It took this long, but...

Is it possible that, after many years of calling the guy a kook, I might actually come around and give in to the RƎVO˩UTION?  It's too early to tell, but I'm not immune to the 'anyone but Romney' syndrome that appears to be afflicting quite a few Americans these days.  Unlike most of the bandwagon-jumping wannabe pundits chiming in on the current race, however, I have a long history of backing losers.  Add one more pelt to the collection, apparently, since ole Mr. Cain managed to flame out in spectacular fashion.  I still happen to think Ron Paul is a kook, but it might be time to pull a Lee Corso and say, "Ahh fuck it."

As I look at the remaining Republican field, I can only conclude that Mr. Corso's three words summarize things pretty succinctly.  I'm not going to delve into a dissection of each candidate's pros and cons here.  That would take a long time, would bore the hell out of me, and would break no new ground for anyone.  These people have been debating for what seems like ten years now.  If you care to know where they stand, then you know where they stand. 

What I am going to do is take a second to quote a bartender that I met in Manhattan several years ago.  I was visiting New York with my then-girlfriend and we were having a very good time.  After watching the Radio City Christmas Spectacular (at Radio City Music Hall, natch) we went for a carriage ride in the park.  I had checked all of the 'romantic' boxes on my end so I knew how the night was bound to wrap up.  We wanted to grab a few drinks before heading back to the hotel though.

We wound up at a bar on the East Side.  There were only a few people inside.  One was our chubby Hispanic waiter.  One was the cross-dressing piano player.  The rest were local residents who liked the friendly atmosphere.  Everybody was really nice to us and we enjoyed an hour or two.

Upon waking in our hotel room the next day, we discovered that something was missing.  We had bought a nutcracker doll for the aforementioned girlfriend's little daughter while we were at Radio City.  The nutcracker was nowhere to be found.  Normally I'd just chalk it up as another $20 down the drain, but we were absolutely certain that the kid would absolutely love that nutcracker.  We needed to find it.  Re-tracing our steps from the previous night led us to the conclusion that we had the doll during the cab ride to the bar.  We had the doll at the bar.  We couldn't recall whether or not we had it in the cab on the way back to the hotel.

Given that we didn't know where the bar was, we were facing a bit of a challenge.  We caught a train over to Second Avenue and started walking.  It didn't take as long as we had feared to find the bar.  We walked inside and found a weathered woman in her early fifties tending the bar.  My companion eagerly explained our predicament.  The image of that woman's expression is seared into my memory forever, and it emerges every time I read a news article about Newt Gingrich leading in the polls.

She gave us a summary about how she comes into work every day and finds things that people left behind.  If they go unclaimed, she or someone else at the bar get to keep the items.  Fur coats, Rolex watches, you name it.  On this particular morning she came in and saw our nutcracker doll.  Her first thought then - my first thought now - was expressed with a classic New York flourish.  She threw her hands in the air and said, "HERE I AM THINKING - WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THESE PEOPLE!?!"

Yep.  That's about where I am right now.  She was exasperated to find that people would be dumb enough to leave behind what was an obvious gift for a child.  I'm exasperated to find that people would be dumb enough to back the fat white Republican version of everything that is wrong with American politics.

I'm not entirely past the kook thing yet, but it might be time to embrace Mr. Reagan's 80% rule and also acknowledge the fact that Mr. Paul wouldn't actually have the power to do most of the shit that he says he would do anyway.  He would have the power to veto reckless spending and I'm pretty sure he would use it.  That might be a start.  Somebody get him squared away regarding the Middle East though.  He's dead wrong.

Heh... Scotland

Pretty windy.

Phase One - Where to Stay?

Phase One - Complete

The home base for next year's visit to Ireland has been selected and secured.



The travel package also took care of our football tickets at the sparkling new venue, a few guided tours, and a rental car.  Nine months out, it looks like we're in pretty good shape.

Now we'll have to work on that foreign driving business.  I'm pretty sure I can adapt to being on the wrong side of the road.  I can probably even get used to sitting in the wrong side of the car.  Shifting with the wrong hand though - we'll see.

Any suggestions (driving or otherwise) are always welcome.

This post is a disappointment.

It all started back on Wednesday morning.  I was lying in bed, dreaming (most likely) about what I would say to Rachel McAdams about her various hairstyles (spoiler alert: rave reviews all-around), when my phone rang.  I struggled across my bed and looked at the caller ID display.  "Quickway"

Well, fuck me.  Those of us on the afternoon shift get a two-day holiday break for Thanksgiving.  Our terminal doesn't run an afternoon shift on Wednesday and then Thursday is the actual holiday.  Two days off.  Woo hoo!

So my guess was that I probably didn't want to hear whatever they had to say.  I grabbed the phone and answered the call anyway.  Screw it.  Let's see what's up.  There was a load available if I wanted it.  It was a run down to our terminal in Newark, Ohio.  Nine hours or so of drive time, plus a drop/hook, for a pretty decent payday.  There were enough people below me on the seniority list to ensure that I had the option to say yea or nay.  I said nay.  Screw that.  I'm going back to bed.

