Raided!

You know, by the age of 40 you’d think I would be immune to the effects of peer pressure. It’s a teenage phenomenon, right? Like high school kids at a Friday night, parents are out of town, beer party. And I’m the lone non-drinker. And I’m standing around the keg with the rest of them, everyone else holding a cup full of watery beer, all teasing me to drink. Drink, Drink, Drink goes the chant, their collective, coercive energy focused on making me change my mind, change myself, so that I will fit their mold, stoop to their level, debase my own higher expectations by conforming to theirs.

Peer pressure and alcohol, even drugs, seem to go hand in hand, don’t they? Maybe it’s all such bad behavior – drinking, smoking, casual sex – that seems to be a driver for peer pressured acts by others.

And immunity from peer pressure does not abate with age. It may dwindle, but in the right circumstances with the right people, it can be resurrected and made active. And before you know it you find yourself in a cheering, jeering, chanting circle of supposed friends who want you to take that hit of acid, drop your pants, and run naked thru the streets. There’s a general assumption that these people, this circle of “friends”, will be right there next to you, running along just as naked and floppy and incoherent as you. That could be labeled “positive” peer pressure. It’s a potentially good kind of peer pressure, if good peer pressure exists. It’s the kind of peer pressure that builds teams and makes close knit groups all the more cohesive. It is a shared, trial by fire type of peer pressure; you’re all naked and running and tripping on acid together, a shared psychological experience.  Go team!

Then there’s bad peer pressure, the same set of circumstances as before, except these people aren’t really your friends. Most, if any of them, don’t really like you at all.  And they probably don’t have your best interests at heart. So the peer pressure is for you to do something that will most likely put you in a situation where you will make a fool of yourself, thus entertaining your supposed “friends” at your personal expense. There is no camaraderie here, no building up of the group cohesion, except maybe with everyone else but you. You are their fool. It is a classic example of negative peer pressure.

And there you are, running down the street naked, tripping on acid all by yourself, your private parts flopping in the wind for everyone to laugh at. You probably faced a situation similar to this at age fourteen and you might face it again at age forty. And your only hope at age forty is that you’ll be mature enough by then, be your own person by then, comfortable in your own skin and confident enough with who you are and where you’re at, that such peer pressure cannot possibly affect you. You’re a grown-up, right? You should find yourself above such childish actions, mature enough to say “What are you? Fourteen? Grow up already.” — as you laugh at them from your superior position and walk away, your own person.

Where am I going with all of this?

My friends at work went out for drinks the other night. I didn’t go with them because the wife and I are in a study group at church and that night was our last night in class. So I chose to go to class with my wife and not go drinking with my buddies. My wife was only moderately appreciative of the decision I made, but she knew that there really was no decision to be made there. I was going to church with her regardless and under no normal circumstances would I have chosen work buddy drinking over my wife. She knows this, I know this. And knowing this helped me stay above peer pressure.

However, it does not relieve me from suffering thru the teasing and small-scale ridicule the next day. It’s the ribbing — at being a poor, old married man, a dullard and boring joe who’s going to die at the pathetic end of an uneventful life — that one must muscle through after not giving in to the peer pressure. And this good natured ribbing tends to be yet another form of peer pressure, another attempt of the collective to drag us into their deranged conformity.

It doesn’t get much easier to keep your clothes on and say no to acid at 40 than at 14, if you’re surrounded by the right people. And if it is easier to say no, then maybe it’s because you don’t really have any friendships at 40 that are the same caliber and depth, as complex and seemingly meaningful, as the ones you had at age 14.

And what does that say about our adult friendships?


Drink!  Drink!  Drink!  Drink!

Expensive Consultants

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Another inspired editorial cartoon! Click here to enjoy.
So we’ve got more idiotic government employees in the news again. And this time, it’s a doozy of a story!! Booze, babes, language that’d make a sailor blush! Click here for the story in our own local Columbus Dispatch.

