Memorable Work Phrases


It’s difficult to suggest that we have “legends” where I work. We've had legendary people work with us (Ray Morrow) but I really don't recall any great feats of impossible accomplishments that are remembered and passed on to new workers to inspire them. Instead, we memorable stories that have titles that become work phrases that we bring up in meetings or laughingly mention in an email. These summaries usually have an implied moral or warning to those who would forget the past.


One Man, One Hour

In 2003, I was on a project at a science museum in Charleston, WV.  We would drive down from Columbus on Monday, stay the week and drive back on Fridays. We managed our client, their GC, our vendors, and ourselves. Towards the end of the project, we planned for the client to bring in a few school groups to test the activities to see what was working, what was not working, and what was breaking, both physically breaking and breaking our hearts.

My last piece of work was to install some painted, metal trim around a small platform. I had previously dry-fit the metal to the platform before sending it out for paint. That morning, we got to the site at 7:00 am and gathered for our daily meeting. Everyone knew the school groups would be showing up at 10:00 am and that we should be finished with our work by 9:00 am so that we could absolutely be cleaned up and ready. We went around the circle with everyone sharing what they were working on. When it came to me, I said that I had to install the trim and then I would be available to help others with their work. Allen asked, “What is it going to take to get done?”
I said, “One man, one hour.”  The group broke up and I got to work.

I opened the box my trim pieces were in and immediately found out the marks I labeled them with were covered in paint. My first task was figuring out what was what. In normal Doug fashion, I did figure it out, but did not re-mark them knowing that I would easily remember which was which and the two minutes it would take to mark them was way too long.

While dry fitting them worked out great, I had never added the fasteners to hold them on to the platform. As the fasteners cinched down, the metal would bend slightly, which kept it from laying flat on all sides. Because the front and top were visible, I couldn’t add fasteners on those sides to make them lay flat. On top of this issue, tightening the screws caused the metal to deflect and when the screws were removed, the metal did not go back to its original shape. I had to bend every deflection back by hand.

When I looked at the time, it was almost 8:00 am and I should have been done. Co-workers were peeking in at me, but not saying anything.

Once I did get one piece in and fitting correctly, the next interlocking piece would reveal where things were not flat or where they were still bent. There was a cascading waterfall of failure that kept requiring me to remove all the pieces and starting from scratch.

At 8:30 am, Jim walked over and said, “Do you need some help?”
I said, “No, I’ll get it.”
Jim hunched down and watched for a few moments. He immediately noticed that the holes I was pre-drilling for the hardware were too small. Many of them were large enough at this point because I had run screws through them four or five times, but with Jim making the holes larger, the newer pieces were behaving better.

Ouch! Did I mention the edges were sharp and the holes that the screws had expanded had skin slicing blades coming out?

We got to the last piece and discovered that it needed to be the first piece. The way the metal bent around required it to be the first piece. We took them all off. Jim said, “Which is the next piece? Are these labeled?”

It was now 9:45 am and the groups had already shown up.  Would we be able to let them in early? I think AJ showed up at this point to jump in to help.

At about 10:04 am, Jim, AJ and I were finishing up with others helping to hide my tools as the school kids started running around the space.  

I was able to hang back and watch the kids interact with the exhibits. I was soaked with sweat and sadness, but the kids’ excitement and glee took my edge off.

If you are ever in a meeting and someone brings up a hesitation about the labor and time it will take to do something, a few folks will smile and say, “One man, one hour.” I, too, like to say it, because I dabble in self-deprecation.

Here is that platform with the metal trim. It’s beautiful. Yes, that is astro-turf.




