Ode to a dream job

Sometimes I wonder what I would do if I wasn't a journalist. I used to be fond of saying, "I can always pump gas," based on my experience working for my dad when I was a teen. One of my jobs was servicing the airplanes, pickups and other rigs around the place. That involved pumping a lot of gas.

For a decade I had to stop saying "I can always pump gas," because it didn't make since to anyone in California when I lived there. California had self-service gas stations. Everyone pumped gas in California.

Now, I suppose, I could use the line again as a born-again Oregonian. I don't think my creditors would support the career change though.

But I may have found it. I have a new dream job.

I want to be a copy writer for Del Taco tray liners.

Seriously.

On my way home from work I decided to stop off for dinner someplace where I could get a taste of California. I have been eating at home primarily lately, and frankly, my cooking skills leave something to be desired. I needed a change. There is one Del Taco restaurant in Salem and it reminds me of SoCal. For several years I lived just a few miles down the road from Yermo, Calif., the birthplace of the Mexican fast food chain. Although, as I recall, Barstow tries to claim for Del Taco's founding. If you've ever been to Barstow, you'd understand the people there need to be known for something beyond being a piss stop between L.A. and Las Vegas.

I was never a big fan of Barstow, but I loved the California deserts. The Mojave, with it's Joshua trees, the Colorado, with it's palm trees and mountain vistas. And warm, no, HOT sun and dry air. It was nirvana, and I needed a little reminder of that Eden to start my weekend.

So there I was, enjoying my soft tacos and daydreaming about the desert when I look down and there, on thin paper lining a plastic tray, was my key to a new career aspiration.

Whoever wrote the "Ode to the Bold" as part of Del Taco's "Go Bold or Go Home" campaign may have the best job ever.

Here's an excerpt.

"Here's to the pioneers. ... To the first to look a bull in the eyes and say, 'Yea, I'm gonna ride that. And with one hand.' Here's to the uninhibited. ... The lovers that honor one another with tattoos, The streakers. And the mooners. Here's to the brave. To those who can't karaoke, but karaoke anyway. ... Or objected at a wedding that needed an objection (thank you, thank you, thank you). Here's to the rule-breakers. ... And all the 4s out thee who married a 10. Here's to you, our customers. ... For you are the bold."

Made me feel like a stud for just eating a taco. I'm glad a went for the Del Scorcho sauce.

If you are going to go bold, you have to go all the way.

I kept the tray liner. I'm thinking of having it framed.

I wonder if the tray liner writer job comes with any pirques, like free combo burritos?

Pumpkin magic

It wasn't my normal time of year to come home for a vacation. In the years I lived in California, it became my routine to come back to Oregon during my daughter's spring vacation, which was always close to her birthday. And whenever possible, I would try to come home as close to Christmas as possible.

Why I came home in October eight years ago is lost to posterity. But for a change I came home near my birthday. I got to thinking about that trip over the weekend. I had to do some research to figure out just when it was I made that trip.

The reason it came to mind is that over the weekend I visited one of the same spots, with many of the same people important to my life. We went to the Pumpkin Patch on Sauvie Island in Portland to pick out some gourds for carving. There was a certain symmetry to the visit. I wish I had a scanner to scan in some of the photos I took on that trip eight years ago. I would love to post them side by side with some of the pictures I took this weekend.

Eight years apart, but it was like that pumpkin patch was a portal through time. Same place, different times, all side by side in my mind and my emotions.

The date: A retrospective

So the big date came and went and since I blabbed about it on here, it seems only right that I provide some sort of recap of the evening.

The evening had all the ingredients for disaster, or at least a coronary episode on my part. What I neglected to mention in my first date post was that the meeting was arranged by my boss and my boss and his date were attending the same event I was, as were several other coworkers. It was sort of like dating in a fish bowl with several sets of noses pressed against the glass.

I should have, by all rights, been a nervous wreck.

Surprising, at least to myself, I was calm, completely at ease with myself and the circumstances. I had a great time. My companion was attractive, charming and funny. She has a candid way of speaking that I find comforting and refreshing. Perhaps my admiration of that trait is due to too many years spent learning to bite my tongue for fear of offending someone or embarrassing myself, which tends to result in thoughts and emotions building up until a blurt things out in a stream of consciousness that shocks others. Better to dole out colorful language and blunt observations in small doses I think, but it's not a skill I've mastered.

To make a long story as short as possible I will say that the evening went quickly. My date had other plans for the latter part of the evening, so after a few hours of conversation, dinner and laughter the evening ended. I'm glad I went and surprised myself to find that stepping outside my comfort zones proved to be remarkably comfortable.

Perhaps that's not as exciting as a stereotypical first date filled with anxiety and anticipation, passion and uncertainty. Maybe that type is more fun. But all things considered, I thought it was about perfect. I'm not sure it would be the best of circumstances to be head-over-heels and looking for love on the first date after a long dateless spell. Looking for a friend was much preferable. Only time will tell whether I found a potential friend, or merely had a nice evening with an engaging, intelligent and interesting woman. One can't have enough interesting experiences either.

It's a date, isn't it?

I have a date. I think. Sort of.

Although, truth be told, I'm not sure I really know what a date is. I've never been much of a dater. So I may need clarification from more advanced and experienced daters out there.

For me, the biggest dating issue has always been asking someone out for a first date. It's a two-pronged problem. I tend to be shy around women and suffer from a paralyzing fear of rejection. For some reason it's hard to get a date if you can't bring yourself to ask a woman out on a date.

So, in order to work up the nerve to ask a woman out, I had to be pretty head-over-heels for her and know her well enough to be pretty confident her reaction to being asked out would not be laughter, spitting or stunned silence. Of course, it helps to have a friend who could do some recon work and find out if a girl likes you, but that doesn't go over so big after junior high.

I have almost always gone into a first date knowing I wanted a second one. Knowing I want a relationship. Knowing I had a crush on her.

There have been some exceptions, but I always felt uncomfortable and awkward, which didn't make for the most enjoyable outing. Of course that didn't lead to many second dates either.

I know that dating, at least in theory, is a way that people get to know one another to find out if they want to date more. I understand the theory. I've just never been able to put the theory into practice.

So, that's why I don't know if my date Saturday is a date. It's a fix-up situation. A blind date. And there is no expectation for a second date. Perhaps that's what's kept me from freaking out so far and actually has me looking forward to it. In order to get back into (or, perhaps more accurately, get into for the first time ever) the dating scene, it seems important to get that first date in a long time out of the way.

So, I've got a date. And I'm completely comfortable and at ease with the whole thing.

Oops, got to run. my nose just started bleeding. That usually only happens when I've got a cold, or when the weather changes or I'm stressed out about something. I wonder what brought this one on?

Must be the onset of fall weather.

In search of the profound through beer and blogs

I feel the need to write something extremely profound. To exhibit wisdom through well-chosen words. To engage people in dialogue that chances minds and alters beliefs.

What I really need to achieve these goals is a ghost writer. Or maybe beer.

Hopefully Google/Blogger don't implement a Blog Goggles system like they have with their Gmail Mail Goggles. Stringing words together is enough of a challenge after drinking or late at night, don't ask me to do math!