The CPA – Part II - *%#@!

“God Dammit! God Dammit! God Dammit!” The CPA screamed at me, pounding his fist on his desk, his eyes bulging in his rage. “Why don’t you pull your goddamn head out of your ass and listen you dumbshit!”

My eyes glazed over, as they usually did when he went off, there was a window behind The CPA’s desk and I would stare out the window as I stood in front of his desk, I would wish that I were out there, instead of in here with this fat, short, bald guy with coffee breath screaming obscenities at me.

As I look at what I write it seems shocking to me, but at the time it was so blasé. While not a super common occurrence, getting screamed at was a pretty normal part of the workday. The CPA gave me tons of work to do, which I didn’t mind, but he would never show me how to do what he wanted, or in what way he wanted something done. I used to ask for some guidance but all he would ever say was, “Look back!”

That meant look at what had been done previously and deduce from that how to do what you were working on now. Mistakes were unacceptable as well. That was a pleasant combo, figure out on your own how to do something that is new, with the knowledge that any mistake, even a name misspelling would bring about the CPA’s wrath.

“Thank you, Lord, for this good job,” I prayed on that Saturday night, after leaving the call center.

“You aren’t sure that it is good yet,” Wife #1 cautioned, but I shrugged it off. How could this NOT be a good job? I had suffered patiently through the call center, through stocking shelves at Pier One; I had even applied to work at Wendy’s. I had sacrificed and prayed and God had seen me through the wilderness and it was over! I knew this for a fact. That is one reason why the first time The CPA exploded at me I was so shocked. I sat at my desk for a half hour, staring out the window, knowing that I couldn’t quit, I had been without a real job for so long that we needed the money a decent paying job brought in. So I had to accept his verbal abuse. Day after day, week after week, being called a “fucking idiot” doesn’t really get old, especially not when it is screamed at you time after time. He had no regard for me.

I hated him.

I was confused, why had God put me through all that crap just to spit on me? I was down on the ground, did I really need that last kick? Was He chuckling, having a grand old laugh at His latest practical joke?

When I was younger I went to a Christian school called N.E.C.A. They gave awards at the end of the year based on Godly values that each person displayed throughout the year. After one tough year I was awarded the Perseverance Award. I’m just too stubborn to quit; I don’t like to lose so I don’t give up. It became almost a game, The CPA had to be on his last legs, I could outlive the bastard easily.

I noticed that certain words that I had thought firmly locked away were creeping back into my vocabulary again as I was exposed to language so foul it would make a whore blush. Maybe I should have cleaned the language up as I write this, but it seems a lie, like I have said in the past, if you are offended by what I’m writing, I’m not forcing you to read it, but I will accept all donations through Paypal still.

So I worked as hard as I could, I worked as error free as I could, and waited for a new job to come along or for The CPA’s heart to give out, either was an acceptable solution to me.

Fritz

The CPA – Part 1 – The 18 Second Upsell

While most know of my experience working with The CPA, I don’t think I have told the whole story, in its entirety, from beginning to end, leaving nothing out, completely. So I will now. I’m pretty sure that there will be some, err, impolite language in this post, but it was certainly a turning point in the relationship and should be chronicled correctly, but since I really have no idea what will come out until it has shot out into Microsoft Word, I will be as shocked and appalled as you all if it comes out, I swear.

This will be broken into smaller stories, after writing part of this story I am reminded that most people have the IQ of an acorn and would most likely forget the beginning by the time they reached the second paragraph.

I have been to hell. I’ve been to the depths of hades. I worked at a call center that took orders for products sold on TV. I have been “written up” for spending less than 18 seconds on average on an “upsell.” No joke.

What is an “upsell?” You may ask. It is a torture device designed to ensure that the idiots purchasing this product that they saw on TV are too stupid to figure out how to return the POS once they have received it.

Ooooo, you said “POS!”

That was merely a shout out to Brother #1. He who has every occurrence of Biblical cursing memorized. Hey, you have four and 8/9 kids, get a new hobby! But I digress.

I find it amusing that the sellers of TV products think so little of their customers that they are not just content so make all their money off impulse buys, but, they lie to customers about the “free” stuff they will get (just pay shipping and handling!), then they won’t allow their customers to finish their transaction, to PURCHASE the crap item until they have listened to some minimum wage paid dope on the phone read to them about other unrelated stuff they should buy, sometimes the upsells can take three minutes! And the people just take it!

Let’s pause for a moment here and recap the average customer of whom I wasted eight hours a day of my life talking to:

1. They impulsively purchase crap that they see on TV.
2. They actually watch infomercials. Really, if you find yourself regularly sitting around watching an infomercial it just might be a sign that your life is not heading in the direction it should. A drastic change should probably be made. Try robbing banks or college, either is a better solution.
   
3. They use credit cards. Therefore they most likely are buying “stuff they don’t need, with money they don’t have, to impress people they don’t really like.”
4. SET IT! AND FORGET IT!

Now let me tell you a little about what the company thought of its workers. There were red and green lights positioned in the call center rooms. When you worked there you weren’t entirely sure when you would leave. You might be scheduled to work 9:00 – 5:30, but if the red light was on, that meant you had to stay until the green light came on or until you had spent an extra half hour there. Yes, we had lights tell us when we were allowed to leave work. It seemed that every time the end of my shift approached the red light would turn on, ensuring that I would have to endure another half hour of moronic people not wanting to listen to upsells.

So that was where my life was when I went for an interview at a small CPA office. By small I mean there was The CPA and a part-time data entry person. The interview took about two hours and I really did quite well. Wife #1 called me in the middle of a shift to let me know that I got the job. I hung up my phone and quit immediately. The managers were happy for me. That is right, it was such a horrible place to work that even management didn’t like it.

I was in heaven, I had an accounting job again and I was leaving hell, only to come back one more time for my paycheck. Interesting note: I wasn’t allowed back in the building, but the paycheck was held by security, they didn’t want disgruntled workers coming back in, or happy ex-workers either. I can see it now:

Happy ex-worker: People! I have seen the light! There is a better world than this! Rise up! Over throw your oppressors! Turn on your superiors! Fight for freedom from the phone!

Sullen workers: We can’t! We have to spend at last 18 seconds on upsells!

Part 2 to follow.

Fritz

P.S. As I read over what I just wrote, I have to stand back and admire what I have done. That is some good frickin’ writing. In fact, as Brother #1 would say, “That is some good skubalon.” Fo sho!

