Until recently, Amy has been trying to decide between two different career moves. She was offered positions at Misericordia and at The Pediatric Place, a part of Physiotherapy Associates, which both had decent offers but very different benefits. The Pediatric Place's salary offer, however, was a bit under Amy's current salary and she had asked if there was a possibility that they might raise their offer by about $1500/year. Strangely enough, that inquiry apparently pushed them too far and they implicitly retracted their offer by returning Amy's inquiry with some lies about restructuring and as a result, their new intent to hire a recent grad, who would consequently ask for less money, rather than hire someone with experience. Of course, that statement is only conjecture on my part, but I can see no other logical explanation for the motive to "restructure". They had offered the position to Amy almost three weeks ago. Amy had asked about the possible salary increase last Thursday the 24th, and the representative for The Pediatric Place returned her call on Monday the 28th. So, unless they had some weekend meetings about restructuring, I consider the excuse suspect.
However, my speculation is no longer relevent because Amy simply accepted the job at Misericordia which will net her a decent raise in pay--not a mind-blowing raise, but a decent raise. All of the other details have yet to be determined including her hire date, but I would imagine that she will start sometime in April. One detail that does not need to be considered is that she will work four 10-hour days rather than five 8-hour days. I'm slightly jealous as it would be marvelous to have a three day weekend every week of the year, but there remains the modest trade of 10-hour days so the jury will remain out on that debate until she actually starts and I get some empirical evidence!
Lastly, and somewhat ironically, Misericordia is under one mile away from the apartment where we used to live! If we still lived there, she would have walked or, more probably, biked to work every day. As it stands, she still gets to drive the car, but at least I have a chance to get it on Mondays (or Fridays) now.
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Saturday Bloody Saturday
I can now take comfort in the fact that it is not simply our ineptitude that prevents Sid, our cat, from accepting his fate when accosted with the nail clipping tool.
Normally, each time we remove the clippers from their secret home under the sink, we go into reconnaissance mode, slinking around corners, one of us with a hand behind the back, the other nonchalantly carrying a towel, always closing steps between us and the orange blur that streaks from hiding place to hiding place. Once we trick Sid into thinking he's going to get some satisfying lap time, it becomes a feline wrestling match as I attempt to keep three of his four paws concealed in the towel, the only protection I have from his thrashing, scrambling claws. Meanwhile, Amy's responsibility is to keep his exposed paw stilled long enough to clip the nails to a respectible length.
So, when we took Sid to the vet this past Saturday, we let the veternary assistant take on the task which we had evidently failed. As she clipped his front paws, Sid began his characteristic dance of escape, transforming into his usual liquid state, squirting between the assistant's arms and torso. But, to his chagrin, his attempts at escape were deftly thwarted and his weapons of choice were blunted in rather short order.
His back paws proved to be more problematic, however. About this time, a second assistant wandered into the room and upon seeing her struggling compatriot, she joined the cause. As the second assistant put a feline sleeper hold on the front portion of Sid's body, the first assistant continued to clip away while Sid viciously kicked in vain. (Yes, I know. Another terrible pun.)
Soon, though, it was all over and Sid, Amy, and I returned home no worse for the wear. Or so we thought. For the rest of the afternoon, I noticed that Sid would habitually bite and chew at one of his back claws. So, as we settled down to watch a movie that evening, Amy noticed a spot of blood where Sid had been sitting. Apparently, whatever had been irriating him and causing him to chew had been successfully removed by his efforts, thereby opening a wound that for the next three hours, refused to heal. It did not refuse to heal for only biological reasons, of course. Each time we attempted to put a dash of that blood-stopping powder on the wound, Sid would lick it off as soon as we let him out of our grip.
Eventually, we were able to fashion a makeshift booty of gauze that we quickly and crudely taped around his paw, causing him to walk as if stuck in an infinte conga line, the other three paws moving as usual, the fourth one doing a quick, rhythmic shake to the side in an effort to kick the booty away. Fortunately, the booty remained strapped to his paw and Sid laid down for a much needed nap. And after a time, so did we.
