Zel-kun’s Words

When I crawl through traffic in the morning, it’s not uncommon to see garbage on the side of the road.  Most often, they are the remains of meals and boxes that some people are just too lazy and ignorant to throw away properly.  Once in awhile, it’s something a broke-down motorist or a tow truck forgot in their haste to be back on the road: gas can, a jack, or even one of those metal ramps.

But today, as I moved at a steady four miles an hour, I saw a bible sitting there on the road.  It was perched against the edge of the road, open to some verse or another.  I could see the chapter written in the corner, but it was much too far for me to make it out.  How did it come to be there?  Did it fall off the back of someone’s moving truck?  Did someone place it there in an effort to guide someone who would need it, a message from above?  Did someone, after a lifetime of hardship, after one divine-slap-in-the-face too many, throw his bible away in anger at his uncaring god?

A bible is a hard thing to throw away, I happen to own two from my more pious days.  One was given to me by my neighbor when she took me to church, the other was my grandfather’s, given to me by my grandmother when he passed away.  They sit on my bookshelf, oddly enough between a book on Zen and a statue of Buddha, this very day.  While one is a memory of my grandfather that if nothing else, I would keep for sentimental reasons, the other I should have no attatchment to.  It is a simple, leather-bound book that I once brought to and home from church.  I haven’t even read very much of it, mostly through the Tower of Babel, if memory serves.

And yet, given all that, I can’t bring myself to throw it away.  Can’t even really say why.

Maybe that’s what happened.  Someone else couldn’t bring themselves to throw it away, so he places it precariously upon the top of items in the back of his truck.  And if God wants the wind to catch it and remove it from his responsibility, then so be it.

Zel-kun out.

Well, guess the interview is cancelled again.

Words cannot convey my frustration.

It makes me wonder why I’m working so hard at this job lately.  It makes me question what it’s all for, or whether there really is any chance for advancement.

Zel-kun out.

Well, I have a job interview tomorrow.

Essentially, I’m interviewing for my own job, making the transition from contractor to employee.  I’m not entirely sure if I’ll take the job, it all depends on what the pay would be, what the benefits are, and if I can net an earlier shift that would likely shave two hours off my daily commute, narrowly avoiding the worst of rush hour.

It would mean better benefits for sure, I would get more responsibilities, and some paid training.  So as far as a career choice, it’s the smart thing to do.  My one goal is to spend a bit more time at home.  13-hour work days just aren’t for me.  So if I can shave some time off of that, then it’s worthwhile.

If not… I guess I’m hitting the job market again.  My resume is much more robust than it was three years ago, the last time I hit the market, but it’s still intimidating.  The fact of the matter is I would need to find someplace closer to Chicago.

I see all my competition for the job walking through the door to interview with my bosses, young people and old.  Each time, the bosses walk back ridiculing the potential employees.  Good for me, I guess, but everytime I hear about what they did wrong in their interviews, I keep thinking, ‘Crap, hope I don’t screw up like that.’

There’s another person in my position also up for the job.  A contractor from a different firm, who actually started on the same day.  He could probably use the job more than I could.  TekSystems treats me very well, whereas his firm is essentially screwing him over.  So, I’m a little conflicted there.  I guess in the end all I can say is, “Let the best man win.”

Zel-kun out.

The year was 1996.

The place was Merrillville High School.

It was the largest school I had ever been in, easily three times as large as the middle school, with high walls, loud buzzers, and a crowded lecture hall that looked more like an amphitheater.  On top of that, I broke three metacarpals (those bones that connect your fingers to your writst) on my right hand over the summer on a 4-wheeler, so I only had the use of one hand to carry my books.  It was a little intimidating.

The more observant reader my find a problem with this.  In eighth grade, I failed all my classes save for English, surely this was enough to warrant me being held back?

The more observant reader would be correct.  I came very close to being held back.  I know my parents fought to let me continue on to high school, though I’m not certain what was said.  I AM certain that my diagnosis of Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD) influenced the case.  I also like to think that my sudden improvement in English also influenced the decision to let me move ahead.

So I entered high school on one condition: I would be placed in… Special Education.

That’s right.  Special Ed.  I remember that I sat next to a kid who would routinely stare gape-mouthed at me and randomly shout out, “Bumblebee Tuna!”  There were a couple kids who seemed to have honest learning disabilities, but by and large, they fit into two categories:

Slackers and Un-teachables

Slackers were just that, kids that didn’t try in the least.  They could probably learn, they just chose not to.

Un-teachable is my kind word for someone who is severely mentally handicapped, someone who barely grasps speech, let alone concepts such as mathematics or literature.  I have nothing but sympathy for people like this, but it seems like a waste to spend money and time trying to teach someone who can’t understand what you’re saying for years on end.

While I DID have Attention Deficit Disorder, I can say that I fit into the ‘Slacker’ category.  It took me having to sit between a guy who laughed randomly at the wall and a guy who stared blankly into space, even when you were speaking to him, to give me the kick in the ass I needed.

