Crisis Management

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Expectations.

For some reason, that word is on my mind right now.  You know, like “Great Expectations”, the book written by Charles Dickens that I never read.  Heck, I didn’t even see the movie.

Merriam-Webster defines expectations as “the act or state of expecting; something expected.”  Basically, it means you’re waiting on something.  Maybe I’m thinking about the word “expectations” because I’m waiting for my children to quickly and quietly get themselves ready for bed.  You know, teeth brushed, jammies on, under the covers, lights out.  There aren’t a whole lot of steps involved in this ritual, yet it seems to take hours and lots of yelling to complete.

So my expectations for their successful completion of these seemingly simple tasks has sunken to subterranean depths.  On a plus note, I successfully spelled “subterranean” without the help of Spell Checker, although I did booger up “successfully”  by adding an extra “s” in my excitement over successfully spelling subterranean!

Regardless, my children can’t seem to get ready for bed without sniping and squabbling about things that shouldn’t concern them right before going to bed.  You know, stupid things like who has whose stuffed zebra or where did so-and-so put the other one’s current favorite such-and-such (replace with any of the following: book, doll, toy, shirt, shoe, sock, underwear).

Low expectations, to the say the least.

It’s a successful evening when neither parent has to threaten to whallop someone’s behind or banish child A from child B’s room.  We’ve even taken to staggering bathroom time.  For example, child A is supposed to brush her teeth fifteen minutes before child B, thus eliminating any chance that both children will be in the same bathroom at the same sink at the same time, because God knows that if that unfortunate event were to happen it would cause the very space-time continuum of our universe to unravel, much like the stitching on a cheap, made-in-China, knock-off designer label Raph (yes, the “L” is missing) Lauren men’s suit sold for rock-bottom prices on fleabay.

And, no, you cannot determine which child I am referring to when I use the code words “child A” and “child B”, because I will warn you that the first-born child will not always be labeled as “child A”.  In fact, the child I like better at the particular moment I’m writing this will be referred to as child A.  And they will continue to be referred to as child A until such a time when they will eventually fall out of my favor and are either replaced by the other child, the previous child B, or the dog, hereafter referred to as dog A since we don’t yet have a dog B.

At this moment, child A is sneaking down the hallway with a big poop-eating grin on her face, holding her index finger up before her lips in the classic “shush” sign.  She’s evidently going to try to scare mom A when mom A leaves child B’s bedroom after tucking child B in.  Child A thinks this is funny and continues to snicker to herself, said snickering being loud enough that mom A HAS to know that child A is out of bed and goofing off around the corner, despite all the yelling that has already transpired this evening in getting said children ready and into bed.

Child A is now doing deep knee bends and marching in place in the hallway, poop-eating grin growing ever larger.  Emboldened, she shifts her hiding place from the hallway into the kitchen, which will no doubt prompt mom A to ask dad A (moi’) if I happen to know where child A is.  How do I answer?  Do I give up the child for mom?  This query is the classic child-spouse conundrum – which one takes precedence?  Who is more important?  Who do you save and who do you let die?  The plane’s going down and there are only two parachutes, one for me and one for who?  Child A or mom A?  It’s like one of those ethical questions that has no correct answer.  It’s the classic no-win situation, the “Kobayashi Maru” test as seen in Star Trek 2, quite possibly the BEST Star Trek movie EVER!!!  Click here to see that great scene if you’ve never seen the movie (and shame on you if you haven’t and you call yourself a Star Trek fan!  FAN BOY!!).

So I wait for the question that will force me to choose sides between child A and mom A.  It is a decision I do not wish to make, since forsaking child A now, at this tender age, could inevitably leave lasting scars that might come back to haunt me should I ever need to move in with child A when I eventually grow old and senile and incontinent and my adult diapers need constant minding.  This is after outliving wife A, of course!

I am fortunate.  Child A gave up her hiding place and went into bed relatively easily after mom A yelled at her.  No need to reveal my allegiances just yet.

Expectations.  I actually had no expectations for this little essay yet look where it got me?

