I had some dreams ... they were klowns in my koffee.

(With apologies to Carly Simon)

This is my journey through job transition from a toxic environment to a better life. Join me for a few thoughts and a few laughs along the way.
What are "klowns in my koffee"? They are the factors large and small that make you less than you are. A "klown" can be a grossly incompetent boss,
a short-sighted policy or a moronic coworker. They won't kill you, at least not immediately, but they abrade the soul
as you scrape past them to get through the day. Sometimes it's best to dump them out of the cup.


Day 185 - Ol' Paint Roller

Daily Kup (Scraping By)
I came, I saw, I scraped. I scraped walls and soffits and trim. And then I caulked and primed and sanded. I haven't spent a whole day dabbing gunk on junk since the kids were infants. There will be some actual painting tomorrow.

My neighbor stood in his driveway watching me for several minutes and then yelled across the street as I was standing on that ladder step that is clearly labeled "not a step" and stretching to prime above the garage door, "So, the house is getting painted." The use of the passive tense was amusing. "Yes, the house is getting painted. It's an organic development that is just somehow happening -- like a meteor shower or the Northern Lights. People will sit on blankets and watch it unfold. At the conclusion, we will join hands and sing Kum-Bah-Yah. It has nothing to do with me, this ladder, or this heavy can of paint." Household projects make me a bit cranky. Since I have enough problems being liked by my neighbors as it is, my actual answer was, "Yes, finally" in acknowledgement of the obvious need.

My plan is to get the front of the house done. I'd like to finish the whole house but, frankly, anything completed behind the fence is gravy. Sometimes a really good facade is all that's needed.

The Mental Freedom of Busy Hands
Repetitive manual labor can free the mind and lighten the spirit. That's the theory anyway. People talk of brilliant poetry and music composed when the mind is free to wander while the hands drive the tractor or chop wood. The rate of producing works of genius seems small in comparison to reports of falling into a threshing machine or severing an artery. Maybe they were singing at the time.

Anyway, I thought I'd try it. My parody work seems to have produced a parody artistic output.

Ol' Paint Roller (Sung to the tune of Old Man River)

Ol' paint roller,
Dat ol' paint roller,
He good wid alkyd,
He best wid latex,
He jes' keeps rollin',
He keeps on rollin' along.

He rolls over fascia,
He rolls over sidin’,
Ah could teach my husband,
But he’s gone into hidin’,
But ol' paint roller,
He jes keeps rollin' along.

You an' me, we sweat an' strain,
Body all achin' an' racket wid pain,
Tote dat ladder!
Burn in dat sun!
Nex’ time remember
To buy a spray gun.

Ah gits weary
An' hates this bucket,
Ah'm tired of paintin'
And think 'just (don’t do) it,'
But ol' paint roller,
He jes' keeps rolling' along.

If you want to experience the real and original song from the 1936 version of Showboat with Paul Robeson, check out this link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eh9WayN7R-s&feature=related. The original lyrics are not acceptable today without context and certainly aren't humorous, but the subject was groundbreaking for its time and Robeson's performance is incredible.

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