Let me see. O.K. Thanksgiving. TG weekend with their fam is different to say the least. Lots of people. Lots of food. Lots of activities. Never’ve done anything like it before, but it’s all good. If the whole fam isn’t around, they bring in rentals. This year it was Red and her mom from So. Cal. Exceedingly cool people. Great to hang with. I’d do it again in a minute but the kid is heading Down-under so it will be a while, unless I’m on the road then you never know.

Anyway, back at the ranch. Got up early. Coffee. SWEET! rolls by momma already and dripping cinnamon sugar hot. Got the Chipster into the act peeling spuds. Made pies with the mister, damn good pie maker for a straight guy. The man can roll out a fine flaky crust. Ate too much. Tossed some pigs-if you don’t know, I can’t explain. Went to Keen, met the gang and watched a little volleyball. Was introduced to the art of Fruitcake baking, again, by the mister (does she cook anything?), watched a bunch of football. Cleaned up because THAT”S WHAT REAL MEN DO! Slept by the fire. All in all a productive weekend. Maybe I’ll do it again sometime. 

See ya next time.

Maybe.

Thanksgiving Weekend 2007

The Bluerocks came to a disappointing, yet predictable, end yesterday. Penney, shut down with some undisclosed issues, decided to head back to homebase when the regular season ended with the division championship. He’d done his part and now it was left to the never been an ESPN Top Ten’ers to get the job finshed. Of course, with Penney outta there thus my mojo gone, they were a miserable lot and got blasted out with a quick two in a row. Too bad. Learn to appreciate! That’s what I say. Meanwhile, Mike and the Mrs. got back to C-town to get started on next season. Penney now has his own Attilla (see trackback) and will be finding out just how tough he is. Words of advice: Butch up, Nancy! You gotta learn to take one for the team!

In the mean time, Michigan volleyball has started. After two successful road trips, they have three weeks at home and I can’t wait to take my mojo to their games. The teams had been routinely successful in the pre-season but with the Big Ten looming in the not so distant future, simply put, they need me. I’m trading drinking cold ones in the sun to watching hot ones in the gym. Yeah, I can handle it. You gotta make sacrifices for your team but, hey, that’s why I get the big bucks.

1. Chuck Norris, Jack Bauer and M2 are all best friends. If any one of them should ever get in a jam and need one of the others to come to his rescue . . . Oh wait, I gotta stop laughing, I almost peed. Like any one of them could ever get in a jam he couldn’t get out of all by himself. Yeah, now that’s funny. Really, they just get together for a beer once in a while and talk about justice.

2. The K-BaR, world’s deadliest weapon, is just a secret accronym for Chuck, Jack and Mark II. The military came up with it by using the 5th letter from each of their names: chucK, jack B And mark R. This is a military secret. If you tell anyone, you will be getting a visit. You DO NOT want to get a visit.

3. M2 has never paid taxes. The I.R.S. sends him their W-2 form with a check. And a thank you note.

4. Chuck Norris kills people with his roundhouse kick. Jack Bauer uses his bare hands. M2 just looks at you with those eyes. Then you die.

5. Inside Mark II beats the heart of a lion. I’m not being fiugrative here. He went to Africa, found the biggest, baddest, fiercest, ugliest lion that ever existed and swallowed it whole. The heart is still beating.

6. M2 has never been stabbed, shot, or tatooed. His skin cannot be penetrated.

7. There is no record of Deux’s fingerprints anywhere in the world. He would rather take off his hands than take off his gloves.

8. M2 only kills really, really stupid people or jack-asses, so he’s doing us all a favor in the long run.

9. When Deux gives an ass kicking, it never has to be kicked again. The substances commonly referred to as “space debris” are really some of those asses still floating around in outer space.

10. M2′s cell phone never rings. If he wants to talk to you, he just looks at his cell phone, and you will be on the line waiting for him.

And FYI, when Mike is a superstar in the Bigs, and they have bobblehead day at the park, he’s going to insist they commission the M2 bobblehead before the Big Penney bobblehead.  Just so you know. You may want to get your order in now.  

That said, I’m off for a short run with the CIA, Illinois branch. Apparently they need a little help with some relocation, allocation, and distribution of assets they’re moving down south. Should be out about a week and will get back to you. After that,  there’s a swine ‘n dine in the Yps. I’ll let you know how all goes.

