Nope, I'm Not Going To Make A Reference To a David Bowie Song

So, hi there. Been awhile, hasn't it? 

My last post was over half a year ago. I'll stop myself from waxing too philosophic about getting older and time moving faster, but suffice it to say I'm shocked by that. This is actually something I really enjoy doing. So, I'm finally taking a moment to lay the devices and the day down and get to some explaining. 

I'm presently sitting in my hotel room in Cleveland, a place that I don't so much as unpack but move into. My stay is 19 nights. The Hilton points are glorious. 

The first change worth mentioning is that I'm writing my first post that's completely done on my iPad. Thank you Bluetooth technology. I really do require an actual keyboard. This leads to another change. My beloved (and I'm not really being facetious) BlackBerry has died. Thus, my devotion to the BlackBerry has died as well. I've kept my iDevices for lo these many years, but held on to my Tyrone (his name from Curve to Bold). We've taken walks on the beach, snuggled during sofa naps. He was always responsive and ready with his efficient and confident bounce/click on the keyboard (even after several of his letters had worn away). 

Yet, his successors forwent the keyboard, leaving me no choice but to complete the iFamily. I dare not speak its name in the same post. My fingertips will be forever longing for that reassuring click of a word/text/email/post without the intrusion of Siri, auto-correct or push alert. Adieu, Tyrone. 

But back to the reason I'm in Cleveland: the new job. I have taken a new job with the same company, but a bit of a different gig. The impetus for the change being the ever constant threat of layoffs and my desire to just get the hell out. So, I'm now no longer occasionally loaned to the Catastrophe Team; I'm part of it. This means that my new work schedule is 20 days "on" and 8 days "off". 

During the 20 days, I'll usually be in Cleveland, the site of our Response Center. While here, I'll do a little bit of everything. I'll organize people "on the ground" in various locations where Catastrophe has happened, and I'll work directly with folks who are presenting claims as a result of said catastrophes. I should also mention that "catastrophe" can include a large, populated area being hit by fairly innocuous hail to tornadoes tearing apart a town. A laugh about baseball sized hail pelting you as you try to cover the car in pillows and then tears with someone as they talk about losing everything can easily happen on any day. 

We work long hours. 7:45am to 7pm. Everyday. One day off over the 20. I come home spent and to people who love me and take care of me .I'm grateful and spoiled. 

I'm also a bit disconnected. I try not to be. The iDevices help. But, while here my mom has lost her job, and a few other actual tragedies have happened in the lives of people I love. I try not to let distance equate distance and send the love/hurt/empathy as much as the pixels let me. It always feels trite and not enough. I'm working on being sure I try anyway, because my initial reaction is to not do anything, because it doesn't feel as authentic as what I might do or say were I there in person. 

I'm midway though a rotation now and very much looking forward to the time I'm about to get home, complete with a mini-vacation to Atlanta where I'll get to boo the Braves in person and bask in the not quite full drag glow of the Beyonce. I also hope I'll get the chance to get and give the hugs and words that I need to. Until then, I'm pulling Carole King's "So Far Away" out of the cloud and placing it on repeat. 

The Wall: Part 2

We’re all familiar with the alleged textbook definition of insanity and what it might imply about one who repeats certain actions. I’m back in Cleveland for my second rotation of working Catastrophe duty and it really shouldn’t come as a surprise that I’m back to feeling completely spent. It was about this same point in my last rotation where I hit the proverbial wall and it appears that today I’m back on the wrecking ball and swinging away at it.


I’m more physically and mentally drained this time. Mercifully, this trip has been less emotionally taxing. I’ve really only had two moments where I had to step away after hearing some harrowing story from a customer in Joplin. I’ve also been balancing out my moments of stress and homesickness with the knowledge that I shouldn’t get too stressed out, because after all, we are living in the End Times.

