A business of our own

The wife and I often throw around ideas by which we might become independently wealthy or at least independently independent.  If you look at your current situation, and you work for "the man" or the "woman" you are essentially co-dependent, due largely in part because you depend on the company for sustenance.  This is absolutely fine for those folks who have no problem with working for someone, abiding by somelse's rules and being told when/where you have to work.  As a matter of fact, I'm a lover of those who create jobs for others.  It's just that at this point in my life I have a desire to branch out and try a few things on my own. 

Without giving our double top secret plans away, I've gone through a process of elimination when it comes to my future career possibilities.  Below is a list, which isn't comprehensive by any stretch of the imagination, of those career choices I've scratched from my "maybe" list:

• Chippendale dancer--can you say Chris Farley?  My six pack abs are in hibernation but the possibility of dancing brought about by "man-scaping" has made this plausible.
• Astronaut--this was a possibility until someone told me I had to have above average math skills.  Scratch.
• Police officer--this sounded cool until my run-in with the state trooper in Indianapolis.  I can't be a douche like that guy.  Next.
• Doctor--I have to be smart.  Ain't happening.
• Actor--I have to be skinny and an idiot.  I'm halfway there.  Winning!
• Lawn service owner--my Spanish sucks.
• Wal-Mart greeter--I admire these people and wouldn't mind giving it a go, but I would probably get in trouble for telling people they can't enter the store "dressed like that."
• Master brewer--this one caught my attention and I'm keeping it on my radar.
• Lead guitarist/singer in my own band--I wanted to do this, but I can't play or sing.
• Poet--I was told that bathroom lymrics weren't recognized as "poetic."  But I say they've never heard me recite, "They paint these walls to cover my pen....."
• Cult leader--I can't sit still long enough to prophesy.
• Politician--I have to be full of crap and have lots of skeletons in my closet.  Hhhmmmm.........
• Fireman--this was a possibility, but when I attempted to negotiate only fighting fires between nine in the morning to five in the afternoon I was asked to leave the firehouse.
• Weatherman--I actually got a screen test, but couldn't stop repeating myself everytime I said, "hook echo." 
• State road employee--I can't quite figure out what fifteen of these guys do while one actually works, so I don't know what qualifications to put on my resume.
• CIA agent--I was cool with this until I was told I had to keep a secret.  Dang it.
• President of a large bank--I have a conscious and couldn't screw people out of their money.
• Master carpenter--I love building things but struggle getting corners squared.
• Electrician--I got laughed at during the interview when I kept touching the end of the wire and quickly withdrawing my hand because I simply wanted to make sure the wire wasn't live.

As I stated above, this list is not comprehensive by any means, but I figured I needed a list, recognize my own faults, flaws and limitations then begin eliminating those careers that don't necessarily fit.

Scooter

For those who follow my blog, you know I enjoy writing about my life, the funny things I encounter along the way, my personal interpretations of "things" that I find humorous and interesting and hilarious discussion or dialogue.  Riding my motorcycle is very theraputic for me; most of the time riding lacks much humor, nor does it allow me to engage in any sort of discussion.  What riding does allow me to do is to clear my mind and enjoy Americana, experiencing it through all senses, something cages (what bikers call closed in vehicles) will not.  Many times, though, there has been some funny dialogue that took place on rides when I've stopped to get gas, stay overnight somewhere or simply slowing down because there's contstruction work going on.  The book I'm still working on details a couple of those adventures and some of the events of those rides, but today I had a chance to think back on some of the more humorous things that have happened or been said while on the open road.

My buddy Kerry Lee has consistently given me a hard time because Scooter (the name I've given my bike) is Japanese made.  Harley Davidson riders always give the "rice burners" difficulty through good natured ribbing and Kerry takes every advantage of the opportunity with me--primarily because I'm a class A smart ass and wear him out at all costs.  I don't blame him one bit for taking what most would consider an easy shot at me, but while he and I were riding through the Smokey Mountains of Tennessee he lost the baffles from his 2002 Harley Davidson Heritage Softail Classic.  The baffles are placed inside tail pipes on motorcycles and both muffle and change a bike's sound and are largely responsible for the musical roar you hear while bikers throttle their engines.  While we were riding his somehow came loose and flew out of the tail pipe.  When we stopped at a traffic light he was obviously embarrassed and upset at the sound of his machine, not to mention the bike's riding performance.  Not wanting to miss an opportunity to give Kerry some grief I glanced over at him, seeing his head hanging low to avoid the confused stares proffered by curious onlookers, and said with a straight face, "Hey, your bike sounds like a rice burner.  I know a good mechanic if you need one."  With that I erupted into laughter and we rode on, his bike sounding like a sick and dying big horned sheep, Kerry fuming at my wise crack.

