Jerry Reed died today.


Saturday I bought the HD version of Smokey and the Bandit...I haven't even had a chance to watch it, yet.

Almost twenty ago Seattle was the place to live. There was an explosion of music, art and literature that tilted the course of the rest of century. A friend lived in Seattle and often talks about all the great bars, clubs, bands and even the bad bands that you could see on any night of the week. She usually brings this up within the group conversation when there is a lull. An oh, so subtle hint, "hey, I'm bored, you people are fucking boring". She's the kind of girl that knows her limit is 4 drinks so she never goes beyond 2. She'd never tell anyone that they are 'fucking boring'. More than likely she would insult them by asking them questions about what their interests are.

"What do you like to do for fun?"

When their answers fail to perk her interest she can conjure up, "so that's it, huh?"

Those who have a personality can offer back, as I did, "is that not enough for you?"

A former neighbor moved to Seattle three years ago and my sister visited. She did the math thinking that she would like to be in Seattle. She didn't have enough equity in her house to justify a move. If she really wanted to go I suppose there wouldn't need to be a justification other than wont. At the time there was a hint of me buying her house by borrowing money from mother after my step-father passed away. It wasn't an idea that I particularly took into consideration as Dave didn't come with the deal. I couldn't afford a mortgage anyway. I could afford rent, DirecTV and a few dozen baseball games a year. My brother ended up borrowing the money for Leatherby's, anyway.

I had never been to Seattle. I had been as far north as Vancouver, WA when I was bike racing as a teenager. BMX racing was the only thing that allowed me to travel when I was a kid. Disneyland Twice. Old Sacramento and Eureka. That was the extent of the family vacations. Oh, and one trip to Marine World when it was Marriott's and Pier 39. I didn't get on an airplane until I was 23. When Southwest had their $25 one way fares. Remember that? Not traveling as a kid probably did more for me than I realize. And making a trek via Todd Pestotnik's parent's truck camper was a big deal to me. Now BMX Racing it's an Olympic event. Huh.

The BMX associations hold their National events on the weekends and this was one of about a dozen I competed in. It was something I remember for my usual nonsequitorial (it's a word) reasons. Each National event had two days of racing with a "pre-race" that the home track got to pocket a huge chuck of change from on Friday nights. Since I was at the mercy of the caravan of friends' parents for most of those weekends the Friday night races were usually spent checking out the track. For me it was scoping out which pros had shown up and later if I knew anyone I was going to be competing against.

Some events don't pay enough or the NBL would have an event elsewhere and that often determined the travel direction of a lot of the pros and younger sponsored riders. For example my first National in Stockton, CA there was only one pro that had a factory sponsorship which was a lesser bike company to begin with. The others had a few cobbled co-sponsorships that were their fuel for being able to compete. That weekend there was a good chance of a full gate of pros (8 on a gate is the standard in BMX) for the finals both days.

It was somewhat exciting for me since these were the guys that I read about in BMX Action and they were 'professional' (for the record I didn't care for BMX Plus! for the sole reason they were cheap with black and white photographs). For the most part they made a living at this. Riding a bike on a dirt track with various turns, burms, bumps and jumps. How cool would that be? For a 14 year old...it seemed pretty cool.

For all the younger riders there were three classes; Novice, Intermediate and Expert. Then for each age group they had an 'open' race to compete in. It was a way to get a few more bucks out of the rider's pockets but also allowed an intermediate or even novice rider face off against people a class above. There were to classifications for pros; A and AA. You were an A pro until you hit a certain dollar amount in wins to graduate to AA pro.

I have seen a lot of sporting events and I have seen a lot of athletes. I have played on the same team as guys who went on to play professionally. That weekend I saw perhaps the best performance by an athlete ever.

