I can't shake this one...

I read somewhere today that India, an up-and-coming economic superpower, has a major health crisis on it's hands. Of the country's 200 million plus households, only half have toilets. Many deficate openly on the street, in rain water drains, in farmer's crops and even in rivers and creeks.

Cancel that trip to bathe in the Ganges and if you go anyway: DO NOT drink the water.

*click here*

did you see this coming Mr. Gutenberg*?

I realize there are people and families in a far worse situation. Some people in the American workforce have taken pay cuts and restructured their benefit package while sadly some people have lost their jobs and in the end, their means. Truth is, it's not bad for my family because I am still employed and am able to pay the bills. All I have is the fear of losing my job. It's not the fear of losing my job due to bad performance but losing it because society in these new digital times has no use for my product anymore. Where I work, management is starting to take from us to try and meet or exceed budgeted numbers that they themselves presented to their bosses last year. Our six press operation is now a five press operation and 24 souls have been demoted or re-assigned to other areas. I understand. Management never saw this economic storm coming. I remain mostly untouched and feel very fortunate.

The nationwide printing scene is not too healthy right now. With the economy the way it is advertisers are just not investing in print media. Unfortunately, I am a printer. Some say printing is a dying trade. Fortunately, I don't think so. In my 19 years of printing, our industry has been through several rough economic periods and we have always come out on the other side with the sun blazing and our futures bright. Although we have never seen anything of this magnitude before I have no choice but to stay positive and do my part as a company man because the alternative scares last night's dinner out of me.

Something I'll never forget is a conversation I had with our company's VP of Operations 19 years ago concerning the future of the printed word and how long it will last. He told me about a similar conversation he had with a person ten years prior. The person told him that gas-burning engines will be obsolete by 1990. When the VP finished telling me his story he gave me one of those fake 'attaboy' punches to my shoulder, confidently flashed a smirky smile and walked away. I think he winked at me too. Well guess what? In 2008 ExxonMobil made more money than God herself. This, my friends, is my only source of comfort and inner peace. Ok, maybe your wondering what the hell I'm talking about. I suppose I'm trying to convey that there has to be a tomorrow and I must believe in it, whatever it holds. Great. I am now getting cloudy about what I'm trying to say. Hopefully I made my point. (Note: I am currently auditioning new inspirational thought patterns to deal with everyday anxiety. If you got 'em, let's hear 'em. All drugs, pharmaceutical or illegal will be returned to sender. Maybe.)

In the end, do my industry brothers and sisters and most importantly me a favor. Don't take your digital readers, laptops or cell phones into the bathroom when you know the stay will be longer than usual. Take a magazine, newspaper or book with you instead. It's more sanitary and a great save if you're out of toilet paper. Just don't loan me the book later.


*RIP Johannes Gutenberg 1398 - 1468


If anyone actually reads this:
The first one to decode the secret message I have in this post wins five McDonald's dollars. The answer involves how my family is managing day-to-day operations. The ideology of this code will be suspended in early May when I fly to Tampa to participate in a much needed although money igniting golf trip.

his dinner conversation is priceless

Thor waiting patiently for his plate but reaching

his limit.

doing what we can

Eric and I picked up trash across the street today. There are no houses, just some swampland and a lot of over-grown plants with thorns. The whole area is a filter for trash and the occasional moron who never bought into the Give a Hoot: Don't Pollute slogan.

Eric is a real gamer when it comes to helping me and he really goes above and beyond to please. Maybe we can take our civic duty campaign to another level in the future.







"Uh, daddy? How do I get out of here?"

I have a problem

I am addicted to hitting the "next blog" button at the top. The randomness of where it takes you is interesting.

You're probably thinking I should paint a wall or check the air in my tires or even play with my kids. Thanks a lot. Now I'm feeling guilty.

nice days in winter are good for...

...doing a number on the grass. My oldest son thinks he has freedoms that a stellar report card may provide. I assured him bare-butt exhibitionism and urinary landscaping are not part of said freedoms.

Surprise! Happy Birthday!

No question, some critical elements need to transpire in order to have a successful "surprise" birthday party. Commitment from the participants and innocent ignorance from the honoree are two big ones. I am happy to report these elements aligned themselves perfectly on Feb. 7th on my father-in-law's birthday.

