Digesting

When Mom and Liz got home from the trial, I heard Liz rite outside the front door being all, "Thanks 4 the lift, Anthony. Thanks 4... everything." Then I looked an' saw Anthony put his rite arm on Liz's left arm, all "NE time." Ew. And Liz seemed 2 have a halo around her hed, which was v. strange.

Inside, while Mom was taking off her boots, she [Mom] was all, "So, it's over. MayB Howard didn't get what he deserved, but it's over." I wanted 2 change the subj, cuz I'm sad abt the whole Howard thing, so I was, like, "Guess what else is over! Mike quit his job @ Portrait magazine! He finally told 'em 2 'stuff it'!" I kinda hunched my shoulders up and pted @ Liz when I sed this. And U mite wonder Y I worded stuff like I did, since Mike had a pretty cushy gig @ Portrait. It's cuz Mom seemed 2 believe the job was, like impinging on his "delicate genius" and that he was, like, doing them sum kinda favour being there. I kinda had 2 phrase it in a way that fit in w/how Mom looks @ the sitch, else she totally wdn't understand.

NEway, Mom was, like, "W8 a minute...Let me sit down. 2 much is happening. I need 2 digest everything slowly and carefully." She had her hand up on her 4head when she sed this, like she was afraid it mite open up an' spit out her brains. She plunked herself down @ the kitchen table, and @ this xxact moment, Dad appeared, an oven mitt on each hand, holding a casserole dish, an' saying, "U're in luck! I made a pot of 3-bean chli!" Mike sez this is Y Dad is the "patriarch of puns." "April, note the subtle punning w/out even having 2 speak the actual pun [on digesting]! We R in the presence of punning GREATNESS." Ewfulness!

Apes

Mike Resigns

Mike posted sum more abt what's been going on @ Portrait mag:

April,

Little sis. Work today was especially difficult. Mom helped me go through the employee records and productivity reports to find the perfect employee to down-size and we kept coming up with Mr. Gluttson or Barry, the editor-in-chief. I told mom, I was pretty sure Mr. Gluttson or Barry didn’t want me to down-size them, but mom told me if I down-sized them, then I could take their job. But without either of them going through a divorce or some other personal disaster which would cause them to leave their jobs without any effort on my part, I couldn’t see a way to make it work, which meant only one thing. I had to eliminate myself, but before I did this, I felt I needed to sleep on it. So, I put my hand on my head and took a nap staring at my computer terminal, which is one of my best places for sleeping.

While I was napping, my coworker Francine came into my office and said, “You look pale, Michael. Is everything OK?” This woke me up, but I kept my eyes closed and said, “No, Francine. It isn’t.” just in case she would get the hint and leave me to my nap. I was not that lucky. She continued to stand there, so I was forced to explain things to her. I said, “Mr. Gluttson wants to downsize again. He told me to eliminate one of the higher salaried positions.” You may remember the last time Mr. Gluttson wanted to downsize and the agonizing decisions I was forced to make about eliminating someone. I certainly don’t remember it; unless maybe Mr. Gluttson was talking about when he eliminated Mitch Frenum, in order to give me his job.

My poor memory was depressing me, and as Francine has done so many times, she said some things to cheer me up. She said, “You have to fire someone? But why? We’re doing so well! We’re turning a good profit—and we’re a great team!” Whenever Francine tries to cheer me up, I have to agree, even if the things she said were not quite true, as any reader of my monthly family letters for the last 2 years would know. So I said, “I know.” Then Francine got down to what she really wanted to say which was, “So, how are you going to eliminate one of us?” and she leaned over my desk and gave me that really scary look of hers, which made me glad I had never dated someone in the journalism profession. I had to tell her the truth, so I said, “I’m not.”

Then I was puzzled about what I wanted to say next to Francine. I thought about saying:

“If ever a man needed killing, it's that no-good, putrid piece of trash over there.” or
"You're better off than me... You got me for a buddy... I only got you." or
'Better men than Michael Patterson have cracked.' "There are no better men than Michael Patterson." or
"First one to make a break for it dies like a dog." or
"I'm not expendable, I'm not stupid, and I'm not going." or
"Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die."

Instead of those choices, I turned my back to Francine, stared at my computer screen and said, “I’m going to resign.” Fortunately, saying that to Francine is not an actual, official resignation; and I was really interested in seeing her reaction. If she started begging me not to quit because it would destroy Portrait Magazine, I might reconsider. If she said, “Could I have your job?” then I would definitely stay. If she said, “You’re quite right, Michael. I understand home loans are so much easier to get when you’re unemployed.” then I would definitely leave, just to prove her wrong. You may be wondering exactly how Francine reacted, so I will leave that little tidbit until tomorrow. It’s always good to leave your audience wanting a little more, and when it comes to stories about me, who wouldn’t want more?

Love,
Michael Patterson

Hmm, Mike I wonder if all this is sumhow rel8ed 2 this weird song Mom was singing, sumthing abt "all the pieces R falling in2 place/Michael is dropping from that rat race." Odd, eh?

Apes

Downsizing

I was staying over @ Eva's house last nite, an' Mom called an' pretty much begged me 2 come home. I cd tell the main reason was she was tired of dealing w/the pets. Tho contrary 2 the impression Mike mita given U yesterday in the comments, I was NOT letting them starve. Even tho I was sleeping elsewhere, I came by every day 2 make sure they got fed, the dogs got walked, and Buttsy's cage was clean. BUT Mom sed the pets were getting "clingy." NEway, like I was saying, I cd tell that was Mom's main reason 4 wanting me 2 come home, but she tried 2 make it sound like she actually missed me. And she made Mike promise 2 stop calling the rec room a "storage closet." I asked abt taking some steps 2 actually get me back in2 MY room, like getting Mike out, and she sed not 2 worry, things R gonna fall in2 place soon.

NEway, so I came back 4 brekky this morning. Mike told me he'd been 2 distraught 2 write an entry last nite, b-cuz what he'd B writing abt was 2 painful. This got Mom's interest, so she asked him what that was all abt.

Mike: Mom, that awful, thinning-haired, buck-toothed publisher, Mr. Gluttson, has determined that "despite indications of reasonable growth," he sees room 4 "further economizing" 4 Portrait magazine. He called a meeting to tell us that he wants 2 make our "publication" more "profitable," Mom!

Mom: Does that mean he's going to be downsizing?

Mike: Mom, how prescient of you to ask! That is exactly what I asked him! No wonder we get along so well when you edit my manuscript and act as an all-around mentor. A mothering mentor! A mentoring mother! A meretricious. . . .

Mom: Mike, could you answer the question?

Mike: Oh, yes, of course, Mommy! That's the killer, see? He turned that ugly face to me, and he said, "No.... You will!" Me, Mommy! Mr. Gluttson wants ME to downsize!

Mom: Hmph! Well, what can you expect? He's ugly and his name is Gluttson! You can tell that suggests he's greedy and gluttonous!

Mike (sighing): I know, I know! But what am I going to do?

Mom (excited): Well, get a note pad, write out the names of all your employees in one column, and in the next, write out everything they do during the workday! I'll help you figure out who the dead weight is!

Mike: I knew I could count on you! I'll go get a note pad!

And that was that. They're in the living room discussing Mike's staff now.

Apes