Chimps Fish

Blog, I Apologize

2010-03-22T15:09:00.003-05:00

Yes, it's true. I have neglected you. My dearest blog, I have avoided you. Abandoned from my thoughts since 2009, here you are. You're back. Why? Because you need to be fed. You can go without words for months at a time but eventually... you always require my attention. I can only tell you, "I'm sorry".

You may have heard - and I can confirm - I have taken a mistress. I know it hurts but I must explain. She is much older than you. However, she is very attractive. I cannot lie to you, blog... she is a seductress. Her name is, Screenplay. I have been with her for several months now. She excites and challenges me. You are going to be mad but... I have two with her. There names are, "Blue 652" and "Unsupported". One is a violent drama and the other is a comedy. You'd like them, I'm sure - if you just took the time to get to know them.

All I can tell you is that, "I'm sorry." I didn't mean to leave you out in the cold. I'm going to try and make it up to you. I'm going to put my relationship with Screenplay on hold for awhile and try to spend more time with you. I'm not just saying that. I really mean it. This post is just the first of many. I promise things will be different from now on. I missed you, blog.

The Trip

2009-08-13T10:51:00.001-05:00

Sadly, during the flight to Lisbon, the primate - unsuited as he was to aerial navigation - became disoriented and subsequently, entangled in the main propulsion system. The craft was unable to recover from the stall and as a result, plummeted to the earth. Along with the monkey and the world's youngest pilot, dreams of transatlantic solar flight were crushed upon impact.

Glad to be back

2009-05-13T14:59:00.001-05:00

Well...it has been quite some time since the last posting but, I hope to settle back into the groove. My absence corresponds with a return to my previous job duties that left me consumed by a considerable amount of angst, compounded with mental depletion. I liken it to beating your head with a rubber mallet for days on end. It won't kill you...but...it will eventually, weaken and confuse.

All of that aside, today's post concerns my youngest daughter's newest friend, Kermit (a.k.a "Hermit") D. Frog. She is obssessed with him, ha! She has given him a kind of scarey (and very un-Kermit-like) voice. Kermit sounds like he has been living the hard life, if ya know what I mean. I can barely contain my joy at having Elmo bumped to the curb. Of course, Elmo's boat sailed a long time ago...its just that my hatred has failed to catch up. In the interim, a few other plush characters had filled the void but finally....FINALLY...someone from my youth stepped up! Don't get me wrong...I wasn't exactly gaga for Kermit. He was kind of a wuss, you know...? Always getting stomped by Miss Piggy...always getting the short end of the stick...despite being the defacto leader of 'The Muppets'. I was more of a fan of Animal (as were most) and to a lesser extent, the Swedish Chef. Beeker was pretty cool too, despite getting set on fire, blown up or otherwise immolated. Severley hilarious, for sure. So, now that my daughter and I have this cross-generation connection, I thought I'd show her some old Muppet Show episodes...because I know, she'd love. The only problem is...apparently, the Jim Henson estate or other entity has been working feverishly to make these as unavailable as possible. Me thinks me smells me a challenge, aye......!

Insight into the decaying mind of a corporate zombie

2008-06-05T13:03:00.001-05:00

7:35AM: Arrive at work 25 minutes earlier than necessary. It my OCD concerning ever being late because of traffic, forgot something, natural disaster, et al. Ironically, it is within this first 25 minutes (w/ phone set to"Out of office") that I get the most efficient and important work of the day done. Since, I'm the only one here - the tasks get done.

8:00AM: Co-workers arrive. Cube neighbor and I spend 5-10 minutes discussing our mutual dissatisfaction with present employment. Go over alternatives. Invariably, we decide this is it...for now.

8:10AM-9:45AM: The energy work sustains mindless data entry or, other tasks that require little thought and effort.

9:45: The effects of energy drink have worn off and I catch up on the latest headlines via, CNN, FoxNews, Time, Local news, USAToday, BBC, and Official MNF-Iraq website. I'll also, check and see if Michael Totten or, Michael Yon have posted any dispatches to their blogs.

10:30AM: Take a break to re-align constitution and ponder events of the universe that have led me to this moment.

10:45AM: Return to brain and spirit crushing monkey work.

11:30AM: If I can no longer endure it, I will go to lunch. If I can suppress my anxiety, I'll save lunch for noon so that I don't have to start working the afternoon until 1PM.

LUNCH: Spent at desk laying solitaire and working (I just can't help myself - I like working on things and getting them over with so that they aren't hanging over my head.) Sometimes, I will sit in my car in parking lot and play MSPacman on iPod (pretty pathetic, eh?)

12:30-2PM: More meaningless paperwork and data entry. Mind has become oatmeal and is oozing out of my ears. Vision is becoming blurring and headache is coming on.

2:15PM: Grab a Coke from vending machine and chase a couple of Tylenol caplets. To break routine, I'll change it up with Advil (just plain crazy).

2:20PM: Catch up on latest developments in world news and global conflicts/economies and tech news

2:30: Back to the lobotomy circus. End one redundant and futile task and began another management ordained exercise in thought suppression.

4:45PM: This is the real money. All the important stuff just happens to develop with 15 minutes left to go in the work day. Fires are put out, fears eased, 3 hours worth of work is compressed and annihilated.

5:00PM: Begin shut down procedures.

5:01PM Don't let the door hit'ya where the good Lord split'ya

2008-05-22T12:13:00.001-05:00

"There are just only so many times - that you can be inspired - before you finally do something about it."

SPURS vs LAKERS - Game I

2008-05-22T10:38:00.001-05:00

Much to my amazement, I watched a rather "rested" and prepared road team dominate said game for 3 & 1/2 quarters. Then, TNT cameras panned the crowd for the obligatory "celeb watch" and I noticed Jack Nicholson – grinning behind his Ray-Bans. The Joker's yellowing veneers masked the pain he must surely have felt at that moment. So, it was with heavy heart that I felt it necessary to do something about this (Hollywood is still suffering from the writers' strike and I'm not so sure, how much more they could endure?). I called up Pop and told him that, "although it feels good….right now…this just isn't right. These here California folk paid up to $3,300.00 per ticket and we are robbing them of a good time on the very first night. It just would not be courteous to hurt them so." I went on to further explain that the media would not view this transgression highly, either. "We have to make this a series or else, the NBA is going to crash and burn. We have to at least, make them think that there will be a Lakers-Celtics matchup. We must not steal their hopes and dreams." Pop assured me that he'd lease up a bit and make it interesting. About 38 seconds later, he called a quick timeout. From there on out, Bruce Bowen started giving Kobe a little more room…trying to make him feel loved, again – because he was most certainly, not getting love from his team-mates. The trouble is, once you open the spigot, it's difficult to just turn it off. Some may even try to use the cliché, "stop the bleeding.." but, as the score indicated, there wasn't much bleeding (Lakers score 89 points?!?). Although it was my hearts desire to just barely win this one – and we lost it – I do feel a great deal of satisfaction in knowing that SP + 1DR < V-4P (where SP = "Sleeping on Plane, 1DR = "1 Day of Rest", V = Victory, and -4P = minus 4 Points). My initial prediction of Spurs in 6 – remains in effect.

We will not be so merciful, Friday!

GO SPURS, GO!

Radio Alarm Clock

2008-05-08T15:00:00.002-05:00

My radio/alarm clock pisses me off every morning by discharging a half-second or, two...of very loud, classic rock. The problem is that if I turn down the volume, the white noise disappears into the background and I oversleep. I am forced to keep the volume at such a level that by barely avoiding an early morning cardiac arrest, I can respond quickly enough to get to the "snooze" button - without disturbing the rest of the house and salvage an extra 9 minutes of sleepy-time bliss. However, the key to my successful transition (from the sleep I so covet - to the corps of the walking dead (damned)) is not just about volume control...it is also, the quality. It was for this very reason that I switched from that bleating P.O.S. alarm that I had for years, and upgraded to the radio/alarm clock. At least, I'd have a say in what my ears are exposed to - before my eyes are exposed to light. I experimented with talk radio...but, that just didn't pack enough wallop to get me to respond and I caught myself sleeping late and incorporating the news into my dreams. Next I tried a local rock station but, it was pretty near as bad. It seems that music is just a tiny fraction of the content flooding dawn's airwaves. Talk is cheap....so, there is plenty of that. I finally, found a station that plays a considerable chunk of music. It turns out that it is a classic rock station but, that doesn't really matter...I'd listen to polka music if it was guaranteed not to be interrupted by moronic conversation.

Which brings me to this morning's song..."T.V. Dinners" by, ZZ Top. I hadn't heard that particular song in well over a decade (probably, much longer than that...!). It is way too easy to forget that ZZ Top could not only create such a crap ball of a song...much less, that it was so damned popular! But, it worked...it got me outta bed. It also, got me to thinking about ZZ Top and what a bizarre band they are. 95% of their music is signature Texas-blues-rock...some really solid music....and relatively unheard of my 99% of the population. Yet, when you ask ANYONE if they have heard of ZZ Top, the answer is almost always, "yes". They know it because of the other 5% of their music is played on the radio. But, that's not the only strange thing about ZZ Top. They are also, popular in spite of the lyrical content of their songs. "T.V. Dinner", "Legs", and "Tube Snake Boogie"? Aye, Chihuahua.

Veggie^2

2008-04-23T13:37:00.001-05:00

My 4 & 1/2 year old daughter informed her mom and I that she was going to be a vegetarian from now on. That didn't really come as a shock to us as her mom is a vegetarian and we had always planned on letting her make those decisions when she felt comfortable. By not making a big deal out of it - either way - she won't feel bad about her self if she falls of the wagon. She wasn't so committed to this choice when she found out that meat comes from cows but rather, later on when she learned that chicken came from chickens! True, that probably seems obvious to you and I but, 4 year olds don't necessarily think of food as derived from living and when they do make that connection, it can be kind of disturbing to them. I think it is good, for just this reason, that one parent is a vegetarian and the other (me!), is an omnivore. She can see that I'm not a bad person because I consume the formerly living and that her mom still loves daddy despite this choice. I told her, "I had better not catch you eye-ballin' my chicken nuggets, fish sandwich or, my cheeseburger next time I swing by McDonald's, ha!" She didn't seem to unsettled by that scenario yet, it's one thing to say that now and quite another when I'm eating that cheeseburger, heh heh heh...

But...just to underscore her commitment, she added, "Dad....I'm not going to make anymore cow jokes either." So, since you probably will not be hearing it from her anytime soon, I thought I'd tell her favorite joke one last time:

Q: "What does a cow say at the movies?"

A: "Moo-ve over!"

Sunday Movie

2008-03-17T10:35:00.001-05:00

The good news is....I've been able to sneak out to the movies, recently. The bad news is...all of the movies have been kid movies, hahaha! Yesterday, my oldest daughter and myself went to see "Horton Hears A Who". It was pretty good. At least, it was much better than thought it was going to be. At first, I was really impressed with the CGI but, that was fleeting and I started paying attention to that less and less as the characters and storyline became more and more engaging. Even Jim Carey's over-the-top vocals seemed to work pretty well with the character. Steve Carell was really, really good and his acting/dialogue translated really well to the character. Of course, it was a kid movie but the theme was pretty mature and despite our discussions afterwards, I'm not so sure that my daughter fully grasped it but, that is quite alright because I don't really want her mind "too blown" at this point in it's development process. She enjoyed the characters and the humor. Of course, all of the kiddie staples were there: crazy monkeys, some scary character (in this case, a dim-witted vulture), an powerful antagonist (think residential, gated-community president) and several obstacles to overcome before success. It's a simple formula but, it is a fun ride. My daughter loaded up on some waxy popcorn and was engaged from beginning to end (which is a fairly significant achievement for her considering that she is a total spaz. I am very glad that we get these opportunities. It makes the whole weekend (heck, the whole week!) and make me look forward to the next one (Kung-fu Panda, maybe?).