Things I Have Learned from July

Thank goodness July is done with, not only was it hot, it also pretty much sucked the life out of me. I am still recovering and am exhausted and have a headache!

*Could that headache be from whacking yourself in the head with a ping-pong paddle?*

Err, maybe, but July still was crappy. But as the great sage says, “Learn from bad times!”

*Who exactly is this great sage?*

I can’t remember; I have a headache. Go away.

Well, here is a list of things I have learned:

1. Ford Taurus’s suck. I hate them. Pluralizing a word that ends with an "S" sucks also, I blame Ford for that as well.

2. Mercury Sables are the exact same car as the Ford Taurus, therefore, by default, it is awful as well.

3. Personalized license plates that only have you and your spouses’ initials on it irritate me. Seriously, are you that worried that your ’81 Ford Pinto is going to get stolen that you must know what your license number is at all times? Let me tell you how that conversation will go:

Pinto Owner: Officer! My car was stolen! I know the license number!

Officer: What kind of car was it?

Pinto Owner: It was an ’81 Pinto the plate reads-

Officer: No need! No need! We will merely do a three hundred yard radius search, I’m sure it will turn up.

(Ten minutes later)

Officer: We found your….umm…car.

Pinto Owner: Yay!! Did you catch the perp!

Officer: Yeah, but we let him go.

Pinto Owner: But I wanted to press charges!

Officer: There is no way that theft of an ’81 Pinto will stick, besides you have more important things to worry about.

Pinto Owner: Really? What?

Officer: You are being sued by the thief for loss of enjoyment of life after driving your Pinto for ten minutes.

See! That is what will happen, now go come up with something witty or please just attempt to make it through life with seven random numbers, you can do it, I hear there is a support group opening soon.

4. Viewings are terrible. Why is it that it is socially acceptable to chat amiably with someone while five feet to your left a dead person lies there, meanwhile you can’t even think of talking over a whisper in a library?

5. Really, viewings stink. We swear to everyone that the person in question is dead! Why else would we spend thousands of dollars on a casket and spend a Saturday afternoon inside when we could be playing golf? The stiff is stiff! Can’t we leave now?

6. Spring mattresses suck-

*I am beginning to notice a trend here, I know July wasn’t exactly a splendiferous month, but did everything suck?*

I slept on a mattress so hard I think it would have been softer to sleep on a piece of board. My back hurt, who thinks that hard mattresses are GOOD for your back?

7. Solitude is underrated. After enjoying over twenty hours by myself in a car, I realize that having time to think can really be good, you come up with remarkably witty Ford Pinto stories. Maybe I’ll share one of them sometime.

8. The Bob & Sheri radio show is the greatest thing to listen to while on a long trip, especially the podcast version that has all the commercials cut out and you can just listen to hours and hours of it, so wonderful.

9. Lists that do not make it to ten suck.

Fritz

Ascending

Well, one reason I guess to write in a blog is so that people can get to know me better, the story I will relate might force you to change your opinion of me, but I doubt it. I’m sure most of those who know me have figured out the story, but the details are unknown, and I think it will stay that way.

I also want people to understand why I am where I am in my spiritual life. I could be so much farther along, but I was forced to hit a reset button and start all over at one point in my life. I will only tell you all this one detail, I swear I never did coke. :)

I also think that is is just a good story, it helps to be reminded of grace. And how honoring your parents can make an eternal difference.

As I was driving back from my friend’s wedding I thought about why we, my friend and I, believe so differently, why we have ended up so far apart, on opposite sides of the spiritual spectrum in fact. I think it comes down to one simple thing, respecting your parents. I remember he asked me why I still went to church, “You don’t have to do what your father tells you anymore, you are an adult!” He said.

I just ignored him. He wouldn’t understand since his relationship with his father was so different from mine. He rebelled, striking out, trying to get away. I feared disappointing my father. I always wanted him to be proud of me. I never wanted to hurt my parents, I knew telling them that I wasn’t going to go to church anymore would hurt them. So I went. I went and listened, while I didn’t really care, maybe didn’t even believe, the messages stilled seeped in. That is why I was able to be affected so greatly, have my life changed, my path reversed, at Cornerstone ‘97, by a simple message told by Sonny, lead singer of P.O.D.

I had descended deeper into, well, we shall just call it “stuff.” By 1997 “stuff” pretty much ruled my life, all I cared about was having fun. Cornerstone was something I had wanted to go to for a while, it seemed like it would be a good time, and so I decided to go.

We, my friend and I, went to Cornerstone filled with excitement. We looked forward to seeing Starflyer ’59, Disciple, Tourniquet, and P.O.D. At that time I was still living in Pennsylvania and the trip took about seventeen hours, we did stop more than we had to though.

Our hookup for some alcohol had fallen through, so we were heading there dry, we were quite unhappy about this fact, but it turns out that it was a very good thing. Several people were kicked out for having alcohol and I ‘m certain that we were stupid enough to have joined them if we had successfully gotten a stash.

Most of the time there was not really all that important, it was a good time, but unimportant. The P.O.D. show was different however.

The music was good, but the area was hot so I went to the back and sat in a wooden folding chair in the back area, along with some others who were tuckered out like I was. Sonny began to speak. He was no idiot; he knew that some there were not the ideal Cornerstone participant. I don’t quite remember what he said, but it made some sort of impression. They decided to have an informal Lord’s Supper (bad theology I know). I think that they only did a drink, no bread, and the drink was grape punch. Cheap grape punch. Punch that sold for fifty-nine cents at any grocery store. Punch that struck fear into me, at that moment I felt the weight of all my sins, I knew that the existence of God was not a fable passed down from generation to generation, that Christ really did have to die for me, or else I would die. I knew this and was terrified, how could I even think of drinking that grape punch that was to be used to signify the Lord’s Supper? I shrank back, feeling the peculiar sensation of sorrow inside me, the one I call “crying inside.” I wanted to be rescued, but was scared, I didn’t want God’s attention to fall on me; I didn’t want him to look at this wretch. Like Adam long ago, I hid.

