Dear Friends,
One or two of you may have noticed that I dropped off the face of the earth for a while. I've been a little antisocial over the last few weeks because of some unresolved conflict that I had with a friend. But it is resolved now--for the better, I hope--and so here I am to report on my life.
It continually amazes me how little can happen in a month. I'm basically in precisely the same place that I was a month ago, except that...
I spent a few minutes trying to think of something different, and couldn't. That's my life right now, predictable as an atomic clock. I work and go rock climbing. For the moment, I am willing to accept that no news is good news and hang tight. After a few months, though, I might go stir crazy and pray for some cataclysm to spice up my life. For the moment, the only thing I have is a climbing trip that I'll be going on in a couple weeks. I'm going up to Chattanooga, TN to do some top-roping and bouldering. It's not cheap, but I really need a change of pace, if only for a few days.
Incidentally, my tentative plan is to fly to Michigan for Christmas for about a week. If I were to guess at the dates, I'd say December 20th to 27th.
That's it. Hope you're all well. If your life has been interesting recently, jot me a note and fill me in. God bless,
Dan
Friday, September 28, 2007
Friday, August 24, 2007
FUN Update, August 24, 2007 - Of Socks and Derailleurs
Step 1: Figure out the name of whatever piece of metal fell off my bike.
It was... complicated. It had springs and hinges and wheels. It looked really... important. I had this funny feeling that a Google search for "complicated springs hinges wheels important" wouldn't be terribly helpful, so instead I went to Google images to look at bike diagrams until I finally found out the name.
Step 2: Figure out what a "rear derailleur" does.
Easy as Wikipedia. I skimmed the article (understanding about 10%) and verified that the picture looked something like what I had. Score. Apparently, it... actually, I'm still not quite sure what it does. Except that it keeps tension on the chain. So... that's important, I guess.
Step 3: Find out how it attaches to the rest of the bike.
Bikes have holes all over them, so after work the next day I stopped by the pawn shop a block away to look at some bicycles. What do you know, they all had those thingamajigs too! It seemed to fit between the thing that held the gears on and the other screwy thing with the... thing. Thankfully, it was a visual errand, so the fact that my vocabulary is grossly ineffective when it comes to bicycle repair wasn't too much of an inconvenience.
Step 4: Try to attach it without getting bicycle grease all over.
I don't have socks anymore. I lost most of them in various places, so now I have a few black pairs for work and a single white sock. The single white sock wasn't much use, so I decided to use it as a glove. It is now a black sock too, though not one I would wear in public. I worked on reattaching it for about half an hour until I finally gave up because I couldn't get the chain to move anymore even though I thought it was on correctly. Irritated, I pulled hard. The back wheel moved. It suddenly occurred to me that the bike might be properly in gear.
Step 5: Test the bike.
Sure, the logical thing to do would have been to lift up the back tire and push a pedal. I was inside, after all. Instead, I picked up the whole bike and carried it outside wearing nothing but my pajama pants. Then I hopped on and rode it around for a minute or two. Strangely, the gear shifting is actually more responsive now than it was before. One of the brakes is slightly misaligned, but that won't be difficult to adjust. As long as I never have to touch another rear derailleur.
P.S. My neighbor must have thought I was drunk when I wobbled around half-naked on my bicycle and then stumbled back into my apartment. Oh well. Doesn't hurt to keep things interesting.
----------------------------
Dear Friends,
I fixed my bike. I'd tell the story, but it's long and boring and I wouldn't want to waste your time. It was exciting, though, because I don't have money to get it fixed and I know nothing about bikes, so instead I just prayed that God would help me fix it and got to work. And now my bike works again.
I still have a job. The cuts happened as scheduled, and I'm still there. That's a relief. I celebrated by getting all my blue microfiber shirts dry cleaned. I imagine that dry cleaning could be addictive much like self-medicating. I mean, you know the clothes don't really need to be dry cleaned again, but there's a little wrinkle in the back and they're so nice and pretty when they get back... and after all, it's supposed to be good, right? Cleaning is good. Maybe I'll dry clean my entire closet...
The financial news is looking optimistic for the first time in a while. It looks like I'll be able to afford rent come September 1st. I plan on spending September getting rid of some debt I've accumulated. It shouldn't take long. After that... well, maybe a car is in my future. Who can say?
And that's the news for now. Hope everyone is well.
-------------------------------------
See pictures of my new apartment and of work. (Look for the album labeled "Apt #1614" and "Poker Room," respectively.)
View the FUN Archives.You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
4747 W Waters Ave., Apt #1614
Tampa, FL 33614
My phone number is 231-631-3016.
