A client contested an invoice with us today.

0.2% over the quote. $31 over the quote.

Do I really suck this much at running a business, or is this par for the course?

Today, for dinner, I popped something into the oven to heat up. I didn't think much about it after that point, and went off to work on some website or email or post or something that involved sitting in front of my computer, wiggling my fingers and making magic happen.

After a while, I had the sense something wasn't quite right. Tapping gently into the outside of my awareness, I heard an odd sound in the house I couldn't place. Both dogs were asleep on the couch, so they weren't the source of the noise. Neither of them perked up at the noise, so the source was unlikely an intruder.

Was the sound from the kitchen?

Puzzled, I walked back into the kitchen, and looked into the oven. My meal was heating up, but there was an odd, highly metallic smell blasting from the oven.

I opened up the door, and glanced at the melting thermometer on one of the oven racks. The cookie sheet was warped into bands of screaming aluminum, twisted into death throes as the paper around my meal was smoking.

The thermometer read 525°. I had set the oven for 350°

I quickly pulled everything out of the oven, turned the dial to off and left the door open, hoping it would cool into something other than a giant slag of metal.

Great, just what we don't need: another big expense. Time to go oven shopping. Maybe Megan wants to take me with her the next time she goes shopping for her new kitchen.

Clearly a good sense of smell would have triggered a quicker reaction. Trips to the steel mills of Gary have embedded that intensely metallic smell into my memories as HOT HOT HOT DANGER HOT!

Mike came into the office today, warning Doyle and I we may have lost a client. All three of us were working full tilt on the emergency, get this six week project done in two weeks project, and none of us had worked on the small tweaks the first client needed done.

Just after saying this, Mike turned away, and started working on yet another third project for a different client than the first two just mentioned.

Doyle and I looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders, thought, "eh," and went back to finishing up that two week project.

I'm not sure what else we were supposed to do.

Update: Apparently, Mike is hurt and angry at this post, feeling I left out critical facts about this event. Fortunately, this is my blog and I can write whatever the hell I want. Hell, I can even mother fucking thrice damned curse on this blog if I fucking want to.

So, there. The rest of the fucking facts.

Today was the second day of Fools Fest West, at Santa Cruz. I missed day one yesterday at the UPA coaching clinic, but the clinic, and meeting John made missing day one worth the loss.

I asked Kris if I could be on his team when the tryout committee was creating teams for the tournament, so I was on Mischief X, which had won all of its games yesterday, and remained seated first in its pool. Mischief Y, however, lost to Pleasuretown, so was seated second in its pool, and was our first competitor of the day.

I struggled in this game. I wasn't completely ready for the game mentally, and physically my hamstring was aching from the stretching. I've been psyching myself up for playing ultimate, going out with a bang, so I tried to play well, Mark's words of encouragement and praise of my play against Team USA a year and a half ago playing in my head.

I had one particular play in the game where a disc was thrown behind me. I had only a step on my defender, so any bad placement was going to make the catch difficult. When I saw the disc go up, I immediately adjusted my path and went hard to the disc. I wish I knew how to layout. I missed the disc by barely a centimeter, my defender having longer arms than I do. My aggressiveness to the disc, however, really impressed and pleased Kris. He complimented me on it several times later in the day.

We lost the game, giving Mischief Y a rematch against Pleasuretown in the finals. Mischief X and Pleasuretown wanted to switch the pools around, meet new teams, but Mischief Y wanted a rematch, so the scheduled stayed unaltered. Mischief Y won their game.

Our second game was against Batwing, which Kevin told me was really Schmatwing. I finally warmed up, and thankfully both started cutting hard and in the correct places. In one point, a breakmark throw went up to my woman who was way too far in front of me to the break side. I managed to run a full sprint to catch up, going 100%. I'm happy to say my hamstring bothered me only a little bit after that run, so it is healing and becoming stronger.