I watched as a young woman walked towards me, holding a plastic jug of grape punch, she handed it to me and walked off. Time seemed to slow. It must have, how could all of this have happened if time had not paused, or at least relaxed a bit. As I took the cheap, plastic jug, I knew I had been seen. I could not hide. I had to choose, life or death, Christ or the world. Tears of joy in my eyes, for I knew that God knew me, saw what I was, and still offered His arms to me, I drank from the cheap, plastic jug. I felt cleansed as I drank, I felt forgiveness as I drank, I knew I was a changed person as I drank the cheap, too sweet grape punch.

The world looked different, I could see things I hadn’t before, I had truly felt close to God for the first time in my life. I couldn’t wait to see if my friend had had the same experience. He hadn’t, he had left, and he was sitting with a group of people who had grown bored with the “sermon” as well.

Had he chosen death or had he not even realized that a choice was being offered to him?

I wish I could say that I put away all the “stuff” at that point, but sanctification is a slow, never ending process, but at that point I ceased to descend. I started to ascend, to rise higher than I ever had before, or even thought possible.

I still struggle with issues caused by the way I had lived my life, but I get better, I struggle on. I grow in wisdom and grace.

A few things: Just a note to all the strict reformed types out there, a reminder that good theology doesn’t save, grace does. The Lord’s Supper at a concert using only grape punch was one of the worst examples of theology I have seen in a Christian place, but God still used it, I am sure that I can’t be the only one who was pulled back that evening.

Of course, that is not an excuse to not have good theology, just make certain you treasure grace over creeds, and wisdom over knowledge.

I’m note sure that anyone has really known this story before, I was ashamed of what I had been, and I treasured this moment above most others, but what good is it if it is not shared?

I also realize that if I had not had to struggle with all these things, I would be farther along in my walk with God, I also realize that maybe some might not know what I had been through and wonder why I am dealing with a certain issue, one that they themselves either never had to deal with or had put behind them long ago. Well, here is the reason, I dug myself a pit, I wasn’t even merely treading water, and it takes a while to get out of deep pits.

Fritz

Reverend Marvin Davis

What is a great man? Is a man made great by doing big things? Or can a simple man be great for bringing his family through the Great Depression unscathed? I know a great man, I call him Grandpa, just as Wife #1 does. Grandpa-in-law just doesn't sound right. He is ninety-two years old, and is dying.

My mind feels drained as I force myself to write this post, if it seems off somehow, my deepest and most sincere apologies. Or something.

Marvin Davis had the greatest faith of any man I have known. It was so great because it was untainted, it was simple. He knew God's promises and believed them. I wish I could do the same so easily. While Wife #1 and I went through our personal wasteland, I remember his prayers for us. We would swing by the Grandparents house after visiting The Greatest Mother and Father-in-Law Ever (TM) , and Grandma and Grandpa would always be happy to see us. Even if we came by late at night, like past 7:30.

We would sit at the dining room table and bow our heads, and he would pray for us. He would remind God of His promises and let Him know that we were not scared that He would not keep His word, we were merely waiting for Him.

His voice would not shake or waver and I always felt peace wash over me. His faith was so great and pure that it dragged me along with it. I knew that God would take care of us, I knew that there was a plan, I had just merely forgotten for a bit, his faith would remind me.

Faith without works is dead.

He would pray for us, then Grandma would reach into her purse and pull out some money. They knew that God would take care of us, they also knew that God uses His people to care for each other. They were always concerned that we would run out of food. How silly, all you have to do is look at my gut and realize that I could out live a camel in the desert; but, of course, I hadn't lived through the Great Depression.

We make jokes about the tales "old people" tell us, but I always tried to listen to Grandpa's tales. We are so soft and spoiled. The stories about living through the Depression still amaze me. Of course, that is why his faith was so strong, after living through something so horrible, relying only on God to take care of you, and He does, I would think most anyone's faith would be strong.

It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle.

The most insidous trap confront us every day, the trap of easy living. When hard times come, we cry out for them to pass, we pray for the easy life to come back, but the easy life saps our faith, hard times make us strong.

We do not mourn as those who have no hope.

Dr. Dave, the wisest doctor I have known, is putting a "pain patch" on Grandpa today. Once this is done, he will feel no more pain, but will live for less than 24 hours. That is for the best. Grandpa will sleep and awake to his God. His faith will be repaid a hundredfold and there will be no more pain for him. He will even get to hang out with my Mom who he first thought was my sister when he met her since she looked so young and filled with energy.

We will miss you Grandpa, sleep well.

Fritz

The Silence was Deafening

Hi. How are you? I am fine.

So began most of my letters to relatives, letters that I was forced by my parents to write. I had nothing to say. So it is now. While my life hasn't been really busy there is enough going on that I have had no desire to really write anything. There is something in the works though, have no fear.

On a side note: The toast was very well liked. I was happy. Huzzah!


Fritz

The Drag Race

This is your intrepid reporter, Fritz T. Grand, reporting live from the National Drag Racing Championship, The Senior Circuit! We are down to the last two finalists! The races today have been filled with excitement as the Cadillacs have raced each other at speeds in excess of 40 miles per hour! Swapping paint as they back into each other! And forcing each other off the track as they shift lanes without looking to see if anyone else is there! Oh the drama!

The two finalists are ready, they are sitting at the red light, about 30 yards from it to be exact, the light changes to green, the tension grows as neither car moves! The seconds drag past as neither car moves an inch! The light has been green for what seem hours yet neither moves!

Finally they notice that the light has changed! They’re off! The engines roar as they pass the five mile per hour mark……ten miles per hour……………fifteen………..they are cruising at a speed of almost twenty miles per hour! Oh the acceleration! Only four minutes have past and they are racing at almost twenty-five miles an hour!

What is this? For no reason the car in the right lane is drifting to the left! Does he not see the lines on the ground? There is a crunching sound as the cars jolt into each other! Amazingly enough, neither driver seems to notice! They cross the finish line neck and neck!

Oh the excitement!

This has been another exciting race! I am so glad to have been able to share the thrills of the Drag Racing Championship, The Senior Circuit, with you! This is Fritz T. Grand signing off.

Fritz

The Little Edit That Grew

This was just going to be an edit pasted to the top of the “College?” post, but it grew lengthy, so it gets its own space.

I was thinking while driving somewhere, and this is just an idea bumping around in my mind, but was the feminist movement of the Sixties brought about by a lack of respect by men? Women wanted more respect and decided to try and be better than men at what they do in order to gain that respect. What should have happened was that the men should have been shown the error of their ways and been taught to respect the work that their wives, mothers, sisters, etc. do.

