26 June 2013
Blue-collar new norm America: Dadio's handy manual to break workers' spirit - Intro - book version
This entry was posted on 6/26/2013 1:31 AM and is filed under Broken spirit.
A phrase you will never hear as a blue-collar worker: "We are strapped for operating funds, so we can't give you much, but, we will try to make life bearable here; we're in this together. Please don't give up."
Na, you'll most likely rarely hear that kind of message from the boss, you minimum wage toilers. I've lived it for 45 years. Wish I had a "happy talk" report to give you fair readers after all those miserable years, but...., nope!!
You're most likely used to the inspirational speakers and their shticks selling you, "perennial optimism." And it's your fault if you don't present as a, "good patient." Good patient as in someone with a happy demeanor even as they die of cancer. In the context of a job, the whole work rubric grumbles around you, wages, benefits, nepitism, the economy, et cetera, but you merrily toil on.
In almost 50 years of working in America and then some, I've never heard any thing even close to the opening paragraph. Instead, business owners, government agency management, upper management, lower management, and society in general come up with a compendium of totally-unnecessary work place hell rubrics.
One of my own favorite sayings in said blue-collar hell is, "This just isn't necessary." Half the crap and drama at blue-collar jobs are nonsense and unnecessary.
I am an employer's worst nightmare. I have actually owned a business. I've worked for an institution of 30,000 employees. I've worked for a mom and pop business with nine employees. I've been with companies in the throes of bankruptcy. Many of the companies I've worked for so long ago have vanished; owners and managers..., long dead. I have four college degrees and 50 years of work experience. Rarely called in sick in those 50 years; even despite all the challenges of an aging body. I can fix equipment that should have been relegated to the junk heap years ago. I've endured the stresses of several war zones as a soldier and later as a journalist; and, I've worked in the schizophrenic world of the American health care system. I've seen workers at their worst and their best.
You'd think I'd be an asset to any company or entity. Nope. I might as well be an ape on a tire swing.
I am a nightmare for the neo new norm work place because..., I've seen another world. I can see problems long before they happen. I can read managers and supervisor's petty games long before they are implemented. I've seen it all before; sadly, I've seen the same behaviors over and over.
These types of work places nowadays don't not want people that have seen how the greater system has worked and know how it works now. Guys that fall into that category are just a nuisance.
A few years ago, I bought into the go-to-college-as-an-old-guy-and-reinvent-yourself sales pitch. After four degrees, and working in Southern Wisconsin, I might as well be an ape on a tire swing. This in addition to nearly 50 years of constant working..., often for low wages, and little reward or benefit. But none-the-less, I have accumulated a mass of work and management experience. Reality: companies don't hire old people. But, the higher education pimps still want their pound of flesh after you graduate. Pay up underemployed sucker. Colleges are after all, businesses that only marginally have their customers' best interests in mind. Their job is to sell..., college degrees.
So unless you want to live in your car with your cat, you go to work in some low paying jobs not yet sent to China.
Human Resources departments once designed to protect workers and companies have for the most part collapsed in the "Great Recession." It is the wild west. Employees are on their own. Managers hired only because they are relatives or just plain no threat to upper management, make up rules as they go.
The end result? Employees just trying to get by and play the game as best they can are chewed up and spit out like a hillbilly chomping on persimmon seeds.
I've seen it all. If you are an employer and want to make your employees grovel and languish, just keep on 'a read'n....,
Note: This blog "Blue-collar new norm America: Dadio's handy manual to break workers' spirit" - book version Category is a work in progress. These original vignettes are being edited for book form. Go to the Cooldadiomedia Web site and the Broken Spirit Page for an ordered chronology of the book vignettes (chapters).
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
"New Norm" economy: No day to celebrate - Jobs of Bob - book version
18 June 2013
"New Norm" economy: No day to celebrate - Jobs of Bob - book version
This entry was posted on 6/18/2013 1:30 AM and is filed under Jobs of Bob - book version, Jobs of Bob.
Penned in 2008
I never in my whole life gave Labor Day much thought. It has always been a day off - or not, depending on where I was working. It sometimes seemed like someone else's holiday.
I don't know why this year after so many in my life, I have been pondering a bit about "Labor Day." It dawned on me a while ago that I had been working 40 years. I started in 1968. The lion's share of the jobs in those 40 years have been blue-collar. Oddly, I have never taken unemployment. I have not called in sick in over 10 years.
To those that have never been blue-collar, or perhaps those that climbed their way out of it to a white-collar job, or yet even those that used to be blue-collar and are now retired and have long forgotten its unpleasant nuances, it is tempting to romanticize that working stiff lifestyle. "Fools," I say.
Forty years of back-breaking jobs with the temperamental, schizophrenic, lunatic bosses that often come with them, takes its toll on one's body and mind - your very spirit. The current work culture that is the culmination of a half century of changing and evolving work trends, I coin as, "the shitty work schedule culture."
These types of new norm jobs barely pay minimum wage. They offer no benefits; they give no performance review; they never give pay increases; They have no sick or vacation time; they try to con workers into doing more with less; and, they schedule work hours all over the map of a 168 hour week. It is after all the not so new work world of 24-hour, seven days a week service-work businesses.
There are 168 hours in a week and these type of jobs wreck each and every one of them. They make it hard to do family events. It is impossible to work a second job if needed. You can have no life. And, all for a job that probably provides you with 32 hours of work a week.
Gone is the work culture of weekends off. There is a whole generation that does not know there was a time that one did not work on weekends. Perhaps it was just a flash in the historical labor pan anyway. I doubt if the farm culture that dominated the Mid-West one-hundred years ago realized any weekends off.