The track was in terrible shape. The 'arena' used was not a local track as with most nationals but where they usually have horse shows. They dropped a few truck loads of dirt and failed to pack and pound it in. When they built the track earlier in the week to keep down the dust they over watered as not to bother the horses. By Friday night the track surface was essentially a pudding skin waiting to be pierced. By the semis Friday night the dirt had hardened and groves had formed that trying to find a smooth line was near impossible.

Mike King, the younger brother of Eddie King (one of the 'original' generation of BMX racers), won both the A Pro and Pro open on Friday. I watched each of his motos intently. He did not lose a single moto, quarter, semi or main. On Saturday he won both the A Pro and Pro Open, again. The dollar amount he won bumped him up to AA for Sunday. He won the AA and the Pro open on Sunday. It was as if a runner won a 10K and at the finish line turned around and faced a whole new group and class of runners to run and win a marathon. Or a high school player winning the JV game and then playing and winning the varsity game right the same night.

It wasn't lost on me what he had accomplished beyond winning. He took a bad situation and made the absolute best of it. Despite the environment and circumstances he maxed out his performance. His riding style was so smooth. He glided over everything like ice down a metal playground slide on a brutally hot day. I was robbed of a quote a year later in BMX Action by the editor; I had mentioned to him "he's so smooth when he crashes it's graceful and looks well thought out and planned." Ah, so much for being made infamous.

The best rider at the track in Redding was a guy, Scott, a senior in high school who was as talented as the pros assembled here but really didn't care that much about racing. His style of riding fit his personality. A guy who jumped to a great lead out of the gate and then paced himself to allow the other riders to feel they weren't being embarrassed. Then when things got tight he would put enough distance between himself and everyone else behind to win but make it seem close. He was a great guy and whenever I got a chance I sat next to him in the S-curve at Boomtown (the lame name for the track) talking about anything to pass the time until the main.

Being poised to attend Enterprise and he already a senior at CV it was an odd situation. Freshman talking to senior. He had a particular dislike for football whereas I talked him into considering that there was a different form of football from what he had seen. We talked about the Young Ones and Monty Python and why we were able to understand and enjoy British comedy. Whenever my mother or step-father would happen by he was nice and they both realized that he was someone I should be talking to. He was heading to college. Something that not a lot of people from CV, let alone Redding do. He had, and was, a link to the outside.

He was the first person to introduce me to REM, the Lemonheads and the Connell's. This was before 'Stand'. And the line, "Not everyone can carry the weight of the world" from 'Talk about the Passion' still resonates to this day. I continue to miss opportunities to sarcastically whip that line out on people who are venting to me about this and that. Their lives becoming smaller and smaller with each passing verbiage of bitching. The problem is that I am not that cynical. I genuinely care. This guy listened to me bitch and moan about, really, about being 14 and not understanding the point to it all.

Years later I bumped into someone I used to race with and a flood of memories came back. They are hard to beat down and flutter around until I grab them and try to nail them down when I write. I didn't make the connection at the time but I thought I realized why this Scott just didn't care that much about racing. To have that much talent and STYLE when he rode and not seem to concern himself with the possibilities.

He had started racing after his older brother started racing and soon after despite a two year age difference he was BETTER than his brother. Whether that caused a rift or not I have no clue. What I do know is that the two were involved in a car accident coming back from a national. His brother was severely injured being thrown clear from the truck. His brother was driving and he was drunk. He lost the use of his right arm and it was constantly pinned against his chest. He would show up at races every so often. Usually with a beer in hand. Espousing the kind of hubris to get back on the horse and expose a few dozen kids under the age of 12 to the wonders of alcohol.

Scott finally gave in to pressure the next year and came with the caravan to a race in Eugene, OR. He made it the semis after qualifying through 16ths, 8ths and quarters. He was the only non-sponsored rider in the semis. On the race form at the sign-up there is a space to list what company sponsored you as a rider. Scott had written 'Full Factory Mom & Dad' in the space next to his name. Just a great guy.


Anyway.