I can see what happened in many homes in the Fifties so clearly as if I was there. The man comes home from his job, sits in his chair, and does nothing the rest of the night. He might even say, or think, that his wife owes it to him to pamper him since she didn’t
work all day.” He never helps with the dishes, doesn’t help with the errands, and mostly ignores his kids unless it is to play catch. That stuff is all his wife’s responsibility and since she doesn’t bring in any income, she needs to ask him for money to buy anything, just like one of the children.

Of course that lack of respect would get wearying. “Women’s work” is used as a derogatory term for a task. The wife was not honored for her sacrifices; rather she was pushed into the background, an unimportant part of the household. My boss at Howard Hanna used to like to say that the employees were expenses, while the real estate agents were revenue generators; therefore they were more important than us. Of course that is idiotic, but that was probably the same thought pattern so prominent regarding women who worked in the home.

As with most backlashes against a grievous crime, it went too far. Just as the anti-feminist backlash that attempts to push women into the background again is going to the other extreme.

There can be arguments about a woman’s proper place regarding her husband, I have found that ignoring Wife #1’s advice to be rather foolish, just as it is foolish for her to ignore my advice. A husband and wife are to be a team, this is too often forgotten in the argument over what “dominion” means.

Over the past few years I have discovered the truth of the matter about working mothers, you people are destroying yourselves! With Wife #1’s health issues, if something is to be done around the house, at the least I have to be a big part of it, or most often I have to do it myself. This includes most errand running, grocery shopping, most house cleaning, laundry, dishes,

*Thank you Lord for dishwashers*

and cook several meals a week. That is not counting the things that I do myself for upkeep on the house, I do this while working, without any kids. I can’t imagine what it would be like to do this while trying to be a Mother to children. No wonder the divorce rate is 50%. Women are stretching themselves too thin, while men get lazier. Behold the fruits of the feminist movement. The backlash went too far.

There can be no argument that the moral decay of our country has been accelerated since the Sixties and Seventies. Kids today run wild, problems that would not have been imagined in the Fifties are now commonplace. Over 50% of childbirths are out-of-wedlock. This number soars to 70% in the inner cities. Women have worked so hard to try and prove that they can do it all, but they can’t. How selfish of men to just idly sit by while their wife runs herself ragged! But it is short-sighted selfishness, their marriage grows stale since their wife spends all of her energy on everything else, that she has nothing to give towards the marriage, divorce looms, kids have to parental control, and so society suffers.

The answer to the problem is simple, just as most answers are. Men must apologize for their selfishness, their lack of respect towards the hard work that women do, and acknowledge the fact that the wife is just as important to the family as he is, might even be more important. The Proverb about the perfect woman rising before the sun rises and going to bed after the sun sets assumes, I believe, that the husband is working all that time too, maybe more. There is a guy I know who works long hours, and he does extra work outside the home, yet many times he will run to the store to get groceries.

Women for their part need to admit that they were wrong. There was a problem, a lack of respect, yet their methods for gaining that respect were wrong. They tried to be better than men at being men. I am not saying that a woman can’t do the job a man does, what I am saying is that the family suffers when this occurs. In their pride in fact, they have tried to be men and women at once, doing the women’s work as well as the men’s, and all have suffered, especially me.

Why me you ask? Well, I figure if only one person went to work, there would be less traffic on the roads at rush hour, making my commute easier. Also, both spouses wouldn’t need to own an SUV for their drive to work, this would cut down on the amount of gas used. Greater demand means a smaller supply, this causes higher prices. So not only are your families suffering, YOU ARE CASUING ME TO SPEND MORE MONEY THAN I SHOULD HAVE TO ON GAS!!!!

Now of course I do not see a day when men will repent of their foolishness, and women will admit that their actions were incorrect, but I think it should be a warning to the backlash against the backlash. We do not need a pendulum swinging madly back and forth from one extreme to another, what we need is balance. We need men to respect the work that their wives do, and women to respect the work that their husbands do. They are both equal parts in the marriage, without both parts doing their jobs well, the marriage will suffer, and maybe even fail.

Quick note to men: Little irks me more than seeing women working while men sit idly by. Sure, it might be their “job” to do the housework, but I have yet to see a wife get irritated by her husband helping out. Go out and get the groceries sometime, it will be a learning experience I promise you, we might even bump into each other at the checkout line.

Fritz

College?

I have read some interesting things regarding the “should women go to college?” debate. Just because I can, I decided to state my opinion on the issue.

Everyone is wrong, except me. Now go away.

*Ummm, don’t you think you should elucidate your statement?*

No! That would give people fodder to disprove what I’m saying! The number one rule in debating (at least amongst politicians) is to never really say anything, so that is what I will do.

*Hey, elaborate or this post won’t see the light of day.*

Fine. Please don’t assume you know where I am going before you read the whole thing.

There is a debate “raging” over whether or not women should go to college. What I find amusing is that both sides seem to take a fierce pride in being the minority, which of course is impossible.

So what is the truth? What is the answer?

Before I go into that, let me give you a short background sketch of myself. I have an accounting degree, Wife #1 has an accounting degree although hers is from a better school. Some people have stated that one reason men don’t want women to go to college is that they might discover that their wife is smarter than they are, well, she is. And she worked harder at getting good grades than I did. She graduated with honors, and won the prestigious Business Department award, which was called something more pretentious than that. She went to college, did VERY well, and we have the student loan to prove it!

Of course, as some of you know, due to her health problems, she is rarely able to make it to work. When she does feel well enough to go and work at a place that allows her to keep extremely flexible hours, she doesn’t do anything accounting related. So was her degree wasted? Were the hours that she put in, working so hard to get good grades, were they wasted? Of course not.

But the money sure was. If we didn’t have that student loan hanging over our heads we would be in a better place financially. We are called to be good stewards of our finances, spending thousands of dollars learning something that will not bring in a return greater is a waste of money.

Of course we didn’t know the future, we didn’t know that she would have health issues that would prevent her from using her degree to get a return on the investment. The money was used wisely at the time, going to a cheap college close to home, in the end, unless you go to Harvard, Yale, MIT, Penn State – The Behrend Campus (had to throw that in there), etc. the name of the school doesn’t matter. Get what you need cheap, like shopping at Dollar General, the “Cheerios” aren’t as good, but they will give you energy to start the day just the same.