According to the Dispatch, Ohio Attorney General Marc Dann’s office cultivated an atmosphere that sounds very similar to the environment one sees in the movie “Animal House”, with “… staff members in adjacent work areas shouting obscenities toward each other …” and “… a casual work environment that often extends into alcohol-lubricated evenings in which work and personal lives blur.“

Evidently Marc Dann has a potty-mouth and he encourages those who work with/for him to also have potty-mouths in the workplace. As stated in the Dispatch, “Dann’s defenders said the occasional use of profanity is typical for any office environment and that the attorney general is trying to encourage freewheeling dialogue.“

Freewheeling dialogue, people, in the same vein as an Eddie Murphy stand-up monolog back when Eddie was beyond profane and still very funny! Click here for an extremely R-rated clip of Murphy talking about his family cookout. WARNING – ADULT CONTENT (and VERY FUNNY).

And, as one would suspect, this free-wheeling, profanity-laced environment just further illustrates the problems we have when certain morons get into office and abuse their power. As if government’s reputation isn’t bad enough already – not factoring in the whole nepotism thing, which can sometimes help government – we have Marc Dann hiring his buddy, Anthony Gutierrez, as Dann’s general services director.

And evidently Gutierrez likes his booze. So much so that he allegedly came in to work one morning after a rough night of drinking and “… reeked of booze and vomit and boogers or vomit were hanging from his nose.” I solemnly swear I will never allow myself to get into a situation where I have hangover boogers or vomit dangling from my nose in public! Gutierrez told a coworker “… that he had been ’so drunk the night before at Easton that on his way home he must have fallen asleep and when he hit the state Suburban on a guardrail, that’s when he woke up.‘ ” Again, from today’s Dispatch.

Now let me remind you Ohio taxpayers that this exemplary government employee is on PAID suspension while a sexual harassment complaint is investigated. Is anyone surprised that sexual harassment charges came forth from such a “freewheeling” workplace?

The sad thing is that this mess just reinforces my sour view of government employees. And, yes, I am a government employee – I speak from experience here people!

You see, I believe that government tends to attract and retain the most mediocre of workers, because anyone with talent and skill and ambition will eventually tire of the BS one must put up with to get anything done in government and will eventually leave government to find real jobs! Yes, I believe I am a fantastically mediocre employee! In fact, I try to excel in my mediocrity!

But Marc Dann and his minions have taken government employee worthlessness to a whole new level! We’ve gone well beyond mediocrity here, beyond asininity, beyond laziness! We’ve reached a new plateau!

What shall we call it?

Let’s call it Gutierrez-anity!

Boozin’ And Swearin’ With The Best of ‘Em!!

Other Duties As Assigned

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Well, it’s finally happened. The Tooth Fairy has finally been killed. She died a quiet little death last weekend at the hands of my wife. And it was probably time, but I was completely unprepared. In fact, no one bothered to even tell me until long after the poor little sprite was cold and buried.

It started with my eldest losing another tooth a week and a half ago. Tucking the tooth under her pillow, the Tooth Fairy forgot to leave her any money that night! Now this is a cardinal fairy sin and grounds for termination from the Tooth Fairy Corps, so we assured Haley that the Tooth Fairy would probably stop by the next night. After all, her job was on the line!

Well, the next night came and went and still no tooth extortion payment. Haley reported this to us at breakfast the following morning. She wasn’t bothered by it; just kind of perplexed.

“Impossible!” I cried as I jumped up from the table. “There’s no way the Tooth Fairy forgot two nights in a row! The money must’ve fallen under your bed or something!”

At this point I was concerned for my daughter’s childhood innocence! Belief in Tooth Fairies is a benchmark for childhood – disbelief in such magical creatures marks a major turning point in growth and maturity! I wasn’t ready for such a turning point.

So I slipped back to her bedroom and tossed a five dollar bill under her bed (yes, five dollars is the going tooth rate at my house). I figured she’d find it later and all would be good.