In case anyone asks, you never saw me

M2

She read in the church bulletin that some charity was going to have their annual big fundraiser rummage sale in August. Always a sucker for a good deed, she decided this was a good opportunity to tackle the garage. The garage had become the black hole of crappola collection, where a sherpa, sure footing, and possibly a small weapon were needed to traverse from one side to the other unaccosted. Unless you’re me, Chuck or Jack. Then, come on. We do what we do. Chuck roundhouse kicks sherpas. Jack had one for a partner. Once. Enough said.

Back to the mess, they could still get both cars into it, so one side was deceptive, but when you looked to the tool bench and beyond, let’s just say, disaster is the first word that came to my mind. Or bad day in Calcutta, Norris’ high school locker, or, looks like Bauer’s been in the neighborhood. Sh–hole would be Jack’s immediate thought. I was appalled that anyone could allow their habitat to become such an abyss and my military training and sense of order were pushed to their limits.  Thus, the Friends in Need Charity annual rummage sale became my call to arms. Added to that, the mister would be traveling extensively over the next couple weeks which gave us an empty car stall to fill with donatables, so the stars and planets seemed in allignment. The final piece in the karma puzzle; when Erin made a stop through on her way to the west coast, I opted to hang out here for a while, and, as you know, I am always up for a challenge. In just a few short days, the garage would be cleaned out and organized, Friends in Need would gain much saleable booty, and the mister would be pleased and surprised at the magical transformation that took place while he was gone. It would be sorta like the While You Were Out TV show, but without the sappy host, hunky carpenter, and designer who flunked out.

This would not be your simple eenie-meenie-minee-moe, this goes here, that goes there, don’t look behind the curtain, just deal with the stuff in view, voila! and we’re done, cleaning. I don’t work like that. I knew what lurked behind the cabinet doors, what evil hid in dark places, what damage had wreaked by unseen creatures as they wintered over, uninvited, so I was determined to open the closed, see the unseen, and rid the cabinets of their secret shame. You see, the cabinet insides were a perfect example of a good intention gone terribly wrong. Last fall, or was it the year before? the mister thought it would be a good idea to feed the birds over the winter, so he went out and bought a mega-size bag of sunflower seeds. they say the bird feeder was filled once. Then that good intention began paving the road to you know where and bird feeding was replaced by, it doesn’t matter. Excuse, excuses, excuses, as far as I’m concerned. It turned into a big stinking mess.

Anyone with half a brain could have easily figured out would happen next. Without effort, they stupidly created the perfect winter haven for every mouse in Washentaw county; dark protected cupboards, filled with things stored in cardboard boxes, or as mice call it, “nesting material,” plus they stocked the pantry for rodents (I hate rodents almost as much as I hate painting) with a large bag of seed. Faster than you can say, “you don’t know Jack”, word was out over all the mouse chat lines in the area. Or quite possible one mouse and her offspring kept the party to herself. Rodents, in case you don’t know, self-impregnate then have a gestation period of about, ohhhh, say 7 minutes. They always have litters in the double digits, who then self-impregnate by the time they are two hours old and before you know it, an endless cycle of vermin propagation is on your doorstep, or in this case, in the garage.

Undaunted, I made a plan: open, remove everything, vacuum out the disgusting evidence, disinfect with a bleach solution, paint the surfaces with Kilz, and repaint, caulk every crack, every seam, to eliminate entry, get rid of anything that can be used as nesting fodder or food, then sort, purge, organize. Left to right. Muddle through/rhythm and pace/slow and steady/while holding your breath and trying not to die of some unknown virus caused by airborn mouse poo spores. I made a list: rubbermaids to put the keepers in-all paper/cardboard/nesting material had to be eliminated, Kilz, latex gloves and masks (for her, I always wear gloves and carry my own gas mask), paint, caulk. I sent her off to Lowes while I reconnoitered the place.

Back with the first load of supplies and it was time to jump in. I suggested C-4, an explosive which I just happened to always keep a small supply of on hand. While the mister’s motto is ‘rhythm and pace’, mine is ‘quick and dirty’. She tried logic: they’d already had an insurance claim this month and this would be even harder to explain. I let her have that one. I put away my bag and changed into some real work clothes. It’s not like this was going to be a walk in the park. Hardcore cleaning. Thus the attack began, one cupboard at a time; she was on a road to discovery and self-actualization. Discovery #1, mice can turn 20 pounds of sunflower seeds into 19 pounds of shells and 34 pounds of poo. Discovery #2, a shop vac is possibly the greatest invention of all time if you don’t have C-4. Discovery #3, mice can and will crap everywhere. Discovery #4, they don’t have one of anything. They have multiples. Self-actualizations: they have too much crap, they never need another roll of electrical tape, bungee cord or can of WD-40 for the rest of their lives, and they probably already have it in triplicate so never need to buy it again, no matter what it is.