SXSW Motorhead Show

2008-03-14T11:15:00.001-05:00

I have been fortunate enough to have been able to observe the annual SXSW music (and film) festival grow from it's humble (and affordable) beginnings, into the multi-headed creatureit is, today. Of course, as you already know, I am one of those grumbling and whining old farts that drones on and on about how swank the good 'ol days were and how everything is so damned expensive and commercialized now. Don't get me wrong, I really do welcome change. Change can be good. Technological evolution and access to tools and people, that weren't previously available, can make life easier (dare I say, "better"?). Austin is a beautiful, green community. It has always been the smallest big city in the state. You could ride your bike from your house, to school to work, swimming hole or, wherever. EVERYTHING was within walking or, biking range. Then, the technology explosion flooded the city. The population doubled. It is set to double again in next 5-10 years (depending upon the economic outlook). And while that has extended the population to the city fringes, it has also made downtown (and by downtown, I mean everything from Town Lake (err, "Lady Bird Lake") to38th street) a whole lot more claustrophobic. But it hasn't been all bad... there are incredibly tasty places to eat and tattoo shops on every corner! Vegetarian? No problem. Vegetarian Ukrainian? Not a problem.

As SXSW grew, the price of admission started to sky rocket. It used to be that you could spend under $20 bucks and check out a buttload of shows. The South By So What shows were always a blast and the parties were more underground in nature. Record company people were the mysterious and unseen folk that might either be at your show or, not. Now days, each "showcase" is a defined as a corporate sponsored show where already-signed bands play shortened sets. You get clobbered with paper advertisements and junk. If it is a free show, you wait to "maybe" get in. Badges costs hundreds of dollars. I looked up the website and it was $350 + !!! Ouch. Fortunately, of the hundreds of shows and thousands of bands that play for the week, some are free of charge. There are a few strings... These shows are usually low=promoted and is either first-come-first-serve or, you have to RSVP or, something.

Last year, we saw Mastodon at Town Lake. This year, my buddy D sent me a link for a free show at Stubb's BBQ. The headliner was Motorhead and the opening bands were High On Fire and Napalm Death. Now, when I see "Motorhead" and "Free" in the same email (or, anywhere else in the world), I pay extra special attention. The catch was (and you just knew that there'd be one) that you had to RSVP before 10AM 24 hours prior, the show was on a Thursday and Napalm Death started at 1PM (Motorhead at 3PM). Well, no problem-o. I RSVP'd and then set to ask my boss for Thursday afternoon off. Problem was, she has been out of the office all week, sick! So, I emailed her my request and waited...and waited...and waited for her to get back with me with a 'yes' or, 'no' reply. Finally, 30 minutes before leaving Wednesday afternoon, she emailed me back that it'd be cool for me to have the time off. I tried to set up travel arrangements but all of my friends, who were going, were coming from different locations and had different destinations afterwards so, I had to drive myself.

Thursday, I skipped out at 11AM and headed home to change, gas-up, and roll. I made it into downtown Austin at about 12:15 and began a 20 minute search for parking. Unable to find a spot in any of the $10 parking spots, I called up my friend, D and asked him for suggestions. He recommended the Capital Visitor Center parking garage on 12th & Trinity. This was 6 blocks north and 3 blocks west of Stubb's but hell...it is safe (and AVAILABLE) parking so I landed my truck there and made the pilgrimage to Motorhead.

When I got there, the line was four people thick and went from the door, down Red River and down 8th street and halfway towards I-35. It was about 150-200 yards long. My buddies were about 20-30 people from the end so, I slipped in line with them. A few more friends joined us over the next 45 minutes and we got to the table. Remember, this rather lengthy line was only for people who RSVP'd. If you did not RSVP - you weren't getting in. Apparently, the RSVP fields at the bottom of the page were for the newsletter. The show RSVP was underneath the band listing in an almost invisible font. Fortunately, I am always paranoid and look for links and all of that crap when it comes to shenanigans like this so, I RSVP'd in the right place. A couple of my friends however, are now getting SPAM'd with newsletters, hahaha. At first, they weren't going to let them in but, they raised a funk and were allowed in. Cool.

We missed Napalm Death (not really shedding a whole lot of tears) and caught about 3/4 of High On Fire. They tore it up. I've seen them a couple of times before but, not outdoors and was concerned that the power might dissipate in such a venue as Stubb's. It was not a problem. They had a really good and loud sound and it was pretty high energy (no pun intended). It was very solid. Motorhead was of course, Motorhead. They were freggin' awesome. Played all the good songs: Killed By Death, Dr. Rock, Ace of Spades and they played a lot of them. I was totally, expecting only six or, eight songs max but they just kept on playing. And when it was over, I had time to grab some dinner and meet my wife (and kids) at home when she got home from work...at 5:30PM.

So, I guess I should have to eat a little bit of crow, eh? If it weren't for the big corporate sponsor (Scion), Motorhead wouldn't be playing a BBQ joint in Austin, TX for SXSW and it definitely wouldn't have been for FREE! Maybe I should start embracing change and stop complaining. It's worth a try but, I ain't making any promises!

Pediatrician Followup

2008-03-13T08:00:00.001-05:00

Well, we took my youngest to our favorite pediatrician and she diagnosed TWO EAR INFECTIONS and her allergies were still out of control! She thought she may even have some pink eye but couldn't tell for sure because of the allergies...my poor poor kiddo. I feel like worst parent of the year but it isn't like we haven't been trying to get her the help she needs all of this time. So, our doctor said that my daughter may not work well with the previous allergy med and prescribed us another brand (basically, kiddy Clariton) and some anti-biotics. We have also, been running the humidifier in her room. This year has been the worst ever for respiratory allergies. Anyways, the good news is....she is doing awesome!!! Her sinuses have cleared up...her eyes are no longer itchy and watery....she is coughing very little....and she is in a great mood. What do I take away from this experience? I guess, just because someone is a doctor, doesn't necessarily mean they know what the hell they are talking about. Go with that gut feeling. Don't be intimidated by someone who has a bunch of paper in frames on their walls. And most importantly, if you find a good doctor...a doctor that you can trust and have a great rapport with...keep them...even if your commie insurance plan tries to make you go elsewhere. I could totally go off on a insurance tirade but, I'll spare myself "getting my blood pressure up".

My Kids' Doctor

2008-03-05T10:24:00.001-06:00

My youngest daughter has been having a tough go of it for sometime. She has been sick almost every other day (so it seems) for months. She will be happy and full of energy one day and then, crazy upset and ill the next. When she's down, she has a runny nose, puffy cheeks, congestion, cough, swollen belly and "boogery" eyes. It wasn't as if we didn't try to make her well. My wife took her to the lame-o pediatrician on several occasions and they prescribed some meds that seemed to have little affect. They are idiots. Yes, I said that. I know that they spent a considerable amount of time on their education and licensing but that doesn't change the fact that they suck when it comes to treating my daughters like patients and not cattle. First, a little back story: Our first pediatrician was (is) AWESOME! She is a little on the hippy side, personality-wise but, that suits us just fine. Her practice is fairly small and we never had a problem getting our oldest in to see here whenever we had a problem. Sometimes, she would be seen within an hour of the initial call. That is unheard of in the medical field. She has a back door and waiting area for kids who are infectious so that they do not mingle with the other kids in the main waiting room. She often took her time to talk with my wife and daughter about all the little things that could build a better picture of the ailment. If my wife would see her out in public, she would not only ask how my daughter was doing (by name) but also, how her sister was doing....how our dog was doing...our cat, etc. She truly cares for her patience and has established a level of trust that is how the standard for patient-doctor relations should always be. Sadly enough, it is not. Two years ago, my company switched our health care benefits provider and our pediatrician was no longer covered under the new plan. We filled out the forms and submitted them to try and get her into our network but, two years later....she has still not been admitted. So, we had to find another pediatrician. My sister-in law and our friends continue to use our old pediatrician and she always asks them about us. It is almost like we are a little family/community. But back to the new pediatrician... For starters, it is a facility that houses multiple pediatricians. This means that there are plenty of sick and infectious kids in the waiting room (playing with toys - snot running down their faces, coughing into the air). My daughters have actually gotten sicker from going to see the pediatrician! Sometimes they have to wait an hour or, longer in this environment. And this is AFTER my wife called in to make an appointment. I must also add that when she calls to TRY and make an appointment, the receptionist takes the information and then, consults (someone - who, I don't really know) and then calls back - later that day - to tell her if she can bring them in! And then, they cannot even remember (much less read) my daughters' names! They keep calling them by their last names. After enduring the infectious gauntlet, you'd expect to see a doctor...not gunna happen. Of the many many times my daughters went there, not once did they see an actual pediatrician. Every time it was a nurse practitioner. Now, I don't mean to diss nurse practitioners (mainly because I must profess my ignorance as to they training and qualifications) but, I want my daughters to see the best...not the second string. So, there it is....they stink. So, my wife took a chance and took my youngest to her allergist. Surprise, surprise...she is allergic to peanuts, molds and eggs. Crazy because we have been feeding her eggs this whole time and peanut butter after she turned one year old! So, we cut that out and she was doing a little better but kept having a couple of other chronic issues. We finally had enough and decided that "Damn the @#$#%&^*^$#$!! insurance, we are going back to our original doctor!" My wife took my daughter and it was great to be back. She diagnosed the issue and gave my wife some sample pak meds to offset the cost increase. Instead of the $20 dollars that we pay at the crappy pediatrician, we paid $75 but got $40 worth of meds. So, it costs us about $15 dollars more. Now, I am definitely not made of money. I do HATE to spend money when it can be avoided but, in this case, I think it is worth it. I have had doctors treat me like cattle before and I didn't particularly like it. When someone treats my kids like that...well, that's just bullshit and I'm not going to subject my kids to that. Anyways, that's another rant off my chest.

Dante's Groundhog Day Ring

2008-02-28T10:45:00.001-06:00

I think I've got it figured out, now. If I were dictator and wished to quiet the voices of opposition - to crush any fledgling press or, writings that would seek to undermine my rule - I would employ the tactic that is currently, being used against myself. I would give them all jobs as data entry clerks. The especially "lippy" ones would draw extra alphabetizing/stapling/stamping/filing duties. This particularly tedious ring of hell is so clever - so diabolical - yet, so sublime...that you never realize that your soul is missing until it is far too late. The daily toil for the carrot, dangling overhead. I assume that I am making a difference. I feel closer to the carrot. I see one pile of papers decrease and another grow. When it looks as if the smaller pile may finally vanish, another load is set alongside it to be broken-heatedly, addressed. I dellude myself with 'paperless systems' daydreams. I devote much of my mind space to it (it's not like it is being used, anyways). A fragment is reserved for my next big career move. I go over and over the plan in my head. It all comes down to: bulking up my resume with additional skills and actively seeking new employment. However, learning these new (and needed) skills requires costly resources (books, software) and the even more valuable commodity of 'time'. The negatives start to weigh...my computers are too old and too slow to support the software that I need to run. I need the software. When will I be able to study and practice? I figure that I can get the software and that is all we shall say about that. The more powerful PCs are another story. That costs more moola. Moola that I just don't have right now. But forgoing that one and assuming...badda bing! I have PCs with loaded software....there is still that giant monkey, Time. When do I read? When do I practice? By the time I get home from work, we have two hours to spend with our youngest and an additional hour for our oldest. I suppose that I could study for an hour or, two after that. After all, I guess I need to set priorities. Is this job so lame that I am content to slog along until a career brick tumbles from the sky and crushes my skull? I don't think so. I'll be 40 next year and time is running out. I gotta believe that I gotta get this rolling, soon. I need to get organized and plan an attack. I need to compile a list of what I need to learn to be at - where I need to be at - when it comes time to shop myself out. If not, I don't really see things changing and I only have myself to blame.

Discussions During Commute

2008-01-28T09:28:00.001-06:00

So, I have been slammed with completely mind-numbing tasks, at work. Data entry and filing. The plus side is, I get to exercise my knowledge of the alphabet. The bad news is, I don't get very much time to write. At least, not whenever I am so inclined, hahaha. I thought I'd take a moment to convey a couple of topics my daughter and I coveredd this morning as we commuted to daycare and work:

Chocolate Rice Crispy's. My daughter seemed baffled that they did not have chocolate Rice Crispy's when I was a kid. Crazy, eh? What kind of backwater society did I grow up in??? Chalk that up to "comparable to Granfather's 'walking through 6 feet of snow (both ways) to/from school, everyday' storeies". Except mine goes something like this...."When I was your age, not only did we not have chocolate Rice Crispy's, our Rice Crispy's didn't have sugar! We had to add our own!" Oh, the horror.

