"Cold, But I'm Still Here"

It is one of those truly glorious days outside that make those of us living in this part of the country wonder why anyone would subject themselves to wet, cold, and snowy winters. While we watched the home town team toil through a near freezing monsoon in Philtydelphia last night, we awoke to a pleasant 65 degrees without a cloud in the sky. So why do I bring this up? Because it is 61 degrees in my office right now. Seriously, my colleague has a thermometer and it is 61 degrees! For someone who enjoys the heat associated with this part of the country, how is this not a hostile work environment? It got so cold that I did something so out of character, so reprehensible, that The Host may never speak to me again. I hopped my chilly butt in the Fusion and drove across the street to Starbucks for a coffee. It should be noted that this was not some ordinary, overpriced black coffee. No sir, this was a full on, Venti (that means big) Nancy Boy Deluxe! So now I am back in my office and less cold, but also kinda less of a man. I’m not sure how I feel about that trade off.

Work the Verb vs. Work the Noun

Piggybacking on GF's nice piece below, I have to say I agree with him. At some point, reality is what it it is. You are what you think, you are (thanks Denny Green) and the man isn't going to let you off the hook (I could go all day with quotes like that). But, yes, the harsh reality of life is that at some point all of the people lined up to separate you from your cash become the masters of your universe.

I am one of the fortunate people (especially in this economy) to have a job I still love to come to every day. Now, don't get carried away thinking I wake up every day and say "Yippeee, I get to go to work!" No, I am still very much the person that given the choice would never work again. But that choice is overtaken by the hierarchy of my needs. Food, clothing, beer, shelter...probably even in that order. I also have a Mrs. Host, a Mr. Host the Dog, and a young Master Host Junior. Quite simply, you have to do what you have to do to make it all come together.

My job for the most part is to keep people happy and to offer events and programming that make our members feel their annual dues are worth it. My staff and I do a very good job of it. At this time of year, my job involves weekly tailgate parties and watching football games, often from a suite. Not bad as far as work goes...but, it is still work. Is it fun? You bet. Compared to working an assembly line or mowing lawns or changing transmissions it's a dream. Is it better than drinking with friends and doing whatever? Nope...not even close.

You see, work is work to me. I don't work because I love it. I work because I love what I do when I am not here and I need the money to make that happen. From that departure point, finding something you like to do is a big bonus and makes the day go by that much easier.

At times in my life, I have had jobs where Work as a noun was more fitting than Work as a verb. At other times that cycle has been reversed. Currently, I think I am striking a very harmonious balance. Sure, I haven't changed the world the way I, or many others, predicted I might. But, I am still young and for now I am still happy to have the time to have those random beers in the middle of the week with friends. One day when one of us is ruling the world (or maybe just Polk County) we may not have as much time for that. So, I am good getting it while the getting is good. The rest will work itself out when I am old.

“I was a hopeless romantic, now I’m just turning tricks”

It is interesting how, as a young person, we are full of resolve to do something meaningful in life. Whether it be for personal gain or the betterment of the world, most of us leave our institutions of higher learning with a head full of ideas about the future. I would hazard a wager that for most of us those ideas have very little in common with our respective realities 10 or 12 years later. Initially we take jobs that aren’t exactly what we are looking for because we’re tired of living with our parents and have credit card bills to pay. Not ones to fail, we apply ourselves to tasks that we believe to be below us and gradually work our way to better jobs and better pay, all the while growing further away from the grandiose dreams we held in our younger years. All of a sudden more than a decade has gone by and we have careers and, in some cases, families and all of a sudden this no longer a means to an end, this is a career and what our lives have become. But you know, it isn’t so bad. The view is nice from my office and I get to travel and even make enough to take Mrs. GF out for dinner at a reasonably priced restaurant from time to time. Perhaps this is complacency or just a shifting of priorities. Whatever the case, I still hold tight to the dream of changing the world….or at least being able to afford good tequila on a more consistent basis. That would be okay too.

"And the line gets drawn when my eyes can't see, Hit me twice with the Tussin and the morphine IV"

After a weekend of travel and standing in alternating rainy/cold and steamy/hot weather for a football game, I returned home with the most predictable, unavoidable, and unpleasant case of the mung imaginable. So I have struggled through the first two days of this week with little productivity but quite full of myself in my ability to persevere….Until last night when something got into Dog’s head that so disrupted her normal (if Dog has such a setting) behavioral pattern that she refused to sleep for the entire duration of the hours normally reserved for such activities. She paced, whined, tapped the door knob with her nose, and forced me to take her out 3 or 4 times just because she could. All of this amounted in less than an hour of sleep for me. Coupled with my afore mentioned malady, today is trying to say the least. With eyes looking like a map of the Southeast and a voice that would make Tom Waits cringe, this is probably the first and only time in my life when I could pass for a Rock Star….or a rock addict. One or the other. And all of this after a night when I exercised, had a healthy dinner, and attempted to go to be early. So what’s the moral of the story here? Life is too short. Have the extra glass of wine, stay up late, have fun, go crazy. You’re going to feel like junk the next day anyway.