I may have it, now...
Current mood: relieved
Category: Blogging

Yeah, this whole blogging thing has had me obsessed for a few days now.  After getting the expected feedback from Google, which was that everything was fine and it was obvious I was incompetant, I decided to give up.  No sense wasting time and energy on something that requires tech support only available through a prayer.

Instead I went to Godaddy.com and registered my own domain name.  If a company like Google, whose stock is well over four hundred dollars a share, can't aid me, then I'll go with the company who pays millions of dollars to feature dancing brunettes in front of Congress during the Super Bowl.

Again, this is a blog in its infancy, but so far it seems to be working.  I ran a test entry yesterday, and did a real blog tonight.  I was able to log in both times, so I consider that a booming success.

So here it is.  My blog is now at:

www.grogged.com

Enjoy!

11:39 PM - 4 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Haven't gone anywhere yet
Current mood: aggravated
Category: Blogging

So in an effort to maintain a more public blog, I recently switched over to Blogger.  I know others who use this site and they have good blogs, so I thought it seemed like the cool thing to do and whatnot.  Clearly, I erred.

So far I have been able to post exactly one blog, which was nothing more than a cross-link back to this blog, just in case someone found me by accident on the other side and decided to take a gander here.  When I attempted to post my second blog, Google, in it's infinite computer wisdom, decided that I had already created a different account and that account had no blog associated with it.  Therefore, I could not access my blog, because... ah hell, this is boring me to gripe about it.

The big problem with the massive internet sites like Google and myspace is that when you have a problem, there is nobody to answer it.  I went in constant circles looking for some type of tech support, but the best I could do is join a help group and pray to God that the one person assigned to moniter all 50,000 or so posts per day happens to come across mine.  Of course, even if that unlucky bastard happens to hit my question, I'm assuming that I will only be referred to the FAQ page, because obviously the problem I have will be answered there (even though I tried every option presented - yes, I actually do look at FAQ pages and try to do what they say before I try to bother anyone personally).

So for now, I'm still on the myspace blog, though you can assume I will be surly and probably far more drunk than usual.  I love technology, but I really hate it when simple things go awry with no accountability.  Dewar's is my defense mechanism.

7:06 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

"Traitor!" they shout en masse.
Current mood: accomplished
Category: Blogging

It was inevitable that I would take my blog from myspace and move it to a new frontier.  Not really sure what is compelling me to make this change, as blogging here is somewhat convenient, but in the end I guess one has to diversify.  Therefore, I'm going to write here less often and instead post my blogs here.  

Of course, one can expect bumps in the road.  For starters, my blogspot site isn't remotely developed, so perhaps it's premature to even mention it.  But then again, what the hell... no sense dilly-dallying.  Must march on.  I'm sure other issues will arise, and they will be dealt with accordingly after some professional-grade procrastination.

This doesn't mean I'm abandoning myspace.  Far from it.  I'm a sad addict, and it will take intensive therapy to wean me from the myspeace teat.  Bulletins will still be effective and I will continue to succumb to the stinking Orbitz hovering ad where you shoot hockey pucks at bullseye targets stationed at the corners of an empty net.

I'll probably still post a blog here every so often.  Mustn't abandon form and all, but I think having a specific site to spew forth random screed fits me these days, so I've gone ahead and done it.  Thanks for reading, and hope you like the new blog.

10:47 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Ahhh.....
Current mood: happy
Category: Writing and Poetry

Exactly two weeks shy of a year ago I signed a contract to write a training course for real estate agents.  The whole shabang was supposed to be wrapped up in October, but due to all sorts of madness, was finally finished last Saturday at precisely 8:43 in the morning, slightly more than two hours before I was to present it.  All went smooth at the presentation, and now I'm onto a new gig for mortgage brokers, which threatens to be even more frightfully dull.  But the big thing is this - I have a huge gorilla off my back, and it's been replaced with some sort of new world monkey, smaller and more agile, and hopefully the prehensile tail doesn't wrap itself around my neck and strangle me.

