Timber Jim

Cannon was 6 days old when she went to her very first soccer game. We went to see the Portland Timbers defeat the Milwaukee Wave United. The Timbers' mascot is a sasquatch and their cheerleader is a guy dubbed "Timber Jim". Unshaven, and clad in work boots and suspenders, he walks around with a burly chainsaw, stopping occasionally to hold the chainsaw up to the sky, revving the motor or to beat wildly on a bass drum. The crowd goes wild. Every time the Timbers score a goal, Timber Jim saunters over to a massive tree log on the side of the field and saws a slice off the end as his trophy. Awesome ritual. Portland soccer fans rule.

So, now I'm back at work and the whole world hasn't fallen off it's cock-horse even though I did take a week off. I just made a visit to the breakroom for another dose of hot, bitter coffee. A co-worker asked me if I was ready to be back at work. With a straight face I said, "No. I absolutely don't want to be here at all." They laughed nervously and I walked away. I hate work small-talk. One of the wonderful morale-boosters in place at my workplace is the requirement for each of the 40+ employees to sign your birthday card, about a week before the date. An unlabeled "secret" folder is passed around with the birthday-person's name inside. Attached inside with a paperclip is a slip of paper with all employee names and a checkbox next to their name to show who and who hasn't signed the card. What the hell is this? Signing a birthday card to someone you don't know with some sort of curt happy birthday remark is nuts. I usually try to just write down the first 5 or 6 words that come to mind and tack on a happy birthday at the end. The last one went something like, "Franks and beans carl donkey - Happy Birthday!" A week later, I heard someone ask the person in the next cube if it was a haiku. Marketing and PR people are fucking smarty. And yes, all I ever post about is work. Deal.