• Dateline: starting the day, at the desk

 

The stones chewed and crunched beneath my feet walking to my dad’s car. It was another cold morning in Michigan, indistinguishable from the winter day before and probably much like what tomorrow would bring. (more…)

• Dateline: at the desk.

It’s almost summer.

Weather forecasts ping the temperatures back and forth, up and down, over the next week but gradually and steadily the days are getting warmer and full of promise. Promise is what days hold when you are young. As more summers gather behind you than seem possible to look forward to, days are more tempered by worry and responsibility.

There is still laughter - of course - and plans, perhaps even some goals that linger on post-its and unwritten lists. It’s regret that haunts me. (more…)

• Dateline: at my desk, on another overcast day.

Two hours.

That’s just about the amount of time I spend every week - give or take a half hour - at the local laundromat. Local is actually a misnomer. New Jersey has an over abundance of laundromats, dry cleaners, strip malls and asphalt. Garden State indeed. But I shouldn’t trash on my adopted state; it has provided me with a vocation, education and my son.

It is my son who once again has provided me with a perspective, and a thought, for this blog. (more…)

• Dateline: at my desk, thinking.

Idling is what they call it. General Motors and Chrysler are shifting gears downward in plants throughout the United States and Canada as they attempt to stave off the impossible.

My first thought, when I heard this, touched on my brother. He works in an auto parts plants off a winding country road in rural Michigan. One of many plants just like it that many families rely on throughout Michigan and elsewhere to earn a living. The men and women at my brother’s plant have already volunteered to cut the work week by a day - and one day’s pay - in order to save some of their coworkers from losing their job altogether.

I know Michigan. I know the feel, the taste and the smell. At times like this, senses pull everything together and grip your gut in knots of fear. Fear has a definite taste; it removes the flavor from everything else and steals your appetite. The smell of fear has a similar effect. There’s nothing quite as vapid as a future of uncertainty.

As the economic engine of Chrysler and G.M. rumbles to a low and coughing sputter, there are many who will need to shut the car off, sell it, or let the repo man come and take what’s his.

• Dateline: at home.

It’s nice to have my assumptions challenged occasionally. Notice that I didn’t use the indefinite you. I took my son out for dinner at a Chinese buffet over the weekend and after we settled in with our first plate of sushi (for me) and chicken fingers (my son) two men were shown to a table next to ours.

I like watching people, no real curiosity there, a lot of people do. But when these two, large, biker-types sat down next to us I thought for sure I had some entertainment to accompany our dinner. I did. But not what I had anticipated.

With his black T-shirt encased belly pressing up against the table, the man to my right looked like he road in on a Harley. Perhaps the Harley-Davidson leather skull cap was what gave me that impression. He also sported a chest-length ZZ Top beard streaked with white hair that matched perfectly his shoulder length black hair accented with the same seniority highlights.

His friend, dressed all in black except for the white athletic socks scrunched above his soft-soled black street shoes, also fancied longer hair and kept his squarish glasses perched professorially at the bottom of his nose. The two complimented each other nicely, I thought. Perhaps they are brothers, maybe they’re going to talk about the job, or women, or maybe even the latest hemi.

Nope.

It was hard to hear Mr. Spectacles, he had a low voice that was hard to pick-up between his munching and chewing and the ambient noise of the restaurant. Music piped in from the back room also helped to drown out most of the conversation. But Mr. Harley was easy to hear, mostly.

He had a high-pitched voice that chirped the most unusual dialogue for someone who most assuredly belonged to a local biker gang.

“I prefer to think of it as the wild west of role playing,” he said. Mr. Spectacles nodded and chewed. “Also, there’s a powerful weapon inside his gut.”

No way, I thought, these guys are gamers. It continued.

“Unfortunately, even when you go through the dungeon, it can come back and get you,” the high-pitched one said. “Yes” was all that Mr. Spectacles said, too intent on his massive plate of food to give a more detailed response.

“The first time is great, you literally come out the other end, the monsters are so big . . . ” and on the conversation went. I scribbled down some of the dialogue on some napkins, thinking what a funny blog post this will be. Hm, well, probably not.  But, I learned - once again - not to make assumptions.

• Dateline: At my desk, again.

Just a quick note. There has been much said lately about the amount of money, history-making, being raised and spent by Barack Obama. It’s interesting to note that when navigating to the JohnMcCain.com the home page has an embedded video and a clean format of available links to make a contribution or to find information about the senator or his running mate. There is another website that leads directly to a secure site for supporters to contribute to the McCain campaign.

The top listing on a Google search for Barack Obama, or Obama-Biden, led to BarackObama.com (other than a sponsored CafePress link at the top of one search) where those seeking information about the candidate are taken directly to a page soliciting donations.

Hmm.

• Dateline: At Home

I knew, with the first welt, that I needed to see a doctor. Without any insurance, however, the idea turned in my head registering with dollars and cents. This was going to be expensive. (more…)