I am writing a book about all the jobs I have had. Jobs of Bob. It is cathartic. If nothing else, I enjoy remembering some of the ridiculous experiences I had while being worked to death for 40 years. After all, who really cares nowadays if someone has been worked to death? Society, and its collective voice of apology and sanctimony will just say, "....should have planned better mister!"
Now after 40 years, I just can't get that damn horse from Orwell's Animal Farm out of my head. His name is Boxer, and he is a gullible but good natured bumpkin. He was the backbone of the farm operation; and he always deferred to the authority and "rightness" of the leadership..., in this case the pigs who have overthrown the men. The pigs promise a new workers' paradise. "I will work harder and faster," Boxer keeps saying. He believed hard work and loyalty could fix any problem. Once finally worked to death, Boxer finally collapses. The pigs who have become in charge of the new animal-ruled farm send his body to the rendering service to be slaughtered and turned into products; they use the money they get for Boxer's body to buy whisky. The pigs tell the other animals they sent old Boxer to the veterinarian.
Blue-collar workers with even a modicum of sensibility and thoughtfulness should never read Animal Farm.
At least a couple of my grade school chums have already died of old age in their 50s. An old age hastened by being worked to death for nothing more that work's sake.
....got a college degree a while ago to try to escape from blue-collar. Now companies say I am over qualified, or they whine that I will probably leave the entry level job soon to find a better job with my degree. That's an oxymoron considering they will give the job to a 22 year old who will do just exactly that - move on as soon as possible. What these companies I have been trying to get jobs with really mean is, "Oh, man, you are old. Too old. Go away."
Overqualified and over educated is code for, "You are a threat to the rubes that run this place. Too much experience is code for, "You are too old; get lost old man."
It lends one to suspect society is schizophrenic. I used to get told, "Man if you only had a bit of college we would hire you." Now, I get told, "Wow, you have too many qualifications." Well, ok, perhaps I will just not work then, and next time you can say, "To bad your credit sucks; we would have hired you if your credit was better."
No, Labor Day is not always a day to celebrate. Labor Day is sometimes a day to fear. Run for your overworked, underpaid lives - run while you still can, before the pigs sell your dead carcase and drink whiskey on your grave.
Note: This blog "Jobs of Bob" - book version Category is a work in progress. The original vignettes are being edited for book form. Go to the Cooldadiomedia Web site and the Jobs of Bob Page for an ordered chronology of the book vignettes (chapters).
"New Norm" economy: No day to celebrate - Jobs of Bob - book version
This entry was posted on 6/18/2013 1:30 AM and is filed under Jobs of Bob - book version, Jobs of Bob.
Penned in 2008
I never in my whole life gave Labor Day much thought. It has always been a day off - or not, depending on where I was working. It sometimes seemed like someone else's holiday.
I don't know why this year after so many in my life, I have been pondering a bit about "Labor Day." It dawned on me a while ago that I had been working 40 years. I started in 1968. The lion's share of the jobs in those 40 years have been blue-collar. Oddly, I have never taken unemployment. I have not called in sick in over 10 years.
To those that have never been blue-collar, or perhaps those that climbed their way out of it to a white-collar job, or yet even those that used to be blue-collar and are now retired and have long forgotten its unpleasant nuances, it is tempting to romanticize that working stiff lifestyle. "Fools," I say.
Forty years of back-breaking jobs with the temperamental, schizophrenic, lunatic bosses that often come with them, takes its toll on one's body and mind - your very spirit. The current work culture that is the culmination of a half century of changing and evolving work trends, I coin as, "the shitty work schedule culture."
These types of new norm jobs barely pay minimum wage. They offer no benefits; they give no performance review; they never give pay increases; They have no sick or vacation time; they try to con workers into doing more with less; and, they schedule work hours all over the map of a 168 hour week. It is after all the not so new work world of 24-hour, seven days a week service-work businesses.
There are 168 hours in a week and these type of jobs wreck each and every one of them. They make it hard to do family events. It is impossible to work a second job if needed. You can have no life. And, all for a job that probably provides you with 32 hours of work a week.
Gone is the work culture of weekends off. There is a whole generation that does not know there was a time that one did not work on weekends. Perhaps it was just a flash in the historical labor pan anyway. I doubt if the farm culture that dominated the Mid-West one-hundred years ago realized any weekends off.
I am writing a book about all the jobs I have had. Jobs of Bob. It is cathartic. If nothing else, I enjoy remembering some of the ridiculous experiences I had while being worked to death for 40 years. After all, who really cares nowadays if someone has been worked to death? Society, and its collective voice of apology and sanctimony will just say, "....should have planned better mister!"
Now after 40 years, I just can't get that damn horse from Orwell's Animal Farm out of my head. His name is Boxer, and he is a gullible but good natured bumpkin. He was the backbone of the farm operation; and he always deferred to the authority and "rightness" of the leadership..., in this case the pigs who have overthrown the men. The pigs promise a new workers' paradise. "I will work harder and faster," Boxer keeps saying. He believed hard work and loyalty could fix any problem. Once finally worked to death, Boxer finally collapses. The pigs who have become in charge of the new animal-ruled farm send his body to the rendering service to be slaughtered and turned into products; they use the money they get for Boxer's body to buy whisky. The pigs tell the other animals they sent old Boxer to the veterinarian.
Blue-collar workers with even a modicum of sensibility and thoughtfulness should never read Animal Farm.
At least a couple of my grade school chums have already died of old age in their 50s. An old age hastened by being worked to death for nothing more that work's sake.