Ham

We build interactive exhibits, mainly for children's and science museums, but many other venues, like zoos and retail environments, are very interested in how we can communicate a message through physical interaction and software. Some of these exhibits are new, untested ideas that we put a lot of effort into making them work or re-working them. Some of these exhibits are tried and true, industry-wide, standard hands-on activities that really don’t change from one installation to the next.  Something like a gyroscope or a zoetrope. You can’t really bend the science to make these phenomenon work in a different way.  But every project is different, and sometimes these standard exhibits are changed slightly based on that project’s needs for different cabinetry or themeing. We find ourselves looking at a previous drawing of an interactive and thinking, “This is what worked before, it must be what will work now for this simple activity.” But something was changed from one project to the next and that modification isn’t needed or could be a challenge if it isn’t caught for the new project. AJ and I were discussing this one day and lamenting about how poor documentation of changes can be an issue when everyone just does what the person before them did. That reminded me of a story my ECON 101 teacher, Mr. Ault, told us about his wife’s ham. When she would prepare a ham, would cut a generous portion off either end. When Mr. Ault asked why she did this, she explained, “It was how my mom did it.”

This stuck with him and at the next family gathering, he asked the mom why she cut the ends of her ham off. The mom replied, “I’m not sure, it’s how my mom did it.”

And to the matriarch he presented himself and asked. “Why did you cut the ends of your ham off?”

And she explained, “My pan was too small to fit the whole ham.”

Sometimes we do things because it’s just how they were done before. And while that seems to save time and money, you can end up doing things for the wrong reason.

For our team, when something is a replication, we take that extra step of making sure that what we did before was the correct way and that we do not keep mirroring unnecessary modifications from the past. When something should be carved in granite, we make sure we document any project specific changes, so that future creators know what they are getting into. But when one does sneak by and the question is asked why it was done that way, we know it’s a Ham.


Voodoo Budgeting

In about 2001, I told my boss that numbers he was moving around in the project budget were either incorrect or wrong or unnecessary. I forget the circumstances, except that I probably should have shared my opinion in some other way then by telling him it was “Voodoo Budgeting.”

Join me in the way back machine to 1986 when actor Ben Stein teaches that George H. W. Bush called Reaganomics, “Voodoo Economics.”


I don’t know very much about Economics (except about the professor’s wife’s ham,) but I did remember that line from the movie. It seemed a fitting way to describe what I was feeling at that moment. My boss did not like that phrase very much.

His displeasure with it was so memorable that this Work Phrase isn’t about budgets or accounting or economics or the phrase Voodoo Budgeting. It’s about when you say something to someone and it sticks with them FOREVER.  

When my boss brings up Voodoo Budgeting, I know that he’s reminding me of that special day and that he’ll never forget the time I doubted him and did so using a clever movie reference. Sometimes I will bring it up in a meeting, just so that I can say it before he does so that I can still have some power over those words.

www.usedbrassmoviestanchionsthatarenolongerneeded.com

A few years ago, we hired someone at the management level who had production experience and seems to know “a guy” in every trade possible. I’ll call him KF for Kung-Fu. He was experienced and seem to be able to give us contacts throughout the industry. The one thing he did not have a command over was searching the internet.

In a project meeting, we discussed resourcing brass stanchions with the velvet ropes. Hugh had been doing some research and shared what the costs were. The new guy thought that the costs for the stanchions were too high and asked if Hugh had done research on used stanchions.  KF said, “You see, the internet, it’s made standing in line at the theater obsolete. Theaters everywhere don’t need those stanchions anymore, so they are in a backroom getting dusty. The movie managers want to make a quick buck so they sell them on line. We just need to find them.”

(I don’t want to get in to how many theaters DON’T have brass stanchions with velvet ropes and that some manager would be creating a website to sell them.)

KF grabs the meeting room keyboard and pulls up the internet. He then starts to speak aloud and type, “ www dot used brass stanchions dot com.” That web address came up empty. Again, “www dot movie theater brass stanchions not being used for sale dot com.” Nothing. He tried several variations on this, each time coming up with a longer, more complicated string of words that he would try to turn into a website address. Of course, nothing came up. Hugh stopped him and said, “I will continue the search at my desk.”

In the end, we bought a bunch of new stanchions and aged them so that they would look old. Not old like they were in a movie theater closet for years, but you get my point.

Now at work, when someone asks how to locate an odd material or obscure product, like a pair of 6’ tall fuzzy dice, we will follow that up with, “Have you tried www.GiantSixFootFuzzyDice.com or www.StoreThatSellsFuzzyDiceThatArentSmallButSixFootCube.com?”