Last year I was in Seattle for a wedding. The only time off I had taken while I was at UCDHS was when my step-father died and to go to Arizona for spring training. Never more than a week. So scheduling actual vacation days from work was an adventure in and of itself. I had so much sick and vacation time that I was at a 'use it or lose it' stage. I used it and I put it to good use. I made the plan to drive to Seattle rather than fly. THere were logistics to consider.

Still. I like to drive and I miss the opportunity flying each week. I still have the wanderlust in a less dramatic than Jack Keouric sort of way. I like to drive. There's something about it that is not primal but elemental (if that's a word). Shabby chic elegant. Nail dirty exuberant. It's point A to Point B with the breadth of time and space between. Okay. I'll shut up about it. Maybe there isn't that much to it. A few hundred miles north on I-5 and I didn't have to rent a car once I get there.

Either way; fly and rent a car or drive my own car I was going to be responsible for shuttling my mother brother and some of his friends about. For a number of reasons. My mother shouldn't be allowed to drive strange cars on roads she does not know. This translates to any motorized vehicle that she does not own and any paved surface 100 feet beyond the driveway. That is generous as the driveway can fit four cars bumper to bumper. My mother scares the hell out of passengers in her car and in others. Yet, she somehow has avoided an accident for 25 plus years. Amazing. My brother doesn't like to drive distances and hates taking direction from other people. Then there's the caveat of the built in designated driver when I am with car.

All of those reasons make some sense and there's logic involved. The decisions were mine and I had made it early on in the planning process. I was going to have to get away at some point. Forcing others to have a back-up plan created a nice buffer zone. As did booking a cheap extended stay hotel in nearby Bellevue rather than in Seattle.

The culmination of events that I carried to Seattle that weekend and what I took away is worth writing about. But not here. Not now. I'll keep the good stuff to myself but soon I'll write about the pre-wedding and the wedding and the post-wedding.

For now chew on all that and my ability to Jenga several sidebar stories out of a single thought about Seattle.

"Well, I think it's pronounced Henga, but if you wanna crap all over the Spanish language, go ahead."
- Roger, American Dad

I bought a waffle maker this weekend. Because I wanted waffles. And the waffle maker I did have was a round waffle maker. It was a cast off waffle maker that we had after the glorious four square waffle maker died. That waffle maker was amazing. I swear, my mother may have tried to scramble eggs in a microwave and bake a cake with powdered sugar instead of flour (they were both fluffy and white substances) - but the woman could make waffles on that thing.




I remember having to retrieve Grampy one day. I was 6 or 7 years old. It took 11 hours. But I found him. You would think it would be easy to find a 3-legged dog but it wasn't. Grampy had 3 legs because he like to get out out the yard. When Burger King opened on East Cypress 30 years ago Grampy was TWICE found sitting in the grass in front. Grampy had a front leg amputated after getting hit by a car. We really didn't know there was an issue until he kept rubbing the leg against the wood stacked on the side of the house and gnawing at it like a wild animal trying to get out of a trap.




My sister and mother had waffle batter ready to go as soon as I got home with Grampy. The waffles were the best I ever had more because of what they meant than how golden and perfectly crispy they were.




My mother now goes with a Belgian waffle maker. My new waffle maker is a four-square but I haven't perfected making waffles with it, yet. There are a lot of variables.




One day after school we came home and Grampy was gone. "He got out, again." That's all we were told and for several years we did not have a dog. Just Calico (she was a cat...and drooled when you pet her - it was cool). Years later I found Grampy. He was at a corner house in a fenced yard near Alta Mesa. My mother and step-father apparently gave him away.




It wasn't the best option but I understood. Even when I was 14 years old I understood why. It was tough to take and for whatever reason there wasn't a lot of rage. He was happy trompelling back and forth in that yard. So how could I be that upset? I did want Grampy to meet Sadie and Lew. But that never came to pass.




But whenever spot I a four-square waffle maker and get just a whiff of baking batter I get a nice warm feeling in my belly and elsewhere.