Normally, each time we remove the clippers from their secret home under the sink, we go into reconnaissance mode, slinking around corners, one of us with a hand behind the back, the other nonchalantly carrying a towel, always closing steps between us and the orange blur that streaks from hiding place to hiding place. Once we trick Sid into thinking he's going to get some satisfying lap time, it becomes a feline wrestling match as I attempt to keep three of his four paws concealed in the towel, the only protection I have from his thrashing, scrambling claws. Meanwhile, Amy's responsibility is to keep his exposed paw stilled long enough to clip the nails to a respectible length.
So, when we took Sid to the vet this past Saturday, we let the veternary assistant take on the task which we had evidently failed. As she clipped his front paws, Sid began his characteristic dance of escape, transforming into his usual liquid state, squirting between the assistant's arms and torso. But, to his chagrin, his attempts at escape were deftly thwarted and his weapons of choice were blunted in rather short order.
His back paws proved to be more problematic, however. About this time, a second assistant wandered into the room and upon seeing her struggling compatriot, she joined the cause. As the second assistant put a feline sleeper hold on the front portion of Sid's body, the first assistant continued to clip away while Sid viciously kicked in vain. (Yes, I know. Another terrible pun.)
Soon, though, it was all over and Sid, Amy, and I returned home no worse for the wear. Or so we thought. For the rest of the afternoon, I noticed that Sid would habitually bite and chew at one of his back claws. So, as we settled down to watch a movie that evening, Amy noticed a spot of blood where Sid had been sitting. Apparently, whatever had been irriating him and causing him to chew had been successfully removed by his efforts, thereby opening a wound that for the next three hours, refused to heal. It did not refuse to heal for only biological reasons, of course. Each time we attempted to put a dash of that blood-stopping powder on the wound, Sid would lick it off as soon as we let him out of our grip.
Eventually, we were able to fashion a makeshift booty of gauze that we quickly and crudely taped around his paw, causing him to walk as if stuck in an infinte conga line, the other three paws moving as usual, the fourth one doing a quick, rhythmic shake to the side in an effort to kick the booty away. Fortunately, the booty remained strapped to his paw and Sid laid down for a much needed nap. And after a time, so did we.
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
Skunked
Susan came to stay for a few days last week. She and Amy had a good time travelling around the city. I did a few things with them, but most of my activities with the two of them involved going out to dinner. One night, though, I broke the pattern and the three of us paid a visit to Second City. The usher asked if we wanted to be seated up front and Amy responded affirmatively without really realizing what that meant so we soon found ourselves squashed together on a single side of a table that was jammed against the procenium at center stage. I wonder if I'll ever see my likeness on some promotional poster, frozen in a state of eternal mirth, skin painted with the colors of generic stage lighting. It was a Monday night and one of the travelling companies was performing so I don't think I'll ever be mass produced on a poster, but I'd sure get a kick out of that.
Last Sunday, Amy and I went to the Music Box to see a Japanese film called Dare mo shiranai (Nobody Knows). I recommend trying to see it if you're into that kind of thing. There was, however, a lady sitting directly behind us who made "Captain Obvious" comments throughout the feature. I don't mean whispered comments either. I'm talking normal conversation level intensity, here. I wish I'd had the sack to turn around and tell her to STFU, but everyone else in the theater seemed to be at least tolerating her idiocy, so I did the same.
Finally, over the weekend, we noticed something had been making its best efforts to build itself a home under our shed. There were tracks encircling the perimiter of the back yard that made a small trail to the corner of the shed where a large pile of fresh dirt had obviously been excavated. So, Amy called animal control on Monday and by Tuesday morning, there was a small skunk still digging at the dirt, trying to escape through the mesh of a metal cage that had been left there the previous afternoon. Hopefully, that was the only one. I have not seen evidence of any more. Yet.