Below is an image of stanchion that were not bought used and use in a themed structure.



Aunt Barbara's Wagon

Back in the late 80s, my Aunt Barbara gave me her behemoth of a station wagon and my friends and I had an awesome time driving it around and causing all sorts of distress and that's the end of the story.

Except that the station wagon never made it to me. I never got to opportunity to create shenanigans in it.

Steve intercepted the wagon and I never got to drive it.

I think the station wagon was about 60 feet long and the back end of it could hold 23 people and 12 kegs. I assume that if it ran into a telephone pole, the driver would feel a slight bump and only notice later that the station wagon was covered in a telephone pole quantity of toothpicks. Its gas tank held 500 gallons of gasoline that would get it to go 45 miles. Aunt Barbara had multiple sclerosis so her station wagon was outfitted with an aftermarket accelerator and brake control on the steering column which made for interesting feet-out-the-window driving opportunities. I could be wrong about these descriptors, but I choose to ignore the truth,

I know for sure that some of you reading this are aware of the station wagon and probably ended up passing out in or under it. You have your own story. I know of two.

Brakes
Steve had the station wagon for a while when the brakes started to go out. Like any good Powhida, he ignored the problem and hoped it would go away. It did not go away and, again, instead of fixing the problem, he created a work-around. As he was driving the station wagon through Toledo, he would watch the crosswalk signs in the distance. If he saw one of them start to flash, he knew that the light would soon be changing. To come to a stop, Steve would do the following:
1. shift from Drive into 2
2. shift from 2 into 1
3. press the brake pedal to the floor just for show in the hopes the brakes would kick in
4. engage the parking brake
5. shift from 1 into Park
6. swear
7. steer the wagon into the curb for a frictional slow down
8. shift from  park into reverse
9. drive up the curb and on to the grass
10. let the final momentum take the wagon off the curb and to the stop bar

Steve did this until he did get the brakes fixed or the wagon died

The Wagon Died
The wagon died. Steve knew it was going to die, it was just a negotiation with fate as to when. For Steve, it was on a road trip from Toledo to Ohio State. The wagon let the ghost go along the side of 23 South. Fortunately, it was a caravan of cars headed to Ohio State, so they were not stranded. Steve gave the wagon last rites and his buddies stripped or obscured every single VIN code from the wagon along with any paperwork that might point back at him or poor Aunt Barbara. They left the smoking husk next on the side of the road where nature would take its course. There are some that say that rusting bits of the wagon are still on the side of the road or that an auto mechanic from Detroit found the wagon and brought it back to life as a bus to take kids to school. Me? I think that the highway patrol had a semi tow truck haul the beast to Lake Erie where it was used to shore up part of the coast and keep erosion from pulling Cleveland into the lake. The wagon couldn't stop itself, but it can keep Cleveland from floating away.

(Please come back in a few days for photos of the wagon. I have reached out to Cousin Andy for photos. If you have photos, please contact me at holyjuan@gmail.com.)


The Between

My brother's 50th birthday was celebrated on August 21st, 2017. His birthday is actually on August 12th, but birthdays are never convenient, so they are celebrated whenever it makes sense and when you can fit in an awesome pool party! Miss Sally and I took the kids to Toledo and we drank and swam and had a great time until we had to leave, because we are responsible adults and knew that the party was only going to get more outrageous. So we went home.

Steve died 27 days later on September 17th, 2017.

No one wants to remember the day someone died. You celebrate the birthday. And you lie to yourself that the anniversary of their death doesn't mean anything and that you'll almost forget.

But I've got this weird thing where I cannot stop thinking about the time between when I last saw him and when he died. The Between. I feel like this is an episode of Black Mirror or The Twilight Zone and I am watching his last 27 days and unable to change the outcome. I only know what he did those 27 days through what people are now posting on Facebook and saying, "I can't believe this concert we went to with Steve was just last year," and the inevitable, "This was Steve's last Rocket's game." I'd like like to think I could slip in between one of those moments and do something that would change the future. But I can't. And I find myself dwelling here in The Between.

