Getting Away with Schmidt

The single least-complaining, and easy- going trooper I've been blessed to sometimes be able to bring to work with me, is my first-born daughter. And this blog is one about her. (I am currently expecting my 2nd child). Tonight is one of those such nights, where she has accompanied me on the job. It's early evening, and here she is... And we are trying mercilessly to kill time at the radio station - (my second job... a job I had to report to after spending 19 straight hours on the job at the TV station (my first job of the day). As well-behaved as any 13 year old can be expected to be, she is keeping herself busy as I work, as we try to spend the last remnant moments of our dwindling weekend squeezing any possibility of "quality time" into the confines of what has turned out to be an impossibly busy weekend... busier than usual... but, nevertheless, something we expect from time to time. Nothing new. She's been through worse with me... blizzards, floods, you n...

That's my combo word for squeaky & stinky. ... because I'm referring to mice... particularly, the post-mortem variety. I'm at work early this morning. I'm not saying which job. ... just that it's early. I'm not trying to be intentionally cryptic in withholding which job I'm currently at, but, in addition to retaining a modicum of anonymity, I might also add that we're in the process of eradicating a small mouse problem we've been having, and I don't want to cast a dark shadow onto this particular workplace by causing disdain to any yuppy, snobbish types who may take a moment of their superiorly important time to cast judgement when they're not busy floating above everyone, doing everything perfectly, and smugly giving advice as if they've never have a mouse, cockroach, or louse in their lives. (These are the type of people whom I wonder if they have the sh*t professionally vaccu-sucked out of their asses twice a week, and disposed...