Another argument for college is that it teaches people how to be adults. We are so babied, not learning to be adults before we hit the age of 18? In the old days a boy became a man at 13, had a mid-life crisis at 22, bought a faster donkey, then died at 30. Today people are still learning to be adults way past the age when they should be buying a faster donkey!

*Wow, I can feel the emotion bursting through*

And learning how to be an adult from college? Based on my past experiences, that would be like learning about sex from a pornographic movie. You want t o learn how to be an adult? Go get yourself an apartment, get a job, and survive without help. That is how you learn. Or you can have good parents that teach you how to fend for yourself, I hated it when I was younger, but I am now so grateful that I had to work for most things I had.

Now to make the other side mad at me:

Education in important. Formal education (do not read public schools) in most cases is better in teaching math, grammar, and whatnot. That is not to say that people home schooling their kids do a poor job of educating them, in fact I think that home schooling educates better than most public schools. But it cannot really be denied that a trained teacher who knows the material from years of teaching it is better at teaching grammar to a child than a parent who is doing this for their first time. No matter what aides they avail themselves of.

But what about college? How do you decide whether or not it is for you? I don’t know. But I think before you make the decision to go, you need to have a good reason for going. Especially when you consider the thousands of dollars being spent for the experience. But if you decide not to go, you need to have a good reason for not going as well. I think the best way to decide what is right for you is to decide what it is you plan on doing? Do you think that you are called to teach? Do you feel the tug pulling you to artistry? Or music? How about gardening? There are many things a woman can do in the home, while caring for her children besides washing dishes and vacuuming. These other things don’t even have to be hobbies. Of course it is simpler if the tug is pulling you towards being a wife and mother. As long as the children are cared for, I don’t really see anything wrong with being an artist and selling paintings, or teaching piano, or any number of things. It just has to be done with the welfare of the children being a higher priority.

Now we get to the part that I think too many men think of clinically, with a lack of emotion. What if a woman does not want to be a mother? What if a woman wants to have a job, have a husband and not have children? What then?

I say this as gently as I can: Life sucks. I know this firsthand. Women are called by their Creator to first be mothers. As I write this I think about how this applies to me. What if all doors were closed to me except being a cartoonist? That would be awful for me. But I would have to learn to be content. Just as does a woman who does not want children, but one day finds herself pregnant. She must put the welfare of the child first, and all other aspects of her life must change to be the mother to this child.

This of course can cut both ways, what if there is a woman who only wants to be a mother, yet God says no? What does she do then? She must first be content of course, but what to do with her life?

There are far too many questions that are unanswered to really say which is better. I tend to lean towards not going to school over going to school because I am a big believer in wise stewardship, and to be honest, paying thousands of dollars just for the sake of gaining knowledge when it could be given to people who are in desperate need of help is not a wise use of money. In fact I would argue that it is wasteful. The gain of knowledge is never a bad thing, spending some money towards gaining that knowledge is not a bad thing either. Just keep it in moderation.

What the situation comes down to is that we have two groups of people who are doing the same thing different ways, yet they both exclaim that they are correct! Why can’t it be…

*both*

neither?

Like I said, I’m right, you all are wrong.

To be honest, these are jumbled thoughts in my head about this issue. I could very well be wrong about everything, but I doubt it. If anything I said has offended you, remember, I didn’t make you read this. But I will always listen gladly to dissenting voices, so long as they make sense and use a maximum of four curse words.

Also, most everything that I have said can be applied to men as well. If a man doesn't have a really good reason for going to secondary school I would consider it a waste of money for him to blindly head off to college, with no idea of what he wants to study, or do in the future. College is not a rite of passage that you can only do when you are between the ages of 18-24.

Fritz

The Toast

I will soon be the best man type at a friend's wedding. I am assuming that I will have to have some sort of speech prepared. I thought I would write it out here and see what people think of it. The couple getting married are not Christians and I do not intend to preach or anything like that since it is not my wedding. So here goes:

**************************

Thank you all for coming to listen to me speak, I’m sorry you had to sit through the preliminary festivities, but it built up the anticipation.

When I look around at the people I know, I am astonished by how many years they have spent togehter. My parents were married for 29 years. 29 years, that is a long time, longer than I have been alive. I remember when Carrie and I went to a 50^th wedding anniversary for a relative of hers. 50 years together! Carrie’s grandparents were (or have been) married for over 70 years. They got married during the Great Depression. While I don’t know exactly how long your parents have been married, it has been awhile. Probably felt like longer than it actually was sometimes.

All of these people have something in common; it was really hard sometimes, excruciatingly hard even. They might have felt like giving in, giving up, quitting, but they didn’t. They persevered.

My grandfather told me that marriage isn’t a 50/50 deal, it is both people giving 100%. Remember that when it gets hard. The harder life gets, the more you have to work at keeping together. One of the things I have learned through my five years of marriage is that the worst arguments will be over the stupidest stuff. Like forgetting to use a 30 cent coupon at the store. Carrie's parents had an argument over a salt shaker and my parents fought over pancakes. Of course the cause of these fights is never a salt shaker, or even pancakes, but some other issue that wasn't dealt with properly and is simmering under the surface, waiting to erupt.

Good communication can help keep these arguments from rearing their ugly heads. You might not have to agree with each other's point of view on a subject, but you MUST listen to it.

There will most likely be a point in your lives when you will ask, “Why am I doing this?”

I don’t know. You will have to come up with your own answer. Personally I married Carrie for the tax deduction. I thought I could make money by tying the knot. After a recent cost analysis I realize that I have been screwed.

It is obvious that Carrie and Amanda's reason for wanting to get married wasn't due to our good looks, since, well, let’s be honest Jeff, you and I are butt-ugly.

Ok, let’s check the old toast to do list , I have offered wisdom, insulted the groom, so all that is left is to compliment the bride.

Amanda, you look very nice.

Raise glass

Good luck to both of you and may you both have endless patience with each other.

Ok, let's eat.

*************************

What do you all think? All comments welcome. Mean comments are welcome but will be deleted.

Fritz

Rededication

One of my thousands of readers came up to me today and asked for an abbreviated review of Cinderella Man since he did not want to have to bother with the “drivel" to get to it. He chuckled, I didn’t notice. I was too busy surreptitiously wiping my chin. No drool. What was this “drivel” he was talking about then?

