how the other half lives

"Yes, I know how AP works," I say as I meet a skeptical gaze. 

As a favor I'm proctoring a test during my ironically named plan time, and thus I have a room full of strangers. They've made their way down to my corner of the building and are politely out of their element. They come through the wrong door; half are a tiny bit late. As they enter, each is mutely questioning. 

"Yes, here. This is where you're supposed to be."  I don't bother to introduce myself or explain what normally goes on here. But as they fall deep into their diligence a boy shows up with a PE test; he knows most of the answers as I read the questions and draw a baseball diamond on a scrap. I wonder what our audience makes of it. 

At the tail end of the hour tests are over and so is their silence. In the meantime, my Senior has arrived to tell me about a tech school field trip to the morgue; we've exchanged only a few whispers out of deference. I wonder if she knows these kids or if she finds today's set-up weird; it definitely feels different. 

In the minutes before the bell one of our guests begins to talk about moving; the room's small enough that it's impossible not to listen. She speaks as matter-of-factly as she can manage about the new bedroom that awaits in the walk-out basement, and about the promotion that led to new construction. "My dad just wanted the four-car garage," she shrugs. 

I turn to my compatriot as the classroom clears at the bell, "And that would be how the other half lives," I say.  She nods emphatically. 

quote/unquote

"So what we now have is non-functional government in the face of a major crisis, because Congress includes a quorum of crazies and nobody trusts the White House an inch. As a friend said last night, we’ve become a banana republic with nukes."

--Paul Krugman

Sometimes stupid is funny

My policy on e-mail forwards is simple: send me one and instantly sink in my personal estimation. Unless, of course, I really like it. No pressure.

Any kind of FW: in my work inbox is normally guaranteed to irk me, given that I'm always one or two notes away from another YOUR MAILBOX HAS EXCEEDED ITS SIZE LIMIT warning. If that guy sends "A Pastor with Guts" to All Staff again (true story) my ticked-off response will surely be audible. But this, that arrived amongst the staff memos and meeting reminders? This makes me laugh every damn time. Can't help it. I blame the teenagers.

Why I Was Fired

The Physics of Winter

Cold. Sleet. A little snow. Not bad, but for a highway department that's a study in futility--how about you ask the boys on this side of the river how they always get the crap off the roads? Two hours for a one-way trek home. State of Mis-our-ee, indeed.

But then I check the TV station list, just to see who's already not going to school tomorrow, down in the various Show-Me State hollers, and bless whoever's making this shit up. I love you, I swear.

The Inertia School of Dance is closed. Forever, I must assume.

End of the road

Once upon a time I put a car--a rental car, natch-- in a ditchwhen I was driving south from Green Bay to catch a plane in Chicago. But the road was snow-packed, and a pick-up truck was spinning toward us up the opposite ditch that divided the highway, so. It was momentarily scary, but not tragic--especially since there wasn't a scratch on that Dodge, and I had cash for the tow in my wallet. Didn't even miss the plane. But I kind of missed a pick-up, that same year or the next when I drove down, again from Green Bay to Chicago, to pick up my friend from O'Hare. Except they re-routed the plane to Midway. So I went. Except, while I was driving cross-town, they sent the plane back to O'Hare. So I went. Back to where I just was. Except, at that point, hours later. And you know, O'Hare does not at all resemble a mammoth haystack for one person seeking one other, especially in those days just before cellphone ubiquity. It was awesome. Awesomely frustratingly awful. Suffice it to say I am not at all scarred to this day, and that it's only coincidence that I've never stepped foot there since. These are my Chicago Airport Stories I'd Rather Not Re-Live or Recall.

But at least I am not that erstwhile lucky bastard, who, I can only assume, kept his plans and left Lambeau after the NFC Championship Game to make a 6 a.m. flight from O'Hare. Could have been an improbable, worth-the-pain ending to a remarkable day. A story to tell and retell. Coulda been. Can I imagine what it was like to be him, heading south in that frigid dark? Oh, I could, but I won't. I'm trying to move on.

Given the opportunity. . .

It's ten minutes past pumpkin, and though I've done all I can do, it's not enough to prepare me for the three hour afternoon meeting I'm required to attend tomorrow chaired by a box of rocks. But you know what? I'm done. And this post from the Green & Gold blog on PackersNews.com (you bet there's a such thing) sends me off with a smile:

View from Georgia: Oh, yeah, he's primed
Bruce Van Vreede checks in from Atlanta:

"Last Thursday, Jan. 10, ... I'm at work, slugging through another day, waiting for the weekend and, most importantly, the Packers game on Saturday. My ex-girlfriend randomly e-mailed and said she had a line on a ticket for the Seahawks game and would I want it? I didn't really believe her, but after a million questions and making sure she could, she actually came through. Oddly enough, it came from a client based in Virginia. Beats me, so don't ask.

"At 2:38 p.m. on Jan. 10, she initially e-mailed about the ticket. And by 4:35 p.m. on Jan. 10, I had a flight booked and called my sister to tell her the good news. (She lives in Appleton and has season tickets.) Naturally, I completely abandoned work and weekend plans and immediately packed. About 40 hours later, I'm tailgating at Kroll’s West, downing deep-fried cheese curds and a few PBRs.

"The entire day was one of the top five moments in my life. How could it not be? How cool was that that 72,168 of us did what millions of sports fans everywhere would die to do: See a (snowy) playoff game at Lambeau with Favre under center.

"And, as an added bonus, he pulls out that ridiculous scramble/pitch. I was sitting next to a Seahawks fan and he was beside himself. He admitted he didn't care about winning, just that he couldn’t believe he was at Lambeau, watching Favre, in the snow. He spent more time taking pictures and saying, 'I can’t believe I'm here' than rooting for his team. By the third quarter, the smile on his face was permanent; he cheered at anything and giggled a lot. Basically, he was like the rest of us. He said he couldn't convince his friends to join him on the trip. Morons.

"But it can't stop there. Sunday, the G-Men pull out the win. After yelling and high-fiving with the family, for some reason, I ran outside and start screaming 'Yesssss!!!' Then, I immediately got on the Internet and checked out the flights, tickets, etc. This time, I'd have to pay. But, whatever. It is the NFC championship game.

"Plus, the Packers are undefeated when my sister and I see a game together (basically every year at Lambeau since 2000, at St. Louis this year, at Atlanta in 2005). So, I can't screw up that vibe; I have to return for the NFC championship game. But I also really can't miss work this time. The only affordable, possible way is to fly into O'Hare on Saturday, drive three hours north to Appleton and return on a flight that leaves Chicago at 6 a.m. on Monday. You got it … I am driving through the night after the game. I may be a complete idiot, but I am loyal.

"By the way, my sister just texted me and said she just picked up my game ticket. Yes!

"Play the music! I don’t want to work … I wanna bang on the drum all day!"