Presents of chocolate cigars, jigsaw puzzles, a marinade book and music were graciously accepted but I am sure having everyone there unexpectedly was the best gift of all. The payoff for the organizers was the reaction. And the reaction was priceless.

Thanks to all that could make it for the miles traveled and all the delicious food prepared.




Happy Birthday Dad, Zaida, Jules!

how will I deal?

I can't believe this is happening. She's sick and I feel our time together is short. She's had so many surgeries already. When it's warm she wants to play but when it's cold she won't move. So many years together. So many places and so many memories. The cost is getting too high. My beloved car may soon sputter it's last exhaustive breath.

According to the sticker on the back window, my car rolled off the assembly line and out of an Atlanta Ford car manufacturing plant in May of 1996. She is a third generation Taurus SHO. I know you may be reeling and impressed by the fact that I own such an exquisite machine. A machine that commands respect. There have been many snap-neck-double-takes when I pass by as if the stunned onlookers were saying "was that a... no way, hold it, wait, yeah I can't believe I actually saw one. Wow!" There weren't many made. Her and I were a unique couple.

I knew I had to have her after the initial test drive. The throaty purr of her exhaust coupled with her unlimited engine power and the clarity and amplitude of the mind-numbing six-speaker stereo sealed the deal. I bought her at a Ford dealership in Kutztown, PA. I was going to be the second owner of this beauty. The salesman who sold her to me was the actual owner of the car and there was a seriousness and sadness in his demeanor that reflected his inability to come to terms with his dreaded departure from his machine masterpiece. With tears in his eyes and a frog in his throat he repeatedly asked me if I was sure I could handle the responsibility and respect, honor and embrace the Code of SHO Ownership. I assured him I could and after I signed on the line we had a brief swearing-in-to-the-club ceremony witnessed by the sales manager and an envious customer. I permitted him a private goodbye with his former girlfriend and with a heavy heart he handed me her keys at 7:14 pm on November 15th, 1999. Our love affair had begun.

In the ten years since our initial meeting we have had many experiences together. Many good, few bad. She has made many concessions and even let me wander from the code when my human family expanded which made our economic situation get tighter. She let me replace her z-rated low profile tires for a more affordable and durable set of rubber. It kind of made her look like Stacy Kiebler with fat ankles, but she didn't mind. She let me switch from 93 to 91 octane during the fuel greed-a-thon and didn't complain. She let my brother Mark, who was the best man at my wedding, drive me to my... wedding. She knew I had known Sue much longer than I had known her, but I sensed a little jealousy nontheless.

She was fiercely loyal. One day, I stopped at a local convenience store. The pierced-nose Goth girl behind the counter asked me how a stud like myself could drive such a girly car like a four-door Taurus with a tiny spoiler on the back. A month later I noticed I hadn't seen that Gothy girl in a while. Until I saw that girl's face on a milk carton. She swears she had nothing to do with it. I know nothing.

She got sick about a year ago. The doctors quickly diagnosed a bad transmission, so I forked out the cash to have a new one installed. She was a new lady again and I was happy.

Until one bitterly cold morning three weeks ago. I tried to start her but she just belched and coughed. I tried again with the same result. I asked her what was wrong and she told me her belly hurt. I quickly called all the doctors, specialists and researchers I could find and inquired about our situation. They said there was probably ice in the tank from moisture getting in one way or another. They said I should try again when the weather gets warmer and in the meantime, give her a water-negating additive to help her feel better. And hope for the best.

I didn't know how to give her the news. I tip-toed around for a bit until she had enough and told me to spill it. I told her about the possible hole in her tank and she became distraught. She told me of her dreams to go head-to-head with Dale Jr. at Daytona and dropping the hammer on the German autobahn that may go unfulfilled. All with me at the wheel. I told her I was sorry for not keeping her in the garage. I promised I was going to do all I can to be in her company for as long as I could, within reason. I told her how I loved her passing power and how she looked in her black bra. We cried.

Now all we can do is wait. We are waiting for warmer days and hoping for the best. For love or wallet? The pressure is heart-breaking.