....got a college degree a while ago to try to escape from blue-collar. Now companies say I am over qualified, or they whine that I will probably leave the entry level job soon to find a better job with my degree. That's an oxymoron considering they will give the job to a 22 year old who will do just exactly that - move on as soon as possible. What these companies I have been trying to get jobs with really mean is, "Oh, man, you are old. Too old. Go away."
Overqualified and over educated is code for, "You are a threat to the rubes that run this place. Too much experience is code for, "You are too old; get lost old man."
It lends one to suspect society is schizophrenic. I used to get told, "Man if you only had a bit of college we would hire you." Now, I get told, "Wow, you have too many qualifications." Well, ok, perhaps I will just not work then, and next time you can say, "To bad your credit sucks; we would have hired you if your credit was better."
No, Labor Day is not always a day to celebrate. Labor Day is sometimes a day to fear. Run for your overworked, underpaid lives - run while you still can, before the pigs sell your dead carcase and drink whiskey on your grave.
Note: This blog "Jobs of Bob" - book version Category is a work in progress. The original vignettes are being edited for book form. Go to the Cooldadiomedia Web site and the Jobs of Bob Page for an ordered chronology of the book vignettes (chapters).
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Twenty-ninth Job of Bob - College Student - One last tip of the hat to an influential professor, and a thoughtful instructor: Coates and Roseberry - Jobs of Bob - book version
13 March 2013
Twenty-ninth Job of Bob - College Student - One last tip of the hat to an influential professor, and a thoughtful instructor: Coates and Roseberry - Jobs of Bob - book version
This entry was posted on 3/13/2013 1:31 AM and is filed under Jobs of Bob - book version, Jobs of Bob.
One Instructor at Madison Area Technical College and one professor at UW-Whitewater laid the seeds that sent me toward the Graduate study I eventually ended up in.
Jim Roseberry was a social science teacher at Madison Area Technical College. He had served in the military in the Vietnam War. He had been plugging away as an instructor at MATC for a while. But, as luck would have it, while I was taking classes there in the mid to late 1990s, he crafted a new class. With some consultation with a professor up at UW-Madison who taught a Vietnam War history class, Mr. Roseberry created a class about the Vietnam War history class at the MATC campus. Mr. Roseberry had also consulted a Buddhist monk he was fond of for guidance regarding that mostly Buddhist country. Of course I took the class. I even wrote an article about the new class for the school newspaper.
Mr. Roseberry taught in a calm and logical matter; there was no hyperbole or drama in his lectures like that occurred in the nation during the war era. We students were exposed to various elements of government, political, economical, military, and domestic issues from 1944 to 1980 - the timeline most connected with the Vietnam War. We Americans remember the war as generally being connected with 1964 to 1973; but, of course there was a long incremental involvement period, and then a tragic end time with all its consequences; hence, 1944 to 1980.
I was taken back to learn the intimate details of a war era I had grown up in and then served in the military in during. This academic encounter with this era in my past, laid the ground work for a direction my studies would take me on into graduate school.
I would eventually go to Vietnam three times in 2005 and 2006. I would also make one trip to the Los Angles, California, area to visit the huge Vietnamese community there that had sprung up in Westminster and Garden Grove since our war in Vietnam.
___________________________________
Doctor Norma Coates taught everything Communications at UW-Whitewater. I ran across her after I finished Criminal Justice and jumped over to graduate Communication. I would need to come up to par for their program and took a couple undergrad Comm classes she taught. Then later, I attended a couple graduate classes she taught as well.
Professor Coates often wore jeans and a jean jacket to class. She slightly let her affection for 1970s and 1980s pop culture glimmer through her presentation. That is why I felt grateful to take classes in the era I did. I remember the stuffy business suit professors from my brief encounter with college in the early 1970s. By 2003 professors could let some of their own personality shine through.
Once when doing what I thought was a rather routine research paper on Vietnam War movies and their effect on our culture, Professor Coates looked at my little offering and said rather matter-of-factly, "Bob, this is graduate level thesis material and ideas."
The light bulb was turned on.
-----------------------------------------------------------
From the influence of these two teachers, I would eventually also end up in the war zones in Turkey and Iraq twice form 2006 to 2008 to do journalist work and collect information for thesis work. My thesis theme would end up being how the Vietnamese in Southeast Asia and Los Angles, and the Kurds in Iraq define themselves by signs, symbols, music, and their pop culture, as opposed to some official written archives.
Although I have revisited almost 20 other teachers and professors' teaching style in vignettes in this college chapter of my work experience, these two educators laid the seeds that launched me on to higher levels of projects, work, and education.
Note: This blog "Jobs of Bob" - book version Category is a work in progress. The original vignettes are being edited for book form. Go to the Cooldadiomedia Web site and the Jobs of Bob Page for an ordered chronology of the book vignettes (chapters).
Twenty-ninth Job of Bob - College Student - One last tip of the hat to an influential professor, and a thoughtful instructor: Coates and Roseberry - Jobs of Bob - book version
This entry was posted on 3/13/2013 1:31 AM and is filed under Jobs of Bob - book version, Jobs of Bob.
One Instructor at Madison Area Technical College and one professor at UW-Whitewater laid the seeds that sent me toward the Graduate study I eventually ended up in.
Jim Roseberry was a social science teacher at Madison Area Technical College. He had served in the military in the Vietnam War. He had been plugging away as an instructor at MATC for a while. But, as luck would have it, while I was taking classes there in the mid to late 1990s, he crafted a new class. With some consultation with a professor up at UW-Madison who taught a Vietnam War history class, Mr. Roseberry created a class about the Vietnam War history class at the MATC campus. Mr. Roseberry had also consulted a Buddhist monk he was fond of for guidance regarding that mostly Buddhist country. Of course I took the class. I even wrote an article about the new class for the school newspaper.
