RevSpork

All hail your Emperor, Citizens of Phoenix!

As you read this, I, the Reverend H.L. Spork, have dispatched my well-trained army of lesser Reverends to take over city hall here in Phoenix. I decided upon this course with extreme reluctance, as I believe in freedom, democracy, and all that bullshit. However, in the week that I've resided in this city, I've come to believe that only with a temporary interruption of democratic government can Phoenix save itself from itself.

My mother has lived in Phoenix for a quarter of a century now, and I've dropped by now and again since 1985. Arizona is a very, very strange state, ravaged by flash floods and wildfires (sometimes in the same month), where parts of the state can hit 100 degrees in March while other parts are hit by several feet of snow. Politics here are simply insane, a patchwork of crazy libertarians, even crazier right-wingers, Mexicans, and heat-blasted hippies, all of whom loathe the government. Arizona is a state where authority of any kind is held in contempt, even on occasions when it decides upon a course of common sense. If the state passed a law banning jumping off cliffs, Arizonians by the thousands would immediately form pro-cliff jumping rights groups, lobby the state legislature to repeal the law, and litter the bottoms of cliffs with their corpses, all giving the middle-finger salute.

This year is no different: Arizona, like most states, is facing a huge financial crisis. The state government is struggling to stay afloat. One of the biggest bills getting through the state legislature? A bill that would allow gun owners to take their firearms into bars.

Phoenix, as the state capital, largest city, and financial center of the state, is the epicenter of this loonyness, and in order to save the state from itself, I have taken over the city. As you know, I am a benevolent despot, and I promise to run the city of Phoenix with a loving but stern eye, making decisions based upon what is best for the city. Once I sit myself down at the throne of Phoenix (artificially cooled because of my sensitive hiney), I will enact the following laws. So it is written, so it will be done:

Rule #1: You don't get lawns. C'mon people, this is the fucking desert. Even the grass near sewer pipes is dead. There's barely enough water for bathing, let alone watering your damned lawn. You want a lawn, grow what God intended to grow here, namely cacti, succulents, and rocks. On a related note:

Rule #2: Anyone who owns a golf course within a 50-mile radius of my throne will be hung from the nearest seguaro.

Rule #3: Hanging truck nuts from your vehicle is permissible, but you must trade them in for your real nuts. Only one set of nuts per vehicle.

Rule #4: Any senior citizen who complains about paying taxes for K-12 education will have their scooters taken away. You can crawl to the Hometown Buffet for all I care.

Rule #5: Driving tests will become far more difficult than they currently are. Not only will Phoenix residents be required to read at a third-grade level and drool in no more than one direction, they will have to pass an IQ test. Any prospective driver who fails any one of these tests will not be allowed to drive, but will be issued a recently-confiscated mobility scooter.

Rule #6: All NRA gun nuts who complain about not being able to bring their firearms into kindergartens or unfairly banned from owning a nuclear weapon will be shipped to Afghanistan, where they will undoubtedly find paradise on earth.

Rule #7: Your hockey team has to move. Your team sucks, nobody cares about the sport here, and quit pretending that your city is just too damned big not to have a hockey team. Los Angeles hasn't had an NFL team in nearly fifteen years, and they're doing just fine. If God wanted you to have hockey in Phoenix, there would be naturally-occurring ice here. See any? Next case.

Rule #8: Cox Cable must merge with Comcast and rename itself Asshole Communications.

Rule #9: Maricopa County Sheriff Joe Arpaio must enter an eating contest to see how many green bologna sandwiches he can eat in one hour, then will lead himself in a one-man chain-gang march through the city dressed in pink underwear.

Rule #10: Anyone else cuts my mom in traffic cuts ME off in traffic too. Watch yer ass.

Phoenix in July

Hurrah!  I'm going on vacation!  In Phoenix.  Next week.  In...July.

Can you imagine a worse time to go to Phoenix?  (besides August.)  Not really.  I'm beginning to suspect, however, that Phoenix is accommodating itself for my somewhat cooler needs.  The city is going through - of all things - a cool snap.  The city went two weeks in June without breaking one hundred degrees, and according to weather.gov, it's not going to be much hotter the week I'm there - the hottest high temperature expected is 108, which might sound like burning hell to you, but for Phoenix, it's a cool breeze.  And yes, it's a dry heat, and yes, it matters (Now if it were 120, of course it would be beyond my tolerance.  That's too freaking hot.)  But I've spent summers in Phoenix before, and I should be able to hack it. 