The day that I drove back here was the day that had been proclaimed as The End of the World by some nut job. And while some may argue that clearly didn’t happen, it does seem like it was about this time that the globe exploded in storms, earthquakes, volcano eruptions and general geological and meteorological chaos. I now hear there’s a hurricane ‘a brewin’ and I’d just imagine we’re due for a good oil spill or tsunami about any day.

If I learned anything from my Baptist, Liberal Arts education, it was that the Bible isn’t necessarily meant to be taken literally. For instance, the 6 days that the world was allegedly created in might not directly translate to 6, 24 hour spans of time. A “day” on Heavenly Father Standard Time (because we all know Daylight Savings is from the devil) might be anywhere from a millennium to an eon. So, I’ve taken to believing that while the End of the World might not have happened, it could be we’ve just reached the beginning of the end.

First off, we have to acknowledge that Oprah is off the air. The fact that the woman who had the power to elect a president has now decided to leave us to fend for ourselves has to be a bad omen. We now have to decide what to read, what to eat, how to exercise and what’s an acceptable level of overweight on our own. The vacuum she’s left is surely a sign of the apocalypse. Oh sure, she has her own network now, but we aren’t going to learn anything from watching The Judds except how much is too much mascara and red hair dye.

We have Sarah Palin running for President again, a guy named Weiner exposing himself without a hint of irony, and even the winner of American Idol was a good ol’ wholesome American boy who continuously sang a song about having sex. I can’t imagine the message America’s impressionable youth got from hearing “lock the doors and turn the lights down low” every week.

If all of these in tandem aren’t a sign that Jesus is comin’ for to carry us home, then I don’t know what is. So, bearing this in mind, I’m living it up. I’ve been eating and drinking well. I carelessly rode a roller coaster that took me 410 feet in the air at 120 miles per hour and I’m regularly driving in traffic with Ohio drivers. I stuck my bare feet in Lake Erie. I may even get careless and throw a match in the river after work.

I’ll be back home on Friday and we’ll see if my hedonistic living continues. The boyfriend may not appreciate my philosophy that Armageddon is nigh. We did go to the same college though, so maybe it won’t be too much work to convince him that we can use my few days off before I return to regular work to build an ark or at least go to J. Crew for a new rapture outfit. Baptist college also taught us that one would want to look their best when checking in at the pearly gates.

Hitting the Wall

After Day 16, I’ve hit the wall. I was informed as such this morning. I’ve heard this expression used for people who are running a marathon or doing some other kind of athletic activity that would instantly break my leg or dislocate my shoulder, but never in terms of work. Especially when the most physically taxing part of my work is adjusting the height of the desk chair that keeps sinking. You may soon read a tweet that says “send Dramamine”.

To catch you up to speed, I’m working 21 days straight to assist with the onslaught of auto insurance claims across the South. I’m working 745am to 7pm daily. I get 45 minutes for lunch and I’ve had one day off. I’ve been part of our “Catastrophe Reserve Team” for about as long as I’ve worked for the company. I’ve helped out after hurricanes and nasty hailstorms here and there. I get a little extra pay for it and it’s a chance to shake up my work life a little. Thankfully, we have people who do this all year ‘round for their permanent job and I just get “called up” when things get bad.

It was one of those “Permanent CAT” employees who informed me that I had, in fact, hit the wall. After about 2 hours of attempting to focus on my computer screen and finding myself increasingly hostile to the people on the other end of my phone, I announced “Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!!” My words weren’t as effective as the Gipper’s.

I remain kind of brain dead. I’ve seen photos of houses and cars reduced to nothing discernable and talked to their devastated owners. I’ve heard harrowing stories of people inside Ford Excursions being picked up and thrown 20 feet into sycamore trees. I’ve had customers tell me that we need to inspect their cars in the afternoon, because their relative’s funeral was going to be that morning. I’m emotionally spent. If I am, I can’t imagine what the ones going through it first hand feel.

