To The Salt Mines!

I approach 2012 not trembling from the weight of Mayan prophesies. Nor do I bow to the inevitability of the slow descent into an American Dark Age brought on by Baby Boomers and their parents living past a hundred, a culture of corporatism, an education system that teaches only how to fill in little oblong bubbles with a number 2 pencil, politicians who give roughly the same amount of a fuck about their constituents as alligators do about toads,  and a mainstream media made up mostly of JC Penny underwear models and "pundits" who get their info from rain sticks and the bones of a crow cast upon the ground just so.

Why do I not fear? Why do I not bow? Mostly because I'm filled with hubris and stiff joints. But also because I have procured a job. My first such in 2 plus years. And for this one I had to go on not one, but two interviews. I can't say the name because while PIPA and SOPA seem to have been defeated, there by saving the internet from censorship, a person can still lose their job by blogging about how the lunch room in their building always smells like bad fish.

If you really want to know, the establishment at which I will be gainfully employed is a purveyor of Foods that are not broken. Wink.

It's a part time job. Nights. 2 interviews for the thing. Still waiting for the 2nd background check to be completed.  But I was offered the job at a slightly higher rate of pay than they usually offer newbies. And I accepted. And I believe the background check will come out clean. There are a couple of blackouts in my past so I'm not 100% on that, but I'm pretty close.

We decided to do it so that we could dig out of a little of our debt while still being able to provide stuff for the kids like ballet class and gymnastics class and swim classes--a mostly potty trained* Pman started his first swim class two weeks ago--and a pop up camper and an Iphone. For the Children.

We'll see how this goes. The last job I had--driving the zamboni--went ok, but it was less of a commitment. Very close to home, less hours, and my family could come in and hang around sometimes. Sure, they got checked against the fucking boards if they even thought about chasing the puck, but hey, that's family time.

So please, any readers that might be left out there, wish me luck as I ride back out into the fluorescent lit darkness of the work-a-day world. I'm nervous. It's been a while and I can't wear my sweatpants.

HM

*I'm pretty content with "mostly potty trained" at the moment. That's all any of us truly become, after all.

Also, being from the Boston area, I just have to mention: Fahckin Marky-Mark! What the Fahk dude? Just the thought of him trying to whip out some hollywood movie star martial arts moves on trained, desperate, terrorists makes me grin like a loon. "Oh Yah? You wanna fuck with America? Well c'mon you Bahstads. lets see what you got?" And then dead.

Zumbastic

First of all, the Peanut and The Pumpkin Man were in the playroom at the Y and the pman had to go to the bathroom. He wouldn't go with the woman there. Only mommy or daddy. Or, his sister. Despite her diminutive stature, she lifted him up--they weigh about the same--onto the toilet seat, and then helped him get down and get dressed.  I am so proud of both of them. This show of sibling love and independence can only mean one thing: it's a matter of time now until my wife and I can leave them alone long enough for a date night. Tomorrow maybe? Next week? We'll see.

Second, I tried Zumba tonight. Me and My wife. The Latin based dancercise craze that has swept all of America except for the fat parts.  I won't say I was great at it, I will only say that if you can picture a short, bewhiskered, uncoordinated Jew, still pudgy with holiday overindulgence, trying his damndest to mimic merengue flavored exercise moves while shvitzing like Brett Ratner at a Pflag meeting well, you're picturing Heaven.

I was the only guy in the entire class. So I was obviously able to keep a low profile. With the fluidity of a stone golem and the audible grunting of a young Jerry Lewis, I embodied the term "smooth."

For her part, my wife did much better that she thinks she did. as is usually the way. We're going to try it again this week. It was fun, if only because we got the chance to say "Zumba." I'm confident going forward. I'm sure if I keep at it, in no time I'll be moving like Fred Astaire. The current version. But still.

HM