Mr. Roseberry taught in a calm and logical matter; there was no hyperbole or drama in his lectures like that occurred in the nation during the war era. We students were exposed to various elements of government, political, economical, military, and domestic issues from 1944 to 1980 - the timeline most connected with the Vietnam War. We Americans remember the war as generally being connected with 1964 to 1973; but, of course there was a long incremental involvement period, and then a tragic end time with all its consequences; hence, 1944 to 1980.
I was taken back to learn the intimate details of a war era I had grown up in and then served in the military in during. This academic encounter with this era in my past, laid the ground work for a direction my studies would take me on into graduate school.
I would eventually go to Vietnam three times in 2005 and 2006. I would also make one trip to the Los Angles, California, area to visit the huge Vietnamese community there that had sprung up in Westminster and Garden Grove since our war in Vietnam.
___________________________________
Doctor Norma Coates taught everything Communications at UW-Whitewater. I ran across her after I finished Criminal Justice and jumped over to graduate Communication. I would need to come up to par for their program and took a couple undergrad Comm classes she taught. Then later, I attended a couple graduate classes she taught as well.
Professor Coates often wore jeans and a jean jacket to class. She slightly let her affection for 1970s and 1980s pop culture glimmer through her presentation. That is why I felt grateful to take classes in the era I did. I remember the stuffy business suit professors from my brief encounter with college in the early 1970s. By 2003 professors could let some of their own personality shine through.
Once when doing what I thought was a rather routine research paper on Vietnam War movies and their effect on our culture, Professor Coates looked at my little offering and said rather matter-of-factly, "Bob, this is graduate level thesis material and ideas."
The light bulb was turned on.
-----------------------------------------------------------
From the influence of these two teachers, I would eventually also end up in the war zones in Turkey and Iraq twice form 2006 to 2008 to do journalist work and collect information for thesis work. My thesis theme would end up being how the Vietnamese in Southeast Asia and Los Angles, and the Kurds in Iraq define themselves by signs, symbols, music, and their pop culture, as opposed to some official written archives.
Although I have revisited almost 20 other teachers and professors' teaching style in vignettes in this college chapter of my work experience, these two educators laid the seeds that launched me on to higher levels of projects, work, and education.
Note: This blog "Jobs of Bob" - book version Category is a work in progress. The original vignettes are being edited for book form. Go to the Cooldadiomedia Web site and the Jobs of Bob Page for an ordered chronology of the book vignettes (chapters).
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Radio's "Sly" may get last laugh - PoliticoDadio - Week of 13 February 2013
13 February 2013
Radio's "Sly" may get last laugh - PoliticoDadio - Week of 13 February 2013
This entry was posted on 2/13/2013 1:29 AM and is filed under PoliticoDadio.
Information buffs of all things local media, no doubt already know long-time Madison, Wisconsin, radio personality John Sylvester, "Sly," has moved his shtick from "the city of the perpetually offended," down the road to Monroe, Wisconsin, "the town known for cheese and surrounded by corn."
A few years ago back in the 1990s Midwest Family Broadcasting in Madison brought "Sly" over to do talk radio. The old radio sage had been working for another company and was doing music radio with some chit chat. At that time Midwest hawked 1480 and then 1670 WTDY AM as all-local-news-and-talk-all-the-time. When the Great Recession came a'call'n around 2006 or so, it did not take Midwest Family long to slowly but surely dismantled the all-local-all-the-time format. By 2010 or so, all that survived of that original "local" rubric was..., "Sly in the Morning."
Then, just before the holiday season 2012, and in classic radio business crassness, "Sly" and the entire morning staff got...., canned - news, traffic, weather..., and "Sly." I don't understand the logic, well I do, but give me a break. Bang, 1670 put on some bad music and even worse non-local news and talk. Now they are pretty well transitioned to all-sports-all-the-time, and with a new moniker.
Hey! Here's an idea that no one has ever thought of. Let's put on all-lame-sports-all-the-time, emanating from points far away from good ol' Wisconsin, and with pontificating young snarky hosts, that most likely live in their moms' basements.
I get it. With lame national syndicated shows, come lame national advertisers and..., money.
But what of "Sly"?
Well, the radio gods apparently shone down kindly on ol' "Sly." After several weeks, and no doubt some nights of unemployed anxiety for said radio host, a local radio venue out of Monore, Wisconsin, picked him up. The Big Radio family of five stations has resisted selling out to big lame media. Sly is hosting a show from 3:00 to 6:30 p.m. Monday through Friday on 93.7 FM radio. For those that know his show up in Madison, the format has so far held fairly similar since down in Monroe.
Just between you and me, I am wondering if ol' "Sly" may come out of this mass-canning up in Madison with the last laugh. The power of 1670 AM was weak with around 10,000 Watts. "Sly's" new venue at 93.7 FM boasts 36,000 Watts. These new digs and increased power, encompass "Sly's" old listening area plus a whole new area on the Wisconsin / Illinois state line.
For those that know "Sly's" style, he can irritate both "right" and "left." And of course, that is right up ol' Dadio's alley. I had a chance to do an interview with a different show on 1670 up at Midwest Family regarding my journalist work in Iraq. Poetically, I also did a couple interviews down at 93.7. Both venues were kind to me. But, I do have a bit of a soft spot for Big Radio as I was actually interviewed by owner Scott Thompson both times on his own radio show on 93.7 FM.