Peace,
Dan
It was... complicated. It had springs and hinges and wheels. It looked really... important. I had this funny feeling that a Google search for "complicated springs hinges wheels important" wouldn't be terribly helpful, so instead I went to Google images to look at bike diagrams until I finally found out the name.
Step 2: Figure out what a "rear derailleur" does.
Easy as Wikipedia. I skimmed the article (understanding about 10%) and verified that the picture looked something like what I had. Score. Apparently, it... actually, I'm still not quite sure what it does. Except that it keeps tension on the chain. So... that's important, I guess.
Step 3: Find out how it attaches to the rest of the bike.
Bikes have holes all over them, so after work the next day I stopped by the pawn shop a block away to look at some bicycles. What do you know, they all had those thingamajigs too! It seemed to fit between the thing that held the gears on and the other screwy thing with the... thing. Thankfully, it was a visual errand, so the fact that my vocabulary is grossly ineffective when it comes to bicycle repair wasn't too much of an inconvenience.
Step 4: Try to attach it without getting bicycle grease all over.
I don't have socks anymore. I lost most of them in various places, so now I have a few black pairs for work and a single white sock. The single white sock wasn't much use, so I decided to use it as a glove. It is now a black sock too, though not one I would wear in public. I worked on reattaching it for about half an hour until I finally gave up because I couldn't get the chain to move anymore even though I thought it was on correctly. Irritated, I pulled hard. The back wheel moved. It suddenly occurred to me that the bike might be properly in gear.
Step 5: Test the bike.
Sure, the logical thing to do would have been to lift up the back tire and push a pedal. I was inside, after all. Instead, I picked up the whole bike and carried it outside wearing nothing but my pajama pants. Then I hopped on and rode it around for a minute or two. Strangely, the gear shifting is actually more responsive now than it was before. One of the brakes is slightly misaligned, but that won't be difficult to adjust. As long as I never have to touch another rear derailleur.
P.S. My neighbor must have thought I was drunk when I wobbled around half-naked on my bicycle and then stumbled back into my apartment. Oh well. Doesn't hurt to keep things interesting.
----------------------------
Dear Friends,
I fixed my bike. I'd tell the story, but it's long and boring and I wouldn't want to waste your time. It was exciting, though, because I don't have money to get it fixed and I know nothing about bikes, so instead I just prayed that God would help me fix it and got to work. And now my bike works again.
I still have a job. The cuts happened as scheduled, and I'm still there. That's a relief. I celebrated by getting all my blue microfiber shirts dry cleaned. I imagine that dry cleaning could be addictive much like self-medicating. I mean, you know the clothes don't really need to be dry cleaned again, but there's a little wrinkle in the back and they're so nice and pretty when they get back... and after all, it's supposed to be good, right? Cleaning is good. Maybe I'll dry clean my entire closet...
The financial news is looking optimistic for the first time in a while. It looks like I'll be able to afford rent come September 1st. I plan on spending September getting rid of some debt I've accumulated. It shouldn't take long. After that... well, maybe a car is in my future. Who can say?
And that's the news for now. Hope everyone is well.
-------------------------------------
See pictures of my new apartment and of work. (Look for the album labeled "Apt #1614" and "Poker Room," respectively.)
View the FUN Archives.You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
4747 W Waters Ave., Apt #1614
Tampa, FL 33614
My phone number is 231-631-3016.
Peace,
Dan
Sunday, August 12, 2007
FUN Update, August 12, 2007 - My Life Gets Interesting Again
Dear Friends,
Finally, something has happened to me that merits the telling! So here I am.
The Greyhound Track where I work has stopped live racing because it is "hemorrhaging money." They'll keep satellite betting (betting on off-site dog and horse races), but the upshot is that the whole facility is drastically downsizing. That goes for the overstaffed poker room, of course. A week from Monday, 25 out of 55 dealers will be dropped based on performance over the next week. If I don't make it, I'll be jobless. The bright side is that if I make it, I'll get more shifts and hence make more money.
My urge is to focus single-mindedly on being the best poker dealer that I can be, ignoring everything until the decision has been made. I realize, however, that doing things in my own strength really isn't the way to go--especially having the connections that I do. So I'm going to pray, and I'm going to do everything in Godly excellence as I have always done. When Jesus was about to be crucified under Pilate, Pilate said to Jesus, "Do you not know that I have authority to release you, and I have authority to crucify you?" Jesus' reply was, "You would have no authority over me, unless it had been given you from above." In the same way, I trust that my authorities are subject to God's will.
I guess it's about time to mention my awful timing and how God's strength is evident in my weakness.