Last Sunday, Amy and I went to the Music Box to see a Japanese film called Dare mo shiranai (Nobody Knows). I recommend trying to see it if you're into that kind of thing. There was, however, a lady sitting directly behind us who made "Captain Obvious" comments throughout the feature. I don't mean whispered comments either. I'm talking normal conversation level intensity, here. I wish I'd had the sack to turn around and tell her to STFU, but everyone else in the theater seemed to be at least tolerating her idiocy, so I did the same.
Finally, over the weekend, we noticed something had been making its best efforts to build itself a home under our shed. There were tracks encircling the perimiter of the back yard that made a small trail to the corner of the shed where a large pile of fresh dirt had obviously been excavated. So, Amy called animal control on Monday and by Tuesday morning, there was a small skunk still digging at the dirt, trying to escape through the mesh of a metal cage that had been left there the previous afternoon. Hopefully, that was the only one. I have not seen evidence of any more. Yet.
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
High-Speed Chase Down Memory Lane
Just the good ol' boys,
never meanin' no harm.
Beats all you never saw,
been in trouble with the law
since the day they was born.
In case you couldn't tell, I caught a few episodes of The Dukes of Hazzard last weekend during the Dukes marathon on CMT. I don't think I'd actually seen a whole episode from start to finish since I was eight or nine years old. Obviously, I hadn't forgotten about the car chases and Rosco P. Coltrane and the car chases and Boss Hogg and the car chases and Daisy... and the car chases. It really makes me thankful for creative people who don't title things only by the majority of what they contain, otherwise the show might have been called Goofy Southerners in Cars. In all honesty, even as a kid, I don't really think I cared nearly as much about the car chase as a whole element or the show. All I ever really wanted to see was that '69 Charger catch some serious air.
I remember it being my favorite show for quite some time and even being more than a little disappointed that Bo and Luke were replaced by two shmoes named Coy and Vance for a single season. Even though I was only nine years old I still knew that those two guys were awful. Anyway, while I was watching the marathon, I suddenly started to remember all the Dukes of Hazzard loot I had. I remembered having a T-shirt that had one of the iron-on styled images on the front with a sparkly outline around the image. You know, the ones teenagers are wearing now becasue they're so ironically cool. And I remembered the Etch-a-Sketch inlays that let you play connect the dots with the General Lee and pretend to race around the back roads of Hazzard County to escape the cops even though you were just a little grey line. I also had a the Matchbox version of the General Lee and a little wind-up version of it that sat in a plastic case that I kept strapped to my wrist. The little knob to wind the gears up stuck out of the side of the case and at my command, I could put my wrist to the floor, pop the case open, and the car would speed across the floor for about two seconds until it hit anything even remotely resembling carpet.
There was also the record album as well as the 45 single of the theme song. I remember role-playing Dukes of Hazzard scenes in my bedroom while I played the theme song from the 45 single. The only catch was that my record player at the time didn't have an arm that would return to the beginning of the record once it reached the end which meant that there was always a commercial break ever two to three minutes while I broke character to start the song from the beginning. Oh, and I vaugely remember having a plastic mock-up toy mountain that was supposed to represent Hazzard county that included yet another car that could wind itself up as you pulled it back along the floor.
Thankfully, the show reminded me about more than toys and records, although the toy memories dwarf everything else. I remembered saying out loud while watching the show that when I got my driver's license, I would drive around like the Dukes of Hazzard. My ever-practical dad then asked me where exactly it was that I thought that I could drive like that and get away with it. I don't remember my exact reply, but it was something along the lines of, "On the back roads!" Yeah... funny thing about that... it turns out I was right. Except for the jumping across rivers part. Or the driving on two wheels part. But other than those stunts, I think I eventually lived the dream.