For a quarter of a century, my mother has called this hell home.  I'm no longer sure why she decided upon this place, and I only know she (and her sister; they've lived together for twenty years) wants out.  However, the real estate bust reduced the value of their home to about $67.12, so they're not escaping Arizona for a while.

I have my reasons for flying out to Phoenix in the middle of the summer.  I haven't seen my mother (or any of my family) since my wedding nearly three years ago.  I had no Fourth of July plans, and the technical school where I work is closed next week, so I figured, what the hey.  Finally, I have no idea when my gig will end (possibly within the next month), so I wanted to go out there while I still had a job and could afford it. 

I don't know whether I'll blog during my week off or not.  My mother does have internet access, so if they're at work, I might have a go.  If not, see you in a week.

I don't mind Mondays...much

Mondays get a lot attitude problems tossed at it, but I'm not one of those who do.  Truth is, Mondays bother me far less than, say, death or cheddar cheese on pizza.  This is partly due to my working a retail schedule for so long - when your "weekend" consists of constantly changing days, usually non-consecutive, there's no need to bitch about Monday.  It could be the beginning of your work week, the middle, the end, or a day off.  Bitching about Mondays is best left to traditional toilers and Garfield fans. 

This morning was a little different.  Like I do every Monday morning, I got up, showered, and threw on my work clothes.  Then I grabbed Jack the Psychotabby, stuffed him in his carry-on Guantanamo, and toted him to the vet, where he got his teeth cleaned.  Since he is a cat and not into the spirit of modern dentistry, the vet had to knock him out, which meant I had to pick him up in the afternoon.  Since I work a split shift at the tech college, this wasn't a big deal.  Once I paid the vet, I took off for work. 

I'm no fan of summer.  I like summer on occasion, when it's about eighty degrees, sunny, and women walk about in tight tops. Today was almost like that, except I was sweating so hard in the humid morning, I couldn't see if the women walking their dogs in my neighborhood were wearing tight tops, sweatshirts, or even women at all.  Within minutes my armpits had vanquished my deodorant and were squirting like a broken fire hydrant. 

Despite having to drop Jack off at the gulag, I managed to get to work only a couple minutes late.  Just before I reached the front entrance, however, one of my students waved me over from her car and informed me that morning classes had been cancelled.  The reason?  The building had no power, and in a school that focuses on computer programs, this was a setback. I walked in and confirmed it with one of the IT employees, who told me ComEd wouldn't arrive to correct the outage for a few hours.  As a result, I had the morning off.  Rah.  I only got about four hours of sleep last night, so I figured I could grab some catch-up Zs and return for the evening class. 

I walked back toward the Yellow Line station, stopping by Mickey Ds en route to grab a couple of Egg McMuffins, and caught the train.  I had just sat down and was browsing on my iPod when They arrived. 

There werre six of them: two parents, an au pair, and three kids between the ages of three and five and who screamed at between 90 and 60,000 decibels.  The first thing the adults did upon entering the train was to align their double-wide strollers next to each other, effectively blocking an entire section of the train car, including those of us unlucky enough to be fenced in on their side.  Realizing the danger, we immediately decamped to the other side of the car before we could be locked inside their homemade concentration camp. 

As it turned out, it wouldn't have mattered had we moved to the other end of the car, or the next car, or the next train; these kids were not only thrilled to be on a train, they were determined to share their enthusiasm with as many commuters as possible.  They belted out squeals and "choo-choos" louder than most trains.   Blasting Ministry on my iPod did no good.  I attempted to drain their life force by staring at them in an extremely annoyed manner, but they only made the choo-choo sound even louder.  I tried and failed to teleport them off the train with my mental powers.  I poured molten lead into my ears.  Nothing worked.  All I could do was sit and endure this disgusting bit of post-rush hour cheerfulness with the same dour look the rest of the passengers had. 

When I finally arrived at the abode, I removed my sweat-drenched clothes and popped a couple of Advil before dropping onto the bed like a sack of rice.  The squeals and laughter of the children echoed in my brain like a poltergeist.  I'm sure the laughter of children is nice on occasion, but there's a time and place for it, I thought.  Namely 1976 in New Hyde Park, NY, while the Good Humor truck rode slowly down the street.  But not now.  And definitely not on Mondays. 

Gimme a break

I'm at work this morning.  There's very little going on.  I just finished my round of chatting it up with the students and coaching them into getting their work done.  It's nominally easy, this job.  A typical day consists of sitting in front of a computer, occasionally assisting students either in lecture or in lab.  I've gotten to where I can help the student with just about any class they're working on...when they're working.  They putter around the internet quite frequently, much to my distress.  Problem is, I have so little to do between helping students, I end up doing the same thing.  It has developed into a nasty little habit, especially since I've independently finished every online class offered nearly two months ago.  I do spend some time on assignments, such as writing up labs, but those have become few and far between.  Left to my own devices, I inevitably end up puttering around with the rest of the students.  It's a habit I have to break. 