While riding through New Orleans Kerry Lee and I decided to stay the night and hang out in the French Quarter.  We were in a club on Bourbon Street and I told him I had to go to the restroom but would be back in a minute.  Upon my return, I found him making out with a chick.  This chick was a parapelegic and bound to a wheelchair.  I was flabbergasted and felt my body going into shock, as I was certain he was probably breaking at least twenty laws even though we were in Louisiana.  Ugh.

During another ride, Kerry and I were in Destin, Florida and had spent a gruelling day in and out of construction.  The temperature was somewhere north of hotter than the hinges of hell but things were looking up as we exited a construction zone and traversed a bridge.  On the bay below a "fishing rodeo" was taking place.  By fishing rodeo, this meant hundreds of boats and thousands of girls in bikinis.  I was twisting in and out of traffic to get a look at the scene in the salty inlet when I noticed a set of red and blue lights erupt behind me.  I received a ticket from the most pissed off cop you could ever imagine to meet.  He was approximately four feet nothing and had obviously been bullied while in high school; now it was his time to get even with the world.  "Do you know how fast you were riding," he screamed at me?! 

"Nope, but I'm pretty sure you're about to tell me," I replied, hoping he would find my retort funny.  On the contrary, I earned a ticket for speeding and riding in the state of Florida with no helmet because I couldn't produce proof of $10,000 worth of medical liability insurance.  It's true--look it up.  When I gave the officer my medical insurance card, which didn't provide the amount of liability insurance I was covered up to, he inquired as to the amount.  "Well, if you'll call that 1-800 number on the back, sir (I was attempting to be polite after he obviously didn't find me funny), you'll see that I'm covered up to....."  He didn't give me a chance to finish. 

"Do I look like your GD (you know the abbreviation) secretary?"

"Tell ya what officer, why don't you go ahead and write that ticket," I replied?

While riding through Kentucky several years ago with my good friend Becky, I accidentally sprayed her with some very disgusting spittle, as she rode her bike just behind me.  This was during my chewing tobacco years and riding a motorcyle never deterred my from putting a wad of Red Man in my mouth.  She didn't find my spit funny at all, but I cackled.  As I look back on it (and especially since I've stopped smokeless tobacco) I see her side of the issue. 

Just today, on our ride from the Chicago suburbs to Beloit, Wisconsin, my wife, who never, ever sweats, remarked, "My butt is soaked."  The outdoor temperature was 90+ degrees and much hotter than that on the open highway.  I laughed all the way to the state line. 

There's been a ton of adventures and generally funny stuff that's happened while I've ridden across this great country.  These are just a sampling of the stories that reminded me of a time......

The Bama Trip (and it is a trip) Part V

Saturday evening brought about an end to this Bama journey but left me with an indelible taste for the state in general and the area in particular.  Cathy and I are both counting the days until our next trip and now recognize our new house as our home. 
A few other memorable moments from the trip:

• Meeting our next door neighbors who are exceptionally nice and polite.  Danny told us, when asked where we live and where we were from (and upon my telling him Marshall County is home), "Once you get Sand Mountain between your toes you always come back."
• We had a couple of bonfires while we were there and the kids roasted hot dogs and made smores. 
• We met Molly, the neighbor's dog, who will be the subject of a later writing. 
• I got to see friends and family that I haven't seen in a long time.  And I hope it'll be a long time before I see some of them again.
• We saw numerous turtles coming out of the lake making their annual pilgrimage to lay their eggs away from the water and natural predators.  Many of them made their way through our yard; apparently they weren't aware they were trespassing.
• Alabama drivers are still the worst in the country; glad to see some things haven't changed.
• I've learned that I've lost some of my patience for the pace of the South--I hope to correct this very soon.
• Alabamians love my wife but strangers don't want to talk to the yankee.
• I didn't get a ticket in Indiana, nor did I see the Indiana state trooper in the white undercover Dodge pick-up truck.
• Wintzell's has really good food.
• I'm getting tired of Cracker Barrel.
• I'm really tired of Lowe's.
• I'm really, really tired of hanging blinds and curtain rods.

This concludes my five part Bama Trip series.  Can't wait for the next road romp!