I bought a notepad, and told myself I would start taking notes.  These ‘notes’ usually ended up being idle doodles while I was listening, but keeping a portion of my brain occupied on doodling kept the rest of my brain focused on the lecture, oddly enough.  My tests quickly became A’s and B’s, and when the time came for the Special Ed students to be separated from the class for their remedial learning, I refused.  So, it wasn’t long before I removed myself entirely, with the exception of Special Study Hall, which after I aced their complicated tests (with such challenging questions as 4+3=?), they left me alone.

This was also the year I began reading books.  And, to spite all those conservatives out there that maintain that video games bring nothing but ignorance and violence, I have a video game to thank for getting me into literature.

It was Lord of the Rings, Volume One, a horrible RPG that had only one redeeming quality, the story.  I knew it was based on a book, so I went to the library to ask for Lord of the Rings.  The librarian handed me ‘The Hobbit,’ and there started my life of books, I haven’t been long without a book since.

So this year began my intellectual development, and it also began my social life.  As stated in previous chapters, I never fit in with any of the cliques, I was lucky if I had a single fair-weather friend, let alone a whole group to hang out with.  This year was somewhat different, and yet not all at the same time.  It was this year that I met Jason.

Jason is the very definition of a fair-weather friend.  Nice when we’re not with other kids, but will turn the moment the ‘cool people’ start wandering too close.  Of course, I didn’t notice it at the time.  And even though I was starting to take a more detached view towards the whole ‘friendship’ thing, a part of me was still desperate for it.  So when this kid I didn’t know sat next to me during orientation and said, “These things are always boring as hell,” I merely smiled and nodded.

Through Jason, I met some people who became something of acquaintances.  I couldn’t name any of them, nor have I exchanged more than two or three words at a time.  But they were other people at the lunch table, so not eating at an empty table was something entirely new.  All in all, I guess it was a little bit of social progress.

By the time the end of the school year came around, I made the Honor Roll for the first time since the second grade, and had finished the Lord of the Rings.  I didn’t get any spitwads launched at me, and didn’t even get into a fight.  All in all, it was a pretty good year.

And if she’s not sleeping, like hell she’s going to let anyone else sleep.

The little kitten finally learned how to climb and jump.  One of the places she is now jumping to… on the bed.  Last night, every five minutes, without failure, she’d leap on the bed while I was trying to sleep.  She stole one of my socks, attacked my legs and arms, and pawed at my face.

So when I was awake (as I was much of the night) at 6:14, waiting for the alarm to go off in one minute, I was very tired.  I stumbled through my morning routine and out the door.  And the truly ironic thing is I’ll bet the first thing she did was go to sleep when I left.

Zel-kun out.

Because, after all, what blog is complete without a picture of a cat, small child, or other cute thing…

Yep, there’s Nanami, the kitten we’ve adopted.  She was a stray that likely would have been eaten by wild dogs, or at best, put to sleep in some shelter.  I’m glad we got her, she’s energetic, and there’s something to be said about having something pawing at the back of your head while you’re trying to watch Mythbusters.

I never thought of myself as a person who would have a pet.  Then again, I’m sure that without Zai, I would have been content to live in an empty apartment with a TV, computer, and a lifetime’s supply of ramen.

Sure, it would be economic, but there is something to be said for trying out new things.   And, if nothing else, it has made Zai exceedingly happy, so that’s always a plus.

Zel-kun out.

Anyone ever watch Shawshank Redemption?

I loved that movie (I also loved the book, for that matter).

During that movie, Andy Dufresne, our wrongly-accused protagonist is in prison.  He decides that the ramshackle library needs to be improved.  Not having money, he decides to request a grant from the state to fund the library project for the prison.

Of course, he did not get a response to his letter.  So he decides to send another, and another, and another.  He sends a letter requesting a grant every single week until the state caves-in and sends him a box of old books and a little bit of money.  In response, Any upped the ante to two letters a week until he got the full grant he was looking for.

Ladies and gentlemen, I have decided to give Sabrejack.com the ‘Shawshank Treatment.’  For those that don’t know, Sabrejack is the online moniker of my good friend Pete.  He has a blog that he posts to about three times a year.  The thing is he has a lot of good things to say, just never takes the time to commit them to paper (or the intarweb, as it were).

So I decided to post a comment on his most recent post, every single weekday, until he updates.  It wasn’t long until he wrote another great post.

So please, I encourage you to stop by his site, read, and maybe even drop a comment or two.

Hope you keep writing, Sabre.

Zel-kun out.

Before I get started on the post, I’d like to drop this unique excerpt from teh spammers:

“Hot UFO-Men have making love in you sity”

I guess gay alien sex sells…

*ahem*

We don’t really have mild days in Chicago.  It went from 85 degrees to 60 degrees in the course of two days.  While I prefer 60 to 85, I would have enjoyed a 70 degree day or two.  Its funny that we run the air conditioner one day, and huddle for warmth at night the next.  Our heat is controlled by the shop downstairs, so we don’t have much say as to when it gets turned on.  On the plus side, that also means we don’t pay for the heat we DO get.