The combination of "Sly's" experience, loyal fans, and loyal advertisers, coupled with the new frequency range of 93.7 could be a damn good merger just made for all parties concerned.
Personally, I am hoping it works out for "Sly." I am fatigued by the relentless grinding of workers into the dirt in the name of the "new norm" American economic rubric. And, I am sick of hundreds of unhappy stories emanating from this so called "Great Recession."
The Dadio for one..., will be tuned in to 93.7 FM in the afternoons at every chance.
Radio's "Sly" may get last laugh - PoliticoDadio - Week of 13 February 2013
This entry was posted on 2/13/2013 1:29 AM and is filed under PoliticoDadio.
Information buffs of all things local media, no doubt already know long-time Madison, Wisconsin, radio personality John Sylvester, "Sly," has moved his shtick from "the city of the perpetually offended," down the road to Monroe, Wisconsin, "the town known for cheese and surrounded by corn."
A few years ago back in the 1990s Midwest Family Broadcasting in Madison brought "Sly" over to do talk radio. The old radio sage had been working for another company and was doing music radio with some chit chat. At that time Midwest hawked 1480 and then 1670 WTDY AM as all-local-news-and-talk-all-the-time. When the Great Recession came a'call'n around 2006 or so, it did not take Midwest Family long to slowly but surely dismantled the all-local-all-the-time format. By 2010 or so, all that survived of that original "local" rubric was..., "Sly in the Morning."
Then, just before the holiday season 2012, and in classic radio business crassness, "Sly" and the entire morning staff got...., canned - news, traffic, weather..., and "Sly." I don't understand the logic, well I do, but give me a break. Bang, 1670 put on some bad music and even worse non-local news and talk. Now they are pretty well transitioned to all-sports-all-the-time, and with a new moniker.
Hey! Here's an idea that no one has ever thought of. Let's put on all-lame-sports-all-the-time, emanating from points far away from good ol' Wisconsin, and with pontificating young snarky hosts, that most likely live in their moms' basements.
I get it. With lame national syndicated shows, come lame national advertisers and..., money.
But what of "Sly"?
Well, the radio gods apparently shone down kindly on ol' "Sly." After several weeks, and no doubt some nights of unemployed anxiety for said radio host, a local radio venue out of Monore, Wisconsin, picked him up. The Big Radio family of five stations has resisted selling out to big lame media. Sly is hosting a show from 3:00 to 6:30 p.m. Monday through Friday on 93.7 FM radio. For those that know his show up in Madison, the format has so far held fairly similar since down in Monroe.
Just between you and me, I am wondering if ol' "Sly" may come out of this mass-canning up in Madison with the last laugh. The power of 1670 AM was weak with around 10,000 Watts. "Sly's" new venue at 93.7 FM boasts 36,000 Watts. These new digs and increased power, encompass "Sly's" old listening area plus a whole new area on the Wisconsin / Illinois state line.
For those that know "Sly's" style, he can irritate both "right" and "left." And of course, that is right up ol' Dadio's alley. I had a chance to do an interview with a different show on 1670 up at Midwest Family regarding my journalist work in Iraq. Poetically, I also did a couple interviews down at 93.7. Both venues were kind to me. But, I do have a bit of a soft spot for Big Radio as I was actually interviewed by owner Scott Thompson both times on his own radio show on 93.7 FM.
The combination of "Sly's" experience, loyal fans, and loyal advertisers, coupled with the new frequency range of 93.7 could be a damn good merger just made for all parties concerned.
Personally, I am hoping it works out for "Sly." I am fatigued by the relentless grinding of workers into the dirt in the name of the "new norm" American economic rubric. And, I am sick of hundreds of unhappy stories emanating from this so called "Great Recession."
The Dadio for one..., will be tuned in to 93.7 FM in the afternoons at every chance.
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Fifth Job of Bob - Army - Forgotten in an outpost of paradise; American soldiers in Europe? - Jobs of Bob - book version
3 May 2012
Fifth Job of Bob - Army - Forgotten in an outpost of paradise; American soldiers in Europe? - Jobs of Bob - book version
This entry was posted on 5/3/2012 1:30 AM and is filed under Jobs of Bob - book version.
Years after I got out of the Army, somehow the phrase "Outposts of Paradise" appeared in my vernacular. I don't remember now where I came up with it; perhaps, there was some inspiration by the famous line in the movie, A Few Good Men (1992), when the character under scrutiny in court blurted out, "You can't handle the truth." That now infamous line was blurted out by Colonel Nathan Jessep (played by Jack Nicholson). It was in regards to the rigors military service members must endure in the damnedest places and what they really do to survive. In Jessep's case, being party to the death of one of his Marines. The incident in question in the movie took place in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba where the United States has maintained a Naval Base for over 100 years - much to the chagrin of a less than friendly Cuban government.
I have told the story often enough over the years. Often to less-than-interested ears. I had only been in my German duty station a few weeks. We often worked in our white t-shirts. Ol' Lieutenant "J" came up to us and said, "We got a quick task to do up by the border. You should be back by supper." About a dozen of us loaded on a Duce-and-a-half cargo truck and headed up north - still in our t-shirts.
Five days later, we got back late for supper. The small task took days, and eventually more men. Each group that came in continued to bring warm coats and pants. Finally, on the third day, I ended up with some one else's stinky field jacket coat.
Germany is much like Wisconsin - perhaps why so many Germans settled there in the 1800s. The summer days are warm; but, even summer nights can be frosty. We all froze our asses off. I never trusted Lieutenant "J," or the Army again.
There we were up by the then Czechoslovakian boarder, which was a hostile border with the communists at the time. I was a long forgotten potential hot-war zone in the American pop culture psyche.
