<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147240017857658831</id><updated>2011-11-17T10:55:03.374-08:00</updated><category term='It is what it is.'/><title type='text'>Monday Comes too Late</title><subtitle type='html'>Tomorrow never comes until it's too late
You could be sitting taking lunch
The news will hit you like a punch
It's only Tuesday
You never thought we'd go to war
After all the things we saw
It's April Fools' day
Tomorrow never comes until it's too late</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mondaycomes2late.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1147240017857658831/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mondaycomes2late.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Jerry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15602234745235447364</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>7</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147240017857658831.post-6153808956458312559</id><published>2011-02-18T07:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-18T07:16:30.578-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Promotions are funny things. I'd observed that people I knew who had gotten promotions were very hard workers and were quite productive. Until they got their promotion.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I continued to observe that after the promotion the newly promoted would, in their new role, become less hard working, and very much less productive.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Why this is, I'm not sure.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I recently was promoted. I've got a new role with its new responsibilities. It came a nice salary increase and bonuses. Nice. Then I recalled my observations of friends and coworkers who'd gotten their promotions. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, since my promotion how have I stacked up against the evidence I'd gathered that showed promotion = less production.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Not so well. I've had to travel a lot more then I'd had to in the past. I've also had to put in longer hours then in the past. Along with time away from family, time not able to be spent on personal projects, 'honey do' lists, and automechanics, I'm finding that I've been busy as hell since the promotion. I've also got a stack of completed projects and tasks that show I've never been as productive as I'd been in the past. So, what the hell did I do wrong?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1147240017857658831-6153808956458312559?l=mondaycomes2late.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mondaycomes2late.blogspot.com/feeds/6153808956458312559/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1147240017857658831&amp;postID=6153808956458312559' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1147240017857658831/posts/default/6153808956458312559'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1147240017857658831/posts/default/6153808956458312559'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mondaycomes2late.blogspot.com/2011/02/promotions-are-funny-things.html' title=''/><author><name>Jerry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15602234745235447364</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147240017857658831.post-7505095145674931302</id><published>2010-05-08T21:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-08T21:05:34.392-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ever get that feeling that you'd forgotten something?</title><content type='html'>Go figure they hadn't closed this account even after 2 years! I guess I'll have to get back at it.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1147240017857658831-7505095145674931302?l=mondaycomes2late.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mondaycomes2late.blogspot.com/feeds/7505095145674931302/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1147240017857658831&amp;postID=7505095145674931302' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1147240017857658831/posts/default/7505095145674931302'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1147240017857658831/posts/default/7505095145674931302'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mondaycomes2late.blogspot.com/2010/05/ever-get-that-feeling-that-youd.html' title='Ever get that feeling that you&apos;d forgotten something?'/><author><name>Jerry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15602234745235447364</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147240017857658831.post-5806018411326305617</id><published>2008-03-11T20:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-11T21:10:34.214-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Death in the family</title><content type='html'>A good friend of mine has a father who is dying of cancer. More exactly he's bleeding to death.&lt;br /&gt;An ulcer in his upper intestinal track is making him bleed out. Without the transfusions he'd just slip away.&lt;br /&gt;I called and texted him inviting him out for a beer, something, anything to help take his mind off what's going on and what he's dealing with. If at least for an hour or so. Give his emotions time to recharge.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend is handling it very well. The closest experience I've had that helps me relate is the death of my Uncle. He passed away around the same time my father in law did.&lt;br /&gt;My Wife took the girls to New Orleans to be with her father and I went to Orlando to attend my Uncles funeral.&lt;br /&gt;So, I kind of have an idea of what he's going through. I'm lucky I guess. I still have my Dad around. I should call him tomorrow and say hi.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now my friend is going there. Where childhood emotions, memories, expectations and guilt all seem to take over. I remember whens, and he could have still done this, and God why didn't I do that's. Yeah, I'll call my Dad and say hello.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A new friend of mine says that the hardest part isn't now. Not what you're doing now, dealing with death, the funeral, cleaning up. That's all numbed by shock.&lt;br /&gt;He says that the hardest part will come a year from now when you're sitting at home and say, "ah, lets go visit Dad"........and then remember that you can't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He's so right.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1147240017857658831-5806018411326305617?l=mondaycomes2late.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mondaycomes2late.blogspot.com/feeds/5806018411326305617/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1147240017857658831&amp;postID=5806018411326305617' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1147240017857658831/posts/default/5806018411326305617'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1147240017857658831/posts/default/5806018411326305617'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mondaycomes2late.blogspot.com/2008/03/death-in-family.html' title='Death in the family'/><author><name>Jerry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15602234745235447364</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147240017857658831.post-7492966213637142172</id><published>2008-03-10T20:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-10T22:00:59.739-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I've fallen out of love with William Gibson.&lt;br /&gt;What is it about combinations of words that make beautiful sounds but have no meaning? A homeless man I knew a few years ago sold ballpoint pens out of a white pickel bucket in front of my restaurant. He'd be out there every afternoon, hours at a time, for months. Then one day he stopped.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of the other cooks said he'd been arrested for grabbing a woman. Weeks later, late for work, I saw him across the street. He was screaming something to the trees that line Main Street. He was naked except for his Salvation Army boots and grey underwear. I watched him for a minute, just long enough to make sure it was the pen man. The cops rushed him with pepper spray then dragged him away. I never bought one of his pens. I bought Spook Country and would have been better off with a pen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I finished Idoru months ago, followed by All Tomorrow's Parties, Pattern Recognition and Spook Country a couple weeks ago and thought I'd missed something. Reviews of his latest works are always great. Sure his style is cool, hip, and catchy but so is Starbucks and I fucking hate Starbucks.