I'm sure that many people have Betweens with their loved ones' deaths. Like if it was flipped, with his passing first and his birthday second, we'd be thinking about the time leading up to the birthday he wasn't able to celebrate. Or if someone dies around a major holiday. Those days Between are much shorter than waiting a whole year to celebrate the birthday or trying not remember the death.

I'm not counting down the days. It is possible I will wake up on the 17th and not immediately remember. But at some point, The Between will end, and I will remember it is the day I didn't want to make special by remembering. And I will put on my brave face. And I will graciously thank the people that remember, because I am thankful that they do. And I'll look back on those 27 days and realize that there was nothing I could do then and nothing I can do now.

Personally, I don't think Steve would be at all happy that I'm feeling like a miserable lump of sadness pudding. I guess I am in my own Between. And I look back and see my own 27 days ago when I was blissfully happy and look ahead to when I can deal with Steve's passing and be at peace. I've been up and down. I think I've got a handle on it... I think that it is all behind me... and then I am a mess. I look up and I am still in my own Between. And I'm waiting to be on the other side of that Between.








Weed Tea

Many years ago, when I was about 10, my brother and I decided to smoke the dried, tubular, hollowed out weeds that grew near the creek in our back yard. We’d pluck a nice fat one and break it down to a cigar sized length. Then we would light blue tip matches off of the dry rocks and attempt to fire up the hollow weeds. The weed really didn’t light and we would end up inhaling more blue tip match sulfur than smoke.

My brother got the completely logical idea that we should use the hollow weeds as a medium to smoke something else out of. Sort of a hard cased cigarette. Since we did not have any tobacco in the house or in the seven miles radius of desolation and country farms that we called home, we opted for the next best thing: tea.

We went in the house, opened up four Lipton tea bags and dumped the contents into a plastic sandwich bag. We disposed of the external tea bag material, string and paper by stuffing it way in the bottom of the trash can because we were sure mom or dad would figure out what we were up to if they found the remnants.

In the back yard we stuffed the hollow reeds with some of the tea. We used smaller weeds to pack the tea in cannon ball style. We fired them up. He coughed. I choked. He wheezed. My eyes dripped tears. It was smooth.

When we finished (fifteen seconds after we started) we went back inside and most likely played Atari. He probably won and punched me in the arm because that's how it always was.

Three years later I was in the living room (probably playing Atari) when my mother called to me from the kitchen. I entered. Dad was sitting at the kitchen table. Mom was standing. Between them at the table was a plastic sandwich bag filled with three year old tea.

Mom did the talking. “Is this yours?”

My mind raced back. I ended up tossing that plastic bag of tea in my underwear drawer, way in the back. I’d see it every so often, but didn’t think much of it as it was only tea. I never threw it away. Mom had been going through my drawers, diligently looking for weed, and low and behold she hit the mother lode.

I answered her question, “Yes. It’s tea.”

“Is this marijuana?”

“No! It’s tea!”

My parents wouldn’t know tea from weed so I was in for a bit of trouble.

“You have one more chance… is this marijuana?”

“No! It’s tea! Steve and I tried to smoke it years ago!”

Dad finally spoke up, “You smoked tea?”

“Yes. Out of the weeds by the creek.”

“The hollow ones?” Dad didn’t drop his apples very far from the tree.

Mom couldn’t believe that her snooping was proving fruitless. “There’s only one way we can tell that this is tea.”

Dad put a pan of water on the stove. I was made to sit at the table and wait forever watching for the water to boil. He dumped in the contents of the bag. We all waited more. I distinctly remember Dad wafting the steam to his face and saying, “Well, it smells like tea.”

That was all the proof they needed. The weed tea was disposed of. I was given some sort of punishment that involved not being allowed to play Atari.

My recollection of this story sounds brave, but I’m sure I was whimpering and high pitched stammering and I bet I ratted out my brother in the first ten seconds of the interrogation. When he came home that night, he got three years of backlogged reprimands. His punishment was probably worse because it always was.

What is a Story?


