My Next Forty Years

So, uh, Hi!

It's been a long time since I posted here (two years and eight months, yeesh). cuboz nudged me and who am I to say no to a redheaded Kiwi.  And it's my birthday so I get to plagiarize a Tim McGraw song.  It all wraps up into a nice little package.

I'm a bit pressed for time, because I have to leave for work in 45 minutes.  That's probably biggish piece of news number 1.  I do not work for BNSF railroad, and I haven't for approximately two years now.  After six months certain parts of the job just freaking got to me: living in a town smaller than my high school, working a 24/7 call with a 90 minute lead time, living in fucking Wyoming (I had to drive two hours to Montana to see another gay person).  All around, a bad choice.  So, I quit my job, moved in with my former roommate (who now has a house in Vacaville, which is about halfway between Sacramento and San Francisco), and wound up working for Toys R Us for a little over a year.  God, I hate working retail.

With my second Christmas season working in a toy store looming, I jumped on a chance to take a job with Apple.  It's a temporary job (I can work for a maximum of one year, and then I have to be away for 3 months, see Vizcaino v. Microsoft), but there's a possibility of being permanently hired.  That's what I'm working on right now.  My current position is iPod RoR (repair or replace) lead.  I supervise a team of people who receive people iPods and determine if they can be replaced under warranty (we don't repair iPods anymore).  It's a decent job, but I'm only supervising nine people, versus the 120 I supervised in iPhone up until three weeks ago, so I'm a trifle bored at work on occasion.

On other fronts, I am producing the International Mr. Bootblack competition.  This will be my third year doing so.  It's a massive amount of fun, but also a giant ball of stress that devours my free time for a few months every year.  We're about five weeks out, so I am hopping, right now.

In terms of my love life....Lassie, go get help; there's no one down the well!  I've been single for about eight years now.  I'm fine being single, but I'd love a little regular something-something, if you know what I mean.  I mean, I haven't taken a vow of chastity, but I've grown pickier as I get older, so there's a lot of, "He's cute, but do I really have the patience for all that bullshit right now?"

And that's about all I got.  I haven't been two-stepping forever (not counting an evening in Palm Springs last Labor Day), I only occasionally bootblack at the SF Eagle (because I live an hour away and am apparently the bootblack of last resort).

Do I have the perfect life? No.  I have a decent life, with a lot of potential to get better.  And I have fifteen minutes to get gone for work, so I'm gonna let this rest.

I hope to have time to write a bit more, but I can't guarantee anything.


OH!  And one other thing.  I'm on Twitter as @Bootdog1974.  Just sayin'.

So, I'm back. And...I'm kinda leaving.

This is a good thing!  Good thing!

I'm not leaving LiveJournal (anymore than I already have, which is sort of "completely", but I may make some time to keep up soon, for reasons that should become obvious.)

You see, there's this...thing...that's happened.  I just got a job offer.

Here's the really cool part: I'm going to be a Freight Conductor for the Burlington Northern Santa Fe Railroad (BNSF).  I'm going to drive choo-choos (eventually; it's...complicated).

And now the really uncool part: The job is located in Greybull, Wyoming.  It's not the middle of nowhere, but you can see it from there.

On the one hand, this is really neat.  I get to do the whole romantic Wild West thing.  I get to do something that has fascinated me, on some level, since I was a little kid.  On the other, Wyoming is the only state in the U.S. that doesn't have a gay bar in it.  Let's not forget that Matthew Shepard was killed outside of Laramie.  I'm going to be working in a teeny little bitty podunk town with a bunch of guys who, let's face it, would kick my teeth in if they ever got wind of...well, just about any part of my personal life.  Hell, someone advised me not to let anyone know I had an MBA. (And please, let's not go into the whole "You got an MBA so that you could work alongside guys who are fresh out of high-school?" thing, because I have gotten that one up side and down the other from my mother and sister.)

Is it still "finding oneself" if one has to completely hide everything about oneself?

One of the job requirements is that I can't request a transfer to any other location for three years (and after that, God knows how long it'll be until I have enough seniority to transfer somewhere nice).  So I'll be stuck in a state where I literally know no one.  The closest place I can go to be myself (Billings, Montana) is two hours away, and for leather, it's an eight-hour drive to Denver.