To make a short story long, it took closer to three weeks than three days. I know. I know. Bauer would have done it in 24 hours but he is never slowed down by working with a woman and he kills his partners who don’t keep up the pace. I, on the other hand, am a guest and as one must keep the pace that the host sets. Let me just say, she works pretty slow. I took care of the heavy lifting and dirty work, she did the sorting and purging. We went through every cupboard/shelf/container and cleaned, sorted, donated, getting rid of the crap, and purging the duplicates. We were both quite pleased with the outcome. We haven’t tackle the tops of the cupboards-their ‘oh, let’s just stick it up there for now’ place-but what we have accomplished is a big improvement. It’s now organized with everything having a place and being in it’s place. Friends in Need has a significant addition for it’s rummage sale, and they should be able to find what ever it is that they are looking for now so they won’t buy another one, just because that’s so much easier than trying to dig through the haystack to find the needle.
Below are the pictures that we took. (double click on the picture, then click on slideshow when the photos appear)

By the way, they have 19 rolls of electrical tape, 8 cans of WD-40, 27 bungee cords, and quite possibly every kind of hardware that Menards sells, so stop by their place in case you need something.

cleaning the garage with M2

There are a lot of places to work that are best described as places that suck, a lot more average places to work, and a few really cool places to work. One of the coolest places to work that I’ve ever visited is in Ann Arbor, MI. I mean, if I had to live a real life and work at a real job, this would certainly be on my top 43 list of places with potential. I got to spend a couple days there this week while Mike (the baseball player I am responsible for providing the good Mojo for) has been on the road on the east coast and his wife has been on the road on the west coast coaching volleyball camps. So I’ve been staying in the midwest (halfway in the middle, ready to spring with my catlike reflexes in either direction should either one need me) and, because I have the right ‘connections’ was able to spend the last couple days hanging out at enlighten. Yeah, that’s the name. No capital ‘e’. Some people get it confused with a religious music station by the same name so the CEO gets weird emails about how “inspirational” he is or advice as to which artist he should play more of but all that’s beside the point. Whether or not Steve is or isn’t somewhat inspirational in a very unconventional sense (the jury is still out), he does have a cool company for three reasons: they have fun, do cool stuff, and some really awesome people working there. As far as having fun goes, they are pros. As for the work they do, I’m not at liberty to tell you everything (because, again, I would have to kill you, and, the truth is, nobody really knows). But if you care that much and want to know (yawn), you can check out their website at www.enlighten.com. I promise you won’t get any inspirational music and you will see some off-the-chart amazing/cool/weird/awesome stuff, but the truth is, you probably would really rather meet some of the people. So here they are.

Before you start, I suggest you get a drink (possibly a good stiff one, or two, or three) and order a pizza ’cause this is going to take a while.

A day at the office with M2

Turns out, M and E had a pretty nice place this time. The Royals have put the players down in AZ in some very nice, new condos.  They had a two – bedroom place with a balcony overlooking the pool, a huge kitchen with all the appliances a girl needs (a real man only needs his bare hands and his teeth) – dishwasher, microwave, stove, refridgerator, and a garbage disposal.  And don’t forget . . . granite countertops!  Real furniture (meaning they didn’t have to use rubbermaids for coffee tables, books shelves or end tables) that was pretty, and new (important to a girl-a real man just needs some dirt and a rock for a pillow if he’s a sissy), plus it all matched. They also mentioned that they had the most comfortable bed so far in all their 6? 7? 8? moves, (I prefer to sleep on the ground-the rockier the better) and even had art work on the walls. Very nice.  The complex also had a workout room, a yoga room, a movie room (giant screen with comfy chairs), a clubhouse with a pool table, and a very nice pool and hot tub.  They’ve been in the game long enough to have made some good friends who happened to be in AZ at the same time, so they got to do some grilling by the pool and played a little pool football. Other than that, not a ton to do when it’s 112 degrees outside (butch up, baby! that’s nothin’ compared to where I was), and no car (real men don’t need ‘em) so entertainement was limited. I guess that’s all part of the adventure of the minors. One week you’re sharing a bedroom with a cat and the next, you’re living in the lap of luxury.