&lt;br /&gt;To say I'm a cyberpunk fanboy is not a stretch but I just don't get it anymore. Maybe I'm getting old. Sure there's some great writing, I like the way his work is organized. Good grammer and all. These last few books, they're great sounding words.&lt;br /&gt;Like the old man in his underwear screaming at the trees.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1147240017857658831-7492966213637142172?l=mondaycomes2late.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mondaycomes2late.blogspot.com/feeds/7492966213637142172/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1147240017857658831&amp;postID=7492966213637142172' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1147240017857658831/posts/default/7492966213637142172'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1147240017857658831/posts/default/7492966213637142172'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mondaycomes2late.blogspot.com/2008/03/ive-fallen-out-of-love-with-william.html' title=''/><author><name>Jerry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15602234745235447364</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147240017857658831.post-4440086980977144585</id><published>2008-01-12T11:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-12T12:11:59.106-08:00</updated><title type='text'>How did I miss New Years?</title><content type='html'>Happy new year? Yup you bet. To me though seems like more the same 'o same 'o.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jo, the girls and I spent that evening just hanging out. The New Years before we did it up but for some reason, this time around, all of us just wanted to hang out at home and go to bed early.&lt;br /&gt;Having all that time off for Christmas really had us all ready to get back to school or back to work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today is another day.&lt;br /&gt;I'm looking forward to the Greenbay Seattle game. Greenbay better win because I've got a bet with a friend. I've actually gone double or nothing on an earlier bet that I'd lost. So, they better win today or else JoAnna is going to kick my ass.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My daughter had her wisdom teeth pulled out yesterday so I'm doing some baby sitting. Actually she's doing very well compared to how well I fared after getting my wisdom teeth pulled. I was a zombie for the entire day. She on the other hand is doing awsome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, here's to a new year. Now I've got to watch a game.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1147240017857658831-4440086980977144585?l=mondaycomes2late.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mondaycomes2late.blogspot.com/feeds/4440086980977144585/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1147240017857658831&amp;postID=4440086980977144585' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1147240017857658831/posts/default/4440086980977144585'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1147240017857658831/posts/default/4440086980977144585'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mondaycomes2late.blogspot.com/2008/01/how-did-i-miss-new-years.html' title='How did I miss New Years?'/><author><name>Jerry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15602234745235447364</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147240017857658831.post-3092889370430674563</id><published>2007-09-27T22:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-27T22:14:24.530-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Lyrics for my dreams tonight</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;At the starting of the week&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At summit talks you'll hear them speak&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's only Monday&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Negotiations breaking down&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See those leaders start to frown&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's sword and gun day&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Tomorrow never comes until it's too late&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;You could be sitting taking lunch&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The news will hit you like a punch&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's only Tuesday&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You never thought we'd go to war&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After all the things we saw&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's April Fools' day&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Tomorrow never comes until it's too late&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tomorrow never comes until it's too late&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;You hear a whistling overhead&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you alive or are you dead?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's only Thursday&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You feel a shaking on the ground&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A billion candles burn around&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is it your birthday?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Tomorrow never comes until it's too late&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tomorrow never comes until it's too late&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Make tomorrow come I think it's too late.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1147240017857658831-3092889370430674563?l=mondaycomes2late.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mondaycomes2late.blogspot.com/feeds/3092889370430674563/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1147240017857658831&amp;postID=3092889370430674563' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1147240017857658831/posts/default/3092889370430674563'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1147240017857658831/posts/default/3092889370430674563'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mondaycomes2late.blogspot.com/2007/09/lyrics-for-my-dreams-tonight.html' title='Lyrics for my dreams tonight'/><author><name>Jerry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15602234745235447364</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147240017857658831.post-1934711993882766579</id><published>2007-09-27T21:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-27T22:08:34.085-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='It is what it is.'/><title type='text'>Starting something not new</title><content type='html'>I don't read the news papers.....they all have ugly print.&lt;br /&gt;Mos Def said it right. Plus there's nothing interesting to read anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A cartoon my kids watch has a character who's always getting his ass kicked, but he always goes back for more. Never quits. My work life is like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm surrounded by mostly good people. I'm border-line schizo so they're all after my job or trying to get in my wifes pants.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, here it starts. Random as I am, it is what it is. Welcome.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1147240017857658831-1934711993882766579?l=mondaycomes2late.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mondaycomes2late.blogspot.com/feeds/1934711993882766579/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1147240017857658831&amp;postID=1934711993882766579' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1147240017857658831/posts/default/1934711993882766579'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1147240017857658831/posts/default/1934711993882766579'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mondaycomes2late.blogspot.com/2007/09/starting-something-not-new.html' title='Starting something not new'/><author><name>Jerry</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15602234745235447364</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