The Bama Trip (and it is a trip) Part IV

Okay look--by Wednesday I was worn slap out, sunburned, dehydrated and wanting to do absolutely nothing.  I was going to lay down the law with the wife and tell her right quick that I wasn't working on that particular day.

As a result I went to Lowe's with her, helped pick out curtain rods, hit a few other stores and prepared to install both the curtain rods and blinds.  As I've told you all before: I wear the pants in the family....she just tells me which pair to wear.

With a ratcheting screw driver in hand, I hung what seemed like four or five hundred curtain rods.  In all actuality I put up about ten of them, but I cranked on that screw driver until I thought my hand and elbow would fall off.  I put beds together while Cathy continued putting stuff up in the house.  I was amazed at how quickly she managed to organize and situate things.  If only I could get her to hang up curtain rods I would have had it made. 

We had a security system put in and this good looking muscular kid showed up to install it.  Cassidy, Abby and my wife ogled the guy while I did the weed eating on Thursday.  Whatever keeps them occupied I reckon; I just wanted to take enough time weed eating that I wouldn't be given another task.  Hopefully the security system guy would strike a few hundred double biceps poses for the girls so I would be left alone.

Friday came and Cathy told me to take the day off.  I decided to go fishing and ran to our local Wal-Mart to buy some crickets and worms.  I asked my next door neighbor if I could fish off their pier and she agreed.  She agreed because I told her if she wouldn't let me fish off it, I would be asking her husband to build me one.  Laughing, she told me to go ahead.  The millfoil was so thick the fish didn't get to awful close to my bait, resulting in a lot of drowned crickets and worms but no bream.  I also saw a cloud blowing up so I packed it up and walked back to the house.  Cathy asked how the fishing had gone?  "Not too good."  "Oh," she replied, "why don't you edge the driveway?" 

I had never understood why husbands beat their wives.....until now.

The Bama Trip (and it is a trip) Part III

Cathy worked diligently in the house to get things put away and organized.  I sat around and moaned about how sore I was after unloading all of our crap.  We stayed at Mom's Sunday night but moved to our new home Monday evening and met my friends Rachel and Tonya for dinner.  We got to see friends and I got to eat.  It was a win/win.

Monday saw the dawn of a new era for us--the Lowe's Era.  If we made one trip to Lowe's we made a thousand.  By the end of the week I was on speaking terms with just about every employee, knew something about most of them and probably knew a few of their kin folks.  Had there been an opportunity to run for President of Lowe's I would have been a front runner because it seemed like I politiced as much as I purchased, which was a lot.

Tuesday we had the stuff we had ordered from Lowe's delivered to the house.  Specifically, my new riding mower showed up.  I gave the instruction manual a cursory glance, threw it aside and cranked ole girl up.  The transmission wouldn't engage but my temper did--I was not happy.  For ten minutes I fiddled with the mower, actually read the manual and gradually became more frustrated.  Finally, in a huff, I got off Big Green fully prepared to give it a kick when I noticed a metal "bar" sticking out the lower bottom of the mower.  Alongside the bar was a diagram depicting the engagement of the transmission (I just had to push the bar in).  In my defense, it wasn't outlined in the manual, which made me even madder.

I hopped back on Big Green and proceded to mow.....and mow.......and mow.  When I got tired of mowing, I mowed some more.....and more....and more.  My skin tone was now a beautiful crimson, which ironically matches my favorite football team's colors.  My skin hurt like Donte' Hightower had just sacked me for a twenty yard loss.  The bugs ate on me like a bucktoothed kid would chew on a cob of corn.  I stank like a dumpster.  But at the end of the day I had mowed five and a half acres of land (with help from Harvey, my step-pops). 

I took a shower and my wife asked if I wanted to go to Lowe's because we needed something else.  I wondered if I would get the house in the divorce.

The Bama Trip (and it is a trip) Part II

I awoke just outside Nashville, Tennessee and looked over at my wife who had taken on the chore of driving around O' My God Early.  Her eyes were beginning to glaze over but she continued on like the trooper she is, however, I didn't want her to drive through Nash-Vegas because of the multiple switchbacks on I-65 (if you've ever driven through Nashville you know exactly what I'm talking about).  She could certainly handle the drive, but I didn't want to subject her to unfamiliar roads while she was that tired, so I asked her to pull over so I could take the wheel. 

I got us through Nasty-ville and across the Alabama state line.  We pulled over at the rest stop on 65; you know, the one with the rocket.  Once again I was fighting sleep deprivation so Cathy agreed to get us to my mom's house.  She's just awesome like that.