I didn't quite realize what a load this project was until Sunday morning, when I had to wake up early and hit the winery to thieve wine from a barrel and dump it into drunk people's well-used wine glasses.  I slept soundly Saturday night, and arrived at the winery alert and in a startlingly good mood.  My disposition elevated higher when I was handed a wine glass just a tick-tock before ten in the morning with the following job task: "Sample the barrel."  It had to do with quality control or something, and I did so with fundamental religious fervor all day long.

My drinking pace slowed sometime in the afternoon when I noticed my speech on Malbec had been reduced from a few well-rehearsed paragraphs to a single run-on sentance. Many of the more challenging French words I was obligated to parlay had become monosyllabic slurs.  I relied more on my flailing dexterity to elaborate points, a crude version of Charades.  Fortunately, the people accepting the vin were far more shitfaced than I, so nobody seemed to care.

When the crowds dispersed, I found myself on the top of the de-juicing tanks over the crush pad that served as my home base during the last harvest, surrounded by Belgian people, extolling the virtues of California wine and probably some generic bullpoo like the "beauty of it all," or whatever other happy crap one whistles while plowed on fermented grape juice.

See, there are lousy ways to earn good money (writing training courses) and great ways to earn lousy money (one-for-me, one-for-you wine tasting).  Each has quantifiable merits, but at the end of the day, it was far better to have attractive foreign strangers surrounding me while I cast my gaze across the Sonoma Valley on a warm Sunday afternoon.

Spring starts in two days.  The grape vines are budding.

6:26 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Damn my mad skills
Current mood: hopeful
Category: Writing and Poetry

A few weeks back I helped my niece write an essay for school.  It was supposed to be a first draft, so I didn't press her very hard and had her focus on thesis elaboration, paying only minor attention to in-depth analysis and paragraph construction.  She is, after all, only a freshman in high school.  No need to grill her like a cheese sandwich.

The paper came back to her with two major talking points; the first was the 95 score, which on a wine scale rates just one point shy of "classic."  I was proud of her.  The second conversation topic was the accusation of plagiarism.  As you may well guess, this is where Robin got just a touch peeved.

Although I didn't elaborate this point in the letter that will follow this missive, my conviction is that if you accuse someone of stealing another's work, you certainly don't award a solid "A" grade to the paper.  You fail the project and make it known that you suspect chicanery.  To me, awarding a high mark and then suggesting forgery is like saying this:  "You committed murder, but there's no bail.  Walk free until we get something on you."

I'm generally all for education and whatnot.  Kids are often set adrift with a diploma or a degree without having learned a damned thing.  If the test scores are adequate, move 'em along and keep the budget steady and incoming (a point which I did touch on, in a not-so-polite, but definitely eloquent, manner).   However, it was a statement in the parent-teacher conference that really got me fired up.  The teacher said to my sister-in-law (niece's mother), "Your daughter couldn't write sentances like that because I haven't taught her how to write sentances like that."

I couldn't make it to that conference, having a day job and all, but was in close telephone contact throughout the day because it was my aid that got my niece in hot water in the first place.  I'm angry because of the instructor's arrogance - to feel that she is the deciding factor on my niece's education is to say that there is nothing else out there in the world that may positively influence her.  I'd like to think that as someone who does, in fact, collect paychecks based on his ability to manipulate the English language, I may be of some authority in how to form a persuasive argument.  No, I haven't won a PEN or a Pulitzer or a Nobel (or even as little as a Grammy for spoken word shit), but I do have a hint of talent when it comes to writing, and if I can pass that on to someone else - especially someone young, impressionable, and with both raw talent and minor inspiration - I will.

And that was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back.  The teacher (backed by the school's vice principal) said that my niece was not to accept any further help from me.  She said that my niece was to do her own work (which I contest she did, with coaching).  To me, this makes no sense.  If my niece has a valuable resource nearby, why wouldn't she tap it?  Moreso, if the kid isn't learning in school, and she knows of a way to learn otherwise, shouldn't she do so?