Later that same summer, our benevolent, yet rather dufus Captain insisted we all see the World War II Dakau Concentration Camp Museum near Munich. It was a solemn journey and visit. We were walking around the grounds in our uniforms and berets.
An American lady from a tour group with a New York accent, dressed in up-scale cloths, with lots of jewelry said, "Who are you people?"
"American Army, Ma'am," some of us said, I suppose subconsciously expecting some nod of appreciation.
"Americans?" she said with a quander in her voice and a befuddled look. "I thought the American Army left here in 1945. You jokers are French or something and I don't think your joke is funny. If it weren't for the United States, France would be speaking German now."
Welcome to..., "The Outposts of Paradise."
Note: This blog "Jobs of Bob" - book version Category is a work in progress. The original vignettes are being edited for book form. Go to the Cooldadiomedia Web site and the Jobs of Bob Page for an ordered chronology of the book vignettes (chapters).
Fifth Job of Bob - Army - Forgotten in an outpost of paradise; American soldiers in Europe? - Jobs of Bob - book version
This entry was posted on 5/3/2012 1:30 AM and is filed under Jobs of Bob - book version.
Years after I got out of the Army, somehow the phrase "Outposts of Paradise" appeared in my vernacular. I don't remember now where I came up with it; perhaps, there was some inspiration by the famous line in the movie, A Few Good Men (1992), when the character under scrutiny in court blurted out, "You can't handle the truth." That now infamous line was blurted out by Colonel Nathan Jessep (played by Jack Nicholson). It was in regards to the rigors military service members must endure in the damnedest places and what they really do to survive. In Jessep's case, being party to the death of one of his Marines. The incident in question in the movie took place in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba where the United States has maintained a Naval Base for over 100 years - much to the chagrin of a less than friendly Cuban government.
I have told the story often enough over the years. Often to less-than-interested ears. I had only been in my German duty station a few weeks. We often worked in our white t-shirts. Ol' Lieutenant "J" came up to us and said, "We got a quick task to do up by the border. You should be back by supper." About a dozen of us loaded on a Duce-and-a-half cargo truck and headed up north - still in our t-shirts.
Five days later, we got back late for supper. The small task took days, and eventually more men. Each group that came in continued to bring warm coats and pants. Finally, on the third day, I ended up with some one else's stinky field jacket coat.
Germany is much like Wisconsin - perhaps why so many Germans settled there in the 1800s. The summer days are warm; but, even summer nights can be frosty. We all froze our asses off. I never trusted Lieutenant "J," or the Army again.
There we were up by the then Czechoslovakian boarder, which was a hostile border with the communists at the time. I was a long forgotten potential hot-war zone in the American pop culture psyche.
Later that same summer, our benevolent, yet rather dufus Captain insisted we all see the World War II Dakau Concentration Camp Museum near Munich. It was a solemn journey and visit. We were walking around the grounds in our uniforms and berets.
An American lady from a tour group with a New York accent, dressed in up-scale cloths, with lots of jewelry said, "Who are you people?"
"American Army, Ma'am," some of us said, I suppose subconsciously expecting some nod of appreciation.
"Americans?" she said with a quander in her voice and a befuddled look. "I thought the American Army left here in 1945. You jokers are French or something and I don't think your joke is funny. If it weren't for the United States, France would be speaking German now."
Welcome to..., "The Outposts of Paradise."
Note: This blog "Jobs of Bob" - book version Category is a work in progress. The original vignettes are being edited for book form. Go to the Cooldadiomedia Web site and the Jobs of Bob Page for an ordered chronology of the book vignettes (chapters).
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Fifth Job of Bob - Army - Kirby has a plate in his head from 'Nam; no Pfennigs for "die toilette" door-lock? Just use the urinal - Jobs of Bob - book version
2 May 2012
Fifth Job of Bob - Army - Kirby has a plate in his head from 'Nam; no Pfennigs for "die toilette" door-lock? Just use the urinal - Jobs of Bob - book version
This entry was posted on 5/2/2012 1:30 AM and is filed under Jobs of Bob - book version.
Ever go to a sporting event and the bathroom stales are all occupied? Somebody made a comment not long ago at work regarding said dilemma and it reminded me of Ol' Kirby and an experience I witnessed back in the Army. Ol' Kirby had done a tour in 'Nam and had a metal plate in his head from a combat wound. I don't know what his personality was prior to the addition of the plate, but when I knew him, he was subject to fits of random excited anxiety. And another memorable trait, he looked just like Sammy Davis Jr. - same size, same crooked eye, same hair, same speech.
One day we were in convoy up the Autobahn highway in Germany. At their rest areas you had to put some German coins in the toilet stall to get in the damn door - about five cents, or Pfennigs, in German. Poor Kirby did not have any change. The couple of us in the bathroom at the time did not either.
Poor Ol' Kirby said, "Hey, Keith baby. Give me some goddamned fucking Pfennings...I got the shits man!"
Me and the other guy just shrugged. We just did not have any damn change that day.
"Oh hell," Kirby said with a sick look. "I got to shit bad, Keith baby!"
The next thing we knew, Ol' Kirby was dropping trou' and heading for the wall-mounted urinal. Me and the other guy booked on out of there. Ol' Comrade German cleaning dude had a little surprise waiting for him later that morning compliments of Kirby. "Comrade" was a name we gave the collective German population.
I will say this, that the first time I ever saw a sink or urinal flusher that was activated by a movement scanner, was in Germany. It was way back in 1975. Hell, some of the guys I served with from some podunk towns in America did not even have running water as kids.