After I got up and moving later in the day, I received another call from Quickway.  At the time I was upstairs doing whatever I was doing.  My phone was downstairs.  I went down to my bedroom to round up some dirty laundry a short time later and saw that I had missed a call.  I had a voicemail message informing me of Friday's work assignment.  Well, shit.  (More on this later)

I did some laundry and then went out to buy a few groceries for Thursday's dinner.  My father was up north, my older little brother had to work on Thanksgiving, and so did my sister.  This meant that we had a three-person dinner planned.  Since Mom was by herself in Lincoln Park and my younger little brother and I were out here, it was decided that Thanksgiving dinner would be held in Northville this year.  No complaints from me.  Mom said she was bringing the food, plus I would get another day to sleep late and relax.  I just needed to make sure I had some things to drink, plus a few munchies to get us through the early part of the day.

Once Thursday arrived, I was well-rested from a lazy day on Wednesday and ready to enjoy a second day of relaxation.  As an added bonus, Mom brought Molly (the family dog) with her.  I had assumed that ole Molly was up north with Dad, but not this time around.  She's a big dumb lovable black Lab and it's always fun to have her around.  We were all set up for a good Thanksgiving.

After an excellent dinner, we sat around and watched football for a while.  Then Mom and Molly went home.  My brother and I watched a few episodes of the new Beavis and Butthead and then called it a night.

And now we get to Friday.  My typical Friday involves either one long run or two shorter ones most of the time.  I'm generally home before midnight.  Not this week though.  This week I got to drive to Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.  Don't bother checking a map.  I'll save you the trouble.  That's an overnight round trip.  Normally I don't mind an occasional night out of town.  When the 'overnight' part bleeds into my day off though, it annoys me.  Nah, screw that.  It pisses me off.  Especially when the 'day off' in question is a Saturday during football season.

I went into work on Friday like a good little trooper.  I needed directions to the consignee, given that I had never been there.  The dispatcher had a map already printed out and the route looked prettty simple, so that was good.  He gave me an EFS check for tolls and a motel and then sent me on my way.

My scheduled pull time was 1pm.  My load was ready at 2pm.  Fantastic.

My mapped route was I-76 to Carlisle, then I-81 up to Harrisburg.  Perfectly logical, but I had been given only enough toll money to take I-80 into Pennsylvania and then angle down on US-322.  I should have noticed the discrepancy ahead of time, but I was just rolling along and not thinking about the money.  Then, when I got my toll ticket and saw that the trip from Pittsburgh to Carlisle was $90.65, I had a problem.  I called the night dispatcher and he told me that I shouldn't have been given the map that showed the I-76 route.  Fantastic.

I would have to take US-322 to I-80 on the way home, but there wasn't much I could do about the rest of the trip to Harrisburg.  Just gonna have to pony up the cash and get the load delivered on time.  They'd cut me another EFS check to make up the difference at my next fuel stop.  I arrived for my 12am delivery appointment at 10:30pm.  The OTR flashbacks commenced as I saw numerous trucks lined up along the edge of the customer's lot, awaiting their door assignments.  Much to my suprise, I was sent to an available door right away.  Four hours later I was empty and sent on my way.  OTR flashbacks indeed.  Fantastic.

I had just over an hour left on my 14-hour clock by the time I got out of Harrisburg.  Fortunately there was a motel with truck parking in Mifflin-something-or-other, around 40 miles up the road.  I pulled in and settled into my room, then managed to fall asleep some time around 5am.  Then I had to get up at 10:30 to catch a shower and pack up before the 11am checkout time.  I can swing a short night's sleep without too much difficulty, as long as I manage to sleep past the civilized hour of 10am.  What I couldn't do, however, was drive my truck after that short rest.  [Obligatory rant about jackassed federal regulations goes here.]  Apparently it was safer for me to sit around and stare at a clock for another two and a half hours than it was to simply drive home after I awoke.  Fantastic.

The drive back to Livonia wasn't too bad.  It was long and tedious, but good enough I suppose.  I had told everyone back home not to tell me anything about the Notre Dame game.  My original schedule would have had me home in time for kickoff.  Then reality got in the way.  An extra hour at the shipper followed by four hours at the consignee, and then the mandatory ten-hour break at the motel, were enough to make sure I would miss most of the game.  So I would have to do the next best thing.  I called my brother and told him to set the DVR to record the football game for me.  Then I would just avoid any mention of the results until I had made it home and watched the recording.

Late in the evening, finally, I was back home in Northville.  The endless bullshit of the weekend would soon be forgotten.  I grabbed a cold beer.  I plugged in the lights on my Christmas tree.  I kicked back on my comfy recliner.  I pressed 'play.'  Game on!

A short time later I would surely be sitting here and writing a post about my Irish and their marked improvement throughout the course of the season.  Surely I would be forced to make the obligatory and unoriginal wisecrack that Stanford's "Luck had run out."  Michigan State couldn't possibly have been the only good team that Notre Dame would beat all year, right?  The future would be looking bright for the lads in the gold helmets and khaki pants.  After all that I had endured to get me to this point...

Yeah, it turns out that I'm not writing any of that stuff.  My team still sucks.  This post is a disappointment.  (And it's a day late.  I fell asleep halfway through the original draft Saturday night.  It was a tiring weekend.)