Without further ado, here is the letter that I wrote to her teacher and vice principal.  I wasn't kind, mind you.  Sure, I support teachers on principle, but when one tells a member of my family that the only proper way to learn is to accept what is taught in class, I can get surly.

And I was surly.  There is, after all, a whole other world outside of high school, and it can have a good effect on the kids.

Madams or sirs,

I see it fit to respond to the allegations that [my niece] has plagiarized other works to craft her essay regarding abortion, or that even worse, I personally stand accused of writing her paper.  Although I can appreciate questioning the dramatic upturn in the quality of her text, I can assure you that the work she presented is her own.  Perhaps one should assume that under adequate coaching, any individual is capable producing work that surpasses all expectations.

The oversight I provided for [my niece] occurred over multiple days.  I refused to offer any assistance until she came to me with a completed outline, as I have no time for thought genesis.  Only once this task was accomplished was I willing to lend aid, and I did so at an intensity level that harkens back visions of Herb Brooks drilling the 1980 U.S. Olympic hockey team.  Look what he accomplished with a band of green college kids using only a whistle.

[My niece] typed diligently, postulating ideas that I would either reject outright, order rephrased, demand to be elaborated, or, on the best occasions, simply say "go with it."  Even under the latter there was still room for improvement, and I would hand her my pocket thesaurus (Roget's 21^st Century in dictionary form, rather than the thicker standard version I carry).  [My niece] probably heard the words "rephrase" or "no" more times in one evening than in all her years of education.  I'm certain that in addition to carving out a fine article, she probably concocted at least a dozen ways to do me in and dispose of the body.  Nobody ever likes their coach during practice or the game; admiration comes only at the time of victory.  The work produced under my tutelage is of superior quality, and [my niece] should be proud.

Therein lies the nut of the dilemma – what becomes of the student when the teacher is not present.  Do I expect [my niece]to duplicate her masterpiece every time out?  Of course not.  It'd be irresponsible to assume that any teenager will grasp every concept thrown at them in a short period of time.  I've spent fifteen years toiling at my trade, and continue to dedicate myself to improvement on a daily basis.  My intent was that if [my niece] retained even a modest five percent (a few words here, a sprinkling of sentence structure there…) of the coaching provided, it would be a triumph.  Especially in these complicated times, kids are bombarded with meteor storms of information.  At school alone she faces multiple subjects each day, a great many of them with little intrinsic value in the world she faces beyond graduation.  Ask yourself when the last time you needed to figure out the area of a semi-circle or the lasting effects of the Magna Carta for anything other than educational purposes.

In [my niece] I see raw talent as a writer.  She shows interest when inspired, and is fully capable of someday producing exceptional work.  However, this is the point in her life where she will benefit most from educational assistance; hence, the public school system should still serve a purpose.  I like that she recognizes there is a professional scribe residing one hallway away and is willing to ask for help.  When she does ask me for help, she knows I'm not going to scrawl illegible notes in the margins, offer askance commentary or merely nod or shake my head.  I provide detailed explanations, which in my own learning was what stuck the best.  She comprehends my guidance is a grueling undertaking and to understate, no fun at all, but at the same time she knows that I am doing my best to help her achieve as a writer and she remains willing and committed.

Making indictments without first ascertaining what kind of assistance was rendered causes me to question whether the educational vessel piloting [my niece] is nothing more than a dilapidated coracle.  If politicians and educators together invested in plans to educate their students instead of merely shuttling them through a series of quizzes and exams to earn their slice of the educational pork, then perhaps the results would be as strikingly evident as the results of the essay.

I assure you that [my niece] wrote her essay on abortion.

Sincerely,

Me.

If nothing else, can't I at least get the benefit of the doubt that I have better things to do than write high school essays?