Well, later came and went with no exclamation of the lost Tooth Fairy money. And then later that same day my youngest finally extracted a wiggly tooth she’d been saving (she hates pulling out loose teeth). It seems her mother made her a deal where, if she pulled out her wiggly tooth, her mother would give her twenty bucks(!). Twenty dollars is big money to my eight-year-old and she pulled that tooth post-haste!

I told Hannah, “You know, the Tooth Fairy probably won’t bring you any money, since your mom is giving you twenty bucks for that tooth.” Hannah gave me a weird look, like I had a third eye or something.

Realizing Haley hadn’t said anything about her lost Fairy money, I asked her if she ever checked under her bed. She said “No”, so I suggested she check again. A minute later she came back smiling and holding a five dollar bill.

“See,” I said. “It must’ve fallen off the bed while you were sleeping.” Haley rolled her eyes and also gave me a weird look.

Curious about the weird looks from my daughters, I mentioned it to my wife that night after the kids were in bed. “Oh, the girls know. Haley told me she knew and Hannah suspected, so I told them.”

I was astonished. Evidently this confession happened after the first missed Tooth Fairy deposit, but no one bothered to tell me. And here I was, sneaking about trying to salvage the Tooth Fairy’s precious reputation when the truth was already out there, the sacred parental secret exposed!

So now I sit here wondering who’s next – Santa Claus? The Easter Bunny? The Halloween Candy Fairy? World Peace? I thought I had more time, but Haley’s ten and reaching the end of those gullible years. And Hannah will follow right behind, the curse of being the younger sibling.

It’s a brave new world we’re entering, stoic and logical. No more fairies, no more jolly old Christmas elves, no more magic.

And I’m afraid the Motorcycle Fairy is next, fearful of that day when Holly quietly puts her arm around my shoulder and tells me that I’m not getting that new motorcycle, no matter how many nights I sleep with a picture of a 2005 Honda Super Hawk under my pillow.

I still believe in benevolent fairies!
(Muttered repeatedly before going to bed)

(c) 2007 C.L. Jackson

Flower-Scented Vomit

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So Saturday at Jackson Press was spent tooling around Jackson Acre on the official Jackson Press Lawn Tractor mulching leaves. Here’s why that sucked …

First, there are many silver maples on the properties surrounding Jackson Acre. While silver maples can be nice trees to look at, they are what my neighbor Gordon calls “dirty trees”. Silver maples have this annoying tendency to grow many leaves, all of which will eventually fall. And in a high wind they will shed broken branches like a dog shaking off bath-water. Lot’s of tree litter, hence the “dirty tree” moniker.

My neighbor to the west, Dave, has four or five mature silver maple trees. I also have four or five. Since Dave’s property is west of mine, and the prevailing winds blow from west to east, many, if not all, of his leaves end up in my yard. One upside of this easterly-blowing prevailing wind is that many, but rarely most and never all, of my leaves end up in the yard of my eastern neighbor, Gordon. So the lesson here is to make sure you live in the western-most yard, so all of your leaves blow into your easterly neighbor’s yard for them to clean up!

This year I decided to use the official Jackson Press Lawn Tractor to mulch the leaves, rather than waste my time actually raking the leaves. Besides the obvious physical reason against raking (laziness), past autumns have demonstrated that disposing of our leaves is no small task, as there are not that many places to stash huge piles of leaves on Jackson Acre and we’re not supposed to burn them. This is a very large dilemma my dirty trees leave me with.

So this year we’re just chopping everything up. So far it’s working well, although I suspect what’s really happening is that my leaves, chopped into smaller pieces, are easier to blow into Gordon’s yard.