But then again, during the height of the Cold War we Americans numbered around half a million military personnel in Europe. I guess since us podunk suckers were carrying old Comrade's water for him, and we took care of the defense of his nation against the "commie hoards," he could focus on developing motion scanners in his fucking shitters.
I remember the first time I used a sink with no handles in Germany. The Army vernacular was that, "I was lost as a motherfucker." I looked all over the sink for those non-existent handles. Some of the more tech-savvy guys got a big kick out of my naivety with that good German technology.
On that fateful morning at the Autobahn rest stop, Ol' Kirby kind of evened the score for us lesser mortals.
Note: This blog "Jobs of Bob" - book version Category is a work in progress. The original vignettes are being edited for book form. Go to the Cooldadiomedia Web site and the Jobs of Bob Page for an ordered chronology of the book vignettes (chapters).
Fifth Job of Bob - Army - Kirby has a plate in his head from 'Nam; no Pfennigs for "die toilette" door-lock? Just use the urinal - Jobs of Bob - book version
This entry was posted on 5/2/2012 1:30 AM and is filed under Jobs of Bob - book version.
Ever go to a sporting event and the bathroom stales are all occupied? Somebody made a comment not long ago at work regarding said dilemma and it reminded me of Ol' Kirby and an experience I witnessed back in the Army. Ol' Kirby had done a tour in 'Nam and had a metal plate in his head from a combat wound. I don't know what his personality was prior to the addition of the plate, but when I knew him, he was subject to fits of random excited anxiety. And another memorable trait, he looked just like Sammy Davis Jr. - same size, same crooked eye, same hair, same speech.
One day we were in convoy up the Autobahn highway in Germany. At their rest areas you had to put some German coins in the toilet stall to get in the damn door - about five cents, or Pfennigs, in German. Poor Kirby did not have any change. The couple of us in the bathroom at the time did not either.
Poor Ol' Kirby said, "Hey, Keith baby. Give me some goddamned fucking Pfennings...I got the shits man!"
Me and the other guy just shrugged. We just did not have any damn change that day.
"Oh hell," Kirby said with a sick look. "I got to shit bad, Keith baby!"
The next thing we knew, Ol' Kirby was dropping trou' and heading for the wall-mounted urinal. Me and the other guy booked on out of there. Ol' Comrade German cleaning dude had a little surprise waiting for him later that morning compliments of Kirby. "Comrade" was a name we gave the collective German population.
I will say this, that the first time I ever saw a sink or urinal flusher that was activated by a movement scanner, was in Germany. It was way back in 1975. Hell, some of the guys I served with from some podunk towns in America did not even have running water as kids.
But then again, during the height of the Cold War we Americans numbered around half a million military personnel in Europe. I guess since us podunk suckers were carrying old Comrade's water for him, and we took care of the defense of his nation against the "commie hoards," he could focus on developing motion scanners in his fucking shitters.
I remember the first time I used a sink with no handles in Germany. The Army vernacular was that, "I was lost as a motherfucker." I looked all over the sink for those non-existent handles. Some of the more tech-savvy guys got a big kick out of my naivety with that good German technology.
On that fateful morning at the Autobahn rest stop, Ol' Kirby kind of evened the score for us lesser mortals.
Note: This blog "Jobs of Bob" - book version Category is a work in progress. The original vignettes are being edited for book form. Go to the Cooldadiomedia Web site and the Jobs of Bob Page for an ordered chronology of the book vignettes (chapters).
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Fifth Job of Bob - Army - the decision - Jobs of Bob - book version
29 March 2012
Fifth Job of Bob - Army - the decision - Jobs of Bob - book version
This entry was posted on 3/29/2012 1:30 AM and is filed under Jobs of Bob - book version.
I was thinking about how convoluted "the media" and pop culture reacts to super stars and entertainers and their petty lives that are thrown in our faces. An entire nation is riveted to what team an overpaid primadonna professional sports player will choose to move to.
Everyday us rabble make life-changing decisions. No one cares. I was reflecting back to 1973 and '74 when I made the decision to join the Army. Viet Nam was still rumbling in the background of an entire generations' minds. The military draft had just ended - although we were still required to register yet. The economy was hitting the dumper. Nixon's Watergate capers were about to bring down a Presidency. The Cold War was a way of life well into its second generation. The Baby Boom was starting to collectively realize its mortality. It was clear to almost every soul in the country baring a few hardliners, that our American Viet Nam War had been a catastrophe - and at the time still lingered in limbo. The Arab Oil Embargo had contributed to high fuel prices. Unemployment was climbing. The entire nation was cynical.
As for me, my dad was reflective - and wise - insisting small-operation family farming was on the precipice of national collapse. Yes, people hung on over the decades. Farmers adapted to other schemes - turning their farms into golf courses; starting vineyards and winerys; planting alternative crops; raising exotic animals; turning to corn or soybeans as a mainstay; and nowadays in the Twenty-first Century, turning their operations into organic farms. Dad foresaw that all these schemes and the old dairy scheme had a couple things in common. They would require a great deal of back-breaking, seven-days-per-week work; and, they would still often be contingent on the one owner of the small businesses. If he or she got sick, the operation could perish. Dad knew this, he had functioned on the margins of this dilemma for decades as a small family farm operator. He often worked while sick - it just was what it was.
A high school classmate of mine had joined the Army. He came home from Basic Training and I had a chat with him.
"No body is being beaten with sticks in the Army, as far as I can tell," my classmate had said to me. "And, it is a paid full-time job," he added.
He continued with, "And, I am getting to see parts of the country I could never afford to see otherwise."