I lost my dealing license and badge over the last week. I have no idea where it went. I searched my apartment in a panic, but there aren't that many places that it could be. I'm pretty sure it's gone for good. I went to work expecting to be sent home and, furthermore, not to be able to work for the weekend (it's illegal to deal without a license). And then... God came through for me. I went to the break room at about 11:30AM after calling around to find out where the State Rep was--that's the person who can print me a new license. They were at Derby Lane, another greyhound track in St. Petersburg, which is about 35 minutes away. Unfortunately, buses don't cross towns, so I'd have to take a taxi. Which would mean about $100 for the round trip. At this point, I was thinking maybe I could just borrow somebody's car and offer to fill up their gas tank, but I hate asking favors like that.
Jodi--the manager--just happened to be in the break room while I was explaining the situation to the other dealers. This was unusual in itself, since the supervisors and managers usually don't hang out in the staff break room. Anyways, he heard the story, and told me to wait around while he went upstairs. I agreed, because... well, because I'd agree to anything legal to keep my job. He then proceeded to offer to drive me to Derby Lane himself so I could get my license.
Just to clarify: the second-in-charge of our poker room drove over an hour so I could get a license and deal the second half of the day. That's like getting Gabriel to do your laundry. I was floored. As an added bonus: I remember a book I read about social engineering that said most people don't want to ask or accept favors because they don't want to "use up" whatever theoretical store of favors they have with that person. But statistically, a person is more likely to grant a favor if they've granted that same person a favor in the past. I think it's because granting a favor means investing something of yourself in a person, which means increasing that person's value to you, which in turn makes you more likely to protect that investment. It's a cycle that can be either good or bad; in this particular case, it may benefit me.
So I lost my license. I can hardly explain how bad that is. It's reallybad. And instead of totally screwing me over, it might have just played in my favor. "If God is for me, who can be against me?" In conclusion, pray that I have the strength to model Christ-like behavior despite the stress of the coming week. I hope you're all doing wonderfully. Don't forget to keep me updated! Take care,
-------------------------------------
See pictures of my new apartment and of work. (Look for the album labeled "Apt #1614" and "Poker Room," respectively.)
View the FUN Archives.You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
4747 W Waters Ave., Apt #1614
Tampa, FL 33614
My phone number is 231-631-3016.
Peace,
Dan
Finally, something has happened to me that merits the telling! So here I am.
The Greyhound Track where I work has stopped live racing because it is "hemorrhaging money." They'll keep satellite betting (betting on off-site dog and horse races), but the upshot is that the whole facility is drastically downsizing. That goes for the overstaffed poker room, of course. A week from Monday, 25 out of 55 dealers will be dropped based on performance over the next week. If I don't make it, I'll be jobless. The bright side is that if I make it, I'll get more shifts and hence make more money.
My urge is to focus single-mindedly on being the best poker dealer that I can be, ignoring everything until the decision has been made. I realize, however, that doing things in my own strength really isn't the way to go--especially having the connections that I do. So I'm going to pray, and I'm going to do everything in Godly excellence as I have always done. When Jesus was about to be crucified under Pilate, Pilate said to Jesus, "Do you not know that I have authority to release you, and I have authority to crucify you?" Jesus' reply was, "You would have no authority over me, unless it had been given you from above." In the same way, I trust that my authorities are subject to God's will.
I guess it's about time to mention my awful timing and how God's strength is evident in my weakness.
I lost my dealing license and badge over the last week. I have no idea where it went. I searched my apartment in a panic, but there aren't that many places that it could be. I'm pretty sure it's gone for good. I went to work expecting to be sent home and, furthermore, not to be able to work for the weekend (it's illegal to deal without a license). And then... God came through for me. I went to the break room at about 11:30AM after calling around to find out where the State Rep was--that's the person who can print me a new license. They were at Derby Lane, another greyhound track in St. Petersburg, which is about 35 minutes away. Unfortunately, buses don't cross towns, so I'd have to take a taxi. Which would mean about $100 for the round trip. At this point, I was thinking maybe I could just borrow somebody's car and offer to fill up their gas tank, but I hate asking favors like that.
Jodi--the manager--just happened to be in the break room while I was explaining the situation to the other dealers. This was unusual in itself, since the supervisors and managers usually don't hang out in the staff break room. Anyways, he heard the story, and told me to wait around while he went upstairs. I agreed, because... well, because I'd agree to anything legal to keep my job. He then proceeded to offer to drive me to Derby Lane himself so I could get my license.
Just to clarify: the second-in-charge of our poker room drove over an hour so I could get a license and deal the second half of the day. That's like getting Gabriel to do your laundry. I was floored. As an added bonus: I remember a book I read about social engineering that said most people don't want to ask or accept favors because they don't want to "use up" whatever theoretical store of favors they have with that person. But statistically, a person is more likely to grant a favor if they've granted that same person a favor in the past. I think it's because granting a favor means investing something of yourself in a person, which means increasing that person's value to you, which in turn makes you more likely to protect that investment. It's a cycle that can be either good or bad; in this particular case, it may benefit me.