As a lifelong member of the ADD Fun Club, maintaining focus has always been a challenge for me.  This morning, for example, I finished (and passed) the assessment for advanced MS Excel.  Unlike some folks, I find certain aspects of Excel anything but boring, and I like playing around with the program.  Once one gets into the real nitty-gritty of Excel, however, the fascination evaporates.  XML, for example, is about as exciting as a soccer match between snails.  With subject matter like that, I get bored and antsy quickly, so an online game makes for a nice halftime break.  Problem is, that halftime break has a tendency to expand into an hour-long break.  

I've had some successes during this gig based on hard work.  I passed my certification exam in MS Word 2003 last week and just received my certificate in the mail.  Passing the assessment this morning is just the first part of my preparation for the MS Ezcel certification, which I hope to take in a couple of weeks.  Depending on how much longer my assignment lasts, I also plan to pick up certifications in PowerPoint and (could it be possible?) Access.  However, these little achievements won't happen unless I get off my figurative butt and stop playing games. 

From now on, if you see me online, you have my permission to harass me and tell me to get my ass back to work.  I'll appreciate it.

Key to losing weight: cough up your lungs

What an entertaining spring this has been. Two months after my fateful encounter with a cold virus, I’m finally feeling better. I cough very little now, I haven’t had to use my inhaler in a week, and even my energy is beginning to return to normal. However, another, more unexpected, side effect emerged from this ordeal: I’ve lost six percent of myself. Since I started recording my weight in early March (doctor’s orders), I’ve lost over ten pounds (I just typed that while finishing a small bag of Cheetos), and my weight loss since the illness goes on.

When you’re a fat dude like myself, losing weight is fantastic. I’m still about thirty pounds overweight, and dropping some pounds can’t hurt. On the other hand, I don’t feel like I really earned my weight loss. Bronchitis makes losing weight incredibly easy; who wants to stuff food in their mouth when they’re constantly coughing stuff out of their mouth? It’s just not worth the effort, and that’s the problem: I lost weight without putting much effort into it. That’s not the way to lose weight: what if I lost muscle mass instead of fat, and I’m even flabbier than before? Maybe I’m just a giant lump of lard. How totally gross.

Given, I did take advantage of my illness to make slight adjustments to my diet. The most important change I made is during mealtimes. I decided I was eating far more food towards the end of the day than any other time, so I switched my big meal from dinner to lunch. I now eat light dinners and heavy lunches; this way I work off the lunch during the afternoon, and I don’t go to bed full. Some foods have recently disappeared from the fridge, or are now present only part-time. We have less bread and cold cuts in the fridge than usual, for example. Instead, I buy tortillas or flatbread. Instead of, for example, eating four slices of bread (two sandwiches) for dinner, I’ll eat two burritos, filling them with slightly more food (and far more veggies) but eating less bread in the process. I eat similarly with flatbread, making gyros (or simply grabbing a couple slices and eating it with hummus), eating about the same but cutting the bread and ramping up the veggies. Ice cream has virtually disappeared from the freezer; in its place are juice pops. And if I do get ice cream, it’s at a restaurant, where I’ll eat only one serving instead of gulping down half a container at home. I am careful to eat breakfast as often as possible, usually cereal, occasionally with fruit. For dessert, fresh fruit or the aforementioned juice pops.

Another food I’ve eaten less of as of late is cheese. When you have bronchitis, the very last thing you want to eat is cheese; it feels horrible going down, and you feel like you’re coughing it all back up for the next several hours. So my dairy intake took a nosedive during my illness and hasn’t completely returned to normal. I still eat cheese: I throw some on my burritos or on my pasta. However, I don’t need it as much. If I have sour cream and cheddar available for my burritos, I choose one instead of both. These are all minor adjustments at best, but if you make enough minor adjustments to your daily diet, you will eventually see results.

I don’t expect to continue to lose weight; eventually my weight will bottom out at a certain point, and I will have to make further adjustments to lose more weight. I’ll have to start exercising. Count calories. Eat low-fat cheese. (NEVER!) For the time being, I’m happy that I’ve managed to keep off the weight I lost during my illness, plus a little extra besides. Maybe I’ll celebrate with a bigger bag of Cheetos.