Morning radio...truly the beginning of the end...

Sometimes it's the little things...Like a pair of Steve McQueen sun glasses.

Punch it, punch it baby!

NorthWest Airlines' cyber fares use to be so good. I could get a cheap trip out to New York at least twice a year.

Not that I don't love Bismarck...

Roundtrips to/from Minneapolis/St. Paul, MN:
Waterloo, IA                    $99
La Crosse, WI                   $99
Brainerd, MN                    $109
Cedar Rapids, IA                $109
Fargo, ND                       $109
Green Bay, WI                   $119
Moline/Quad Cities, IL          $119
Bismarck, ND                    $129

Me and my arrow
Straighter than narrow
Wherever we go, every one knows
It's me and my arrow

Me and my arrow
Taking the high road
Wherever we go, everyone knows
It's me and my arrow 

I saw this cartoon/movie when I was young that had this song in it. A boy was walking his dog (presumably named arrow). Every once in a while the song pops in my head, and I remeber that cartoon. lately I have been taking Uther (the dog) on a walk in the morning before work, and this morning I couldn't get the song out of my head.

Wherever we go, everyone knows...

I have this small problem with misdirected anger. The object of my anger lately is lawns. I simply despise them. The idea that people spend time and money trying to make their front yards look like green shag carpeting is insane to me. Mind you, I spent a few too many years as a teenager working for landscape companies, so that makes me both a hypocrite, and predisposed to the distain of lawns everywhere. But, this does not quell my anger in any way, and when I see people wasting water (the spice is life) to water their ego…err lawn, it drives me batty, not to mention the tons of chemicals and fertilizers that wash downstream every year to create a greener and more surreal front yard. Is a dandelion such a crime? What is so hideous about clover? I say let it grow, weeds, crab grass, let it all grow, and if the drought comes in summer, let it die. Kentucky god damned blue grass my ass.

Lloyd Dobler, all right...

I was sitting on the front stoop the other day with my shirt off drinking bathtub gin out of a jug and playing my mouth harp. After a few minutes a man walked by and noticed the scar on my shoulder. He immediately fell to his knees and started praying, "Oh blessed mother, oh blessed mother…" He said this over and over again until I got tired and went in the house. I mentioned this to Tam a few hours later, and she stopped and took a good look at my scar. She stepped back with a start, and started mumbling and rubbing her face. I said, "What’s wrong, is it that hideous?" "No", she replied, "Your scar looks like the virgin mother, it looks like the Virgin Mary!" I just sort of stared at her for a while, and then I walked over to the mirror. It was amazing. My scar had a remarkable resemblance to the blessed mother.

Soon the word about my scar started to spread. People came from miles around to pray to the Mary scar. People told stories of miraculous healing, and, eventually, lepers came from all around the world to get a glimpse of this miracle with the hope that the claims of its healing power were true.

A local priest came by the house one day, and after viewing the Mary scar, decided that I needed to go to Rome, to the holy city, to the Vatican. He felt strongly that this miracle needed papal perusal. I heartily agreed, and off I went to Rome.

I arrived in Vatican City a few days later, and after many bishops and priests viewing and analyzing the scar, I was finally granted a visit with the Pope. I was brought to a Papal green room of sorts, offered Evian water, some fruit, and then waited for almost three hours. Having the ear of God must be busy work, and the Pope’s schedule was quite full. Finally, I was brought into the Popes room.

Being polish myself, I felt a connection with him, and I muttered some old polish greeting I remember my Grand Aunt saying when I was young. I obviously got it wrong, because he looked a bit irritated after I said it. He asked me to remove my shirt, and he took a good long look at my scar. After about five minutes of Papal inspections, he started to chuckle. His chuckle turned into a laugh, and then he started belly laughing. He laughed and laughed for what seemed like hours. I started to feel uncomfortable, and I realized, if the Pope has God’s ear, and he is laughing at me, then God himself is laughing at me. This was a little hard to bear, and I almost broke out and ran. The Pope, seeing my dismay, stopped laughing and said, "You see my son, this scar looks very much like our blessed mother, but she is not. She is most beautiful, and she looks almost saintly, but this scar is truly…" He paused for a moment as if he was unsure. He turned to a bishop standing near by, and whispered something in his ear. The bishop quickly left the room. The Pope just sat there looking at me and my scar smiling for about three minutes, and then the Bishop returned carrying a DVD. It was Vanilla Sky, and he pointed at the back cover to the Pope. "Ah.." he said, "This is her, Penelope Cruz. She does bear a slight resemblance to some portraits of the virgin I have seen, it is true, but this is not her, it is indeed Penelope Cruz" He started laughing again, and I was led out to the street.

I flew home in dismay that my miracle scar was really something more suited for People Magazine. However, after closer inspection, I can see the resemblance.

People sometime ask, "What do you do all day at work?"