I raced back to my corner office, and flicked on the computer. I headed over to Webster’s website.

drivel

n 1: a worthless message [syn: garbage] 2: saliva spilling from the mouth [syn: drool, dribble, slobber]

I was confused. I glanced over at a mirror. There really wasn’t any drool on my chin. That must mean that he thought my blog was drivel! Ahhh, but the chuckle to show he was kidding of course, he didn’t really think that. But maybe there was some truth to it.

I reread what I had written. It was all drivel. It wasn’t the earth shattering posts I had planned on. I had become some hack, spitting out whatever was on my mind. This must end. I hereby rededicate my blog to the good of mankind. I will no longer post that which is unimportant. I will only write what will change people’s lives!

I swear it, or my name isn’t Fritz T. Grand

Next up: An in-depth look at Senior Citizens on the drag racing circuit. Sick humor or good, clean fun?

--Fritz

Cinderella Man

If you are one of those people who are thinking that they will only go see one more movie in a theater, make it Cinderella Man. I'm sure you were going to save it for a movie with great special effects, lots of explosions, but no, see Cinderella Man.

The sheer violence of boxing, depicted so accurately, contrasted with the gentleness Jim Braddock shows to his wife and family is so striking, that I think it needs to be seen in its full glory.

It is 2 1/2 hours long, it flew by and when it was over all I could do was sit transfixed in my seat. Only one couple got up to leave at this point.

The sheer honor shown by this man makes you almost weep due to the shameless people of today. This was a time when men were men, when honor, honesty, and working hard meant something. Even with no food he marched his son back to the butcher's shop and made him return the meat he had stolen. When asked by a gaggle of reporters what he was fighting for, he replies "milk." When he is forced to go on Government Assisstance the scene is heart breaking. He tries to work three shifts a day at the docks to make ends meet.

This is a true story, most of the quotes taken are real to the best of my knowledge, therefore, don't spoil the ending by looking up what happens. Please.

"Cinderella Man is a terrific boxing picture, but there's no great need for another one. The need it fills is for a full-length portrait of a good man."

--Roger Ebert

The only other movie that Wife #1 and I have both loved so much was Band of Brothers, so take it not from me but her, this is not a movie to miss. Just go see it, you will thank me.

***** out of *****

Fritz

Generic Q-Tips

Every weekday morning I have a little ritual. The alarm goes off, I hit snooze. It sounds again, I slap snooze again. The third time it goes off, I hit the button a little harder. Then my wife starts saying something about getting up and I mumble something about a “few more minutes,” to the untrained ear it probably sounds like cursing. Then I get out of bed.

I stagger to the bathroom, the difference between me before a shower and after is very much like the difference between Clark Kent and Superman. I am not a morning person.

*Good excuse here to show a picture of Morgan when she was just a little kitten*

When I come out of the shower, Morgan is almost always waiting for me. I don’t know why, she just is. I think she feels the need to make certain that I survived my latest encounter with water since she hates it so much. This is one of the few times during the day that she will deign to honor me with her meow. She wants attention, doesn’t matter if I am running late for work, she wants attention. She also knows that if she meows at me, with her kittenish meows that I will always pet her. She loves having her ears scratched.

Have you ever bought a toy for a child and they were more interested in the wrapping paper? We have quite a few cat toys in the house, a large bagful actually. Morgan has a few toys that she likes, but what she loves to play with are Q-Tips. I use a Q-Tip in the morning after a shower, and I get one for her too. I throw it down the hall and she chases after it, pouncing, batting, and rolling around with it grasped between her paws. Once she has subdued it she will carry it in her mouth to another point in the house, where she will drop it and begin the process anew.

We first learned of her love for Q-Tips by discovering her love of dumpster diving. She would knock over the bathroom garbage and sort through it until she found a Q-Tip. This is not the behavior that we felt she should be exhibiting! But I am too wrapped around her little paw to actually punish her. So I give her a new Q-Tip to play with.

A generic Q-Tip actually. I like the soft feel of the extra padding on the brand name Q-Tips, but it is too easy for Morgan to tear it off and try to eat it, assuring that it will make an appearance later, or I worry that it could be harmful to her. So last time at the store, I got generic Q-Tips. Less padding, my ears will suffer and pay the price to keep Morgan from harm. I think it is the little things we do that show our care for each other more than the large things. In a way it is easy to do large things once a month for those we love, we get thanks showered on us, but the every day things, the little sacrifices that go unnoticed and unthanked, those get tiresome.

Morgan doesn’t thank me for using generic Q-Tips to keep her safe, but she doesn’t need to. The sheer joy she exhibits when I throw a Q-Tip down the hall is thanks enough.

--Fritz

Five Long, Arduous Years

Well, my five-year anniversary is fast approaching. By some strange coincidence, Wife #1’s five-year anniversary is the same time of year. Fortunately, they are both on the same day so we celebrate them at the same time.

As I look back over the five years since I babbled something that sounded like “I do,” I realize that most people probably would have split up because of the problems we faced. The number one cause of divorce in America is money issues. And wow, did we have money issues. By issues of course, I mean that we had none.

2000

The first year of marriage is a beautiful time, when two people used to having their own bathroom move in together. Your feeling of independence and freedom is shattered, never to return.

But we made it through the first year, I was working and Wife #1 was finishing school (that would be second grade, we got married young).

2001

Six months into the marriage was when her back problems started, nothing quite like taking someone to the emergency room in an ambulance, it is an experience to be missed. Good things happened that January though; I got a whopping 3% raise! My boss had to fight with her superiors to get me that much, they wanted to give me a 2.75% raise. With the amount of money I was making, we were not talking about a lot of money, that would be my first experience with corporate greed, The Howard Hannah Way®!

In February we started looking for a house. Our one bedroom apartment got old really fast. We wanted out. We were picky. We weren’t going to take any old house; we demanded that it be in our price range! On June 18^th we bought our first home using Howard Hannah Realty. We did it The Hannah Way ®!

On November 12^th, my boss, while crying, told me that the higher ups in Pittsburgh had decided that they were dumping my job. My boss reminded them that I had just bought a house using their company. The higher ups agreed that it was a shame. How swell of them. To be honest, I hope their company collapses around their ears. I hope they wind up broke and unemployed while people they sacrificed for turn their backs on them. Does that seem vindictive? It sure is. I also hope that a certain Hannah gets his Porsche destroyed before his eyes. Just a quick reality check, if he had refrained from buying a new Porsche that year, they would have EASILY had enough to pay my salary. So a new car was more important than I was to those people. The Howard Hannah Way®!