I don't know.  This is a great opportunity.  The best I've done so far is a part-time gig for FedEx Freight, which brings in approximately half of what the BNSF job offers and requires me to get up at 2 fucking am every morning.  I should have been in bed two hours ago, but I can't sleep.

So that's where I am right now.  There's really no good reason to say no to this job, and quite a few good reasons to say yes.  I'm just going to have to stop being me for a while.


I've missed you all terribly.  I promise that I'll actually read LJ occasionally.



(no subject)

Yeah, it's been a while.  I've been sooper sooper busy.  Substantive post to follow.

But I wanted to share this.  Yesterday, I received a political mailing from my Alderman, Joe Moore, who is up for reelection.  On one side is a photo of the owner of a local restaurant and some "Joe Moore is a man of the people who wants to support the small business person" text.  On the other side is a shot of him and a bunch of "just plain folks" doing something bizarre and obviously staged at a farmers' market; a bunch of carrots, a rope of what looks like raffia, and a tree branch cutter are involved.  And a guy who looks like an extra from Pirates of the Caribbean.

And then there's the following photo...
Cut for dramatic/comedic purposesCollapse )

Yes, we know.

You have the only social/political/economic worldview that possesses any nuance.  Everyone else's philosophies, particularly those with whom you disagree, can be easily summed up in one disparaging sentence.  And they can all be proven to be either blinkered, facile sheep or evil, rapacious villains with the use of a short, smug, dismissive refutation of whatever you assert is their primary ethos.  And maybe a portmanteau that ends in "-tard".

We know.  But thanks for continually reminding us.

Suggestions, Please!

So, I've volunteered to bring wine to my family's Thanksgiving celebration (a bottle of red, a bottle of white, perhaps a bottle of Advil tonight).

Last year, I also brought the makings of Poor Man's Black Velvet (aka Snakebite aka hard cider and Guinness), which was well-received.  I was considering bringing the makings for Silver Bullets (gin, kummel, and lemon juice), but I think that cocktail is a little too dry for my family's tastes.

So I ask you, O LiveJournal, do you have any thoughts about an interesting cocktail I could bring with me for Thanksgiving dinner?  It doesn't need to be super sweet or super fruity.  Interesting is better.  As is unusual.

For reference purposes, here are a few drinks that members of my family have expressed a taste for:

White-wine spritzer (don't knock it, on a hot July 4th, it's the nectar of the gods)
Campari and soda
Saint Germain and white wine (which I found cloying)


A Short Dramatic Reading From Pulp Fiction

Ringo: Chill out now, honey bunny!

Jules: All right, now tell her it's gonna be all right.

Ringo: It's gonna be all right.

Jules: Promise her!

Ringo: I promise!

Jules: Tell her to chill!

Ringo: Just chill out, honey bunny!

Jules: All right, now tell me her name.

Ringo: Yolanda.

Jules: All right now, Yolanda!  We're not gonna do anything stupid, are we?

Yolanda: Don't you hurt him!

Jules: Nobody ain't gonna hurt anybody.  We're all gonna be like three little Fonzies here. And what's Fonzie like?  C'mon Yolanda, what's Fonzie's like?

Yolanda: Cool?

And what do three little Fonzies say?

Come on, Yolanda! What do three little Fonzies say?Collapse )

Little People Dog

Oh my!

A year and a half ago, I purchased an made-to-order item at an auction at a leather event.  I was measured and the item was to be in my hands within a month.  Then I totally forgot about it.  As, apparently, did the person who was to construct said item.

This evening, that person tracked me down on Fetlife and contacted me, apologized abjectly for letting life get in the way of their commitment, and said that the item was finally finished and would be in the mail as soon as I gave them my mailing address.

That was unexpected.  And tres cool.  Photos will happen when I get the item.

What the?

In order to get my mind around certain social networking concepts, I have to line them up with some sort of allegory to the real world.  For example, LJ to me is largely the equivalent of standing around in a bar tooshing the tish (bonus points for successfully IDing the reference, and Google won't help you) with various people of varying degrees of familiarity.  Facebook is more like the lunchroom at school, which is why I'll need a substantial cash payout to even THINK of getting going there.

So why are people that I've never heard of following me on Twitter when all we have in common is we're both following Scissor Sisters?  Particularly in light of the fact that my only tweet thus far is "T'anks" in response to bigfootcub saying "Welcome to Twitter."

The puppy is officially confused.