9:53 PM - 4 Comments - 5 Kudos - Add Comment

Backed up thoughts
Current mood: determined
Category: Life

Okay, so the world is whizzing past and sometimes it's hard to keep up.  Lots of things have happened in the news lately that make me go, "Hmmm, I should blog on that."  Then, next thing I know it's two in the morning and I have to be up in a few hours.  Somehow I lose the nights to mundane tasks such as cleaning and running errands; more often than not it's due to writing, which I tend to focus on gigs that earn me money rather than blogging.

Now that I think about it, I've been pumping out so many damned words in the hours I'm not at the winery or watching hockey that it's been months since I've even bothered to look at celebrity internet porn, which remains the most valid reason for this interconnected digital universe, if not the sole purpose for it's creation.  I can tell from my calender that porn isn't on the agenda this week.  I'm currently bypassing responsible writing just so that I can keep my blog current.  It's tough growing up.

So what has been on my mind lately?  I'll corral any sweeping thoughts and try to keep my talking points concise.

National front:  "Scooter" Libby convicted.  I say hooray!  Was he the worst guy in the administration?  No, but I'll take a felony conviction where I can get one.  The fact is that all these people are rotten to the core, and they all deserve long sentances trapped in cells with 375-pound lifers.  W might pardon Libby, but I say he'd be better served to hold off for when his big guns get convicted.  It'd be bad to waste his free pass on Libby when Rummy or Darth Cheney might need the card.

Moral crisis:  No doubt, if you've checked my profile, you've noticed that I have a Christina Aguilera song posted as my song du jour.  This is not meant as irony or whatnot - I actually like the song (video too, but that's under the "duh" category).  I've been a fan of swing and big band music for a while, and was completely taken aback when, while hung over recently and flipping through the channels on TV, I hit this video.  I know she has an extraordinary set of pipes, but for the most part Aguilera's music has been nothing more than a nuisance to me, so it took me some time to accept that it may really be the sound that I was enjoying, and not just the fantasy.  I've never made it a secret that certain country singers do it for me, but until now I've been able to withstand the pop princesses.  So now I say DAMN YOU CHRISTINA for tapping a vein of music that sees routine rotation on my ipod, and worst of all, for doing it right (but thank you for the video).

Time to fight:  I bought my sister-in-law new cordless phones at Christmas.  They were sleek, newfangled, and very simple to use, which was important as my family is not technology-savvy.  Slightly past the return deadline, the phones died.  Now I plan to launch a massive letter campaign against Motorola, demanding no less than new phones.  I will not send them in for repairs, and I will certainly refuse to pay for the shipping.  Seventy bucks should last longer than two months.

Okay for now.  Got a little off my chest.  Time to go roust out the customer relations desk at Motorola.

10:16 PM - 2 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Ever see civil unrest from a long ways away?
Current mood: cynical
Category: News and Politics

Meanwhile, across the Atlantic in the nation of France, the government has just passed a law making it illegal to record and broadcast any act of violence unless you are an official journalist.  As noted in an article by Peter Sayer of IDG News Services, the French passed this law exactly sixteen years to the day after George Holliday videotaped Rodney King getting his innards beaten out of him by a passal of policemen.  According the statute, anyone who is not a member of a legitimate news service who records any act of violence, be it a riot or war or just somebody feeling the need to stomp on a litter of puppies with work boots, now faces up to five years in prison and 75,000 euros in fines.

Although the law is being billed as a crackdown on people who would attempt such horrible things as stomping puppies while a friend records the act, the government minces no words in that the law's intent is to curb citizen journalists from ensuring police and military personnel are protecing the masses and not shamelessly blasting them with incendiary devices.  The message is this: "We'll put you in jail if you catch us doing something wrong."  Maybe the French citizens believe that this is a security version of the economic trickle-down theory - protect the guys at the top, and everyone else be safe as well.

For those who don't know a lot about French culture, there is a major cultural divide among racial lines (much like here in America).  In France, Arabs represent a huge part of the population, but control very little of the wealth. These are the descendants of French colonial conquest, and as such are generally viewed as bottom-class citizens.  Every so often, something triggers a riot and the Arab slums burst into flames.  Sound at all familiar?