That changed me, I thought irrevocably, but it was not to be. I swore never again to give more to a job than they gave me.

They gave me a month of severance pay, thereby ensuring that I would spend Christmas realizing that I only had one more week of income left. My boss was not supposed to tell me so early in the month for some reason (only explanation: The Howard Hannah Way®!), but she told me, risking her own position. I immediately started looking for a new job. I sent resumes, I filled out applications, and I applied for unemployment. Months came and went, we had no money; unemployment payments are just enough so that you can pay some bills. I got rejected by Wendy’s, I couldn’t get any job.

2002

Through this all, my wife’s back grew worse. She graduated (with many honors) from a prestigious school that you have never heard of and got a job at a local non-profit that helped people with mental problems and other such stuff (motto: We help our clients while hating our staff!).

In July I had an interview. A few weeks later they offered me the job. I just knew I should refuse it, but I needed a job. Five months of misery followed, culminating in us calling over the H.H.G. and having a chat about me quitting with no other job on the horizon, and with no unemployment to fall back on. It was the right thing to do; I left.

With only Wife #1’s income we were still short (money wise that is, I’m over 6’). So I plunged into the depths of hell and got a job taking phone calls from people who were buying stuff shown on infomercials. Wheee! The interview process went thusly:

I walked in; filled out an application, set what days I would be there, and that was it. I had a very bad feeling from the get go. They didn’t even pretend to care if I was a good worker or would be there beyond next week.

As some of you might have noticed, my mind jumps around a lot, it is very active, sort of like a chipmunk on speed. Taking these calls was awful for me. They didn’t really take all that much brain power to handle, just enough so I couldn’t zone out. My mind raced, time slowed to a halt, and I got in trouble for, on average, taking less than 18 seconds on upsells.

Through all of this my wife’s back grew worse, she missed time at work, her supervisor started showing her true colors. Doctor’s offered no help, aside from medication there was no relief from the pain, and medicine loses its potency after a while.

2003

January 28^th. I started working for a C.P.A. I will go into detail about this in a later post, suffice to say that I hated it, maybe I hated him too, and it was the best thing that ever happened to me in regards to my career (that, readers, is known as a teaser).

During tax time I would work 40+ hours a week. I enjoyed doing people’s taxes, despite what you may believe, I did over one hundred tax returns (individual and business) in 2004 and not one came back due to an error I had made. I was pretty proud of that.

Then came the summer of 2003. There wasn’t enough work to do, I worked two days a week, eight hours a day, sixteen hours a week, between Wife #1’s job and my part-time work we almost were able to make it. I started looking for a better job again. I sent out resumes to everywhere, even for Accounts Receivable positions (if you understand my distaste for Accounts Receivable, then you must have some accounting knowledge).

The H.H.G. and I took up golf, that would soon turn into a

*obsession*

passion of mine.

My mother died that summer. This is the event that has affected my life more than any other, I think. We all know that we are fragile creatures, but we still think that death is for old people, or other people. People are not supposed to die from a bee sting. But that also is another topic for another day.

Back to the job search. No luck, no one even called me for an interview. Before I knew it Christmas had come and gone and it was a new year.

2004

Tax time! Sweet relief, I was able to work again, as much as I wanted. We had enough to make ends meet, we were paying off debt, and both cars were now paid off. Good times, we both knew that the summer was coming when we wouldn’t really have enough, but why worry about the future when you can’t do anything to change it? I stopped sending out resumes during tax time, didn’t want to lose money going to a fruitless interview.

April 15^th. For some reason we were not as busy on the 15^th of April as some tax people are. Maybe we just dealt with more people who liked to get their taxes done early, the lack of advertising had something to do with it as well I’m sure. Only one more month before my hours would be cut dramatically, the phone rang. It was Wife #1. She had been forced to resign from her position for having the audacity to actually use her sick days. I won’t go into all of the ugly details, but it turns out that a friend of the CEO was hired within a week after her leaving. A grave injustice had been done. The reason that she resigned, rather than forcing them to fire her is because they gave her severance pay and promised not to fight the unemployment claim. Thanks a bunch guys! (Motto reminder: We help our clients while hating our staff!).

We now looked forward to trying to survive on sixteen hours a week and unemployment. The CPA and I examined some things and discovered that I would make more money if I worked a mere eight hours a week and filed a partial unemployment claim. He was willing to do this, and so was I. You can discuss the morality of this with me all you want, but walk in my shoes, attempt to provide for your family, see what you do.

I went to several interviews, two of which I nailed. I knew I impressed them. I interview well, when I have to I can swallow my shyness, my fear and plunge ahead when I know I have to. I may feel like puking, but I am the most outgoing person you have ever met while being interviewed. I was runner up in one of them, second place, the first loser. More interviews, more rejections.

I heard of a job, three states away in Illinois (shudder). I had always fought against moving, I really did not want to leave my family. It appeared I had no choice. I interviewed for the position. The offered me the job.

On November 3^rd , Wife #1 and I drove off in a huge Penske truck, filled with our earthly possessions, and more importantly, the furball creators we had come to love. We left Western Pennsylvania (motto: closer to Heaven than most Buddhists will get), with heavy hearts and a CD player packed with batteries.

Never say, “We are making good time!” Don’t tempt the fates.

We were making good time; we were going to hit Indianapolis just a little before 7:00 p.m. (Eastern) when the truck started jerking, bumping, thumping, and generally feeling like it was about to collapse under us.

We made it to a truck stop and called Penske (motto: you break it, you bought it!). They sent out Charlie the Wonder Mechanic. There was a good chance that it would be hours before it was repaired. Against Penske’s wishes (new motto: the customer is never right!), we packed up some thing in the car that we were towing (this included a very scary episode of getting the cats out of their traveling cage and into separate carriers without them escaping), and headed off, leaving all of our earthly possessions at a truck stop in Indiana. It was now 11:00 Eastern; we had spent three hours at the truck stop.

As we hit Illinois, it began to rain. Just enough so that wipers were needed, not enough so that they didn’t make a screeching noise. There were no lights. We pulled into our new home at about 2:00 Central. There was no water. The small town where we lived had not allowed me to transfer the account into my name over the phone, so we had electricity, gas, phone access, but no water.

My new landlord had kindly left a mattress and bedding for us to use, I inflated the Aero Bed ™ for Wife #1, and collapsed into sleep.

