time, but it just wouldn’t have been the same without him. I look forward to camping again as soon as possible, maybe I can even convince Alex to do a winter trip with me.

The first thing I did when I got home last night was sort through all the photos I took. I still don’t have any time to write it up as I’ve been busy with work. Managing my daily workload and two temps at the same time is more difficult than I imagined it would be.

Of course, I got back from the Outer Banks (OBX to all those lame folks with trendy look-where-I’ve-been bumper stickers on their cars) a while ago. I’ve been so busy catching up with work and friends that I hadn’t given myself a chance to write anything. The pictures have been up here for a while for anyone who is interested. The last few are pictures of the Wright Brothers Memorial which could be seen from the kitchen of the house we rented. I also jogged there twice, which helped to keep me from gaining any weight that week.

I just got back from camping in West Virginia and I’ll post about that tomorrow night.