We had hoped Saturday would have been a little warmer.  It was 90 last week, which was too warm, and 62 this week.  We figured it wouldn’t do any good to wait yet another week, else it would be 34, knowing my luck.  So we donned our jackets, and made for the Chicago Botanic Gardens.

Stepping into the Gardens is like stepping into another world.  The whole place stretches for miles and is surrounded by a large brick wall.  It’s easy to look across the clear lake and verdant hills and forget that you’re still in the modern world.  So much that it’s surprising when a distant communications tower pokes out above the treeline.  Flowers, trees, manicured bushes, and paths leading into less tame copses of trees, there’s no sound but nature.  Even the other patrons are quiet, like it would break some sort of taboo to speak.

It was much better than the first time I went.  I took Zai there about the same time we began dating, can’t quite remember if it was before or after, there was a long ‘grey area’ (which I’m sure is a story for another post).  She wanted to go, so being the dutiful friend/boyfriend, I gassed up the truck, drove up to Chicago, and listened to Zai tell me how to get there.  After two hours on the road, I knew we were lost, despite Zai’s insistance that we were ‘almost there.’  I went in to a gas station and purchased something called a ‘road map.’  I put it on the seat and asked it where the gardens were, and it didn’t respond.  I thought maybe it just needed power, but couldn’t find where to plug in or where the batteries went.

I came to the dreaded conclusion that this was one of those old-fashioned, do-it-yourself navigational aids.  So I opened up the map and asked Zai what town the Garden was in.

“Glencoe,” she answered.  I found Glencoe, and by following the expressway on our map, and found us to be some 15 miles west of Schaumburg.  In total, this put us about 25-30 miles outside of Glencoe.  On top of that, I followed what SHOULD have been our route… about 20 miles.  In total, to make up for the loss, we travelled about 75 miles.  That’s right, doing the math, we were about 50 miles off course.

When we finally arives there, it was 100 degrees, and I am a man who does not do well in the heat.  I ended up following Zai around, ducking into whatever shady alcove I could find for brief moments of respite.  I took photos, and enjoyed the sights as much as I could through eyes that were stinging with sweat, but I really just wanted to be out of the sun.  And it is tough to really enjoy a fountain when your only thought it, “I wonder if I’d get caught if I jumped in?”

Near the end of the day, as it began to cool down, we had dinner at the cafe.  We were treated to a dry, overcooked steak, and an under done potato.  By treated, I mean, paid $12 a piece for.  The waitress took a picture of us at Zai’s request and I put my thumb up.  Little did the waitress know it was in sarcastic salute of their crappy cuisine.

It was fun, though.  Despite the heat, the drive, and the food, it was fun.  It was just a lot more fun when it’s cooler, and when I take a direct path.

Afterwards, we went to Schaumburg and had dinner at Maggiano’s, one of the finest Italian restaurants this side of Chicago.  My wallet was open that night, drinks, appetizer, soup, entree, and dessert.  And to top it off, I got to feel big and important as I gave my keys to the valet parking guys.  With a little luck, they parked my car diagonally so as to make it seem that much sportier.

Zel-kun out.

I’m busy here at work, and Zai calls me.

She wants to adopt a kitten.

I say no.

She begs and pouts.

I break down.

…I apparently now have a kitten.

No good can come from this.

But at least I get to name her.

So that’s cool.

Zel-kun out.

I’d like to start with an open question to owners of fancy cars:

Are you assigned a special A-hole license to drive an expensive car?

It seems to be the case, as I’m constantly cut off by these people in traffic.  When I’m looking for a parking spot, I see them parked diagonally as to take up two spots in the middle of a crowded lot.  I suppose it’s to protect your car from dings and dents?  How much could this possibly work?  Because I am not one quick to anger, and yet had I a baseball bat, I would have shattered your headlights and loved every moment of it.  I find it hard to belive that of the one MILLION people in Chicago, you somehow avoided making one of them mad enough.

I’ll stop there.

I went to Burger King this weekend.  Its been so long since I went there, it was almost surreal to go and order greasy, fatty food.  Normally my fast-food adventures get me Wendy’s Chili.

Damn I love Wendy’s Chili.

I ordered my food, and went up to the pay window (it should be noted that ‘Trapped in the Drive-thru’ was stuck in my head).  I reached into my wallet and pulled out a single, about to hand it to the cashier when I notice it’s not the twenty I thought it was.  “Heh, that’s a single, that probably won’t cover it, huh?”

The man looks at me with a cold, dead stare that said, “Very effin funny, now give me the damn money.”

So I get him the money, get my change, and pull up to the next window.  A girl there hands me my large Dr. Pepper, to which I thank her heartily, to which she scowls at me.

Though, in her defense, I can’t say it was a scowl at ME per se, she seemed to have a permanent scowl going.

She hands me my food soon after, “Thank you very much!”  I say, because I’m an overly friendly bastard.  Once again, she scowls.  It should be noted that other than a bland “Burger King, can I take your order” and “$6.15″, nothing else was sent to me.  I can’t say it would have been possible to feel any less welcome there.

I dunno, even when I was miserable at Wal-Mart, I was still friendly to the customers, at least as long as they were friendly to me.

Zel-kun out.