Oddly enough, one of the commercials that played quite a bit in between car stunts was a clip about Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper which, hands down, is the longest, most cumbersome title for a soda that I can remember. Anyway, one of the commercials for this new, very long flavor makes use of the song, Mahna Mahna, from the Muppet Show. Jeff Matheson, a friend from my halcyon days in the mid-80s, and I used to sing that song during recess in between bouts of petty vandalism, one of us taking the speaking part, the other taking the falsetto singing part, and then eventually trading off. By the way, just in case you're prepared to chastise me for the petty vandalism, most of it was pulling crab apples off a tree at the back of the playground and throwing them at fourth graders. See? It was all for a good cause.
never meanin' no harm.
Beats all you never saw,
been in trouble with the law
since the day they was born.
In case you couldn't tell, I caught a few episodes of The Dukes of Hazzard last weekend during the Dukes marathon on CMT. I don't think I'd actually seen a whole episode from start to finish since I was eight or nine years old. Obviously, I hadn't forgotten about the car chases and Rosco P. Coltrane and the car chases and Boss Hogg and the car chases and Daisy... and the car chases. It really makes me thankful for creative people who don't title things only by the majority of what they contain, otherwise the show might have been called Goofy Southerners in Cars. In all honesty, even as a kid, I don't really think I cared nearly as much about the car chase as a whole element or the show. All I ever really wanted to see was that '69 Charger catch some serious air.
I remember it being my favorite show for quite some time and even being more than a little disappointed that Bo and Luke were replaced by two shmoes named Coy and Vance for a single season. Even though I was only nine years old I still knew that those two guys were awful. Anyway, while I was watching the marathon, I suddenly started to remember all the Dukes of Hazzard loot I had. I remembered having a T-shirt that had one of the iron-on styled images on the front with a sparkly outline around the image. You know, the ones teenagers are wearing now becasue they're so ironically cool. And I remembered the Etch-a-Sketch inlays that let you play connect the dots with the General Lee and pretend to race around the back roads of Hazzard County to escape the cops even though you were just a little grey line. I also had a the Matchbox version of the General Lee and a little wind-up version of it that sat in a plastic case that I kept strapped to my wrist. The little knob to wind the gears up stuck out of the side of the case and at my command, I could put my wrist to the floor, pop the case open, and the car would speed across the floor for about two seconds until it hit anything even remotely resembling carpet.
There was also the record album as well as the 45 single of the theme song. I remember role-playing Dukes of Hazzard scenes in my bedroom while I played the theme song from the 45 single. The only catch was that my record player at the time didn't have an arm that would return to the beginning of the record once it reached the end which meant that there was always a commercial break ever two to three minutes while I broke character to start the song from the beginning. Oh, and I vaugely remember having a plastic mock-up toy mountain that was supposed to represent Hazzard county that included yet another car that could wind itself up as you pulled it back along the floor.
Thankfully, the show reminded me about more than toys and records, although the toy memories dwarf everything else. I remembered saying out loud while watching the show that when I got my driver's license, I would drive around like the Dukes of Hazzard. My ever-practical dad then asked me where exactly it was that I thought that I could drive like that and get away with it. I don't remember my exact reply, but it was something along the lines of, "On the back roads!" Yeah... funny thing about that... it turns out I was right. Except for the jumping across rivers part. Or the driving on two wheels part. But other than those stunts, I think I eventually lived the dream.
Oddly enough, one of the commercials that played quite a bit in between car stunts was a clip about Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper which, hands down, is the longest, most cumbersome title for a soda that I can remember. Anyway, one of the commercials for this new, very long flavor makes use of the song, Mahna Mahna, from the Muppet Show. Jeff Matheson, a friend from my halcyon days in the mid-80s, and I used to sing that song during recess in between bouts of petty vandalism, one of us taking the speaking part, the other taking the falsetto singing part, and then eventually trading off. By the way, just in case you're prepared to chastise me for the petty vandalism, most of it was pulling crab apples off a tree at the back of the playground and throwing them at fourth graders. See? It was all for a good cause.
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