This is how is starts. This is how it begins. A story begins at the start and then once the start recognizes what it’s done, then it’s the middle. The middle wanders around a bit until it gets bored and then the end comes along. The end usually shows up right about at the right time, which is always the wrong time when the story is good. When the story is bad, well, the end is like a smothering pillow and we all look away as business is taken care of.

Sometimes there are characters and they really screw up the middle and the end. The characters are either people or they are not or they are both. Characters tend to change during the story, so try not to fall in love with them. If you are disappointed in how a character turns out, you can go back and read the story, but stop before they change.

The thing the characters always seem to muck about with is the plot. While the middle of the story wanders around, it is usually holding hands with the plot. The middle and the plot are happy just passing the time, but characters usually end up kicking the plot and the plot drags the middle around or vice versa and then the pillow comes in and smothers them both.

But before you can start, you have to know when to start. And even that gets confusing when the start isn’t really the beginning and later in the story they go back before the start and the start starts to get a complex. The start is now the middle and the middle is all over the place.  The plot’s arm is sore and the characters start to doubt that this was ever a good idea and the pillow looms above. But luckily, many stories play it straight and their "when" is somewhere reasonable like the 1800s or the 80s or now or in the near future or future future.

Don’t get me started on where stories take place. All stories take place by a lake. Lakes are nice and provide everything a story needs. Any story that doesn’t take place near a lake isn’t a story and is not long for the pillow.

Fortunately, I’m not a writer and I don’t get caught up in all of this. I'm just the guy with the pillow.

Forgetting the Unforgettable

(Author's note: I'm not ruining this article by telling you that I am now at peace with myself and Steve's death. It still hurts. And his family is still hurting. But I'm not kicking myself anymore about it. I think Steve would say that I've sucked it up. I won't forget, but I'm over the forgetting.)

I need to write this and you will be the surprised and unprepared reader of my sadness. HolyJuan usually makes you forget about all the horrible things that life has to offer, and HolyJuan usually does so through such self-referential methods as making fun of people who speak in the 3rd person, even when the 3rd person isn't even a person. But I would appreciate if you would stick through this and then we can all go back to irreverent, relevant nonsense.

I keep forgetting that my brother is dead. I will forget, time passes, and then I remember. And while those instances of remembering are not as shocking as the initial revelation, it's just as debilitating in a numb sort of way. I am endlessly forgetting. Then I remember. Then I feel sad. And then I move on with forgetting again.

And here, outside of him being dead, is the worst part about it: I feel guilty that I keep forgetting. If I would have been closer to Steve, I think that I wouldn't forget as often. That there would be a constant Steve haze of sadness that wouldn't leave that would cause a constant ache. Instead, I keep remembering that I forgot and I feel terrible about it.

I would like to get to the stage where I feel guilty about beginning to not think about him, except that I immediately know he's gone. Right now, those few milliseconds of remembering never start with him being dead. They are filled with the next time I see him. Then I remember, I realize I've forgotten, and then the guilt. I know it's a horrible analogy, but when I think about Santa Claus, I don't think about him as someone who is real and then I remember that he isn't. He's not real right from the get-go of thinking about him, even though a younger HolyJuan believed differently. I want to remember Steve, knowing that he is dead. And I can't. Not yet and seemingly not ever.

Did I ever tell you that I absolutely hate wind chimes? Their only purpose is to piss off the neighbors and possibly to keep the Local #45 Less Than 16" Long Pipe Union in business. My favorite noise a wind chime makes is a tie between when it isn't making noise or the clattering thud it makes as it falls in the bottom of a trash can. I do not like wind chimes.

After Steve died, Susie and Larry bought us a set of memorial wind chimes. They are silver tubes with black lettered poetry about how you are going to have a difficult time forgetting the deceased with these things clamoring all day and night. We sent a nice thank you card and I never thought they would leave the box. But they did make it into the sunlight and I hung them on the deck. "Sunlight" and "on the deck" being merely suggestive as they are tucked off the side in a low-to-the-ground corner where neither sunlight or wind make their presence known and they would remain silent.