Then, we discussed jobs. I made the mistake of mentioning lawyers. Yeah, sure...it's a job. So, is a bandito but, I didn't feel the need to mention that one. So, lawyer knocks aside, she called me on it and wanted to know what a lawyer does. I thought about it for a second and decided that comparing a lawyers to vampires would probably mean I'd have to do more explaining than I cared to so, I decided to go woth the truth (as best I could). I gave her a scenario where say, somebody accuses Daddy of stealing something (I probably could of come up with something less insedious but, I was on the spot and burglary came to mind). They call the police and they arrest Daddy. Daddy says, "Wait! I didn't steal anything!" and I call a lawyer. I tell the lawyer where I was when the other guy got robbed and I tell him how I couldn't have done it! Daddy pays the lawyer and the lawyer talks to the judge. The judge listens and decides that the lawyer is right and tells the police that they are wrong, Daddy did not steal anything and the police let Daddy go home. I didn't convey that sometimes lawyers get paid and their clients still go to jail. I felt that it was best to leave positive thoughts in her head and she can get the details later on. She asked me what uniforms lawyers wear. I told her that the dress like regular people - just nicer.

That led to a discussion about soldiers and why they wear uniforms. I told her that because when they are fighting in war, they want to make sure and shoot only the bad guys and not their fellow soldiers. I try not to bias my daughter n these things and tell her the truth because it is all over television. I just try and give her the facts as I believe I know them. Does that make sense? Anyways, she asked if the bad guys wear uniforms, too? I told her, yes...kinda...sometimes...because they don't want to shoot their fellow bad guys, too. I told them that it is against the rules of the Geneva Convention to wear uniforms that aren't for your side. Yeah, I know...'Geneva Convention' but I thought I'd throw that out there anyways. I told her that there are even rules in war. I thought this might reinforce the concept of rules applying to everyone - at all times. If I put a name with a ruleset, perhaps this would add more impact to it? Anyways, it doesn't really matter. If she forgets it or, remembers it...the point is, it is truth and it won't (hopefully) bite me in the butt, later on!

And from there, 'rules' topic is a springboard for conversation that I feel more comfortable talking about because the flipside of following rules is order and benefit. (WARNING!!! RANT FOLLOWS IN PARAGRAPH!) We discuss how things work well when everyone works together and goes by the rules and how not playing by the rules makes it 'not fun' for everyone else. And that goes to 'fairplay'. And then, I think to myself, "How is it that my 4 year old" is learning and understanding these concepts when I can turn on the news at anytime of the day and bear witness to countless people who never understand it? (Yeah, yeah, yeah....I'll get off my soapbox in a second) It's not the people who know the rules and choose to disobey them so much as it is the people who don't see the full picture...or, who can see the picture but choose to warp it to look how they want it to look. They are the people who commit crimes because "they need to - to survive" and shut their vision to the plight of their victims. They choose to believe that their survival is more important than their victims. Of course, they counter with a 'Robin Hood' arguement of 'haves versus have nots". The problem with that is, it isn't always about material objects. If you have ever been robbed, you understand that it isn't so much the items that were stolen as much as it is about the feelings of violation. The criminal is not only taking a possession, he is changing the victim's mind. Their future actions and thoughts will be shaped or influenced by those actions which cannot be undone. And that is just theft. That doesn't include other types of crime.

Okay, okay...I got a little off track. It is just that my mind has started to view things in a different light when I try to translate the world for my kids.

Auto Repair-Stomach in Disorder

2008-01-22T10:02:00.001-06:00

So, I haven't been posting a whole lot lately because I am buried under a mountain of paperwork. Yes, my fancy-schmantzy computer degree has gone by the wayside so that I may receive paperwork, enter it, stamp it, initial it, alphabetize it, and finally....file it. Hours upon hours of mind numbing tasks. But that's okay. I still get paid the same and my kids continue to eat. It sucks...but, it could always be (get) worse.

Let's see...this past Saturday, my friend, Danny N, helped me (hell, he pretty much did the whole job, himself) swap out my brake pads. Initially, we were going to change the pads and the rotors. However, after purchasing the parts and somewhat dismantling the hubs, we noted that on my particular vehicle ('94 2-wheel drive V6 4Runner) that the braking assembly didn't match what it was supposed to be (as it showed in the Haynes manual). Apparently, my setup is for a 4-wheel drive. So, we were supposed to remove the axle nut to be able to remove the rotors. The trouble is, the axle nut is 2" wide! The largest sized socket at AutoZone (for rent) was a 36 (we need a 40 or, 42). So, Danny talked to the guy and he said that if the rotors weren't too warped (which they weren't) then, the new pads might wear them down more evenly. Either way, it wasn't like I had a choice so, we reassembled and I returned the rotors. Then as I was backing out of the driveway, Danny noticed a "clacking" noise. We troubleshot it for about a half hour trying to locate the source of the noise. We removed both tires and made sure that every bolt was tight. Then, we noticed that the sound wasn't coming from the tires but from the suspension bar. A gasket had exploded. So, I gotta take the truck in soon to get that repaired because it calls for realignment and other stuff that I can't do. They might as well look at the oil leak, too. I don't think I have ever had a vehicle that didn't have an oil leak. I am killing the environment. Makes me sick to my stomach. It's like the Dutch kid with his thumb in the dike. So, our task (including multiple trips to AutoZone) was about 5 hours rather than, two. But at least, I can trust the brakes, now.

Then, when I got home, my wife is all PO'd at me for spending so much time away from the family on one of my free days. Excuse me? Was I out getting loaded in a bar, somewhere? No. I was fixing the vehicle that she and my kids ride in. Cut me some slack,eh? She chilled a bit when she realized that we weren't going to miss our "date night". Yes, we just started having a night where we can go out without the kids! Did I say, "night"? I meant, "couple of hours". My in-laws were kind enough to watch our youngest because our friend, who was going to watch our oldest, has a kid my oldest daughter's age and we couldn't risk our youngest getting him sick. Didn't I mention that our youngest has been sick? We are pretty sure it's allergies as everybody has it and the symptoms are the same. Still, we don't want to take any chances. It's not nice to payback your friends for helping you out by infecting their kids. So, we get the kids squared away and head out for our 2 hour date. We dine at 'Los Cucos' - a restaurant which I have frequented on several occasions as the food is decent and the proximity is nearby. I always order the same dish--'The E; Gallo' which is chicken and beef fajitas and shrimp. It has always been delicious. So, we gorged ourselves and picked up the kiddos. Those two hours alone...felt like....four hours, ha!

All is good to go....until 2:35AM. That's when my stomach and bowels decide to stage an uprising. After 20 trips to the bathroom and various combos of Pepto, Tums, and some other junk made for "dietary indiscretions" (sounds like some kind of sick food fetish, eh?), I am able to sleep with a large pitcher next to me. The comfort of knowing it is near me and I don't have to get out of bed and run to the bathroom...allows me to sleep until 3:25PM. After two hours of vertical time, I start the flooring project in my daughters room. I had made a promise to do it that weekend and my wife ALWAYS holds me to my promises! That could be why I don't promise jack! First, I have to assemble a saw that I had purchased for the job. "Assemble a saw???" Who'd a thunk you'd hafta assemble a saw? People who make them in Japan...that's who. That's not meant to be a knock on the Japanese people...oh, hell no. It's just that their idea of efficiency sometimes, doesn't necessarily jive with what Americans expect. Crap, maybe I'm just turning into an old fart?

Now, in an ideal world...laying laminate hardwood wouldn't be so tough. It's just glueless, clicking and locking. Like assembling a puzzle, right? Ha. My task could have been so much easier had the walls in the room been perfectly square! So, when you go to lay the second, third and fourth rows, the first row will start to bow a bit (and I mean just a tiny bit...but these tiny creases look like gigantic ravines on laminate flooring) and knock other areas of previously, laid flooring - all out of whack. So, my wife had to help me keep those straight and pound on the pieces. The problem with that was...nobody was watching the inmates! My youngest has a very special knack for sitting on the seams that we were trying to pound closed. When she wasn't endangering her fingers and toes, she'd make a bee-line for the crowbar or, hammer. We we got those away from her, she'd find a pencil and scribble on the freshly laid flooring. Between each of our interventions, there was about a minute or, two of tantrum wailing. So, my brain was collapsing in on itself and I finished the first section and called it a night. Last night, I did an equal-sized section in a third of the time, by myself. Go figure? Wait, that's not completely true. My oldest daughter helped me. She was the perfect go-fer. Whenever I requested a section, she'd hand it to me. Hammer? No problem-o! Square, pencil, anything? She was on top of it. Tonight, hopefully, she'll help me complete the project and I can go back to being a lazy bum.

Why I Hate Work Reason #548970

2008-01-10T16:03:00.001-06:00

WARNING!!! ADULT CONTENT BELOW!!!

I've got time to kill so, I'll fill you on on this bullshit.

You know how my boss tasked me for this digital project where I am to get bids so that she can take that before M***** (CFO), right? I was pissed and reluctant to pursue that bullshit because I know that in the end, it is going to cost too much and M**** will reject it, anyhow. But, I do it anyways (despite my hatred at dealing with sales people). So then, this whole mass layoff bullshit happens (and the termination workflows for the locations are piling up - 45 terminations in past 30 days and counting) and we discuss it and my boss is all like, let's hold off on it. Which is fine by me except that I already contacted 15 vendors and they are harassing me every damned day. I have to tell them over and over, "the project is on hold...". But before that, remember I told you all the bullshit about finding out THAT WE WERE ALREADY USING ONE OF THE VENDORS FOR OUR COMPANY! And that sales rep tells me to clear it with our contact (Chief Legal Counsel, D***** ******r)....which I do, and my boss says, "okay...that makes sense, let's go with Iron Mountain." So, I'm like cool, I'll call this guy back up after all of this bullshit blows over. Then, yesterday....while I'm fixing her printer, she tells me to go ahead and get a quote so that we can get it in front of M****. Fucking-A, fine...shit. So, I call up the Iron Mountain rep and all of a sudden, he's got this real negative asshole bullshit attitude going! What the fuck?!? I'm thinking that he may have done some research into our company or something because all of a sudden, he's not even addressing some of the sales he was inititally. He's all like, "it wouldn't be finacially viable for your company...blah blah blah." But I'm like, no, tell me about the other pitch because that is what my boss is interested in (I even confirmed with her that she didn't like the path he was trying to lead us down). He just will not let it go and it gets kinda aggro on the phone and I finally tell him, "Fine. I understand....I'll call you, later." and hang up on him...freggin jerkoff. So, I'm thinking, maybe I need to get as complete a picture of our business requirements so that I can take it before Iron Mountain and they'll know EXACTLY what we need. I proceeded to create a form with 11 simple questions about our needs. The questions are like, "How many boxes of documents do we need archived?", "Do we need to be able to query the data or, do you need to retrieve the actual document?", "How often do we retrieve documents...daily...weekly...monthly?" I mean. real softball questions. Both K** and my boss give me some crap about how they are so busy writing PIN (Personal Improvement Needed) letters (which I required before terminations so, you draw the picture there, eh?) that they don't have time to answer these 11 measley questions. Half of the questions are answered with a number and the rest are 'yes' or. 'no' answers. So simple, a caveman could do it. But....nooooo, they can't be bothered to help me define the problem that they say they have! Jeesh-Louise. Fine. I'll put it on the back-burner, again. Then, this other rep calls up from Iron Mountain. Apparently, the first rep realized he was being a complete asshole and decided to get some help and not lose the sale. Fine. So, I talk to her and she is really cool and explains it and we are having decent dialogue and she pretty much knows what we need. However, she wants to come meet with us. Supberb. I already know that K** and my boss are going to nix that so, I tell her it'll have to be late next week or, the week after that. She says, "cool" and emails me her contact info. Going against my better judgement, I send the form to K** and my boss and ask if we can meet with the rep late next week or, the week after that. My boss emails me back, " as I told you. No We cannot do anything but we are. On hold." What the hell?? Do you want this crap or, not? The reason that she wants it is because she's cutting out some of our department personnel and the automation will ease the load on the remaining staff. Anyways, I cleaned up my desk and took down all my junk. I'm ready to roll should I need to. I am contemplating just asking for severence and we can part ways amicably but, I also realize that I have no future employment lined up! I realize that I am just mad and stressed because I wake up each morning not know if I am going to get terminated that day. I am tempted to just bring it to a head but at the same time, I have people depending on me. I have to stay focused and keep my emotions at bay. I just need to get to the weekend. In the meantime, I think I'm going to need a stiff drink and just keep my pissed off attitude to myself.