We finally arrived at mom's place around 5:45 AM on Saturday, got a couple of hours of sleep then got up to head to a family reunion.  I had forgotten what it was like to be at one of my family reunions and laughed at the lunacy that is a redneck gathering (rather sophisticated rednecks, if you will).  I surveyed the family asking if anyone was interested in helping me unload our moving POD later in the day.  No luck!  Yep, they were already treating me like family.  Actually, I did have a cousin step up and say he would help, so that's cool (and I know he's probably reading this so he would have called me out anyway).

After destroying one of the seven deadly sins (gluttony) at the reunion, we put the car on Highway 431 southbound for our new home.  The day of reckoning had officially arrived!  When we pulled up to the house, the POD had been gingerly placed, part of my long driveway cracked and broken under its weight.  "Wonderful," I thought, "something else to fix and pay for."  We unlocked the house and opened the POD to find everything as we had packed it--crammed to the POD gills.  Much to my surprise, two of my uncles and one of my aunts showed up to help!  Had I not been so manly, I would have cried.  Instead, I jumped into the POD and began handing them really, really heavy boxes and furniture before they changed their minds.  Did I mention it was ninety-six freaking degrees and around 1000% humidity? 

We got everything unloaded pretty quickly and moved into the house where Cathy wanted it.  Couches, chairs, tables, beds, some very heavy bedroom furniture, desks, etc. were placed with care.  I couldn't have asked for better help; my mom and step-dad had jumped into the fray to help too. 

After finishing the unpacking and telling my extended family thanks and bidding them farewell, I took some time to survey our property.  The grass had only been cut once since March and was now around mid-shin height in some areas while other areas were overgrown to the point of being renamed the Upton Rainforest Preserve.  This was going to be fun to mow--insert sarcasm--but unfortunately my mower wouldn't arrive until Tuesday.  This gave me a couple of days for the wife and I to get the house in order before tackling the five plus acres of hay and faux wheat.

And thus began my two hundred trips to Lowe's.  You know why Lowe's knows?  Because you have to go there so often!

The Bama Trip (and it is a trip) Part I

I've spent the last week removed from what most would consider civilization; that is, disconnected electronically from the rest of the world.  Admittedly, it was a struggle for me at first, but after a day or two of jerky withdrawals I was able to focus on the things that mattered--like moving into my new home.  I've had a few hours to recall my ride to and stay in Alabama and since it's been a couple of weeks since my last post, I thought I would share this recent run of memories with you, faithful reader.

I worked all day Friday May 25th at my job that actually pays me money.  I distinguish between this job and my home "job," because I'm not paid to work at home, or at least not monetarily. The 25th began around 6:00 AM and wrapped up around 4:00 PM, a fairly typical work day, minus an hour or two.  I was excited about getting to Alabama and my new home, but had to drive to my Chicago home to pick up the wife and Abby before swinging through Indiana to pick up my youngest, Cassidy.  Memorial Day traffic was brutal and for two hours we were stuck in a flotilla of cars and trucks trying to get out of the city.

We finally picked up Cassidy and hit Interstate 65 South pointing toward Alabama and the promised land.  Everyone else was giddy and chatty; I was focused but tired.  Driving across Indiana is like walking across broken glass barefoot for six hours, but not as pleasant.  And given my recent run-in with Indianapolis law enforcement personnel, I was forced to drive pretty close to the speed limit because my domestic navigator was insistent that I do so.

Sometime around Elizabethtown, Kentucky, which equated to 1:00 AM CST (and almost twenty-four hours without sleep), I began to see large birds and figurines standing along the roadside.  When I say large birds and figurines, I'm not talking about your run-of-the-mill buzzard; on the contrary, I'm talking about birds, wings tucked stoicly by their sides, majestically standing four stories tall.  I realize now I was not at all frightened but simply amazed at how large these birds were!  And the figurines of clowns and people from American history were just as impressive. 

Now, I reckon when my wife awoke from her nap on the passenger side she must have noted the look of utter amazement on my face.  "Do you need me to drive, honey?"

I quickly shook my head wanting to engage her in conversation and show her the gigantic birds and figurines lining the expressway.  However, once I had shook my head and cleared the cobwebs I realized I must have been halucinating.  Fortunately, I didn't say anything to her about what I had "seen," and replied, "Uh, yeah.  You can drive."

We changed places, my head hit the head rest on the seat and I didn't remember anything else until Nashville, Tennessee.......