But somehow the wind does swirl up and give the dangling weight enough momentum that it creates a few notes. Quiet and gentle notes that creep into the house when I am having my morning coffee. For just a brief second, they will tinkle. And I will be reminded of Steve. While my sadness at the beginning of all this was about remembering Steve, this wind chime reminds me of Steve. A subtle difference. I'm OK with being reminded of Steve by wind chimes or by friends or by Steve's family or Facebook posts. I love being reminded of Steve. I fucking hate wind chimes and the set that Susie and Larry gave us will always be hanging from somewhere near my home because they now remind me of him.

That is where I want to get with my own internal struggle: I want to be reminded. A gentle nudge that makes me smile or that makes me sad he is gone. Like on a chilly spring day, when the sun is forgotten behind the clouds, but then it secrets through, and nonchalantly hits the peripheral. Eyes closed you can turn into the light, welcome it, and take in the warmth. Then it moves on and so do you. The chimes warm me. The stories keep his memory alive. All these reminders I appreciate, welcome, and love.

I just want to stop forgetting.

What No One Tells You About Moving

Moving is highly underrated. Both in time and treasure. I’ve helped several friends to move and here’s what I’ve noticed that you should consider before moving.

0.5 The PLAN
(It’s best to have the PLAN in the #0.5 spot so that you can sneak up on the #1 item.)
Create a PLAN for the move. Write it down. Stick to it. Even if you are wrong, because once people begin to doubt you, they’ll start to argue and that is a time suck. Be willing to take advice, but don’t let anyone tell you what to do. This is why you do not invite your dad to the move.

1. Packing takes 20% longer than expected
OK, you’ve heard this before, but no matter how you plan, packing will take 20% longer. Even after you read this, you might think, “I’ll just increase the time by 20%.” Wrong. Because it will take 20% longer than that. It’s a losing proposition. It is in your best interest to schedule five hours to pack so that it will only take six. (And don’t think you can plan on five minutes of moving so that it will take six. Fate is not stupid.)

2. Pack Everything
Put as much as you can in boxes. It makes packing the truck so much easier. Leave stuff in drawers if you want, but make sure you cover with cardboard and tape. Take this opportunity to throw out all your lamps. They are hard to pack and just not worth your time. DO NOT PACK THINGS IN SUITCASES. It is a well know fact that suitcases are the number one item that get lost both at the airport and in a move.

3. Don’t Pack Everything
Screw that last bit. Take the time to get rid of stuff. Have your friends take stuff. Call the local charity that will haul it away. Put it on the curb so the local junk-truck-guy can come by and take the good stuff. Especially those lamps.

4. Color Code
In the end, you will be much happier will all your crap in well marked, color coded boxes You can write the details of the box in small letters, but use large words or color to help guide the unpackers to the room they need to go. The night before the move, go to the new house and make signs with arrows. Color code rooms and doors. This will alleviate you standing at the front door of the new house, blocking the door deciding what the hell you were thinking last night when you wrote KT BT 9 FR on the box.

5. Rent the bigger truck
Rent the biggest truck you can get your hands on. Find a friend with a Commercial Driver’s License if you have to. Two trips SUCKS. Spend the extra money because you will save it in the end with mileage and time.

6. You can have too many people to help
It’s easy to understand that if you are the only one moving your furniture, you are screwed. But is it possible to have too many people? YES. One of my favorite economics terms is “diminishing returns.” It basically means that the more people you throw at a job, at some point, the amount of work that can get done is reduced. When you have too many people standing around, they will have the time to stop and criticize your PLAN. If you invite too many people to help, divide them up into smaller teams for continued packing, labeling, cleaning, lifting or send some over to the new place to get rid of them. Have them buy the beer and put it into the new refrigerator. Part of your PLAN should be a list of things for the ne'er-do-wells to do while the real help is doing their job.

7. Inside help / outside help
Your job during the move is to coordinate. Try not to get stuck moving anything. You should be able to freely move in and out of the house. If you have the personpower, have someone in the house, who is familiar with the PLAN, that can guide the movers or get you in a hurry if there is a question. You can then be near the truck to help with loading, unless you suck at Tetris.