I am trying to figure out the best way to phrase the sentiment -

It doesn't really matter. The decision has been made. Words won't change what has already happened.

I have a few options, what do you think is best?


"There are a million things I want to talk about but nothing to say. "


"There is a lot I want to say but nothing left to talk about."


Is there a better way to word it? Do you think it loses something if it is read or if it is spoken?


And keep Echo and the Bunnymen in mind while you consider this.


Echo & the Bunnymen - Bring on the Dancing Horses




It's always nice to have feedback when writing dialogue.

Alright
I'm in love with modern moonlight
128 when it's dark outside
I'm in love with Massachusetts
I'm in love with the radio on
It helps me from being alone late at night
It helps me from being lonely late at night
I don't feel so bad now in the car
Don't feel so alone, got the radio on
Like the roadrunner
That's right

Roadrunner - Jonathan Richman and the Modern Lovers




One of the drawbacks of this current gig is the sudden interest in the budget by the client.


Blow $20,000 overnight at Kinko's because you couldn't print your own documents in a timely manner? Apparently that's okay.


Less than two people to a rental car? Absolutely not.


This is not a short term project for this client. At least a year for the implementation for the full time employees. While my contract is extended monthly. Yes, I did make the recommendation that leasing fleet vehicles would be a lot cheaper and limit liability than a dozen-plus people renting cars every week to drive less than 70 miles. Some of the full time employees drove their own cars rather than face carpooling, bumming rides and getting out of MFE's (Manufactured Fun Events).


I have no problem sharing a car with my colleague here. She's usually not going out after dark and I only need the car for the occasional run to Super Bi-Lo and Costco. So we share. Fine.


But the few weeks I did have a rental car, especially when I was in Atlanta, I am going to miss Sirius radio. Particularly channel 22, First Wave.


The radio in my car only existed for Oakland A's games in more than 10 years. In the previous Passat, the Elephants in Oakland Staff Car v2.0 (may v1.0 rest in peace), I had a 10 disc changer installed. The changer played 'regular' formatted CDs and data CDs. I could cram 700 MBs onto each disc and have 40+ hours of music, comedy, books, etc.


The only concert I can recall that I wanted to see in Redding was Devo when I was in the 5th grade. I don't think it was everyone in Redding. But I admit I sheltered myself from music as much as the environment sheltered me. Between my father and the Beach Boys and Mac Davis and my step-father with the Beatles and the Doors (he saw one of their first shows at the Whiskey) I had a polarization that created a vortex of a black hole. Or something.


I haven't been up to date on the 'modern' music scene or what you kids call 'popular' music since Pearl Jam's Vitality. Even then I was severely limited in my scope. I had a clue as to what I needed to explore. But coming from Redding I was sheltered by B94 FM. When Garth Brooks hit, my senior year of high school, the station went country. I found a Chico station 107.1 - the Who, Jimi Hendrix, the Clash, the occasional Velvet Underground and David Bowie (the Glam Rock years - Ziggy Stardust). There was still the trickling in of someone like INXS and I still had a penchant for punk, new wave but never had a chance to hear it on the radio. My friend listened to Metallica, Tesla and later grunge hit. I somehow missed out on the Pixies entirely. My friend Natalie still doesn't know how that happened.


While I could appreciate music, to some extent I had a hard time going along with a lot of it. I never really got Alice in Chains or Soundgarden. Madonna wasn't the Go Gos so I never understood that. I would rather hear songs from Mary Poppins than listen to Bobby Brown or Whitney Houston.


I had stopped watching MTV when Remote Control was in its 2nd season. I lost out on 120 Minutes. I checked in on the 8 videos they showed on YO! MTV Raps before my paper route. Though, I still caught the Young One and Monty Python's Flying Circus when they were on. I knew that Love and Rockets was the Bauhaus minus Peter Murphy but I only knew of Love and Rockets because of the video for 'No New Tale to Tell'. I knew what Monty Python was but I had never been privy to the show until I saw it on MTV. I was much more a fan of Marisol Massey than Kari Wührer.