My defense is starting to clean up, also. I was punched in the face by their woman hucker who put up a lot of crap, more so after punching me in the face, but I can live with a punch and crap because our downfield defenders are so strong. I had some down moments in the game, (when I missed a high throw from Kris, and missed another couple throws: one from Lori, one from Roshan who was fouled, one from DanO), but I did have at least one brilliant dump defense where my woman went the wrong way and I sprinted to the endzone alone for a good ten seconds. No love, though, as a teammate overthrew a covered teammate on the opposite side of the endzone. I tell you, no love.

The end of the day, I was tired. Nothing like playing ultimate to get into ultimate shape. Fitness by fire.

It's been a while since I've met an instant friend. Today, fortunately, ended that while, and I met John Sandahl, Instant Friend™

John was the instructor of the UPA Coaching Clinic (Level 1) that I attended today. As a motivational speaker by day, he's a Sub-Zero player by night, or at least in the evening and on weekends, which is the same schedule as most modern superheroes. After our mock practice, not enough clinic participants wanted to play a game of ultimate, so dinner was the next offer.

I thought about the suggestion for a moment: sit at home, maybe work on projects, maybe waste time (shudder) mindlessly watching television, or head out to dinner with Kate and John. That moment was about 2 microseconds long.

I arrived late to the brewery to find Eduardo (a clinic participant), Jess, Brian, Kate and John downing beers, waiting for table. I started talking, and said something about my phone, which John laughed at and played with a bit. ALL the fourteen year old girls have them, you know. Eduardo said I was off by a year, the phone was too big. Now the fifteen year old girls, they have Sidekicks.

I started hearing the various stories when we all sat down at dinner. John currently plays for SubZero, in Minneapolis. He's up for the captaining position, as all four captains from last year quit or moved away or lost heart (my words, of course, should any of John's teammates be reading (hi!)). John went to Worlds, playing (expectedly) with SubZero (shock, eh?). He stopped by to visit with Mischief on the sideline, but I don't remember him at all, if he said hello to me. He then tooled around with his college roommate afterward, driving across both islands before flying home.

He works as a motivational speaker at Youth Frontiers, which works with youth "teaching values," helping them become more respectful, "better people" through workshops and various programs. Listening to John, I can't help but believe he's really good at his job: the teaching he did at the clinic definitely had everyone drawn in and actively participating, which is hard with a group of adults, early in the morning. Many times during the clinic, he would

John played trombone in high school, and sang choir until some trip to NYC where the choir director (the husband of the band director) forgot to set ground rules, so John broke one (he broke curfew and needed to be in his room before 11, but wasn't explicitly told curfew was room, so he was in the hotel, in another choir member's room, at 11), and was nearly sent home. This was John's example of both "be explicit in the ground rules, set expectations," as well as "praise in public, criticize in private."

He also mentioned that valve trombone players are clearly inferior to slide trombonists. When I mentioned I played baritone in high school, he asked if that meant I was better than he was. I said no, but I could play his music for him.

John likes mango sorbet, having been introduced to it, and subsequently hooked on it, by a girlfriend (ex? not sure) years ago.

As a speaker (they speak four days a week, having Monday off),

John plays at Poultry Days each year, with his team Breasts and Thighs. I somehow managed to secure a tentative (heh) invite to play on his team this year. I was convinced that I should go when John mentioned one of my ultimate idols, Paul Greff, only I didn't recall his name when John mentioned it. Paul looks like Eric (Mom's husband), so when I watch Paul on the various ultimate videos, watching always with admiration, I think "Eric." John said I'm sure to confuse the heck out of Paul when I call him Eric. But seriously, how can I not weasel my way onto a team with John and Paul-Eric? Seriously.

We went to Brian Greenough's family's house after dinner, with Brian and Jessica. They told us about the international teachers interview processes, which did not sound like fun, and we ate the super duper ultra premium chocolate ice cream that came in a metal tin and tasted MUCH better when slightly melted. I kept the tin.

Eventually, John's flight neared (flying out tonight because he couldn't find a good ticket, a team to play on for Fools, or an uncle who had an open evening), and off to the airport we went. Brian lives in a great place, with the directions "go down the hill, turn left at the big street, right at Peninsula" to escape the area. John made his red-eye flight, and my new Instant Friend™ was on his way home.