8. Tight Pack
If you are crappy at Tetris, I would suggest getting a friend who has move experience to pack the truck. You want a tight pack as this means less damage and more stuff on the truck. Have room outside the truck for staging items that should go on later or when you have a futon shaped hole to fill.

9. MOVE EVERYTHING NOW

Damnit! I’ve seen it a hundred times. Towards the end of the move, little stuff is still lying around the house and the owner will say, “I’ll get that stuff later.” Don’t do it. MOVE IT NOW. You’ve got the people and the truck. For fragile stuff also have a fleet of cars that will be going to the new house. Just do it now. If you are moving across the country, you might want to keep personal items or papers with you, just don’t overthink it, champ. Move it now.

10. Don’t Feed in the Middle of a Move
Hungry people work harder. Full people nap. Don’t schedule your move around a meal time. Wait until the move is over to order the pizza. Even if it is late. By then, people will be sick of you and they will leave so you can order less pizza. Only keep cold water at the house you are moving out of. Make sure that beer is only at the new place so they have a goal. Drunk people drop shit and argue with you.

11. Don’t get fancy

Provide water. Provide Pizza. Provide Beer. Don’t try and cater. Don’t even think about cooking out. Your friends knew this when they volunteered to help. They will move someday and you will get the same crap from them.

12. Unpack Now
If you do not unpack a box, it will remain packed until you move again. This falls in line with Move Everything Now. People are there. Unpack.

13. Thanks

You need to thank your friends for helping. If someone loaned you a truck, fill it with gas or leave a $20 in the glove compartment. A real friend will not take money if you hand it to them, so if you really need the $20, try to hand it to your friend instead of putting it in the glove compartment. Thank your friends that night and the next day for their help and apologize for being a dick and not listening to them and not having beer at the house and for making them work so late.

BONUS HINTS
14. Take the next day off work
You will definitely want to take then next day off from work. All the stuff that you are too tired to take care of at midnight will be there for years unless you take care of it immediately. If you go to work, you are going to come home, exhausted, to unpacked boxes and no cable. If you take the next day off, you can sit around and unpack boxes while you wait for the cable guy to show up three hours late.

Christian Group Plans to Change the Names of the Days of the Week

COLUMBUS (FD) – Did you know that many of the names for the days of the week are based on old pagan beliefs and mythology? One Ohio Christian coalition group didn’t until recently and now they plan on doing something about it. The Christian Guardians of His Word is a collection of churches from around the state of Ohio. Church leaders meet on a quarterly basis to discuss regional issues and politics. An emergency meeting was called when one of the members read their child’s English language book and realized that the days of the week are based on, “weird gods and heathen worship.”

The group decided to create a new set of Christian friendly names for the days of the week and then petition their local representatives to force the government to make it official. The team of representatives from 37 churches gathered at Our Peoples of God’s Church in Columbus, Ohio to decide upon the new names.

Debate started immediately when someone suggested changing Sunday to "God's Day." At first it seemed like a positive change, until one member realized that every day is God’s day and they should not narrow it down to one single day. For a few hours, debate raged between going with the assumption that everyone would understand that everyday is God’s day and the opposite end of the spectrum of calling Sunday, "God's Day 1" and going through the week in order "God's Day 2", "God's Day 3" and so on. In the end it was decided to call Sunday “Church Day” with the understanding that everyone knows that every day is God's Day.

For the next several hours, the rest of the days of the week were pounded out. Monday would become "Work Day." Tuesday would become "Spirit Day." There was a difference in opinion if Wednesday or Thursday should be called "Wash Day" as different people bathe and do laundry on different days of the week. As many members attend their individual churches on Wednesday as well, they decided to replace Wednesday with “Wash Up Day” to play upon the words sounding like “worship day.” Thursday is to become known as "Love Day" and everyone agreed to call Friday "Pizza Night Day." Saturday, of course, will be known as "Cartoon Day."

The Christian Guardians of His Word have put together a statement of suggestion and will begin petitioning their representatives in the new year on Love Day the 1st in God’s Month 3.