Remote Control, like MTV, became redundant in its lack of focus. And not in a good way. Massey fit in with the NY/NJ vibe and had a guttural sex appeal - a girl in a dress. Good enough. Wührer was a transplant whose only appeal was that she was a taller girl in a better dress with implants. The banter each game of the pronunciation of her name, "it's Car-ee" rather than "Care-ee". Stuck up. The show had started to show the signs of executives giving 'notes' and changes being made by people who feel a need to tamper and tweak.


By the time I hit Nova I saw that I was completely out of the loop. I hung with the idea that Van Halen would see me through. By the way, who would have known that Eddie Van Halen would turn out to be the bigger asshole than David Lee Roth? I had no idea what the difference was between New Order and New Edition. Just that one used to be Joy Division. Depeche Mode was to be avoided, according to friends, because it was, 'a bunch of British fags'. Still, I knew I liked the Psychedelic Furs and the English Beat. I liked REM and I liked the Ramones. I liked the Clash but thought "Rock the Casbah" was somehow lost in the video and was better without the visuals. I knew at some point I needed to hear the Sex Pistols after seeing the last 45 minutes of 'Sid and Nancy'. I liked Bowie even though I didn't understand "China Girl". I liked the Police until "Every Breath You Take". The first signs of that pompous ass Sting. But buying tapes or records just wasn't something my money went to. The first album I ever asked for was the Police, Zenyatta Mondatta. Of course I bought Kiss, Lick it Up and Quiet Riot, Metal Health all on my own and they proved to be bad decisions. By the end of my freshman year Guns 'n' Roses hit so it really didn't matter, anyway. My money went to BMX racing.


Look, I know I am critical and it's part of a process that I don't completely understand. But I can tell exactly why I don't like something in a rational manner and construct a logical argument to support my view. Saying, "I think it sucks" doesn't really cover it. When I like something it is much harder for me to explain.


Anyway.


Over the last 20 years my taste in music has gone from whatever Greatest Hits albums I could get off of Columbia House - yah, I was too cheap too buy an album for one song - to downloading every version of 'Love Will Tear Us Apart' including cover versions. I still hold out for The Who and the Beatles to join forces for a tour. Paul on bass and background vocals. Ringo on drums. Pete Townsend on guitar with Roger Daltrey on vocals. I'd pay $500 to see that.


What was nice about stumbling on to Sirius was that a large portion of their playlist was already on my iPod. I heard 'Save it to Later' a few moments after it running through my head. I heard Bow Wow Wow, 'Do You Wanna Hold Me?'. I hadn't heard that song since 1984. I heard Nick Kershaw for the first time when it wasn't in the movie 'Pretty in Pink' (rumor has it that Molly Ringwald came up with the name of the movie because she loved the Psychedelic Furs song). The Rave Ups (did you know it was Molly Ringwald's favorite band and that she was from Sacramento?). I heard, in order, 'Girlfriend in a Coma', 'Bring on the Dancing Horses', 'See the Lights', 'Dreaming' and 'Blue Highway'.


Late Sunday driving back from the 3rd and final game of the A's at the Braves 'Heartbreak Beat' came on as I pulled up to the apartment and parked. I listened and thought and thought and smiled and thought. I looked at my cell phone and did the math. I decided against calling. Even though it was only 10'ish on the West Coast. I was not sure what to say. It's hard to tell someone what you're thinking when it all doesn't really matter and you just want to hear the sound of their voice.


There's a connection with music that can be described and there's a connection that can't be explained. I just like it and I know it.

There are certain situations whereby people are granted slack to get upset, or even angry. But there is always a balance if you look for it.

• Arriving in the hotel lobby at precisely 7:43 AM for the 7:45 AM shuttle to EPIC completing the 'perfect' check out….only to be told the driver had just left.
  