So I lost my license. I can hardly explain how bad that is. It's reallybad. And instead of totally screwing me over, it might have just played in my favor. "If God is for me, who can be against me?" In conclusion, pray that I have the strength to model Christ-like behavior despite the stress of the coming week. I hope you're all doing wonderfully. Don't forget to keep me updated! Take care,
-------------------------------------
See pictures of my new apartment and of work. (Look for the album labeled "Apt #1614" and "Poker Room," respectively.)
View the FUN Archives.You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
4747 W Waters Ave., Apt #1614
Tampa, FL 33614
My phone number is 231-631-3016.
Peace,
Dan
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
FUN Update, July 24, 2007 - I Just Have a Lot of Feelings
Dear Friends,
Ever since my trip to Haiti, ants have taken on a special meaning for me. They represent how lots of small problems can combine to create what seems to be an impenetrable miasma of suckiness that permeates my entire life and robs me of all perspective. And so it was that two days ago, after a trying day that involved torrential rainfall, a stolen bike, and a five mile walk/swim, it was discouraging to come home and find that ants were congregating in my entryway.
When I say "congregating," I'm not referring to the characteristic assembly line inevitably leading to a forgotten apple core or candy wrapper. I mean there was about a thousand ants in one small corner of my foyer. I felt somewhat broken at the moment, so I heaped my soaking clothes into the washer and took a hot bath just in case pneumonia was eying my damp lungs. The ants were forgotten until the next morning.
For whatever reason, I harbored a timid hope that I would wake up and the ants would be gone. Laugh at me if you want, but just as water appears in the desert for the desperately thirsty, in my dreams those pesky ants had evaporated, replaced with wadded up hundred dollar bills. Or something.
I haven't dealt with many problems of the type that disappear when you ignore them, and sure enough, the ants were still there when I woke up. If anything, there were more of them, and they seemed to be laying eggs. Just swell. I was running late for work, so I threw on my work clothes and ran out to catch the bus, pausing only to spray the ants with some 409 all-purpose cleaner, the equivalent of spitting in the general direction of my firing squad.
Work... was miserable. Usually I love working as a poker dealer, but yesterday I hardly made enough money to cover my bus fare. I breathed in and out deeply, discovered that I had missed the bus by about three minutes, breathed in and out again, and waited forty-five minutes for the next bus.
I got home, opened my door, and learned something: 409 works on ants. All thousand or so of them were just where I had left them... but dead. And for some reason, yesterday suddenly became a good day. Which made me realize something rather profound.
Much of the background guilt in my life is the result of how I feel. I tip taxi drivers well even when they're late, knowing that it wasn't their fault. But I feel like going on a tirade, insulting their cars and jobs and relatives. I respond politely when the Florida Secretary of State calls and lets me know that I have a couple hundred dollars in fees to pay for moving here. But often, I feel anything but polite.
I feel guilty because I don't feel sure that God will provide. I feel guilty because I worry about jobs and money and people despite God's immaculate track record. I feel guilty because when bad things happen I feel let down by God, as if I am subject to the cruel whims of a divine dictator.
So I'm thankful that my faith and my love aren't judged by my feelings. The bible says that "even a child is known by his actions." I am judged by my decisions--what I choose to do, and whether or not I choose to indulge my guilt, anger, and malice. I feel capable of making good decisions.
I mean, if a bunch of dead ants can instantaneously take me from despair to happiness, where in the substance in emotion? Emotion is just the veneer of circumstance, giving color to perception. And that's nothing to feel guilty about.
More to the point: all is well here. My parents visited for a few days last week, which was nice. I found a computer here that I can rent until I buy one. I'll leave you with something I read online that made me chuckle:
"Bunnies actually have very few mystical powers and tend to rely on things like pancakes, underwear and cheese sticks to solve most of their problems."
-------------------------------------
See pictures of my new apartment and of work. (Look for the album labeled "Apt #1614" and "Poker Room," respectively.)
View the FUN Archives.You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
4747 W Waters Ave., Apt #1614
Tampa, FL 33614
My phone number is 231-631-3016.
Peace,
Dan
Ever since my trip to Haiti, ants have taken on a special meaning for me. They represent how lots of small problems can combine to create what seems to be an impenetrable miasma of suckiness that permeates my entire life and robs me of all perspective. And so it was that two days ago, after a trying day that involved torrential rainfall, a stolen bike, and a five mile walk/swim, it was discouraging to come home and find that ants were congregating in my entryway.
When I say "congregating," I'm not referring to the characteristic assembly line inevitably leading to a forgotten apple core or candy wrapper. I mean there was about a thousand ants in one small corner of my foyer. I felt somewhat broken at the moment, so I heaped my soaking clothes into the washer and took a hot bath just in case pneumonia was eying my damp lungs. The ants were forgotten until the next morning.
For whatever reason, I harbored a timid hope that I would wake up and the ants would be gone. Laugh at me if you want, but just as water appears in the desert for the desperately thirsty, in my dreams those pesky ants had evaporated, replaced with wadded up hundred dollar bills. Or something.
I haven't dealt with many problems of the type that disappear when you ignore them, and sure enough, the ants were still there when I woke up. If anything, there were more of them, and they seemed to be laying eggs. Just swell. I was running late for work, so I threw on my work clothes and ran out to catch the bus, pausing only to spray the ants with some 409 all-purpose cleaner, the equivalent of spitting in the general direction of my firing squad.
Work... was miserable. Usually I love working as a poker dealer, but yesterday I hardly made enough money to cover my bus fare. I breathed in and out deeply, discovered that I had missed the bus by about three minutes, breathed in and out again, and waited forty-five minutes for the next bus.
I got home, opened my door, and learned something: 409 works on ants. All thousand or so of them were just where I had left them... but dead. And for some reason, yesterday suddenly became a good day. Which made me realize something rather profound.
Much of the background guilt in my life is the result of how I feel. I tip taxi drivers well even when they're late, knowing that it wasn't their fault. But I feel like going on a tirade, insulting their cars and jobs and relatives. I respond politely when the Florida Secretary of State calls and lets me know that I have a couple hundred dollars in fees to pay for moving here. But often, I feel anything but polite.
I feel guilty because I don't feel sure that God will provide. I feel guilty because I worry about jobs and money and people despite God's immaculate track record. I feel guilty because when bad things happen I feel let down by God, as if I am subject to the cruel whims of a divine dictator.
So I'm thankful that my faith and my love aren't judged by my feelings. The bible says that "even a child is known by his actions." I am judged by my decisions--what I choose to do, and whether or not I choose to indulge my guilt, anger, and malice. I feel capable of making good decisions.
I mean, if a bunch of dead ants can instantaneously take me from despair to happiness, where in the substance in emotion? Emotion is just the veneer of circumstance, giving color to perception. And that's nothing to feel guilty about.
More to the point: all is well here. My parents visited for a few days last week, which was nice. I found a computer here that I can rent until I buy one. I'll leave you with something I read online that made me chuckle:
"Bunnies actually have very few mystical powers and tend to rely on things like pancakes, underwear and cheese sticks to solve most of their problems."
-------------------------------------
See pictures of my new apartment and of work. (Look for the album labeled "Apt #1614" and "Poker Room," respectively.)
View the FUN Archives.You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
4747 W Waters Ave., Apt #1614
Tampa, FL 33614
My phone number is 231-631-3016.
Peace,
Dan
Thursday, July 12, 2007
FUN Update, July 12, 2007 - How are you?
Dear Friends,
This is the third update I've written this month, but the first two never went out. They both ended up too abstract and heady. Actually, that's how I've been feeling the last couple weeks. A combination of stress and cat allergies has suspended me ever so slightly from reality, and I find it difficult to penetrate that glassy separation between perception and interaction. Living with five cats will do that to a man.
Oh. Right. I'm ahead of myself already. The last time I wrote I didn't know... anything. So here's what happened:
I moved in with a friend named Amanda for two weeks. She studies architecture at the University of South Florida, and she and I have a lot to talk about. We're both interested in music, literature, and comedies. It's been fun. However, she has five cats. And I'm alergic to cats. So that part has been less than stellar; for that reason alone, I'm grateful to be moving out. More on that later.
On July 1st, I began work as a poker dealer at the Tampa Greyhound Track. I absolutely love it. Due to an advertising mixup in which our ads were scheduled for two weeks after we opened instead of two weeks before, business has been pretty slow, but I enjoy every minute and I'm very happy that I chose this line of work. The money is also quite good. It's nice to see the light at the end of the tunnel after such an extended period of brokeness.
On Tuesday, I applied for an apartment. The complex has a fitness center and two pools and a hot tub and a raquetball court and all sorts of amenities that I'll probably never use; the apartment has all the normal stuff--washer/dryer, refrigerator, stove, and a HUGE closet. I loved it. A place of my own, for the first time. And so I dropped $150 on an application. I was asked for a veritable FBI file of information: two years of rent history, two years of work history, a current credit report, and a plethora of personal data. It was disheartening, because the deposit was to be based on the analysis of said information, which would state clearly that I hadn't been working for two years straight, I had a total of three months of rental history, and my credit was merely average. I was hoping for the $250 deposit, but I was reasonable certain that I would be stuck with the one-month-rent deposit of $770. Yeah... umm... I don't got that kind of money. So I prayed. And hoped. And prayed some more.
Sorry for the long paragraph. This will lower the words per paragraph average.
I got a call today. Not only had I been approved for the apartment, I was approved for a $0 deposit. No money. None at all. My heart almost stopped with happiness. And if that weren't amazing enough, I was also eligible for one of their promotions: no rent until September 1st. So no rent this month, and no rent for August. Okay, God is cool. God is very cool. There's just nothing else to it.
So tonight it my last night staying with Amanda. Her best friend from Pittsburg is visiting today with her girlfriend. They're both very cool, and they're both the epitome of lesbianism. Tattoos, nose rings, Ani Difranco. We're all having a great time. We're going to go swimming and watch Amelie and sleep. I am cautiously optimistic that my quality of life is about to improve rather dramatically. However I bite my tongue, it still slips out: about time! This whole moving to a new state thing isn't as easy as I thought it would be.
And the sacrifices have been tangible. Many relationships have fallen by the wayside, of course, but there have also been some losses that I hadn't anticipated. I got a call a couple days ago asking me to play piano for a convention of republican senators. I want to. Very, very much. Oh well.
But, speaking of pianos: the main building of my apartment complex has an eight foot grand right in the middle. I'll be sixty seconds away from a piano at all times. It's been a long time since I've had that. I've also started rock climbing again. The wall here has a lot of neat people, and it's a short bus ride away. I'll buy a bike soon, and the world will shrink again.
In short: I am well. How are you?
---------------------------------
See pictures of my new apartment and of work. (Look for the album labeled "Apt #1614" and "Poker Room," respectively.)
View the FUN Archives.You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
4747 W Waters Ave., Apt #1614
Tampa, FL 33614
My phone number is 231-631-3016.
Bondje beni'w,
Dan
This is the third update I've written this month, but the first two never went out. They both ended up too abstract and heady. Actually, that's how I've been feeling the last couple weeks. A combination of stress and cat allergies has suspended me ever so slightly from reality, and I find it difficult to penetrate that glassy separation between perception and interaction. Living with five cats will do that to a man.
Oh. Right. I'm ahead of myself already. The last time I wrote I didn't know... anything. So here's what happened:
I moved in with a friend named Amanda for two weeks. She studies architecture at the University of South Florida, and she and I have a lot to talk about. We're both interested in music, literature, and comedies. It's been fun. However, she has five cats. And I'm alergic to cats. So that part has been less than stellar; for that reason alone, I'm grateful to be moving out. More on that later.
On July 1st, I began work as a poker dealer at the Tampa Greyhound Track. I absolutely love it. Due to an advertising mixup in which our ads were scheduled for two weeks after we opened instead of two weeks before, business has been pretty slow, but I enjoy every minute and I'm very happy that I chose this line of work. The money is also quite good. It's nice to see the light at the end of the tunnel after such an extended period of brokeness.
On Tuesday, I applied for an apartment. The complex has a fitness center and two pools and a hot tub and a raquetball court and all sorts of amenities that I'll probably never use; the apartment has all the normal stuff--washer/dryer, refrigerator, stove, and a HUGE closet. I loved it. A place of my own, for the first time. And so I dropped $150 on an application. I was asked for a veritable FBI file of information: two years of rent history, two years of work history, a current credit report, and a plethora of personal data. It was disheartening, because the deposit was to be based on the analysis of said information, which would state clearly that I hadn't been working for two years straight, I had a total of three months of rental history, and my credit was merely average. I was hoping for the $250 deposit, but I was reasonable certain that I would be stuck with the one-month-rent deposit of $770. Yeah... umm... I don't got that kind of money. So I prayed. And hoped. And prayed some more.
Sorry for the long paragraph. This will lower the words per paragraph average.
I got a call today. Not only had I been approved for the apartment, I was approved for a $0 deposit. No money. None at all. My heart almost stopped with happiness. And if that weren't amazing enough, I was also eligible for one of their promotions: no rent until September 1st. So no rent this month, and no rent for August. Okay, God is cool. God is very cool. There's just nothing else to it.
So tonight it my last night staying with Amanda. Her best friend from Pittsburg is visiting today with her girlfriend. They're both very cool, and they're both the epitome of lesbianism. Tattoos, nose rings, Ani Difranco. We're all having a great time. We're going to go swimming and watch Amelie and sleep. I am cautiously optimistic that my quality of life is about to improve rather dramatically. However I bite my tongue, it still slips out: about time! This whole moving to a new state thing isn't as easy as I thought it would be.
And the sacrifices have been tangible. Many relationships have fallen by the wayside, of course, but there have also been some losses that I hadn't anticipated. I got a call a couple days ago asking me to play piano for a convention of republican senators. I want to. Very, very much. Oh well.
But, speaking of pianos: the main building of my apartment complex has an eight foot grand right in the middle. I'll be sixty seconds away from a piano at all times. It's been a long time since I've had that. I've also started rock climbing again. The wall here has a lot of neat people, and it's a short bus ride away. I'll buy a bike soon, and the world will shrink again.
In short: I am well. How are you?
---------------------------------
See pictures of my new apartment and of work. (Look for the album labeled "Apt #1614" and "Poker Room," respectively.)
View the FUN Archives.You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
4747 W Waters Ave., Apt #1614
Tampa, FL 33614
My phone number is 231-631-3016.
Bondje beni'w,
Dan
Friday, June 29, 2007
FUN Update, June 29, 2007 - Minesweeper
Dear Friends,
"There aren't enough hours in the day." I agree, but I'd like to append: "There aren't enough hours in the day, but there are too many ten-minutes in the day." You know that irritating block of time that's too short for a nap and too long to absorb with a little dawdling? The one between the time you get home and the time your favorite TV show comes on? The one between when you wake up and when your alarm clock will go off? Yeah. There are lots of them.
So I often resort to the packing peanuts of life: windows games. Solitaire is the most common, but minesweeper is a close second. There's plenty to say about solitaire, but for the moment I'm going to dwell on minesweeper. If you haven't played it before, it's a game that begins with a grid of boxes that contain either a bomb or nothing. If you click on a box that contains nothing, it will show a number indicating the number of adjacent bombs. The object of the game is to find all the bombs and mark them.
The first minute or so is pretty easy. If a box has one adjacent bomb and there's only unopened box, it's obviously a bomb. If a box has eight adjacent bombs, then all the surrounding squares are bombs. But sooner or later, all those tricks are exhausted and you get to a point where you have no choice but to guess. And suddenly all your hard work could disappear when you click a bomb and it explodes.
It feels like deja vu. The first nineteen years of my life, despite their complications, were mapped out. Do my homework, make friends, graduate; any bombs that went off were results of my carelessness. Then all the easy decisions were used up, and I had no choice but to guess. Any choice could end up being a bomb. Thankfully, life isn't quite as unforgiving as minesweeper. Making the wrong choice doesn't end the game; but it can mean a lot of hard work wasted and a broken heart to fix.
I learned something from minesweeper. When I first started playing, after reaching that plateau I would sit there and deliberate for minutes at a time. After working on this puzzle for ten minutes, how could I risk it all without proper consideration? But at some point I realized that my consideration never made the decision clearer or easier. The best course of action was to act quickly and decisively. If I chose a bomb, I would start a new game and try again until I succeeded.
Choosing to risk my livelihood to try to become a poke dealer has been anything but a safe bet. At any point the powers that be could have deemed me unworthy, and just that fast I would have been at square one. Even now, a single disaster tonight--our opening night for the VIPs of the poker world--could conceivably leave me broke and jobless. The pressure is great and the stress is high, but I know that all I can do is make decisions quickly and decisively based on all the information I have. If it turns out badly, I'll pick myself up and start again.
And sometimes that decisiveness saves you time and energy. Sometimes it's possible to piece together some of those odd moments and turn those awkward ten-minute doldrums into one more hour in the day. There aren't enough of them, you know.
------------------------------
See pictures of Leslie, Roxie, and my new house. (Look for the album labeled "Florida.")
View the FUN Archives .
You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. I am in the process of moving, so please don't send letters or packages until I have a new address. My phone number is 231-631-3016.
That's it! Shalom,
Dan
"There aren't enough hours in the day." I agree, but I'd like to append: "There aren't enough hours in the day, but there are too many ten-minutes in the day." You know that irritating block of time that's too short for a nap and too long to absorb with a little dawdling? The one between the time you get home and the time your favorite TV show comes on? The one between when you wake up and when your alarm clock will go off? Yeah. There are lots of them.
So I often resort to the packing peanuts of life: windows games. Solitaire is the most common, but minesweeper is a close second. There's plenty to say about solitaire, but for the moment I'm going to dwell on minesweeper. If you haven't played it before, it's a game that begins with a grid of boxes that contain either a bomb or nothing. If you click on a box that contains nothing, it will show a number indicating the number of adjacent bombs. The object of the game is to find all the bombs and mark them.
The first minute or so is pretty easy. If a box has one adjacent bomb and there's only unopened box, it's obviously a bomb. If a box has eight adjacent bombs, then all the surrounding squares are bombs. But sooner or later, all those tricks are exhausted and you get to a point where you have no choice but to guess. And suddenly all your hard work could disappear when you click a bomb and it explodes.
It feels like deja vu. The first nineteen years of my life, despite their complications, were mapped out. Do my homework, make friends, graduate; any bombs that went off were results of my carelessness. Then all the easy decisions were used up, and I had no choice but to guess. Any choice could end up being a bomb. Thankfully, life isn't quite as unforgiving as minesweeper. Making the wrong choice doesn't end the game; but it can mean a lot of hard work wasted and a broken heart to fix.
I learned something from minesweeper. When I first started playing, after reaching that plateau I would sit there and deliberate for minutes at a time. After working on this puzzle for ten minutes, how could I risk it all without proper consideration? But at some point I realized that my consideration never made the decision clearer or easier. The best course of action was to act quickly and decisively. If I chose a bomb, I would start a new game and try again until I succeeded.
Choosing to risk my livelihood to try to become a poke dealer has been anything but a safe bet. At any point the powers that be could have deemed me unworthy, and just that fast I would have been at square one. Even now, a single disaster tonight--our opening night for the VIPs of the poker world--could conceivably leave me broke and jobless. The pressure is great and the stress is high, but I know that all I can do is make decisions quickly and decisively based on all the information I have. If it turns out badly, I'll pick myself up and start again.
And sometimes that decisiveness saves you time and energy. Sometimes it's possible to piece together some of those odd moments and turn those awkward ten-minute doldrums into one more hour in the day. There aren't enough of them, you know.
------------------------------
See pictures of Leslie, Roxie, and my new house. (Look for the album labeled "Florida.")
View the FUN Archives .
You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. I am in the process of moving, so please don't send letters or packages until I have a new address. My phone number is 231-631-3016.
That's it! Shalom,
Dan
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
FUN Update, June 20, 2007 -
Dear Friends,
The most interesting thing that has happened to me in the last twenty days was when I hung out with a homeless guy for an hour or so. He was missing a lot of teeth. I went home and brushed mine and stopped just short of singing them a lullaby. Dear Lord, please let me keep my teeth until I'm too old to care.
After auditions, classes continued more or less as usual, albeit with a lot of faces missing. I'm learning a great deal, and (to my never-ending surprise) there is always much more to learn. Becoming a poker dealer is much more involved than I would have guessed. Like any profession that involves thousands of dollars changing hands every couple minutes, there's a lot of pressure to get things right, and to get it right the first time.
Our soft opening, the poker room equivalent of a dress rehearsal, will be on the 29th. All the games will be free of charge, and those invited will be treated to door prizes, free food, and an open bar. Then, two days later, I start work. I've been waiting for July 1st so long that it's like an icon in my mind. After that, the only worry is that, after ninety days, the managers will cut the nine dealers with the lowest performance.
I don't plan on being one of them.
I'm still not sure where I'll be living when I move out on the 30th. God will provide. I often wish He'd print a schedule for my benefit, but where would be the excitement in that? And besides: familiarity breeds contempt. At least this way, I always feel grateful.
I wish I had more to say. My next epistle may not come until after the opening. Until then, may God bless you and keep you.
-------------------
See pictures of Leslie, Roxie, and my house. (Look for the album labeled "Florida.")
View the FUN Archives.
You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
2011 Oakwood Ave
Tampa, FL 33605
My phone number is 231-631-3016.
That's it! Shalom,
Dan
The most interesting thing that has happened to me in the last twenty days was when I hung out with a homeless guy for an hour or so. He was missing a lot of teeth. I went home and brushed mine and stopped just short of singing them a lullaby. Dear Lord, please let me keep my teeth until I'm too old to care.
After auditions, classes continued more or less as usual, albeit with a lot of faces missing. I'm learning a great deal, and (to my never-ending surprise) there is always much more to learn. Becoming a poker dealer is much more involved than I would have guessed. Like any profession that involves thousands of dollars changing hands every couple minutes, there's a lot of pressure to get things right, and to get it right the first time.
Our soft opening, the poker room equivalent of a dress rehearsal, will be on the 29th. All the games will be free of charge, and those invited will be treated to door prizes, free food, and an open bar. Then, two days later, I start work. I've been waiting for July 1st so long that it's like an icon in my mind. After that, the only worry is that, after ninety days, the managers will cut the nine dealers with the lowest performance.
I don't plan on being one of them.
I'm still not sure where I'll be living when I move out on the 30th. God will provide. I often wish He'd print a schedule for my benefit, but where would be the excitement in that? And besides: familiarity breeds contempt. At least this way, I always feel grateful.
I wish I had more to say. My next epistle may not come until after the opening. Until then, may God bless you and keep you.
-------------------
See pictures of Leslie, Roxie, and my house. (Look for the album labeled "Florida.")
View the FUN Archives.
You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
2011 Oakwood Ave
Tampa, FL 33605
My phone number is 231-631-3016.
That's it! Shalom,
Dan
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