I bring this up because the French police are no fans of the Arab slums, and in an act of reciprocity, the Arabs don't care none too much for the French police.  Now that the government has stepped in and made it a major crime to record the police acting macho and flogging a few Arab teens outside a discotheque, they've more or less doused whole regions of the country in highly explosive fuel.  It shouldn't take more than one person recording a bad scene on his cell phone cam who consquently gets imprisoned (and beaten, seeing as anything they record is likely not admissable in whatever court system they have over there) to set the place off like a bomb.

The professional camera angles from the helicoptors should be interesting when armies of Jacque Q. Laws storm the streets, but can't decide whether they should shoot the rioters or the cameramen with tear gas first.

But the scary question is this:  Are we going to see a law like that anytime soon? 

10:58 PM - 1 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Feeling unoriginal, so I borrowed a prompt
Current mood: accomplished
Category: Life

Lord Nathaniel was tagged with this suggestion, and despite the fact that I just got back from a Word Pirates meeting, which usually gets the writing juices flowing in magical ways, I just don't feel like writing a story.  So instead I will treat you all to ten things that you may or may not know about me (probably the latter).

1.  I write, but seldom read.  For the most part, I find myself and the stories I write entertaining enough.

2.  People without spacial awareness bother me immensely.  This especially goes for couples that walk slowly down a sidewalk blocking my path.  I wish it were legal to shove one of the pair into traffic and photograph the other at the moment of impact.

3.  I shoot pool and play guitar left-handed.  I am good at neither.

4.  Before I started working at the winery I knew nothing about wine, save that it was what I would drink if there was nothing else left.  Now I am a dispicable snob.

5.  When I lost my virginity, I somehow kept going for about twenty extra minutes, disguising the "real moment" and faking it later (thank you Trojans), so as not to seem green.

6.  Cats trust me.

7.  I am Welsh and American Indian, but I identify with neither breed.  I will likely never go to Wales, unless arriving by pure circumstance, and I don't particularly want to go back to the reservation, because the cuisine is lacking.

8.  The most important quality for me in a woman is that she is uncompromising and successful.  There is nothing hotter than a woman who commands the room.  That said, Paris Hilton, who actually hits those qualifications, is not attractive, and I wouldn't fuck her with a heisted penis.

9.  I will openly cry when the San Jose Sharks win the Stanley Cup.  The tears will be real.

10.  I also well up a bit at the end of "Captain Ron," when the Coast Guard ship appears.

There you have it.  You all know me a little better now.

11:03 PM - 2 Comments - 3 Kudos - Add Comment

Power! Wealth! I'm on the move, baby!
Current mood: cheerful
Category: Jobs, Work, Careers

As rumored and anticipated for months, I finally got my promotion at the winery today.  I am officially a "Wine Technician II," which is one step above "Wine Technician I."  What this means is that I am proficient at not completely screwing up all the time, and thus the powers-that-be felt the need to cough up fifty cents more an hour to keep me from scattering to Napa, where they pay better.

Aside from the minimally extra scrill, the true bonus of my higher rank comes on Monday, when I begin teaching safety classes.  Okay... management sees this as a bonus.  I look at it as exploitation of the fact that I don't have a problem addressing crowds.  I will be responsible for training the winery staff on the safe use of small hand tools, such as hammers, screwdrivers, power drills and saws - none of which we ever use.  It should be cakewalk, as at least it negates me having to do any sort of actual work for a whole day.

I guess that more importantly for me, I have the opportunity to impress the corporate folk, which is where I eventually see myself headed.  There is no real chance at financial independance at the winery level, save being the winemaker, but I don't have the nose or palette for that (because I smoke, and I ain't quitting, so don't bug me about it).  Besides, I don't give a crap if there are hints of gooseberry or whatnot in my wine.  I either like it or I don't.  I'm a simple man that way.

