Ok, so here I am taking this -dreadful- class in Salt Lake City (I won't call it a mistake; I got 24 hours of CE for my Texas adjusters' license; made a new friend; found out something I always wanted to know--how exactly Risk Managers DO go about making decisions on insurance coverages vs. retention vs. self-insurance; I gained a LOT of knowledge; and I found out that my previous plan to do all of these courses in February = FAIL--it's not happening--thus saving me a lot of money and effort)(Why is it a dreadful class? Because I haven't done statistical analysis since 1977, and I might have slept since then. Actually, I slept THROUGH that class, which I HATED. A Math major I am not...to those of you who think regression analysis is fun, finding the standard deviation is child's play, and showing net present value before and after taxes with a 10% cost of capital and to within a 95% interval is fun, GOOD FOR YOU. I'll stick with correcting everyone's grammar and historical inaccuracies...).
So I had been to Buca di Beppo, which is a couple of long blocks down the street from the hotel. I was walking back and talking to a friend on my cell phone. Actually, I was crying on his shoulder about my job situation (I'm actually getting pretty nervous; many companies have hiring freezes and I've been rejected for several jobs---ok, I wasn't qualified for a couple of them, but two of them kind of stung a bit).
My exact quote: "Man, I just don't know what I'm going to do." As I uttered these words, I looked down at the sidewalk and there, stenciled on the sidewalk, was this:
Ok, Jesus, I'm a-trustin'! Don't know what You've got in mind, but I'm open.
(Anybody who knows me knows of my belief that any good story can be "improved" a bit, but this one is word-for-word true).
Coincidence? You decide. I know what I think.
So, You Think You Know Disneyland . . .
2 hours ago