Update: Now, my freggin' app is crashing! The cherry on the poopoo sundae.

Doc Hoppin' Pill Shoppin'

2008-01-10T10:25:00.001-06:00

Tuesday, the dermatologist cut out a lipoma tumor which is basically, a bunch of weird fatty. It wasn't life-threatening or, anything like that but because of it's location (between the shoulder blades and on my spine) and my spinal history, he decided to go ahead and remove it. Otherwise, I could have continued on living life with mini-Me glued to my back. It looked like a large cluster of white grapes, smothered in pizza sauce. All together, it was a mass about the size of a racket ball maybe, a small tennis ball. Anyways, he made an inch long vertical incision and spent the better part of an hour pulling it out. I was surprised at how forceful they were with it because for some reason, I thought it would be all loose and might break apart but, this was not the case...and that makes sense because if it were so fragile, it most surely would've broken up and been absorbed into my body, long ago. When he finished removing it, he stitched it up with five stitches and put a two inch bandage over it. Now, I'm not a pansy or, anything but I was a little taken aback that they directed me to take Tylenol ExtraStrength for the pain! They had numbed it up during surgery with local anesthetic and when that wore off, it was a bit tender. A "bit" meaning that it felt like someone nailed me in the middle of the back with an errant golf ball. Now, my beef is simple: Why do I get jipped on the pain meds all of the time??? In the past 375 days, I had five (what I like to call) surgeries: LASIK eye surgery, a vasectomy, 4 cavities filled (read post about my root canal near-miss!) colonoscopy, and lipoma tumor removal. For those procedures, I was prescribed a grand total of 2 Valium and 2 Hydrocodone. Can you guess what was prescribed for which? One Valium went for the LASIK and the other one and two Hydrocodone went for pre-op prep vasectomy. Topical numbing agents were employed for all procedures but, hell....those wear off fast! Since I am a guy and I don't like being a baby about pain, I never asked for pain med prescriptions. But, I shouldn't have to, right? So, what's the problem? Are these such common and minor procedures that most doctors do not prescribe pain medicine for these? Am I unfortunate enough to get very chinch doctors. I have a few tattoos so another theory that I have been working on is that they view me as a pill-shopper! Could it be that they see me as a scumbag punk who is just trying to get his hands on pain meds? I knew when I sleeved up and decided to make my lifestyle choice that I would meet some negative bias. I am Caucasian but feel the effects of discrimination on occasion. Don't get me wrong, it's great being white and I'd never compare myself to the struggles of other races after all, I can always get a shave and a haircut, wear long sleeves and slacks, and maneuver about slanted society all with James Bond-like stealth. It ain't all that hard to live with my decisions but, sometimes they bite you in the butt. I would think that these instances would really be bias because I wouldn't submit myself to these types of procedures just to get a handful of pain relievers. I have submitted myself to. Certainly, there are other less invasive procedures that professional pill shoppers use to minimize the physical ramifications? I just don't know. Maybe I am being too self-conscious. Anyways, I'm not a cry-baby (although, as evidenced by this blog, I whine....often) and I'll never ask for a prescription - just because it feels creepy asking for something that should already be provided. Just maybe....Tylenol ExtraStrength is such a great painkiller that it is universally being prescribed for all sorts of pain relief scenarios? No way, Jose. That crap can barely handle my headaches. Besides, the urologist directed me to take Advil. So, I guess I just need to get used to it, eh? Jack Daniels has been working out just fine (ironically, I cannot take Tylenol (acetaminophen) with alcohol). I don't really see the trend changing anytime soon...and I sure hope I don't need anymore procedures, ha!

Paper Tiger

2008-01-07T16:45:00.001-06:00

It's easy to hoodwink yourself into believing you are in control when it is just yourself. Then, you get married and it becomes painfully obvious to the both of you that you are no where near in control. Then, you have kids and the clock starts ticking. You have to maintain the illusion that you know what you are doing and are the world's leading authority on it. To aid this smokescreen, I have made a decision to tell the truth as often as possible. This has proved to be a good strategy as my kids are relentless in their methods and attempts to catch my wife and myself in an untruth (as if that would be some grat accomplishment). White lies are out because in their eyes...a lie, is a lie. One universal technique they employ is the ask both parents and compare the answers...in an effort to exploit any discrepencies. I have known about this technique since I was a kid but am unsure of how I stumbled upon it. Perhaps, it was Gilligan's Island or, Alf, or, Charles in Charge...whatever. I'm sure my daughter probably learned it from Sponge Bob or, the ilk. Regardless, the best defense (of course) is to be on the same page with your spouse. This is easiest when you both tell the truth. In extreme cases, when the truth is not an option (such as Santa Claus), both parties have to be on the same page. Some form of conversation rehearsal can help.

I mention this because, the more that they catch you in an untruth, the more your stock falls. I am thinking (and of course, this is just conjecture on my part - as I have never had kids before these two) that if I give them the straight dope and they can depend on that...then maybe, when I tell them that driving by brail or, bottle rocket wars are not such a good idea, it might actual hold water. I don't know for sure because that strategy didn't always work out for me, growing up. Then again, compared to my daughters, I was a complete bafoon. Sometimes, I think there is less social Darwinism and more chance in our lives. However, if we can minimize their exposure to the stupid (and potentially, lethal) rap that I was exposed to...then maybe, they'll turn out pretty good. In which case, I can say 401k-schmore-O-1-K.

A Very Nice Sunday Afternoon

2007-12-31T10:53:00.001-06:00

Yesterday, I tried to get my oldest daughter to watch a movie with me. I told her that it was a "kids movie". The only trouble was (and I surely should have seen this coming), it was a FOUR HOUR LONG movie! She survived most of 'Gulliver's Travels'. She maintained focus through the Lilliputian chapters because it involved Lemuel, being a "giant", and that bit of fantasy held her interest. It also, helped that there was a castle and a king & queen involved. She is a sucker for royalty - especially princesses. She may have made it the duration were it not for the flashback/flash forward sequences which made it a little hard for her to follow. The real problem however, seemed to be my OCD - as it relates to most movies and books. For example, if I am reading a book, late at night, my wife practically has to pull my teeth to encourage me to finish it some other time rather than, reading all night long. I display the same commitment to movies and video games (hence, the reason we do not own a video game console). So, 9 times out of 10, my eldest daughter gets bored and goes off to do something else, leaving me the sole viewer of the "kids movie" until it ends. This is the way it was for (first viewing) 'Monsters, Inc.', 'The Incredibles', 'Sky High', and so many others that I cannot recall at the moment. Sadly enough, I know that these movies will be repeated (as is the nature of television) and she'll catch up then. I know this and yet, I still cannot tear myself away from the feature until I have resolution. Anyways...I have issues. No real newsflash there, eh?

Afterwards, the family went to grab some phno. It is a disease that my wife and I share. If we do not eat it once every four months, we start getting very irritable. As you may have gathered from previous postings, I am irritable by nature so, you definitely do not want to be around me at the 3 month, 29 day mark! So, we went to our usual favorite Vietnamese restaurant on South Oltorf and ordered what we always order. For me, it all starts with two fried eggrolls and an ice cold, Dr. Pepper. The rolls were especially fried and flaky....phenomenal. They are usually, 'okay' but yesterday...all I can say is, "damn, these are good!" Then, I fulfill my dining experience with a small bowl of steak phno. I have never ordered a large bowl as their small bowl is much larger than any existing in my kitchen. I have only finished an entire bowlfull, once (in the near hundred times that I have attempted). That is not to say it cannot be done....it is just that you may put a serious hurtin' on yourself if you push yourself too hard. My poor wife had to wait until I guzzled down my serving before she could get to hers because our youngest was behaving at ultimate spazz-cisity. It is generally, not a good idea to hold a toddler in your lap while eating scalding hot soup so, I ate my at a frightening clip so as to give my wife a chance at eating hers while the fresh veggies were still steeping in the broth. I finished mine and we hurriedly, traded off our youngest (think, "tag! You're it!") because I am not as entertaining to a 16 month old...especially one who has been corralled during my indulgence (10-15 minutes of bliss!). So, she was bouncing off the walls and we walked around until my wife had completed hers. It's like trying to put an already sprung jack in the box, back in the box. Add my four year old, rattling off ten thousand questions, and you are re-living a typical meal in our household.

We beat it to Zilker Park afterwards to allow the monkeys to work off some of that stored energy. If you have kids, and find yourself in Austin, you have to take them to the Zilker Park playscape. If I had access to that resource, when I was their age....dang, I just cannot imagine where I'd be at in my life these days, hahaha. Instead of digging a hole in the woods, I could've been crossing a kids playscape bridge over a train or, any of a multitude of kiddie-tasks and activities. Throw in 5 or, 6 dozen other cartwheelin' monkey babies and THAT is the Zilker Park playscape. You can bet dollars to doughnuts, your kid is going to be passed out, asleep come bedtime. I assume it is a similar sleep experienced by post-marathon runners. We had to scrape my oldest off the couch and pour her into her bed, that night. I only wish that every weekend was 70 degrees and blue-skied.

Xmas 2007

2007-12-27T13:25:00.001-06:00

Okay, so my last post was pretty tough on my workplace but heck...can you really blame me? I mean, come on...they dump that crap on me the Friday before Christmas and expect me to go and have myself a merry little Christmas? I was PO'd but, we did manage to have one of our best Christmas's, yet. It was way chill and a whole lot of fun. I was able to focus on what is truly important to me....my family. If that means I gotta do what I gotta do to make sure they are good then, count me in. If it means that I get laid off....I'll cross that bridge, later. It'll suck but, we'll be okay. This past weekend has shown me that my family has an extensive support network. Between my parents, my in-laws, and our great friends we have considerable fortune. When I look at that ...and then, compare that to the average man on the street, I feel ashamed that I was getting so worked up about events that "may or, may not" come to pass. I was just wasting energy on bad mojo. I needed to remind myself that I have the best of the best as far as what is really important: wonderful wife and kids, awesome family, super friends, good health.... people would give their right eye for what we have. I have to make a more concerted effort to balance my logical pessimism with my paranoia.

That being said, my kids had a super Christmas! My oldest had previously, compiled a list to Santa Claus that included cut-pouts of toys and items from some mailers or, catalogs. She did this at school and my wife and I laughed our behonkus's off when we saw it. She had one of those white, wire-framed, lawn reindeer's with the white Xmas lights. She also, asked for some J-Lo hair gel!?!? She is some goofy kid, that's for sure. My mom got her the lawn deer and we set it up and illuminated it next to the Christmas tree. She didn't get nearly the kick out of it as we did but, it was indicative of the relaxed and fun time we had. We all had a big'ol Christmas dinner and wore ourselves out. My New Year's wish for 2008 is to have it rival 2007.

A Corpor-hate Work Enviroment

2007-12-23T12:45:00.000-06:00

I complain about my job, sometimes.....okay, I complain about my job, often! Most of it stems from my anti-conformist slant. If they told me that I wasn't allowed to wear my monkey suit and tie, everyday - I'd probably resent them and try to find a way to dress like a corporate stooge, anyways. Okay, bad example...I'd probably still hate wearing the uniform. I just hate being told what to do all of the time. I'd say that I was naturally born to be self-employed...however, I don't even like telling myself what to do. But, as far as jobs go....and doing what you like to do...with people you like...I really don't have much room to complain. I have had some really crappy jobs before so, I can appreciate my current position. That being said, I still find time to complain about various aspects of my job. The truth of the matter is that I get paid okay to do what I do and it puts a roof of my family's heads and food on the table. The corporation has provided the opportunity for me have these things.

Yet, I find daily issues to whine about. Today is Sunday and I am finally writing this down because had I wrote this post last Friday, I would probably have been a lot more angrier in relating a meeting that I had with my boss. For background, my boss is the VP of Corporate Resources and is one of the nicest, smartest and well-intentioned people that I have ever had the privilege of working for. She will go above and beyond typical protocol to ensure that everyone on our team is treated well and just. She is a good person and no matter what my future is with the company, I cannot fault her for anything negative.

That being said, Friday morning she asked to speak with me one on one in her office. Whenever she does this, it is either good news (think raise or, award) or, bad (think termination). Usually, I am a fairly good judge to the atmosphere and can tell which way the wind is going to blow. Not Friday, 10:15AM Dec. 21st, 2007. On the one hand, I was half expecting a raise but, the normally pessimistic and suspicious instincts were aroused. And sure enough, I could tell from the moment the door shut, this wasn't going to be fun. She started with the usual spiel about how the company wasn't going to do as well in the upcoming year. I hear this every year and it always seems to be okay so, I didn't really stress it too bad. She then, cut to the chase and said that they are having a meeting on Jan. 7th to make it official. According to my boss, every department is going to have to get rid of one full time employee (FTE). She said that she is going to let our two department temps go and that she will have to cut one of us. At this point, I am thinking, "Okay, she just wants to keep me informed about what is about to happen." She sometimes does this to me and a couple of the other managers (even though, I am not a manager). Scary news but, I absorb it. Then, she goes on to tell me that if I want to go for interviews, she would not have any problem giving me time off! She says that she will give me a glowing review if contacted by potential employers! She then said, that should I "choose" to stay, I would have to assume other "non-IT" duties in addition to my regular duties as we will be greatly under-staffed. I told her that I wanted to stay and that the extra responsibilities were not a problem. She then, confided who would most likely be the next target for termination in our department. I felt nauseous.

She wasn't trying to be mean and I could see by the strain on her face that she wasn't happy to be forced into making these cuts. I offered to reduce my salary (temporarily) to keep our full staff. Hell, we have been trying for the past year to get an additional FTE hired on, to no avail - we are so under-staffed. But she said she had proposed that already with her own salary and the HR manager had proposed this as well. She said that this was unacceptable...that the guys upstairs wanted a cut. It seemed to defy logic. The company time and time again has stressed how very important the "people" are to the success of the company - and here they are, going to layoff "the people" two weeks after Christmas!!! Seven days earlier, the founder gave the same speech at the company Christmas party about the people. What about cutting out the Christmas party with open bar? What about killing the company picnic? What about rolling back some of those millions of dollars in executive bonuses and keeping the staff employed?!? I wouldn't miss the picnic. I wouldn't bat an eye if there wasn't a cheesy Christmas party - if it meant we had enough people to do the job. So, it pissed me off. It defied logic until I spoke with my wife about it. She said that the reason that they probably need to cut employees is not just because of their salaries but also, because of employer matching on benefits and other costs that aren't immediately clear to me. Perhaps they need to have less than "X" number of employees to meet some sort of standard and avoid some obligation. I don't know. All I know is that it is stupid. Of all of the adjectives to describe it, "stupid" is the best that I can come up with. The affects on company moral are going to be catastrophic. Not that I am a teary eyed sap with hearts and flowers in my doe eyes - about my company....I had always thought it was a decent company. Now, however, I know that it is just another corporation. Even though I may or, may not be safe this round (and most certainly gone if there is a subsequent round of cuts), I know that the axe could fall for anyone of us - at any time despite the fact that we work hard and do a good job. When it gets down to it, the company is not about the people....its about dollars and cents.

Shaving Slacker

2007-12-18T11:58:00.001-06:00

As usual, today my blog posting will discuss an topic that basically, keeps the world spinning. Yes, I'm talking about the recent growth of hair on my upper lip. Take a deep breath....exhale....allow for yourselves the ability to embrace the seriousness of an issue of such importance that it has to be addressed in this public forum. Then again, how could I possibly lend this more weight than my other 107 postings? Are not plumbing and renegade ants deserving of such a billing? Alright, alright...you've got me. It's a slow day in the blogosphere...an even slower day at work. Of course, there are probably things that I should be doing. Oh, who am I kidding, right? I can do those things later. They always end up getting done. I've never had anyone tell me, "Where are those reports that I asked for, yesterday?!?" The reason is because I hate working. I hate working so much that I pour every ounce of my attention and resources in getting the job done as quickly and efficiently as possible. Think, "pulling a bandage off of a wound." I like to get it over with, fast. The drawback to that is, I do have pockets of time that I have to fill. That brings me to the present pocket.

So, back to my moustache. I have had growth on my chin and jowls for about 19 or, 20 years now. It started out as a goatee that grew to engulf my sideburns. I tried a couple of times to grow a moustache but, the sensation of hair growing on my lip kind of freaked me out a bit. It felt like I had a sweaty lip and it was "itchy". I always ended up shaving it off and retaining the Abe Lincoln. I did however, shave the beard off a couple of times (twice in 20 years). In those two instances, I suffered severe depression brought on by the traumatic facial transformation. I attribute this to the fact that I have an "space alien" chin and the substantial growth of hair cloaks said deformity. During these bouts of depression, It seemed I was more aware than any other time in my life, that we live in a society of mirrors and are generally focused on appearances...even if it isn't the standard of the norm or, popular image. Even as a dirt bag, homeless person impostor, I apparently, hold myself to a standard of scruffiness (is that a word?). While the vast majority of society may view me as "not optimal" in the quest for beauty, I felt that I was too clean looking and felt like I had lost a bit of my identity. Fortunately, as they say, "hair grows back".

You might think that vanity is a symptom of a lack of self assurance. That those who get all stressed about their appearance are trying to hold on to fleeting moment of their life that is guaranteed to disappear with the unavoidable affects of time. To an extent, this is true. The degree to which you cling is the main factor though. It's all subjective and everyone does it. It is just more obvious in some than it is in others. Also, as you may have heard, people seem to like attractive people more than ugly people. Yeah, I know, right?!? Crazy. They get all of the promotions, money, good seats on the bus, etc. So, there is that. So, I guess my quest to look like Grizzly Adams points in the opposite direction as this? Hmmm...I dunno. I could bring the whole punk rock - buck the norm argument. You know, that by sticking out and non-conformity, we are actually calling greater attention to ourselves and therefore, the ego is front and center once again - despite the ideals. Besides, punk rock is the height of fashion, now.

So, why the growth? I hate shaving. Yes, it is really that simple because yes, I really hate shaving. I hate cutting the underside of my nostrils. I hate nicking my jaw. I hate the time it takes to do it. So, before our last vacation, I decided that I was going to stop. That way, when I came back to the corporate zombiwerks, I wouldn't have that awkward 12-day stubble (yes, my growth rate is a little retarded). I decided that I just didn't give a rat's ass anymore and that I was going to ride this pony as far as she'd go. A funny thing happened....once the length grew out, it wasn't itchy or, scratchy any longer. I actually liked it. Then, I shaved it off to see if it was just some weird thing and realized that I missed it. So, I re-grew it out.

This is not to say that there aren't a couple of drawbacks to the new liberation. Occasionally, I'll get a hair stuck in the electric toothbrush and that kind of hurts (like a mofo!). Since I have somewhat curly hair, errant hairs will sometimes protrude in wild directions and I'll resemble "Bill the Cat". Now, that I am older, I have another place to watch for gray hair growth. Forget about drinking a glass of milk. Then again, it isn't so bad when you can suck the beer suds out of it. Also, on the plus side, I have limited the surface area for visible acne.

Windows Glitch Number 2,083,549,9981

2007-12-14T10:21:00.001-06:00

Dearest Mr. Gates,

I am writing you today to discuss a couple of Microsoft Windows operating system issues that I have tried to research and resolve, on my own, without success. I will forgo lamenting the other system inconveniences that are commonly covered in forums and blogs (you know, system freezes, crashes, missing or incompatible drivers, etc.) and cut to the meat of the matter: audio

Ya see, Bill, I work in the cubicle realm. We are all stacked upon each other like ants during the rainy season. The only thing that keeps me sane is my Apple iPod - plugged into my USB port - that allows me the freedom to distance myself from the zombie tonic (endless reports, spreadsheets and email correspondence). If it is a particularly nasty day, Slayer " G.H.U.A." is served. Sometimes space rock or, doom. Occasionally, some Patsy Cline or, Bob Marley...it just depends on where I'm at and where I need to be. Music is the cheese for this rat.

In the course of executing my daily duties, I am often "required" to answer the phone, talk to people or, just keep an eye out for any ghost employees who may stealthily try and slip unannounced, into my cube. Of course, I would be unable to accomplish this if I were tethered and constricted to headphones. Fortunately, I have speakers. My volume is set at a modest but enjoyable level. Loud enough for me to enjoy, quiet enough so as not to offend other employees. Glitch number one occurs when I am listening to a song that needs the volume adjusted. Unfortunately, I have just mouse-clicked to open a very slow to load application. The loading app has not begun to appear yet so my music program still has focus and I am able to grab the volume slider and reduce the volume. However, before I can release the mouse-click to the desired level, the opening app takes focus and the music program is no longer visible. Here is the sweet spot...if you un-click or, re-click or, what have you, it does not affect the focused app AND does not release the volume slider of the notFocused slider bar. If you move the mouse to the upper right-hand corner to close or, minimize the program, the notFocused volume slider bar slides to the right and maxes out the music at full volume! This can be quite a disturbing event and relatively terrifying if it is the first time it happens to you! I believe "Kick out the jams, motherf***er!" was blasting the first time this happened to me. The issue is compounded by the relative silence of the corporate work environment (because of course, nobody is printing, faxing or, talking loudly on the phone at the exact time that this occurs). The only way to deal with this is to immediately, whip the mouse cursor all the way to the left and THEN, start working on minimizing the focused app so that the slider can be accessed. I believe the problem stems from system resource conflict for simultaneous control of the two apps. I am not an OS developer but, I think a code modification for delegation of resources is in order. But what the hell....what do I know, right?

Glitch number two concerns the volume slider that appears when you click the volume icon in the system tray. The slider appears and then for some bizarre reason...occasionally, it (the pop-up volume slider) will follow the mouse cursor and implant itself at some random point on the desktop. If you have a browser open, it will plant itself atop of the browser. From that point, it is impossible to minimize or kill the slider. I have even had as many as three or, four sliders up - covering the browser making distracting and even, impossible to view the subject matter beneath them. The only cure is to lock and unlock.

Anyways, those are my big time issues. Before anyone (unfamiliar with my blog/writing style) starts leaving me scathing rebuke, I must add that I couldn't really care if this ever gets addressed. All MS champions, Apple-bashers, et al., I request you redirect all correspondence to those that give a rat's arse. I'm going to bust out my monthly tech report to some Zeke, muthaphunka!

Hell Fire Ants

2007-12-04T11:21:00.001-06:00

I don't know if I have mentioned this or, not...but we have a fire ant 'problem'. I'm sure that I have because I have been fighting them for so long, I most surely had to have invoked their name at some point. It could have been concealed in one of my many explicative laden rants. What's new, eh? It is almost a way of life in Texas, Oklahoma, and Louisiana. The summer rolls in and you devote a considerable amount of your resources destroying ant mounds. It is one of the big reasons we wear jeans when we mow the lawn. Imagine if the military made a cluster bomb that upon detonation, thousands of Kamikaze clusters clamped into their victims and bit and bit away at their target. Water only causes them to bite harder. You have to squash each and every one of them. Then, days later, white puss-filled spots pot mark your afflicted regions. The latest batch has even managed to leave tiny circular scars on my feet and ankles.

So, yes..I hate them. By "hate" I mean that I want to kill them in the most brutal and agonizing way possible.

So, two or, three weeks back, I had a substantial nest in my front yard. I didn't have any poison so, I opted to fire bomb them. I doused the mound with gasoline and waited a moment to allow the liquid to permeate deep into the nest. Then, I lit a match and set loose a volcanic torch. The flames were at least 3 feet tall. It burned and burned and burned. It burned without hesitation for about five minutes when I made the decision that perhaps that was overkill and I should extinguish the flaming pillar in my front yard before my neighbors call the fire department. I hit the mound with the hose and flooded it. Unfortunately, the overflow spilled into my front yard and was still on fire! I had a river of flames heading into my beautiful lawn so, I killed the hose and manually extinguished the fire with repetitive stomping.

Then, a small cold front blew in. It was rainy and cold and "usually" this means that the ants die. And in fact, the mounds disappeared and I saw no new activity in the yard for a week or, so. This all changed a few nights back when 20 minutes after putting my oldest daughter to bed for the night, she came in complaining about "itching". My wife applied lotion and she went back to bed only to return moments later complaining of itching in another area. We looked at the area and noticed that they looked like bites so, we went to examine her bedding and found a couple of ants in her bed! We cleared out her room and she is sleeping with us as I carry on the battle. Since it was a few of them and there was no trail, I found it difficult to find where they were coming from so, I went outside and made a survey of the foundation. I found two points where they were entering the house. Apparently, the cold wet weather was not to their liking and they wanted to nest inside where it was nice, warm and dry. I hit the foundation with the weed whacker and mowed it close to see if I could find an external mound as the source of the immigration issue. No dice. Tracing back from the entry points, the ants seemed to disperse and disappear when they reached the grass. I sprayed pesticide (formulated especially for fire ants) in the area around the house. I did notice in a decline in activity in the movement from outside the house, into it but, the activity inside the house was still high. Unfortunately, this only served to confirm my concern that they had already established a nest either underneath the foundation or, within the walls. Since, it is dangerous in the sense that not only is it harmful to my family (which is plenty reason enough) but, the ants are attracted to electricity and it would not take long for them to go for the warmth of the wiring and could potentially cause a fire (ironic, eh? I try to kill them with fire and they try to kill me with fire.). So, I had to bait them. After all of my research, the only way to kill an infestation (where you cannot find the mound) is to bait them. Since my daughters room had been abandoned, I mixed up some peanut butter and bait and left it in her cleared out closet. I checked on it a couple of hours later and it was engulfed in ants! The next morning, they had cleaned it like a cow skeleton after swimming in a vat of piranha. I added twice as much peanut butter and bait and they came back. They directions said that they take the bait back to the nest and feed the queen. Once she dies, the rest of them die as well. It said that it could take up to a week. In the meantime, I bought a couple of tubes of caulking and I caulked around all of the base boards. I also, took foam sealant and went around my house and sealed the gap between the foundation and the wooden siding as well as the two entry points. Hopefully, this strategy will cut them off from reinforcements and leave their fate sealed (literally). It is still early and I have won many battles before but, pardon me if I do not celebrate just yet. These ants are a vicious and determined foe and I know they will be back again, someday. Let's just hope it's in a diminished capacity.

2:30AM Showdown

2007-11-20T12:21:00.001-06:00

2:25AM: I hear the patter of tiny feet and lie awake waiting for the anticipated follow-up. A minute later, the first "ping" cry is fired. Silence follows. Another, stronger "ping" is delivered. My wife and I lie awake with futile hope that our 16 month-old daughter will realize we are not getting up like Pavlovian dogs to address her curiosity (or, "play time" as she isn't in the mood for sleep - as is the r est of the household). Angered at our impudence, she lets go of a full on wail.

2:30AM: Since my oldest daughter sleeps in the room situated between our youngest and ourselves, our bluff is called and we are forced to respond. The only question is "who" is going to respond? My wife or, myself. To be completely honest, my wife responds to 98% of these calls. She has better luck at mollifying her quickly and painlessly. I say "painlessly" but, that is meant for our daughter - not for my wife as she usually ends up sleeping next to her in some uncomfortable position. It is not as if I am completely off the hook. Once a baby cries in the peaceful course of slumber, you are awake. Full on, awake...not, "disturbed, a bit". Granted, it is easier to go back to sleep than it is to get out of bed, walk down the hall, and deal with an angry toddler. This evening, I could tell that my wife had enough. She didn't say anything but you can tell. In the darkness, it is the non verbal cues that are most unmistakable. The breathing pattern. The grip on the sheets. the body alignment (facing opposite direction of the wailing child). These are the tell tale signs of a parent engaged in a test of wills. A showdown not only between parent and child but also, parent against parent. To call it "mental chess" would be overstating it. It's more like, "mental chicken". I blinked. I lost.

In our household, we have two very distinct parenting styles - as readers of this blog may already be well acquainted with - "Good cop" and "Bad cop". Actually, "Bad cop" sounds soooo negative...let's just say, "The not as nice, who goes by the book, and doesn't let you off with a warning" cop. That's me. It's not that I am cold and unfeeling...it's just that I am a guy and that's primarily how I was raised. I am a bit biased because, I think it worked out okay and I'm a fairly decent guy. Of course, this is my own opinion. But I digress, I am not a coddler, fuzzy wuzzy feel good, lie down and rub your back kinda dad. I'm working on it but, don't expect overnight conversions from a stubborn old goat.

So, I walked down the hall and met the subject at the baby gate. Dispensing with the usual chit-chat that is customarily reserved for hours hosted by the sun, I pointed my finger to her bed and barked (in the loudest whisper that I could audibalize) to her, "Get in that bed!" She turned about, 180 and stomped back to her bed and flopped half on, half off it. This was her was of pacifying me and keeping her feet on the ground so that she could rapidly, assume gate watch when I disappeared (as she surely thought I would. And of course, I surely would liked to have). I painfully stepped over the gate and walked over to pick her up and re-situate her in the middle of her bed. She threw a brief tantrum and I told her to "knock it off" before retreating back to the other side of the gate.

I feel that it is important to relay a couple of details here:

1) A week and a half ago, we transitioned her from her crib to a twin mattress on the floor. The crib was getting too small and her legs were constantly working their way in between the bars. Heck, imagine how you'd feel if your bed was reduced in size by three quarters and surrounded by bars? Uncomfortable, to say the least.

2) Three days ago, I underwent a medical procedure that ensured that my daughters became sole owners of my immediate DNA and made my genitalia sore and bruised. You can see now, why stepping over and over a baby gate is not high on my task list.

So, back to the situation. For a good part of an hour, we go back in forth in a battle of imposing wills. I duck my head in and out of the door way and she freeze-frames it when she sees me - slowly working her way towards the gate when I am not visible. When she reaches the gate, I am forced to cross and deliver her back unto her bed. At one point, my wife gets up and fills her bottle and hands it to me like a relay runner on her way back to bed. This is the unspoken design of our plan. Although we have different parenting styles, at 3:30 in the morning, she knows that it's my can of worms now. If the kid sees her, progress is lost and we are sunk. My only hope is to win it, now - or, risk setting precedent ("I can just keep hammering at the old man until I get what I want - mommy to come in and sleep with me). I'm in it for the long haul.

I give her the bottle and she promptly, drains it. It did not have the desired affect (a full and drowsy baby) rather, an energized baby emerges. The battle goes poorly at this point. For the better part of the next thirty minutes, I lean, half-asleep, against the door jamb and in plain site of my foe who observes my sentry duty, patiently waiting for me to crack. I start to doubt myself. I am so sleepy I start rationalizing to myself, "...maybe I should just give in and work on it on a weekend night? She's obviously not sleepy." I remind myself that I can't break. It's about more than just this night. I check the thermostat. The temperature is spot on. I mess with the angle of the open door. It controls the amount of light that floods her room from the hall light (which has to stay on so that my other daughter can access the bathroom in the middle of the night).

That's it. I make a startling revelation that went across what I had previously perceived as logical. I had thought that the light was possibly keeping her awake and had inched the door closer and closer to closed. I could not close it all of the way because - you know, I don't want my daughter to be a prisoner in her room (excluding the fact that the baby gate does exactly that). I want her to feel that she can call us if she needs to. If I may, I also need to insert that this being our second child, we are well equipped to understand the differences in whining, crying, hollering, et al. There are differences and you can definitely tell when a baby is being angry and when she is genuinely scared. I remember before our eldest was born, my wife and I read that and looked at each other like, "you have got to be kidding me! That is impossible." - And yet, it is true. In the absence of words, you learn to pick up on the delivery rather than the content. But, back to the door issue. As it turned out, she liked the door more open. And it makes perfect sense - citing the above reason...that she wants to be in contact with us. She didn't necessarily need to see me (although she really really wanted to) but, needed to have a better (and less enclosed option).

Having learned this tad bit of information, I retreated down the hall (all of six feet) to the doorway of our bedroom. You didn't think that this would end so easily, did you? After a couple of minutes of quiet, here she came again. She walked up to the gate and reached her arm up and then, to my amazement/horror(?), she tried to jack her leg up in an effort to climb over the gate! I didn't want to startle her so, I waited until she noticed me before addressing her, "Hey. What do you think you're doing?" She looked and me and realized she was busted and dutifully turned around and headed back to her bed. This time, I did not follow her and let her lie halfway on the bed, again.

She made two more escape attempts. After the last attempt, she crawled all the way back onto her bed. I waited around awhile and then. as quietly and stealthy as humanly possible, I eased myself back into my bed. The alarm clock read 4:45AM (1 hour and 15 minutes until it is set to go off). She awoke at 5:30AM and her mom got her and they watched cartoons. The 5:30 deal is an everyday thing. I have a theory that the cause is the next door neighbor's alarm or something. So, I won that round. We shall have to wait and see what tonight brings.

Ugh.

An End to the Candy Raids

2007-11-15T14:21:00.001-06:00

I had to take a rather large bag of candy, from my home, to my work. My oldest daughter has become a casualty of Halloween candy leftovers. It had become the second sentence out of her mouth each morning ("Good morning! Can I have a piece of candy?") and was usually requested hourly thereafter. I brought it to my work to disperse amongst the various departmental candy dishes. That's when it all made perfect sense. I had managed to make to 38 years of life without understanding (nor, really....not even caring) why various business and stores had complimental candy dishes of various types. Sure, I know that it is polite. I understood that restaraunts had mints by the door so that you could disguise your onion (cough-cough, wink) breath. But why did Joe Schmoe go out of his way to buy the variety pack of candy and then give it away? Is Joe Schmoe really just a nice guy? That's the theory at least, that I had been going with all this time. Be nice to your co-workers and customers and they will remember you for it. Karma with a bribery twist. But now, it was painfully obvious. All of these people must have had children. They brought the candy from home to stop the continual bleating of the candy junkies. It has nothing to do with kindness but rather, with mental stability. They were all slowly going insane. Now, they are office heroes! But, don't shed any tears for the cold turkey tikes...fortunately, the Man upstairs equips most young kids with anti-grudge protection. They can be bought off with Sponge Bob Square Pants episodes here and there and an extra 5 minute reprieve before bedtime.

Random Notes from the Past Week

2007-11-05T12:45:00.001-06:00

I dropped a 5 lb coffee mug on my littlest toe while a rare "washing the dishes" moment. A ceramic coffee mug at five feet worth of velocity, impacting unsuspecting digit, briefly pinned to tile kitchen floor = severe amount of pain. (Un)fortunately, my wife was to the left of me and my oldest daughter to the right...effectively, putting the kybosh on any obscentiy strewn tirade that I would reflexively, let fly. So, I took the opportunity to use my mrtyred self as an example for my daughter:

Me: "Ow! ....did you see what just happened to daddy?"

Daughter: "Yes."

Me: "It hurt, right?"

Daughter: "Uh-huh. (Where is he going with this?)"

Me: "You know why it happened, right?"

Daughter: "Ummm....(What does he want me to say?)"

Me: "...because Daddy wasn't paying attention."

Daughter: (smiling) "Yes"

"Remember how we talked about how important to always pay attention?"

Daughter: "Uh-huh."

"Me: "This is what happened when daddy didn't pay attention....and it hurts. Daddy is going to go sit down for a minute."

Five seconds later, my daughter backs into a bench. Aye Curuma.

Halloween went well. We carved four pumpkins that my oldest daughter designed. Both girls went trick or treatin' as mermaids despite my lobbying for evil robots but hey, what ya gunna do, eh? They got loads of candy and we are steadily working to ween her (and ourselves) off of the sugar addiction. I had intended to give the lawn one last mow of the season. I failed miserably, to summon the energy for such a task. Gave a quick reread of Rudyard Kipling's 'Rikki Tikki Tavi'. It only confirmed my previous opinion (as a child) that it was one creepy and scarey tale. I think it just undid years and years of Ophidiophobia therapy. I guess one possible theme could be that the little guy isn't necessarily the underdog. Rikki was a bad ass (his eyes glowed red when angered) and two King cobras were no match. Horay for the mongoose! Horay! My wife and daughter ran a race this weekend and both had fun and did well. Horay! Great job! I am very proud of the both of them.

Working for The Man - Part One

2007-10-16T10:20:00.001-05:00

I started working when I was about 11 or, 12 years old. I used to set up pins at a bowling alley. It was a private 9-pin bowling club and has been operating in the same capacity as it did years upon years, ago. This is to say, there is nothing mechanical at all - about the way it was/is run. Scores are kept on a chalkboard. Balls are returned by kids lifting them up above shoulder height and placing them upon an elevated track that rolls down between two lanes and uses gravity and momentum to get the ball back to the bowler. It is all wooden and all polished. Each pin setter is responsible for the two pits at the end of the lane. The setter sits, perched atop the ball return and jumps down into the pit to retrieve the ball that has been bowled, clear downed pins from the lane, reset pins if they have all been knocked down and then, jump into the next pit and repeat. Bowling courtesy dictates that two bowlers may not bowl simultaneously. Safety dictates that you allow your "pin-monkey" enough time to get out of the pit before you chunk your ball at him! It was a tough job to do and it was mostly for tips. There are six bowlers on a team and two teams compete against each other. If they all tip a buck each - that was $12 bucks! That was an immense amount of wealth to accumulate for a 12 year old - for a couple of hours worth of work, almost thirty years, ago! Throw in the perks of being able to buy as much soda and candy as you wanted and man, that was big-time! Of course, this is all done on weeknights as private bowling clubs are seldom open on the weekends. The exception being, tournaments. My parents would drop me off about 7PM and pick me up around 10PM. This probably doesn't sound too ethical these days but I can assure you, the decision was mine and my parents were accommodating me as long as I did okay in school. All of my friends were pin setters and I only worked a couple of nights a week. I also, had the option of not working. I was under no obligation as long as I gave a week's notice (when they made out the schedules).

Of course, I hated the "work" aspect of this job as I was a little kid (littler than most) and lifting those balls and jumping from pit to pit wore me out. However, at the end of each night when I counted up all of that moola...my aches disappeared. As I got older, my services were more in demand. I began to feel the olbigation, more and more. The influence that money held over me started to slip in comparison to my other alternatives. Phase I of "working for the man" was completed.

I bitched and moaned to my dad about how much work sucked and how I didn't know how he found the strength to get out of bed each day and do it. He told me that one day, I'd find a job that I really liked and it wouldn't ever be a problem getting up to go to work....that I'd "want" to go. I had just needed to find the right job. In the meantime, I was to work to make a living and someday, I'd come across that dream job. This was the carrot that kept me going for all of my working lifetime. Then, one day - I realized, "Duh...my dad is self-employed! THAT might make a difference in getting up and going to work?!?" I confronted him about this and to my disappointment, he informed me that it isn't necessarily the case that you work for yourself that makes it easier but, WHAT it is that you DO. If you hate waffles and you own a waffle-making plant, you are most likely to hit the snooze button on the alarm - a few thousand times. So, it was back to the drawing board. What did I like to do? The answer was easy - nothing. Since, nothing was no longer an option, I tried something else...hoping to stumble onto the "it" job.

My next (summer) job at 14 & 15 was as a tube wrangler. This job basically consisted of me showing up early in the morning at a semi (rig, whatever you want to call it) trailer that had been permanently parked near the local river, in a fenced in graveled area. My job was to unload all of the inner tubes and stack them so that they could be rented to tourists who used them to float down the river. When all of the tubes were out of the trailer, I inflated, patched, and stacked more tubes. It was very hot and dirty work as summer temperatures in Texas are usually right around (or, above) 100 degrees. To make matters worse, everyone else was having fun swimming and hanging out with their friends. Meanwhile, I was coated in black tube dust and sweat - hating life. To make matters worse, the owner was an a$$hole who for some reason (unknown to myself) didn't seem to like me very much. Perhaps, I am just too sensitive. No matter, he eventually was convicted for trying to burn down his own business - to collect insurance - and went to prison. He wasn't that nice of a guy after all. I guess it is better that he didn't like me, eh? I worked there for a summer and a half - hating life. Phase II of "working for the man" was completed.

I friend convinced me to work in the kitchen of another summer tourist locale. Again, life was miserable. It was way better than "tube wrangling" but the pay was poor, the hours were long, the air was hot and greasy, and the managers treated us like cannon fodder. I barely made it to the end of the summer. Phase III of "working for the man" was completed.

Next, I started working at Jack in the Crack after school. I was fifteen and needed to save up some cash for a car so, I dealt with that for the next year. I do not have enough time, space nor, energy to go through all of the drawbacks of working at a fast food chain. 90% of the population already knows of this torment, anyways. I will say however that I had blue thumbtacks across the duty board by my name. I will never ever, ever-ever, listen to Muzak - again. I had to wear a polyester-denim blend uniform which is impossible to wash grease out of - so, my uniform weighed about 10 pounds heavier than it would've. I worked at a time when the special was 3 hamburgers or, 3 tacos for 99 cents. It sucked but, the paychecks were nice and could be counted upon. Phase IV of "working for the man" was completed.

When school was out for summer, I changed my Jack in the Crack schedule to the 10PM-6AM graveyard shift. I worked for my dad during the day 7AM-Noon on a local construction site. Masonry work on a construction site sucks because there are no trees and therefore, no shade. Everything is cement-dust and is gwad-awful, inferno hot. My tasks were mixing water into cement to keep it from drying out, carrying brick or block from pallets to the bricklayers, scraping dried cement off of places it shouldn't be, hauling wheel barrows of cement or, sand from one place to another...and in general, hating life. Phase V of "working for the man" was completed. Unfortunately, my dad was the man.

My next series of jobs built off of my newly found "kitchen" experience and I started working at a couple of local restaurants as a line cook. It sucked less but, I guess it kept me out of trouble (yeah, right). I could afford a decent vehicle and I got to eat good food. I found the man was still a jerk but, he was much more tolerable as we both seemed to be getting what we wanted out of this dichotomy. Phase VI of "working for the man" was completed. I worked this job until I found a way into the world of silk screen t-shirt printing. I will have to continue THAT history in a separate post as it is too long to go into, here and now. and I should be doing my current job, instead of writing blog posts.

Friday Night Lights

2007-10-15T13:50:00.001-05:00

I took my oldest daughter to her first football game last Friday night. She is only four so, it was basically, an experiment to see if she would really enjoy it or, not. You just never know what will blow her mind or, bore her to tears. I figured that there would be football, lots of people (and other little kids for her to play with, maybe?), bands that play while they "walk", cheerleaders, popcorn and the "bubbley-water" (Sprite) that she rarely gets to drink at home. It had everything going for it but, ya can't just ever tell...until ya get there.

I tried to explain to her what it was going to be like. She does know the differences between football, basketball, soccer, and baseball. I told her that we would all go and sit in the "stands" and watch the two teams play. First I had to explain what "stands" were. I did this by explaining that stands were a bunch of benches that "went up really high". The bench behind you is higher than you so that people can see over you. The bench in front of you is lower than your bench so that you can see over the people sitting in front of you. That way, everyone can see the game.

End of lesson, eh? Not quite.

She seemed really excited about that so, I figured that she hadn't quite grasped something and needed to discuss this a little more in depth to find out what she was getting so euphoric (more than normal) about. After all, I would be doing a disservice to her if she went expecting SpongeBob to be quarterback and this weren't the case, right? So, I set out to not only find out what she was thinking but, to also - lower her expectations just a hair...that way, it will be a lot cooler than she was expecting. Yeah, I know....I'm a pessimist.

She asked if we are all going to have our own little T.V.? I guess, she figured that the only way to watch football was on television. Geesh, I wonder where she got such a crazy idea? I told her, "No, we are going to be there and we will all be watching the game together." That description wasn't going to fly...but, ya gotta at least try once in awhile. You just never know. She asked if it was going to be one big T.V.? Huh? She said, "like when we saw the penguin movie?" Ah-ha. Got it. "No, this isn't like the movie theater. The football players are going to be there. We are going to watch them, playing." Again, I wasn't so convinced that she understood so, I tried a little bit more. The key is not to over-explain it because she has the attention span of seconds - not minutes. I know this because, I have the same attention span issue. I explained to her that when we watch a football game on television...and they show the people watching the game....the people who paint their bodies...and the cheerleaders....THAT is where we are going to be! We are going to be with the people with the paint on them and the cheerleaders. I think she understood after that - although...you can never be 100%. Any further explanation would just take us further away from the present understanding.

So, we went to the game and she saw one of her little friends and they played and played before the game. Then we walked (a most considerable distance) to the stadium and went inside. It was packed. We bought some Sprite and popcorn and climbed to our seats. Her eyes were so wide - I felt as if she were to sneeze...they would fly out over several rows and land upon the field! I don't think she blinked at all during the first quarter. She got to stand up on the aluminum stands and eat popcorn and drink bubbley-water. When the cheerleaders chanted, "Dee-fense, Dee-fense..." and the people in the stands stomped their feet, she looked very anxious and concerned until it was explained to her that this was okay and that she could stomp, too. What kid doesn't like jumping on their seats, huh? Especially when hundreds of other people are doing it, too!

I tried to explain that the blue team was our team and that the other team (who was also wore blue) was who we were trying to beat. She is obsessed as of late with winning. As PC-hippish as we are...I'm not drinking the Kool-Aid on that whole "Everybody wins and they aren't any losers" philosophy. I want her to know the feeling of winning and losing. It hurts to lose and winning feels good. She can be a gracious winner and in loss, motivated to improve. Winning isn't everything but, it is a driving force that enables you to summon strength and resources to succeed. I want her to have pride in being with a team - whether it is in athletics, academics or, society. If you can set a goal and work towards it with victory in mind...then, you are going to attain that goal...someday. Then, you will set another goal. And another. And so on. If you hold the mindset that failure is not a bad thing, what is your motivation to pick yourself off the ground and try again? To try harder? To try another approach? I don't want my daughters to be satisfied that they "attempted" something. I will however, support them either way. I will never disparage their attempts. I also, don't want winning to be an obsession. I guess we will just have to take it as it comes...case by case.

Anyways, I told her when the kicker was going to kick a field go and that impressed her. She watched the cheerleaders and clapped with them. She watched the band. She watched the mascot and then, she was done for the evening. At the end of halftime...what was "under" the stands...became more important than what was on the field. Employing a preemptive strike, we decided to call it a night and listen to the second half on the radio. Overall, it was a successful. evening. It was especially nice to share this new experience with my little girl. Even though I would never had thought that I high school football game could be important to me (not since 7th grade, that is...), when I got the opportunity to see it from the wide eyes of a little kid, well heck....that was pretty danged cool.

Family Camping Trip

2007-10-08T13:41:00.001-05:00

Last Friday night (as has been the case on numerous Fridays, previous...), I watched another episode of 'Survivorman' (or, was it 'Man vs. Wild'?) and decided it was finally time that the family try camping. The previous attempt was last year and my oldest kid went bonkers! I should mention that the location was our backyard....6 feet from the back porch, to be more precise. Confronted with staying outside past dark, the power went straight to her head. It was as if she had washed down 5 giant Pixie Stix with a liter of Mountain Dew. Seeing the handwriting upon the wall (that my kid was not going to go to sleep until sunrise), my wife and daughter packed it in and retired to their bedrooms while I slept outside in the tent - to ensure that the dog would not tear it up (which he did, anyways). This time, we felt that E could handle it and to make sure their was no "chickening out", I booked a campsite online. We selected a site that was approximately 30-40 miles from our house (a relatively quick trip). Fortunately, there are quite a few state parks in the area (and Texas, in general).

I should have had a clue when it took us an hour to pack up the 4Runner. I asked my wife if we were "camping" or, "moving"? She reminded me that her and the kids are not "Survivorman" and that I'd thank her, later. I paused a moment and considered the six pack of New Castle beer that I had stashed at the bottom of the ice chest....true enough, this was not going to be a special ops weekend. Judgement in favor of the defendant.

At the halfway point of the trip, I stopped at a convenience store for supplies - detrimental to our cause: 20lb bag of ice, 3 Hershey's chocolate bars, beef jerky, marshmallows, vanilla wafers (they didn't have graham crackers for the smores), and bottled water. Bottled water?!? Boy, did I feel like a California sissy (no offense to Californian sissies). All we were missing was the A/C unit, right? I tried to persuade my wife that we could get our water from plant roots or ants. She said that her and the kids were drinking ice cold Ozarka and that I could drink ant or, mud water. No problem (she didn't say anything about the beer).