  
  The balance: the manager drives you in his car to EPIC and curses the driver and the phrase, "slime fuck" is now in your lexicon.
  
  
  
• The waft of feet in the air before the plane door closes for a 3 hour flight.
  
  
  The balance: a drunken passenger loudly demands someone put their shoes back on or, "jump off the goddamn bus." Bus, plane. No big deal.
  
  
  
• Being berated in email by your boss that the protocol for registering with EPIC was not followed for consultant training.
  
  
  The balance: forwarding email confirming that there was never mention of a policy and in fact one doesn't exist and your boss 'sort of' apologizing since your company doesn't really have a protocol written up either.
  
  
  
• No restaurants nearby the hotel…Pizza Hut does not count.



The balance: not being hungry and running five miles on the treadmill for dinner.



• Nothing on the 83 channels of TV in the hotel.



The balance: streaming BlackAdder from sidereel.com



• Waiting for your delayed flight.



The balance: waiting in line for your delayed flight next to a former Wisconsin University volleyball player.

It's been a little over six months since I left UC Davis Health System and joined maxIT Healthcare. I have gone from Full Time Employee and a cubicle to a consultant and owning the room. I have gone from walking three blocks from my front door to the office each weekday on my commute to work to crossing three time zones each week. I have also gone from underpaid and underappreciated to 'nicely' paid and regarded. Well, it's better than disregarded but still below well regarded.

I thought it would be a good opportunity to bloggity a bit and run down some of the stuff about my job...JHC, I have a career now.

There have been a lot of interesting things that have happened in the last six months that I should have been writing about during the last several months but...

...and a lot of people I used to talk to and even see on a regular basis have dropped and fallen off the radar...

So I have been thinking that perhaps what I have to say isn't that funny or insightful and the things I have written in the past really didn't make much sense. I haven't been writing at Elephants in Oakland not from a lack of interest. I am not sure why.

I have pieces of articles and parts essays that are half-finished, half-thought or not worth my two cents let alone a penny for my thoughts. Like the article about 400 manholes being stolen in Flint, MI that are being sold for scrap metal. Sure the city insists that it will install new manhole covers with a special bolt to secure the manholes that only they will have the wrench that fits. Won't they just steal the wrench?

Really, though, what kind of headline is "Manholes go Missing" for an article? I didn't know whether I needed to schedule a colonoscopy or invest in catheters before I read the article.

I am not miserable or lost or drowning in my own pity. Just thinking about what has happened in the last year and a half. Where I was last year at this time and how I was feeling. Where I was with my job and financially. What was going on with my family.

For whatever reason I have crushed my own passion and rendered it to a nondescript part of my personality. Tucking it away like that E-Z Crunch exercise machine you swear you'll use someday right next to the pair of parachute pants you just know will be in style again any day now.


There are people in my life that suddenly only exist via MySpace and Facebook.

I am not sure that anything other than that last sentence makes sense.

But even some of those people no longer exist.

I just think it sucks. That's all.


"I'm in a broken dream, I stare out into space"

For the rest of my life I will now be haunted with my idiocy of this evening.

I was summoned to the Labor & Delivery Department to help a nurse having trouble with the bar code scanner that dispenses medications. I offered congratulations over my shoulder to the new family.

When I walked out I thought, that was a really small, small baby the mother was holding.

I went back to the nurse's station and waited until the two nurses finished documenting the patient's chart in the system.

They both said that what I said was very sweet. But, the baby was stillborn.

I can now unofficially officially announce what the hell is going on now that I have told the person I was waiting to tell the thing that I wanted to tell them about what the hell is going on.

It does make sense.

I resigned from UC Davis Medical Center in late January. I like to say, "I quit" because it's rare you get to say something of that nature and for it to be a true positive.