But still, it was nice to be recognized at some minor level.  There was definitely pomp and circumstance regarding the ordeal.  Everybody was gathered and donuts provided, just so that people would attend, and speeches were given regarding my performace.  Apparently I have picked up every single thing thrown at me faster than anyone that the bosses have ever seen (at least that's what they said in public), so I must be doing something right.

I can't tell.  I'm usually too hungover, like I was at the ceremony.  All I heard was a lot of clapping and cheering, which caused my fragile head to throb.  To celebrate my own rising star, I took Motrin.

11:04 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

A lousy weekend, save the lemons
Current mood: satisfied
Category: Life

l.ementry needed lemons.  For those of you not in the know, l.ementry is a Word Pirate currently exiled in the land of Oh-regon (to the north, where they name their mascots after unintimidating fowl).  As a Pirate who feared potential scurvy, I felt there was no other recourse but to respond.  I said I'd send her some.  She specified - Meyer's lemons.  I like that, for I don't like trying to figure which are the good and bad lemons (for I am no citrus afficianado - oranges are oranges, lemons are lemons, limes are limes).

But then came the weekend, one of my worst one record.  It started Friday, where I was hoping to attend the Santiago/Hate Nevada/Secret Courtesy show in Forestville.  However, having reached an age where responsibility sometimes trumps fun, I realized I had a writing deadline and bypassed entertainment in lieu of financial obligation.  Instead of seeing bands I like, people I like, and broad good times, I typed away about how real estate agents should practice... aw, shit, it's boring even thinking about it.

Cut to Saturday.  I wanted to bowl with my current employer, as they do a tournament where the object is not to win, but to show up and drink heavily.  My kind of event.  But still I had to drum up reasons why real estate agents should... fuck it.  It's too boring to rehash.

Here's the Dutch rub.  I finished what I needed to, even staying sober to complete the task against all better judgment (one tiny bong hit doesn't count).  On Sunday, after not sleeping Friday or Saturday (save catnaps), I drove to Folsom from Santa Rosa to deliver the master work.  When I showed up, my contractee had hair in the middle of a dye process, and was wearing nothing but a robe and dancing tights (don't fucking ask, because I know I NEVER will).  As it turns out, my employer forgot that we had a meeting, even though we had talked the day before at length on the telephone.

If nothing else, I was able to secure another writing contract or two from the meeting, but I don't know if the money was worth seeing a man wearing tights.  There's a fine line between bailing oneself out of debt and seeing an old man wearing tight-fitting leotards (all-black and not leopard-print or worse, bless Jesus for small favors).

But on the way home from the Sacramento region, my alternator decided it had had enough.  The lights on my dash (check engine, lights, etc.) lit up somewhere around Watt Ave in Sac - good fishing spot, mind you - and a mile past the junction of Highway 12 and Interstate 80, died out altogether, along with my engine.  It was an expensive tow job, one where due to incompetance my car almost fell off the flatbed if not for the rails on either side of the truck, but I made it to Sonoma where I had a safe haven.  Thank you, Grandma Jan.

I had already missed a lot this weekend because of uninspirational writing, and figured the Oscar party I would attend on Sunday would make up for it.  Instead I spent the night watching the Academy Awards alone sans the required booze amd smoke, exiled in a foreign township with no means of locomotion.  (My grandma had a party to attend - unlike me she has a working car and a life).

Gramms got home around eleven and gave me her car keys, if for nothing else so I could bumrush back home a get my toothbrush and razor and clean pairs of drawers & socks so I could be ready for work in the morning.

As I was leaving and she was turning down for the evening, she pointed to a paper grocery bag near the entrance to her house.  "Take that with you," she said.

"What's in it?" I asked.

"Lemons off the tree," she answered.

I contemplated a moment.  "Meyer's?" I asked.

"Of course," she answered, as though there were any other kind of lemon.

Leave it to grandma to save the day.  Better than Superman, if you ask me.

9:55 PM - 4 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment