So, there are several ways that I could start this post. I couldn’t settle on one. So I decided to go with all three.

Opening One:
At about 3:30 Thursday afternoon, Nemo committed one of the great “God, I feel like a dick now” moments of his lifetime. However, it was pretty funny.

Me: (dials phone)
Nemo: Helllllow.
Me: Hey man.
Nemo: What’s going on?
Me: Not much.
Nemo: You get shitcanned?
Me: Yeah.
Nemo: Really?
Me: Yeah.
Nemo: Sorry dude.

Opening Two:
Famous last words, taken from last Tuesday's post:
"Today, I'm overjoyed that we're done with the year. It was a long three-plus months. In two weeks, I'll be bored as hell at work and wishing there was a game."

Well, hmm, guess not.

Opening Three:
I mean, I guess you figure that you might be fired at one point in your life. Maybe. Most people who work probably are, maybe? I don’t know.

Anyway, you just hope that the person doing the firing would the respect to, well, wear shoes while doing it. Or, maybe, just maybe, put her whimpering four-pound dog in another room. But, well, my first “being fired” experience didn’t live up to my hopes or expectations. I'll hope that, next time, it's a more professional firing.

- - - - - -

So, yeah, at 3:04 on Thursday afternoon, I was fired, or "not brought back," or "it wasn't in the budget"-ed, or something like that. As of Thursday afternoon, I was no longer an employee, though they'll pay me through the end of the pay period. But, come September 18, my actual income will be zero. Kind of scary, I guess.

Pretty stunning on every level, really.

Things said during the firing, which took about 20 minutes, and featured me sitting, slack-jawed, staring out the window or at the sprinkler head and not really listening much:

“This [operating a team] is just more expensive than we thought.”
and
“There really isn’t anything that you could have done.”
and
“You’ve done a great, great job. Your work ethic is fantastic. Everybody likes having you around. But, it’s tough to do, but – (dog whimpers) – I know you need to go out. Just a moment, baby! – it’s a decision that we had to make.”

(She’s not evil, or that bad, even, but she is about 11 years old. I was very impressed with her capacity for finishing sentences and staying on point during our meeting. Generally, she finishes about three sentences over a 15-minute staff meeting, while starting about, oh, 200. Low success rate.)

- - - - -

My conversation with Nemo, by the way, was fantastic. In a short span, I went through about seven of the 12 steps of recovery, with giggling and intense, violent anger both among them. He talked me off whatever ledges I was headed toward, and made sure that I took the long view of things, and generally accentuated whatever good feelings I was expressing.

Pretty valuable conversation, and I was grateful for it.

- - - - - - - -

So, yeah, it’s pretty weird.

And, well, two months ago, and three months ago, and eight months ago, I was thinking about leaving the “industry.” And, I’m pretty sure, that that’s where it’s going at this point. Instead of having half of my summer nights and half of my summer weekends off, maybe I’ll plan to have all of them off next year.

So, a quick trip to Chicago, and then back up to the Ring Fingernail. And, while the Ring Fingernail is pretty small and there’s not much in the way of “real job” opportunities (that is, “real job” opportunities that aren’t at beach resorts or tiny ski resorts), I think I’ve got enough in the way of skills and smarts and engaging-ness and (witness here) written communication skills to land one. And, if I don’t, well then I’ll go ahead and find a “real job” somewhere else come the end of the fall.

Corporately whoring myself out and living at home this past winter has turned into a great career move – I can live relatively cheaply for a little bit of time without extreme worry about things like running out of money. There's a bit left over. And I can find something, I’m sure, through some of the people I met through the club this summer.

All’s not lost and, to be honest, I’m a lot more confident and happy than someone who just lost his job deserves to be. Maybe it’s just my optimism, or maybe it’s just my arrogance, or maybe I’m just misguided, but I figure I’ll land something in not-too-long.

If not, well, then I’ll be pretty pissed.

- - - - - - - -

I think my favorite bit of irony regarding the whole firing thing: I went out Wednesday night, planning for a beer or two but winding up close to double figures. I made a phone call upon my arrival at home. I maybe did a bit of reading after that. When I closed my eyes, it was well after three.

When the alarm went off at slightly-after-seven, it was quickly silenced. When I saw something other than my eyelids, it was 9:08. So, yes, on the day I was fired from work, I also showed up 40 minutes late.

I was assured that that wasn't the reason, but it was still pretty funny.

(I should note, also, that this is the first time I've been late. Good employee on that end, I think.)

- - - - - - -

So, yeah, a quick trip to Chicago, and it worked out pretty well. Based on the amount of money spent, others must have thought I still had a job. Based on the amount of alcohol consumed, one must have assumed otherwise. (Actually, I hardly drank at all, but it's a fun set of sentences.)

Regarding the drive to the 'burbs:
I couldn't find the NFL on the radio, and cell phone reception in the great state of Michigan is a bitch. And, even at 11:30, traffic was bumper-to-bumper. But it was still generally uneventful.

Friday:
A morning-ish run. Laundry. A trip into the city to see The Boy's place. (Dude's got a new flatscreen. It pays to be the world's first non-boring CPA.) Rendezvous with Gurs and Bullshot and Hotpocket at The Hungry Brain. Pretty perfect.

Saturday:
To Evanston for tailgating. The inspirational Walk With Us moment down Walker Way. (Not really inspirational, or well-attended, but maybe, maybe, it could pick up steam if the team performs, well, better than they did on Saturday.) The game itself was excruciating, and I don't think I'll write more about it. To Bullshot's to rest/recharge. To German-American Fest to drink and dance. Dinner with Jenny. And home. Fantastic.

Sunday:
Another "morning" run (during the second quarter of the first NFL game). Football. Prepare for departure. Blog.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

A highlight from Sunday's run:
It was a pretty significant one - five-plus miles - and it occurred in a light drizzle that became a fairly heavy rain. So I'm coming towards the end of the run, and I see a great symbol of the North suburban life. Standing under a tree, seeking cover from the rain and holding his bicycle upright, a 12-year-old boy. On his cell phone. "Mom - can you come pick me up?" Tough it out, kiddo.

- - - - - - - -

Well, just a little Northwestern analysis. New Hampshire probably wasn't physically more talented ("probably," I'll emphasize, and not "definitely"), but they were certainly better-prepared. NU didn't have an answer for the four-wide sets and for the Wildcats no huddle offense, which is disappointing.

Thirty-four points is the number allowed, though it could have been much worse. New Hampshire attempted five passes in the second half. Instead, they ran and ran and ran and killed clock and killed clock and killed clock.

Offensively, the passing game was a disappointment. Kafka missed two open receivers deep; hitting those receivers becomes the key to the game, and the success of the offense the rest of the way. Well, hitting the deep ball when it's called, and establishing the running game. Sutton never made a thing happen, to be honest.

So, yeah, excruciating, though I think that New Hampshire is probably a Top 80 team in Division I-A. Talented, experienced, well-coached, it seems.

If you want to go 11-1, I guess you've got to lose once. Losses like this are what make the wins that much more satisfying.

I'm confident in a win over EMU, and my overall view on the season - a bowl game is certainly a possibility - remains intact.

Maybe I'm an idiot. In fact, I certainly am.

(I took some solace in a text message from a former coworker this morning. "Former," like from 2004, and not from, like, yesterday. It was sent overnight. "Dude, don't feel bad. My #3 UNI (University of Northern Iowa) Panthers lost to a D2 team." (North Dakota) Happens to everyone, it turns out.

- - - - - - -

I kind of snuck out of the office on Thursday after word of the firing came down. I was shaken, and I wasn't really in a mood for hello/goodbyes with coworkers. Obviously, a tough moment.

So, Thursday late-night, after arriving back to the 'burbs, I fired off an email to a few coworkers. "Thanks for being great people to work with," and "I'll look forward to seeing you soon," and "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine" and things like that.

The top response came from a departing coworker, relayed here in template form:

Greeting
General statement of "Don't be a stranger"
Positive statement about my talents and future
Mention of God
Mention of Faith
Mention of "He ultimately has a plan for me"
Mention of the fact that he and his wife will be praying for me
Clincher: "Sorry if this is a weird email."
Reference to my weekend plans, and "GO BLUE"
Salutation, signature

A nice sentiment, but an odd sentiment, but I was still grateful, because he meant well.

- - - - - - -

I guess this is kind of heavy, in its own way, and I guess I apologize for that. But I've really enjoyed writing here over the past several months. I think that to ignore this unfortunate/potentially-great life setback would go against the tenor of honesty that has been present here lately.

- - - - - - - -

For the time being, I'm suspending the WIDiRVoFOW. This is not because he's become any less dislikeable, and it is not because he's no longer my Roommate (clearly, he's no longer my Direct Supervisor), but it's out of respect for his plight.

I'm getting ready to get the hell out of town on Thursday - my note was left on the table and everything - and he arrives home from work. "That makes two of us." "Huh?"

So he explains that he's not been fired, but that he has been reduced from a 12-month to a four-month employee. And, though I don't like him and though I don't think he's a particularly good person, it's impossible to not feel bad for a person in that situation.

His situation is different, though - he's ultra-committed to the on-air stuff, at least most of the time - and his goal is to find a broadcasting gig somewhere, anywhere. So he's getting back on the "I'll go somewhere, anywhere for your awful-hours, low-pay job" train and, it seems, is getting ready to move back in with his parents for the time being. He's at least 28, though I'm not exactly sure.

(I'm a little bitter that I wasn't offered the main gig, come next spring. I'm also a little bitter that I wasn't offered the departing coworker's job. But I'm more optimistic than anything, I think. Maybe it's unfounded.)

- - - - - - - -

Oh, no!

I just realized that I accidentally deleted my comments from the last post. If you'd like to reprise them, slightly, on the previous post, please feel free. Most of them related to whether or not my address would be changing. As you can tell, that's probably still in limbo.

- - - - - - - - -

RHH as toilet reading:
Maybe my favorite part of the few hours in the parents' house. A quick post-drive stop in the bathroom upon my return Thursday night. A turn to the sink to wash my hands. I notice, lying next to the sink, a stapled packet of papers. I give it a quick look, and, could it be? Yes, a printout of my most recent post. RHH on the toilet. Could anything be finer?

Awesome.

- - - - - - - - -

I was going to write a post about music, an in-depth one about what I've been listening to and what I've picked up at the library and things like that, but this crap got in the way. TV on the Radio's domestic release is out Tuesday, so I think I'll blow the money from a paycheck that's about to stop coming on that.

Also, it looks like Nemo's going to slap me with a week one "L" in BARC Fantasy Football. I'll deal with it.