There were a lot of reasons to quit and I now kick myself for not doing it much sooner. There are still outstanding issues that need to be resolved; name a hefty piece of back pay and a few laws they broke.
I resigned after I received a formal offer from MaxIT Healthcare (http://maxithealthcare.com/) . After returning to UCDMC after an extended leave my last button was pushed. This was long after the camel's broken back and beyond things having been torn. I finally answered a call from a headhunter who got me in touch with MaxIT. I submitted my resume via PDA and within 48 hours I had a contingent offer and was interviewing with a prospective client. And this was during the holidays when business usually slows to a crawl.

While many people quibble that it is rude to talk about how much money they make - I think that is bullshit of the highest order. Had I known was consultants make in the healthcare field I would have left UCDMC years prior. How are people to know better opportunities exist unless they are smacked in the face by sheer raw numbers? Money is the best motivator by far. To be motivated you have to ingest and analyze what your financial needs are.

With that in mind I am making a lot…almost twice what I was making at UCDMC. So...near six figures. There is a bonus structure in place that nets a nice sum, too. For every hour over 40 I work I split with MaxIT. I bill at $115 an hour. I haven't had to go over 40 much in my first month but I can that I will be in the future.

I am a Senior Consultant. That's right Senior Consultant. SENIOR. I think everyone is a Senior Consultant. The women are not Seniora Consultants. You just have to imagine that a client is easily sold when MaxIT tells them the have a Senior Consultant available to contract out.

The benefits are on par with UCDMC as far as medical. The retirement package is a little better with a 6% matching 401K plan. There's a $50 a day per diem. This is great since I don't have to worry about receipts. Though I do recommend that if you can – pick up Neat Receipts (http://www.neatreceipts.com/) it will change your life. The travel is paid for – I just schedule it via the company's AmEx website.

I am currently contracted out on a six month gig for Bon Secours Hospital System. I am working in their Richmond office for another week and half then I will be in Greenville, SC for a few weeks. It is scary. They listen to country music by choice.

The job is similar to what I did at UCDMC. Except they actually listen to me here and they respect my opinion. When I make a suggestion they often go with it after consideration rather than rejecting it as modus operandi.

The people at Bon Secours are bright and funny and nice. It is the polar opposite of UCDMC. This is just an awful place to be. Yet, some of us have an undue sense of loyalty and stick around even when there is nothing left of the dead horse to beat.

Starting in April I will be able to work from home a lot unless there is some sort of emergency and they need me on site. My current schedule includes spending most of Sunday traveling to Richmond. Well, to Norfolk then driving to Richmond. It saves Bon Secours about $300 a week.

When I left UCDMC my last paycheck flush with 300+ hours of vacation time and my big tax return came in one day. I was very tempted to throw it all away on something I didn't need. Like supplemental life insurance or extended warranties on my appliances. Having the new job completely changed my outlook and priorities. It went from worrying about things paycheck to paycheck to worrying about investments and retirement. This from someone who doesn't make plans for later that night because it is too far in advance.

My contact information remains the same:
zacharydmanprin@gmail.com
(916)xxx-xxxx – cell (yes, you can text message me)

You don't need my home phone number since I don't have a phone hooked up. I use my phone line for DSL and I just check my voice mail once every few months. You don't need my work email either since I check my Gmail account on my PDA.

I am still running Elephants in Oakland and I am working on two other web projects and a few articles, odds and ends.

I will not be in Sacramento for 2nd Saturday next weekend but I will be in April. I would like to have a gathering if people will bother to show up eat my food and drink my booze.

Anyway.

Get back to work or whatever is more important than not emailing me.

Is there a worse crime? I suppose there is...when people tell you they are sick of their spam messages and to change their damn MySpace password already.

"Somebody wrote something bad about you on their MySpace blog..."

And that will get me to log into a false site and give away my username and password?

I am fairly certain that 'bad' would be the most frequent description of things written about me. If they are true, then I suppose the word would be accurate.

Oh, the point is, people who send spam are not cool.