Now when I cut the grass at Jackson Acre, I cut it in the highest gear my tractor has, which is fifth gear. That usually propels me along at about 7 MPH. Trust me, that is not as fast as it may sound. When mulching leaves, however, I have to slow down to third gear to insure the blades have time to properly chop things up into small pieces. Third gear zips us along at about 3 MPH. Trust me, that is as slow as it sounds. Painfully slow, in fact, when you’re used to flying along at 7 MPH.

So Saturday found Gordon and I mulching. I donned a surgical mask, since I’m allergic to leaves, and this reminded me of all the Asians who wore surgical masks as they tried not to catch SARS. I’m sure Gordon thinks I’m crazy, but I consider wearing the surgical mask as practice for the upcoming bird flu.

As I trundled through my yard I noticed Gordon had at least twice as many leaves as me, thus supporting my “live to the west” theory. Surprisingly enough, Gordon was still done mulching long before me and with very little leaf litter residue. This is further proof that my tractor is frighteningly slow and that I should demand a new tractor for Jackson Press from my boss.

The only problem is that I’d rather waste my money on a new motorcycle. I can enjoy a new motorcycle – I would not enjoy a new tractor. Besides, the boss would just say “No”. Or – more likely – she would say “Yes” but I would have to buy her a diamond ring before I could buy either the tractor or motorcycle. You’re laughing at this notion, but there is precedence to this – it happened in 2001, when I bought my third motorcycle. That bike’s long gone, but the wife still has the ring. I’m not sure what that says about me …

One downside to mulching our leaves is that we don’t have any big leaf piles for the kids to jump into. That’s actually the only time my kids willingly rake leaves without being forced or cajoled. They rake up huge piles of leaves that they then spend hours playing in. Then the piles sit there for weeks at a time, killing the grass underneath and turning so moldy that I can’t get within ten feet of the pile without sneezing my britches off.

Yeah, mulching’s a much better idea.

The latest Civil Servitude is available for your reading enjoyment. The Giant Beaver adventure continues and we learn a little more about Miller’s sordid past. Thanks for reading and enjoy!

Trundling thru life in second gear …

(c) 2007 C.L. Jackson

Giant Beaver 2

Here’s The Latest News From Jackson Press!

I’ve been on a Civil Servitude tear this week! Cranked out three strips this week and even have a new Editorial cartoon for your enjoyment!

We here at Jackson Press are eagerly awaiting tonite’s Ghost Hunters episode, where they reveal the results of their live Halloween investigation of the definitely haunted Waverly Hills Sanitorium in Kentucky.

Well, the kids are fussing. They can’t seem to get their teeth brushed without quibbling with each other. Time to go in and restore order. It’s going to be a long winter.

Click here to enjoy more Civil Servitude content and enjoy!

Bringing order to childish chaos!

(c) 2007 C.L. Jackson

Giant Beavers

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Autumn’s almost over (sigh). My favorite season, it also seems like it’s always the shortest one.

We had our first fire in the fireplace Friday night. And we spent this weekend battening down the hatches here at Jackson Press. We trimmed various shrubs, caulked various gaps, and used the lawn tractor to mulch the various piles of leaves our glorious trees have given us. Oh, the joys of autumn!

This Halloween was generous to my children. We’ve had candy for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the last three days! I figure we’ve got another twenty-two days of candy left to eat, if we keep up at this pace. And we have to eat the candy as soon as possible – the sooner it’s gone, the sooner I can get back on my diet!

So I’m sitting here, in my office at Jackson Press, watching my trees leave me more leaves (I wonder if that’s the origin of the word “leaf”?) and half paying attention to the movie “Tombstone” that’s on TV. Val Kilmer’s best role was in this movie, playing the drunk and consumed Doc Holliday. It’s one of my favorite cowboy flicks, along with “Unforgiven”, “The Outlaw Josey Wales”, “The Shootist”, and “Blazing Saddles.” Can’t have a favorite cowboy movie list without at least one John Wayne and one Clint Eastwood movie.

Thanks for reading!

I’m Your Huckleberry.

(c) 2007 C.L. Jackson