I got back to AZ in time to see Erin before she took off, and it turned out Mike was getting ready to leave again too, so we took a few pics for old times before going our separate ways. They were pretty happy to see me resurface after going rouge for a while ’cause they didn’t know how we’d catch up if I didn’t get back before they left. When are they going to learn that I can take care of myself?

Surprise Condo 2007

The life of a minor leaguer is in many ways similar to the life of  an undercover super agent. You never know from one minute to the next where you will be needed and what guise your travel will take. In the case of this move,  Erin literaly found out from someone who overheard someone who said something to someone else. In the blink of an eye, they found out through the mill that Mike would be heading to sweltering Arizona, with no clue as to how long, and they had no idea where Erin was headed at all. The only thing they knew was that the next day they were packing. You didn’t know professional sports was this gloriously exciting, did you?

As you can well imagine, this could really piss off the talent and were it not for the steadying influence of one who could not even begin to count the number of places he’s slept, it could have gotten really ugly in a hurry. But in some professions, you just have to accept that your life is not your own. Chuck doesn’t whine when he has to pull the rubbermaids back out. Jack left that Chinese prison so fast he DIDN”T EVEN GET TO PACK HIS and still, by the end of the day, he had saved the world once again. So butch up, Sally, quit your bitchin’, and throw all that crap back into the rubbermaids for the umteenth time and get your asses down the road to the next stage of “the adventure”.

Mark II helped them pack the crap, keep the sanity, and allowed the cat to live one more day, getting out of their place in Wilmington in 24 hours. (See, Bauer, anyone can do it.)

“Time to say good-bye,” no one says it better, or rather sings it better than Andrea Boccelli and it kept ringing in my head as I helped Mark Raikes prepare to go today. He is off to Wilmington, fulfilling his destiny as Mike’s mojo man.

It’s time to hit the road and join Mike and Erin in Wilmington, going on the road with #32 to appease the baseball gods and keep superstition in check. I will miss our times together but I know this is where he belongs. The original Mark Raikes commented on Mike’s outing last Saturday, trying, of course to deflect blame from himself, making excuses for not showing. . . . Again . . . . Slacker. He made some good points (see comments, The Perfect Birthday Gift) and I quote, “Mike will need to carry ‘little me’ with him — displayed in his locker during home stands (in his glove when not in use), and ride in the pocket of his glove when traveling, and sitting ‘Indian style’ under a ’spare hat’ preferably size 7 5/8 when on the road.” Dead-on right. I agree. Mark the First does know his baseball. (All the more reason he should be there, but I digress) Sitting in front of the monitor listening to the game was not enough. Perhaps if they webcast the games so Mark II could see what’s going on, reading the batter, checking the wind direction, surveying the strike zone du jour, sending in the signals (he would have to text message them in) like he likes too, it would all be different, but since that is not the case, he must be there in person with Mike, all the way to the Show. Whether in the dugout, or stadium seating, Mark needs to be able to see the game. That’s how it works. Mike can either put him on the pass list so he can come in with Erin or take him in his bag to the locker room. As long as he doesn’t stay in the locker room during the game. He needs to be able to see the action. Hey Raikes, exactly which seat were you sitting in, anyway?

I think Erin may have the best solution. She has taken a job as a waitress (yes, not server or waitperson-screw political correctness) at the luxury boxes at the Frawley Stadium. While it is a perfect job in that she works only the days that there are home games, so she is able to have the same days off that Mike has off and can go on road trips with him without having to ask for time off, there is another far more important reason. She is devoted to Mike and did this just so M2 could have a bird’s eye view of all things going on during the game, plus have prime access to all the movers and shakers. If Two isn’t going to be in the dugout during the games, it’s important that he have a place to watch where the fans will not distract him. He’s pretty popular, you know. (He tries to keep a low profile, but the autograph hounds wear him down.) Also, networking is important in any career and being in the luxury suites with the big wigs will give him the opportunity to “talk shop” with the management. I’m thinking this is going to work out pretty darn fine . . . Even though it is a sacrifice for me . . . At least someone is willing to make one (I’m referring to you M1, in case you missed my drift.)

Good-bye, Deux. I’ll miss you. Don’t forget to write.