Take your self out of the Twenty-first Century for a second. Fifty years ago, people did not just hop on a plane and go the Paris for the weekend, like some of my college colleagues recently did. Back when I was a kid, often the only way you got to travel was to..., join the damn military. Like it or not.
Then he quietly added a caveat, "'Nam is for the most part over now."
The catastrophic end to our Viet Nam War would come a year later in 1975 as our forces scrambled to get what was left of our presence there out as the communists overran what was left of South Viet Nam. Neither of us or anyone else saw it coming; or, if anyone did, there were few who cared.
I remember taking a walk around the farm with my dog to think about the possibility of joining the Army. A co-worker at the gas station I worked at who had recently got out of the Army was constantly feeding me tips on how to negotiate the nuances of military life. One variable was that if I joined for three years as opposed to two years, I could lock in a duty station - baring any major new war or any re-ignition of 'Nam. My co-worker had managed to stay in Germany all through his service even in the height of the Viet Nam War.
I remember thinking about what I would be leaving behind. The beautiful farm land; my family; a possible future as a farmer; a beautiful state; my girlfriend; my truck; and, my beloved dog Sandy.
In retrospect, it was an amazing decision for an 18 year old kid. And to be honest, if confronted with a decision like that today, I am not sure I could do it again. The price is just too high. Youth tempers mortality.
My decision to go, changed my life forever. It was a quiet decision that millions of young people made in the same era. No television news conferences, no publicity, no one cared but the many families.
The time I lost in the Army with the things and people I left behind can never be recovered. It leaves a hole in my life I will take with me until I die.
Note: This blog "Jobs of Bob" - book version Category is a work in progress. The original vignettes are being edited for book form. Go to the Cooldadiomedia Web site and the Jobs of Bob Page for an ordered chronology of the book vignettes (chapters).
Fifth Job of Bob - Army - the decision - Jobs of Bob - book version
This entry was posted on 3/29/2012 1:30 AM and is filed under Jobs of Bob - book version.
I was thinking about how convoluted "the media" and pop culture reacts to super stars and entertainers and their petty lives that are thrown in our faces. An entire nation is riveted to what team an overpaid primadonna professional sports player will choose to move to.
Everyday us rabble make life-changing decisions. No one cares. I was reflecting back to 1973 and '74 when I made the decision to join the Army. Viet Nam was still rumbling in the background of an entire generations' minds. The military draft had just ended - although we were still required to register yet. The economy was hitting the dumper. Nixon's Watergate capers were about to bring down a Presidency. The Cold War was a way of life well into its second generation. The Baby Boom was starting to collectively realize its mortality. It was clear to almost every soul in the country baring a few hardliners, that our American Viet Nam War had been a catastrophe - and at the time still lingered in limbo. The Arab Oil Embargo had contributed to high fuel prices. Unemployment was climbing. The entire nation was cynical.
As for me, my dad was reflective - and wise - insisting small-operation family farming was on the precipice of national collapse. Yes, people hung on over the decades. Farmers adapted to other schemes - turning their farms into golf courses; starting vineyards and winerys; planting alternative crops; raising exotic animals; turning to corn or soybeans as a mainstay; and nowadays in the Twenty-first Century, turning their operations into organic farms. Dad foresaw that all these schemes and the old dairy scheme had a couple things in common. They would require a great deal of back-breaking, seven-days-per-week work; and, they would still often be contingent on the one owner of the small businesses. If he or she got sick, the operation could perish. Dad knew this, he had functioned on the margins of this dilemma for decades as a small family farm operator. He often worked while sick - it just was what it was.
A high school classmate of mine had joined the Army. He came home from Basic Training and I had a chat with him.
"No body is being beaten with sticks in the Army, as far as I can tell," my classmate had said to me. "And, it is a paid full-time job," he added.
He continued with, "And, I am getting to see parts of the country I could never afford to see otherwise."
Take your self out of the Twenty-first Century for a second. Fifty years ago, people did not just hop on a plane and go the Paris for the weekend, like some of my college colleagues recently did. Back when I was a kid, often the only way you got to travel was to..., join the damn military. Like it or not.
Then he quietly added a caveat, "'Nam is for the most part over now."
The catastrophic end to our Viet Nam War would come a year later in 1975 as our forces scrambled to get what was left of our presence there out as the communists overran what was left of South Viet Nam. Neither of us or anyone else saw it coming; or, if anyone did, there were few who cared.
I remember taking a walk around the farm with my dog to think about the possibility of joining the Army. A co-worker at the gas station I worked at who had recently got out of the Army was constantly feeding me tips on how to negotiate the nuances of military life. One variable was that if I joined for three years as opposed to two years, I could lock in a duty station - baring any major new war or any re-ignition of 'Nam. My co-worker had managed to stay in Germany all through his service even in the height of the Viet Nam War.
I remember thinking about what I would be leaving behind. The beautiful farm land; my family; a possible future as a farmer; a beautiful state; my girlfriend; my truck; and, my beloved dog Sandy.
In retrospect, it was an amazing decision for an 18 year old kid. And to be honest, if confronted with a decision like that today, I am not sure I could do it again. The price is just too high. Youth tempers mortality.
My decision to go, changed my life forever. It was a quiet decision that millions of young people made in the same era. No television news conferences, no publicity, no one cared but the many families.
The time I lost in the Army with the things and people I left behind can never be recovered. It leaves a hole in my life I will take with me until I die.
Note: This blog "Jobs of Bob" - book version Category is a work in progress. The original vignettes are being edited for book form. Go to the Cooldadiomedia Web site and the Jobs of Bob Page for an ordered chronology of the book vignettes (chapters).
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