Now you have something new to think about.  Carry on.

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!!

Gold-Plated Toilets

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“Ghost Hunters” is back on the air! Yay!

Just when you thought television was dead (with the exception of “Battlestar Galactica” and “Friday Night Lights”), back comes “Ghost Hunters”, further reinforcing our belief in ghosts here at Jackson Acre.

n fact, the wife and I think we had our own personal encounter with a ghost here at Jackson Acre the other night. The kids were in bed and we were in the family room watching “American Idol” when we both heard what sounded like a kitchen chair scraping across the floor, as if someone – or something – had bumped into it and moved it out of their way.

“Did you hear that?”

“Yeah, what was it? Is one of the kids up?”

I looked into the kitchen, waiting for one of my children to come into view, probably wanting a drink of juice or a cookie or something. You know, something sugary right after brushing one’s teeth right before bed.

No children stepped into view.

I got up and walked into the kitchen, checking to see if a child was hiding next to the fridge, screwing with their parents. Nothing. So then I tried to figure out which chair I thought I heard move. We have six chairs and all of them made the same chair-leg-on-floor scraping noise. So much for that theory.

“You heard a chair move, right?”

“Yeah, is one of the kids up?”

“No.”

“Hmmm, must be Ace.”

And with that, my wife pins our entire supernatural personal experience on the ghost of our sixteen-year-old border collie mix, Ace, who died two years ago. And as he got older and feebler, Ace occasionally bumped into furniture, like kitchen chairs. And being a border collie, which is a herding breed used to herd sheep, cattle, children (you know, anything that herds), Ace always had this intense need to keep track of everyone in the house. So he’d cruise from room to room, making sure he knew where everyone was at, keeping track of his herd.

I guess Ace’s still here, keeping an eye on us.

At least that’s what we told the kids. The ghost of old Ace isn’t quite as scary as the ghost of some stranger who died in your home at some point in the past.

Yeah, that’s a pretty freaky thought!

Wondering if ghosts count as dependants on my taxes …

Consultants!

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This weekend was about Spring prep at Jackson Acre, which mostly consists of oil changes in the various tools and toys I possess. And by tools, I mainly mean my lawn mower, lawn tractor, and generator. The only toy I have left is my latest motorcycle, but all require oil’s lifeblood to function!

So I took a freshly charged battery out to the tractor in the shed, fully expecting my “well maintained” 24-year-old John Deere 111 lawn tractor to fire right up, which it did. And since this particular beast was not “well maintained” by its previous owners, the former residents of our acre before it became Jackson Acre, I consider it a gift from God every time that old tractor decides to start up and run.

Well, the tractor started up on the first try (thank you God!).

I then shift into reverse to back out of the shed and see the flat front tire. So I turn the tractor off and march up to the house to fetch the tire pump. After six minutes of pumping I see no noticeable change, other than my elevated heartbeat and increased perspiration. Aren’t these signs of a heart attack?! That’s when I realized the tire is tubeless and I have no idea how to properly inflate a tubeless tire.

So back up to the house to Google “How to inflate a tubeless tire”. Thanks to the miracle of the internet, I find instructions that tell me you can’t inflate a tubeless tire with a hand pump. Really?! So I fetch the generator and my compressor and lug them both – separately – from the house to the shed. Ten minutes later I get the tire inflated in twenty seconds. Now we’re good to go!

Then it starts raining.

Exactly 54 minutes after starting the tractor for the first time this year, I finally drive it into the garage for it’s oil change. Then five hours and a half-quart of spilled oil on the garage floor later, I’ve got fresh oil in the tractor, generator, lawn mower, and motorcycle. I even got to use my $12 angle grinder to sharpen the tractor mower blades!

All in all, a very manly day spent doing manly garage-type stuff. But I still haven’t cut my grass!

On a related note – we’re finalizing plans for the 40th Birthday Bash at Jackson Acre. It will be Saturday, May 10 and e-vites will be emailed out this week. Relax, you’re probably on the list.

Wondering how many goats it would take to keep my grass cut …