Well...there's instant messaging:

blamtam: I must protest that I would never say your scar looked like the virgin mother....
mwilkie00: How about Jesus?
blamtam: I'm more likely to say that it looks like Harrison Ford
mwilkie00: I once saw Jesus in a bowl of green Jellow...its true…
blamtam: you did not
blamtam: really?
mwilkie00: really...he forgave my sins, and then ate a piece of shredded carrot.
blamtam: mmm shredded carrot

Tomorrow marks the first month since the surgery. I get to stop wearing the sling, and I can start to resume normal activities (below the shoulder as the doctor put it, which sounds like some unsavory activity to me. "He tended to practice business a bit below the shoulder...if you know what I mean." anyway). It'll be good to get ride of the sling, but now I have to come up with another excuse for not doing the dishes.

It's the little triumphs. Case in point: while writing some logging statement for an application I am working on, I spelled the word 'received', as in 'i' before 'e' except after 'c', as in received. I do believe that this is the first time in my miss-spelled life that I have spelled that particular word correctly. Of course, I did a few victory laps around the cube farm. USA! USA!

So I'm bored...

Land of the Free Market

I'm driving to work this morning, and an Explorer cuts me off. On the back of the truck is a sticker with a picture of Bob Marley, and underneath the image is the word Revolution. Intrigued by the sticker, I pulled up next to the truck to get a look at the revolutionary behind the wheel. What I find is a businessman on his cell phone. Viva la revolución!

...I can change, I can change...

I was driving around St. Paul last night, and as I turned around a corner, I caught the light that came between two trees at the end of the road. It was about a mile away, and for an instant I thought it was the ocean. It only took me a moment to realize it wasn’t. For one second I got that feeling I did as a kid driving to the beach.

There was a beach on the north shore not too far from our house. We would drive by a huge mansion to get there. The perimeter of the mansion had a long white wall with huge arches, and on a clear summer morning, between each arch, you could see the blue of Long Island Sound. I just loved the sight of it. I would get all nervous and exited. For one brief moment yesterday, I felt like I was in the back of my mom’s old comet on the way the beach.

I was at a wedding a while back, and I saw old friends I haven't seen in years. I drove back from the wedding with a friend, and we talked about old times, and she told me about her life and how she had been. I talked a bit about how I’ve been unsatisfied with my job/career, and how I just haven't felt fulfilled. She posed this simple question to me that has stuck in my craw for the past few weeks, "If you couldn't fail, what would you do?"

It's interesting how my perception of life and career has changed. When I was younger I was driven by the idea of being successful. If I could get a good job, and start a successful career I’d be all right. However, I now realize, its not what's on my resume that makes me successful, it's what's in my heart and mind.

A little fun with dhtml. Why? I dunno. 'cause I'm a freak, and, for some reason, I'm exited about hacking dhtml lately.

Retch-a-scetch

tested in mozilla 1.0 and ie6 / windows 2000

Tam and I were having a conversation the other day about my newly repaired shoulder, and I had made mention of the fact that now maybe I could spend some time working out without fear of imminent dislocation (at least this has always been my excuse for not working out. It's really not that I am a big ol' lazy bastard). Tam then said, not without a healthy share of sarcasms, that I would soon become a beefcake. Now, I have had plenty of beef in my life, and I have had my fair share of cake as well, but the chance of these two entities forming into the singular beefcake are far from likely.

I’ve reached the precipice...over the hump as it were. I have passed the two-week mark of my four weeks in a shoulder sling. Two more to go, and will be none too sad to leave the damn thing behind. Mark's least favorite topic of conversation for the past two weeks, "What happened to your arm?" I have been trying to come up with new and exciting stories to tell people as the “I had surgery to fix an old injury” line kind of leaves people tepid. I’m working on a few alternates like a gunshot to the shoulder in a drive by or I grabbed the arm of a baby as she fell from a 10-story roof just in the nick of time and saved her life, but dislocated my shoulder. Of course, I gutted through the pain until the child was safe and sound.

I'm back in town after a brief holiday weekend in Los Angeles. Risqué photos to follow. I'd like to say its good to be back in the cubicle, but...

The one thing I didn't consider before having surgery was the loss of use of my left arm. It didn't really occur to me that I would be unable to do simple things like unscrew a jar of salad dressing, or wash the dishes (disclaimer: added that last bit to make Tam think I would be doing dishes otherwise). I had a friend who had lost the use of his right arm in an accident, and I never really appreciated how difficult life would be with only one arm. I realize I am lucky, and I can already do minor things with my left arm. For some reason I really struggle hard to be self sufficient, and I refuse help as much as possible, and try to find some way to get my normally two arm tasks done with one. Humans are remarkably adaptable, and it has been an enlightening experience to say the least. I will be glad, and grateful, when I regain the full use of my left arm.

Nothing like a bum shoulder and 90% humidity to really put a damper on things. Hot is hot is hot, and sweaty.

Back at work today after a week convalescing, and I am damn glad it's air conditioned.

Note: There are times when I think about reconsidering using profanity here, but then I say fuck it and let the expletives fly. I like to think of myself as the Lenny Bruce of the web...well, that's a stretch, but bugger off.