I’ve also learned that when in the line of impending, near death storms, finding cover is not always the first priority for some. There are those for whom adding insurance to their 1988 Cavalier becomes pertinent. For others, they take their laptops to cower in the bathtub and lower their deductibles online. That’s the team I’m working on. We are investigating what’s fraud and what’s just good planning, even if personal safety is thrown out the recently blown out window.

After 16 days of this, my mind has turned to mush. Thankfully, I only have 4 more working days to get through after I complete this one. I don’t think I will ever be so glad to see Cincinnati and know I’m soon crossing back into the Bluegrass. Until then, I’ll slug through and hope I stay on the West Berlin side of the proverbial wall.

Fat in Cleveland

For me, to mention the city of Cleveland always conjures almost biblical images of rivers on fire. It's cold, it's gray, it's industrial and quite frankly there isn't a hell of a lot there. So, you might imagine when I learned that I'd be spending three weeks in Cleveland for work, I was less than thrilled. I'm presently on day 3. I'm going to be working 12 hour days and I'll only get one day off while I'm here. Sure, it'll be a decent amount of extra money, but it's also going to be a lot of alone time. 

I started out by eating fast food. I figured that if I was going to eat alone, then I'd just grab something and bring it back to the hotel. I didn't want to be the weird guy by himself in the restaurant. I felt too self-conscious. But, I think it was the Chik-fil-A on Day 2 that did me in. I suddenly had awful visions of eating fast food every night for the next month. The thought of grease and not so tasty food was almost enough to make me want to give up the extra cash and come back home, nevermind the 15 pounds I was going to gain. 

Then, last night I made a decision. If I was going to be fat and gain the 15 pounds while I was here, I may as well eat decent food. So, instead of having crappy drive-thru, I went out. Proper going out. I decided not to feel weird about eating out alone and find myself some good food. So, I followed the call of my ancestry and decided I was going to Little Italy. I did a quick internet search and decided on the first place I came to, La Dolce Vita. After 15 minutes looking for a parking space, I finally got in, found a spot at the bar and had a delicious meal. I started with a glass of chianti (my favorite) and the mastroianni salad. It was roasted red pepper, goat cheese, arugula, and black olives over a bed of romaine with a light drizzle of olive oil.  I actually let out a bit of a moan when I dug into it. I don't even like black olives, but their saltiness with the peppery arugula and creamy goat cheese was a near spiritual moment. 

For my entree, I had gnocchi. The menu said I got to choose the sauce, so I asked the bartender, my waitress, what my options were. After her long sigh and while she launched into the exhaustive list, I interrupted to ask if they could just do a vodka cream sauce. She said they didn't usually, but she'd ask the chef if he would. I continued on with my salad and after what seemed like an obscenely long time (I'd almost finished my glass of wine...but maybe I just drank it a bit too quickly), she came back and said he'd be happy to. She then poured a cup full of vodka and ran it back to the kitchen. Before I could even ask for a refill on my wine glass, the smell of tomato cream and basil hit me. A giant bowl of delicious was sat down in front me. Round 2 of chianti was poured and I tucked into a made fresh (not in house, but in a pasta company in town) gnocchi in a made just for me vodka cream sauce. My little part-Italian heart nearly exploded. I finished with a house made tiramisu and a glass of port. 

Yes, I have boxes of leftovers. 

I thought I was going to have those for dinner tonight. However, a co-worker reminded me that Iron Chef Michael Symon is from Cleveland and has a few restaurants across town. Just one street up and a few blocks over from my hotel is his burger joint called B-Spot. Being a fan of just about any kind of burger, I decided this was going to be my culinary conquest for the night. So, on a busy Saturday night, I found a spot at the corner of the bar and enjoyed 2 very different and very good beers and a "smack yo' mama so hard yo' grandmammy can feel it" bacon cheeseburger. And this says nothing of the onion rings fried in lard. Yes. Lard. 

I'm now back in the hotel room about to go to bed. I'll probably find food that's a bit lighter for the next couple of days, but contrary to what the Chik-Fil-A cows encourage, for the next 2 and a half weeks, I'm not going to eat more chikn.