2005

Wow, this is long, quite prodigious, I would say. At least I would if I knew what that word meant. Wife #1’s back has gotten worse, doctor’s still offer little help, but on the bright side, I work at a really good place, and once our house back in Pennsylvania sells we will just have enough to pay the bills. That is a good feeling to have, especially considering where we were.

We have been through some really hard times, job problems, money issues, sharing a bathroom, my mother’s death, and some really good times, most notably our honeymoon at Niagara Falls (everyone should go there once). There is a phrase from The Shawshank Redemption that I always have liked:

“He crawled five hundred yards through the (muck) and filth, and came out clean on the other side.”

That is us, we have crawled through the muck and filth, the other end is in our sights. Even when times have been hard, really hard, we stuck together, when times seemed desperate, we didn’t push each other away. We have crawled through muck and filth, and there are only fifty more yards to go. I’m sure eventually, we will make it to the other side and come out clean, together.

Fritz

Musings

Beware! A certain Mr. Greene has created a devious trap for your computer! I was innocently reading his blog on my computer and I tried to leave. No such luck, I was unable! I desperately attempted to close the browser window, but it was too late! My precious machine froze in fear and would do nothing!

Stay far away from this evil man, far far away. You have been warned.

I have noticed that some people have kindly linked to my blog. Some of those people though have done me the great injustice of treating this as J's blog. I DON'T TALK IN ITALICS! IT IS MY BLOG, MINE!

Please, it also is not merely "Fritz," do me the honor of a full name, "Fritz the Grand" is what I answer to, at least to yokels like yourselves.

By the way, please call me Mr. Grand when you address me, thanks.


Fritz

Life Sucks, Then You Die

What comforting words, at least in my twisted mind. It is always good to be reminded that no matter how bad life seems at the moment, it is only a temporary affliction. Even supposed "permanent" disabilities and problems are merely "permanent" in this life.

And let's face it, what is 75 years as compared to 5,000? What is 5,000 compared to eternity?

Next time life sucks, take heart, you will die soon.



--Fritz

Gratuitous Furity!

Well, Wife #1 was looking at my blog when she remarked that I did not have any pictures of the furballs! Or at least the creators of the furballs.

So, without further ado, let me introduce you to:

The Cats of Fritz (and Wife #1)

The cats all have been named after a person in Arthurian Legend (King Arthur and his peeps).

Name: Merlin

Nickname: Merlinator

Merlin was our first cat, when Wife #1 brought him home, to be honest, I didn’t care. It merely took a short period of time for him to grow on me. Merlin has had the distinction of having the most medical ….err… needs? When we first brought him home he seemed happy, he was eating fine, drinking enough liquids, and had horrible digestive problems. We feared that he would die. We took him to the vet, they found nothing wrong; we took him back to the vet; he had lost noticeable weight. We didn’t know what to do, and we were worried.

For the first time in the history of the world, something good came out of the existence of New Jersey. Wife #1 and I were heading out that way to visit family and we left Merlin with the breeder from whom we had adopted him.

When we returned we discovered that Merlin had been fine during his stay, no problems at all. A day after coming home, the problems had started again. We called the vet again and the nurse said that maybe there was something at the breeder that he missed, something that wasn’t at our house.

Name: Arthur

Nickname: Chubs

The breeder practically begged us to baby-sit Arthur for the weekend and see if that helped Merlin. It did and so Arthur joined our happy little (growing) family. When I was “downsized” (English translation: Screwed over by a company you worked overtime for), we still owed money for Arthur, about $300 if I recall correctly, the breeder forgave the debt, even though we didn’t ask for it. (For that, she gets a link, fo sho!)

Arthur is stuck up and prissy, when he relaxes he properly crosses his front paws in front of him, he knows he is royalty and a fine looking cat. He is not quite as smart or athletic as Merlin, but he is persistent.

Cute Anecdote:

We used to block the doorway to the bedroom to keep the cats out, but we didn’t want to close it up because it would get COLD due to the fact that there were no heating vents in the bedroom. A box fan blew in to circulate the warm air, and a pillow shoved next to it made a perfect (so we thought) blockade. Merlin got brave enough and started jumping over our blockage. Arthur (remember his nickname) couldn’t quite do that, but there was no way that he was going to be left by himself outside the room. I heard a loud BANG and Arthur strolled into the room. He had pushed and pushed on the fan until it fell into the room, allowing him to walk in as a conquering king.

Name: Morgan

Nickname: Little Em

Well, Valentine’s Day was fast approaching and I didn’t know what to get Wife #1. I find giving jewelry so blasé. She had been wanting another cat, so I figured that it worked out nicely. Wife #1 wanted a girl, so she went to the breeder’s website and started looking. A calico! Perfect! We went out to the breeder’s and she brought out the litter that Morgan was a part of, they were so little. Morgan appeared to have a great delight in running into things since she wasn’t all that coordinated yet. Wife #1 was in love immediately.

Morgan learned very quickly how to completely control us, her little meows still sound like a kitten, and she only bestows them on us in special situations. She also only does something when SHE wants to do it.

Anyway, while Wife #1 was fawning over Morgan at the breeder’s, for some reason I asked to see the runt, the little guy with the crooked jaw. I felt that no one would want him and I always have a soft spot for the runt.




Name: Percival (Percy)

Nickname: Perkitoon

When he was brought out, he fit into the palm of my hand. He looked up at me and promptly began chewing on the zipper of my jacket. I’m not sure what it was, but I knew he had to join our family. The breeder sold him to us at a discounted price. Due to his physical traits she knew that not many people, if any, would want him and she was glad that he would be coming home with us and his sister. And what a discounted price it was! Good thing we reserved him early. He grew, his jaw straightened, his fur fluffed out, and when people saw him they all wanted to take him home. A professional cat show guy said we were stupid for getting him neutered since we then couldn’t enter him in shows!

Percy has always been attached to me, I’m not sure if he knows why he is home with us and not someone else. Does he remember that he was the ugly duckling that only we wanted? He sleeps next to me on the bed. His head on the pillow, curled up under the blanket, he waits for me to come home and sits in my lap whenever he can.

Well, there you are, that’s it, that is the list! I’m glad you got to know more about our happy little family, I hope you enjoyed reading about them …..eh… actually, I don’t care if you did, I didn’t force you to read it.

Fritz