We made it to the site early on in the day and checked in at the rangers office. There were only three lots open! We picked the last one on the road to try and separate ourselves from the other campers. I really hate having neighbors much less neighbors when I leave suburbia for the woods! And yet, there to the left of us was another tent about a half-stone's-throw away. We know this because the vegetation between the camps was cut down to about a height of two feet. This was good for allowing a breeze to roll through (or, so you would think, eh?) but, bad for isolating yourself. Again, 'Survivroman', we ain't.

We unpacked the truck and set up our site and tents. My oldest wanted to bring her pink Disney "Princesses" tent. Who am I to object to that, eh? So, it's pink and got princesses on it....it's camping, right?! I'm stoked that she was excited enough about it to want to bring it. She is only (almost) 4 years old and has displayed twice the enthusiasm for camping as her mom (hahaha).

We checked out the river but it was high and swift so, we were unable to swim - which really rubbed our noses in it because it was 90-something degrees and as humid as it could get without raining....which it did the very next hour! But, we had a plan. My wife (who amazes me at least once, every day) had a shower curtain that travels with us wherever we go (for covering the seats when the dogs in the car or, other activity - as needed). We were able to cover up the fire pit (and awesome mini stick tee pee of kindling) and keep it dry. The princess tent provided cover for the ice chest and other items and we rode out the rain in the tent. It was a little hot and claustrophobic but, the kids handled it well. I think they were pretty excited that we were outside and it was raining - and that the tent was working! Go, figure.

After the rain passed, the temperature dropped by 10 degrees and it was much more bearable. We chillaxed and soon it was dusk. I started up the fire and had it going. My wife started to put down our youngest as it was her bedtime. My oldest and I sharpened sticks to use as skewers for the bratwurst dinner. We cooked them and ate them and it was suddenly, pitch black (other than campfire illumination). E and I made vanilla wafer smores which was no easy task. Consider the engineering required to fit one inch and a half chunk of chocolate and a two inch squared goopy marshmallow between two 3/4" wafer disks....in the dark! It was considerably messy but, extremely tasty!

My youngest was having none of "sleepy time". She promptly, turned into the "Exorcist Baby". She could not be pacified nor, encouraged to sleep. In fact, she continued to get louder and louder as the evening wore on - much to the chagrin of our neighbors. It is incredible that my wife tried as long as she did to try and get the little one to sleep before we finally gave up. We all decided that if we didn't leave, nobody within a couple of miles square would get any sleep that night. Using the camp fire light and a couple of flashlights, we dismantled and packed up camp. I dumped the ice and water on the fire and completely extinguished it. I covered it up with dirt and dumped more water on it. Even in the dark, I had to make sure that there was no way that the fire could re-ignite. Once we were convinced the embers were deceased, we got in the truck and left for home. Before we had even gotten 10 feet from the site, the baby was sound asleep. I think she may have even been snoring...reaffirming that the issue was that she was so very tired and just completely uncomfortable in the new surroundings. Since, there was no way that I was going to take a chance and re-set up camp in the dark, we continued on our merry way home - to hot showers and warm beds with cold air-conditioning blowing us to sleep.

Though this post might appear negative - that we had a miserable time, the opposite was true. We basically, had the camping experience without the uncomfortable sleeping on the ground in a hot-stuffy tent part. We also, learned that our youngest is still too young and our oldest is just right for our next attempt. We learned that camping in early October in Texas is by far, no guarantee that it is going to be cool, ha! We worked out some of the bugs (literally) and our next endeavor should be a success.

Curse You, Sponge Bob!

2007-10-04T13:03:00.001-05:00

This is my 100th post! Wow! I am really full of it, eh?

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Sponge Bob Square Pants is a cartoon that my daughter likes to watch. Truth be told, I'm not totally against watching it myself - and have (with my daughter) on a few occasions. This is one of the few shows that I can sit through. That and "Foster's House of Imaginary Friends". Despite my toleration for Bob, sometimes he puts me in a bind. Such was the case after a recent episode:

Sponge Bob and Patrick (a half-lobotomized sea star) decide to borrow (without asking) a balloon from a balloon vendor. They make off to have some fun with the balloon without hearing that it is "Free Balloon Day". Not long after, the balloon bursts and the two have no way of returning it. Scared of the consequences, the pair run away from home to start life anew - on the lam. Of course, they soon turn on each other, make up, and turn themselves in to the police who lock them up for 30 seconds and free them - mocking them with the "Free Balloon Day" revelation.

The problem with this episode is illustrated below with the subsequent conversation that my daughter and I held, concerning this episode:

E: "Are Sponge Bob and Patrick bad guys?"
Me: "No, Sponge Bob and Patrick are really good - they just made a mistake."
E: "But they stole the balloon. Bad men steal. They have to go to jail."
Me: "Yes, but it was free balloon day so, they didn't really steal it."

worried that this might send the wrong message (..that sometimes, stealing is okay...), I tried to clear it up a bit:

Me: "Sometimes good people can make a mistake and not be bad people. It is just a mistake."
E: "But we are good...we don't steal."
Me: "Yes, that's right. We don't steal. We would go to jail. But Sponge Bob and Patrick didn't steal because the balloons were free...they were giving them away...but they shouldn't have taken them because they didn't know they were free."
E: "...and they went to jail and got out."

Worried that this was still sending the wrong message (that you would only spend 30 seconds in jail and that the fish guards would laugh at you), I tried to elaborate further (to my four year old):

Me: "If Patrick and Sponge Bob had stolen the balloon the day BEFORE or, the day AFTER free balloon day, they would have had to stay in jail for a long time!"
E: "We don't steal, do we?"
Me: "Yeah, we don't steal...."

This was close enough to the point. We have time yet, to iron out the details.

Chicken Noodle Allergy Med Soup

2007-09-27T16:23:00.001-05:00

It was bound to happen (again)...I got dissed by a one year old for Elmo. My youngest was watching Sesame Street and that red-scraggly-haired, helium-voiced Muppet was on - droning on and on to his goldfish. Apparently, there must be some kind of subliminal activity going on that only kids can see. Anyways, I was about to walk out the door and my wife told H to, "tell Daddy 'Bye!'". So, she did. Except, she didn't bother to turn and look at me. She was riveted to that moron. Ah, such is my lame case of "puppet-jealousy". I wish I could say this was the first time...but, I can't really stay mad at TV.

My girls have been really sick with a virus this past week. My wife stayed home from her class Monday and I worked from home (I have no idea why I can't do that all of the time - everything always gets done). My mom came over and was cooking home made chicken noodle soup for the girls. I reached into a cabinet to grab some medicine and knocked over my wife's allergy pills. They bounced off the counter and went everywhere. One or more landed in the chicken. I couldn't grab it because it was boiling hot. So, my mom started over for the girls. I kept cooking the first batch...I mean, sure....the kiddos can't eat it....but, ya know...why waste it, eh? I mean...it's just allergy medicine, not rat poison or, anything, right? So, I finished cooking it up. My wife is a vegetarian so, I got to eat the whole pot by myself, ha!! I added some Louisiana hot sauce and pepper and ate the whole batch in two sittings! It was the only thing that I ate that day.

Other than my skin feeling all tingly and my vision strangely more acute, it was awesome. Also, I did have some very odd dreams but, I'm not so sure that I can directly link those to the Chicken-noodle-allergy-med soup. Anyways, that's like in the casa.

Life on the Ant Farm

2007-09-17T15:06:00.001-05:00

This morning,the family moved with clockwork precision to ensure that we all reached our destinations. The morning rituals went smoothly and everyone got to where they needed to be, on time. This was notable (to me) because it was a rare time when we were all getting ready, individually. Usually, it is just me - getting ready - and my wife is up to help me out and get her day started, and the kids wake up...one by one, from there. This time, H and I were up and at 'em at 5:45AM. Showered, clothes ironed and breakfast and lunches prepared. As usual, my wife incredibly - summons the energy to get the things done - that need to get done...while I bang my head repeatedly against the shower wall in an attempt to energize my zombi-esque state. The dog is fed, the A/C turned up (to conserve energy), and the garbage is taken out. I went directly to work. H gave a friend from school a ride from dealership (where her car was being serviced) and dropped of Haze at my mom's house and E at school. She then, carried on to class.

On the one hand, it was cool to have such alert company early in the morning. Everybody was hustling along and it seemed like we all fed off that energy. On the other hand, it was just a little bit sad because it was a sign of how things are soon to be, permanently. My girls are growing up and they will be getting up and going to school every week day. They will be (are) leaving the security of our protective compound and are being entrusted to the supervision of others. It would be a lie to state that I hadn't envisioned this scenario, before. I had always thought it would be great that, if everyone else was awake when I was awake, we could have conversation in the morning before going our separate ways for the day - only to meet up later and debrief each other. Somehow, in my head, I had felt that it would be the typical American family - like on TV - like how it was when I was a kid. I didn't really need it but, I guess it was some kind of subconscious validation that I was anticipating..that my little family was "legit". I know, I know, I know....that probably sounds super-mo-tarded (no offense meant towards morons or, the legit retarded) but, in the back of my mind, I am always holding up my dynamic to that of others. That does not mean that I am insecure...it is not that I am looking for a template...it's rather, I am curious to see how we stack up with the norm. Being mildly unconventional, my wife and I are not exactly Ward and June Cleaver. That much - is by choice and by design. Still, I constantly observe and make note of - all families and make mental notes on their structure and qualities. I try to retain characteristics that I find admirable and avoid traits that we deem, undesirable. This growing mental list is created from readings, TV (yes, beautiful and wondrous television, how I love ye!) and social interactions (friends, co-workers, people at the park or, restaurants, movies, etc.). The ultimate goal: being the best that I can be for my family. After all, my kids are going to internalize my characteristics - both good and bad. It is probably best to minimize their exposure to my bad traits and inundate them with a boatload of the positive!

But, I digress. The point of it all was that my family was moving along with this event that corresponded to my "family checklist". What I had previously, "thought" would make me feel proud and happy has just kind of made me a little bit sad. I know that this is just a momentary thing and that with time and repetition, I'll get used to it and we'll all move on to the next level. Hazie has yet to start school anyways and spends the day with my mom. And maybe, it's just a tiny bit of my ego being infringed upon? I am no longer the sole force out in the real world - dealing with the man so that my wife and kids can enjoy the park, museum, ballet, and other cool day-trips. Soon, it'll be the school taking my daughters to do those things. They'll be doing it with their new friends and that influence will impact our parental influence. If you know how hard it is to get kids to do what you want them to, you can appreciate that any additional outside factors - working against you, are not appreciated, ha!

So, yeah...I guess I am not as happy as I thought that I'd be when we passed this milestone. However, I need to remind myself of why I thought that I was going to embrace it, in the first place: ...because we are successfully raising competent little people who can function and thrive (and hopefully, excel!) in society. I am happy because my little girls are smart and fun and I think that people are happier when they are around (sure, I'm biased (but, only a little bit, ha!)). I am happy because no matter how fortunate I have been to make it to this place in life, my girls have ten times the opportunity to have and do more. I know that there is a very direct correlation between me being a very good parent and my child having a better life. And, if I am doing my job right....then, I am going to have many more tiny moments of sadness but, they will be offset with mountains of happiness.

Doom & Gloom - Debbie Downer Strikes Again

2007-09-13T11:33:00.001-05:00

Scientists like to think themselves above the political fray. Politicians, on occasion, liken themselves to scientists. They pass laws and whip up or kill funding for projects concerning energy, stem cells, technology....whatever they can try and control, they seek to exert their grip. Media types don't come out and say it but, basically – they are the real politicians. They sculpt and mold popular opinion with the stories they report, the perspective they choose to champion, and back it all up with polls that are flimsy and seldom indicative of true public perception. All under the guise of "delivering the coverage that people want to see". Corporations pay for the commercials. Commercial payola is the bread and butter of the media. The people buy the products that build and strengthen the corporations. So, I guess it is really, the "people" that shape science.

It is all a crap ball stuck to the toilet paper on the bottom of a duck's foot. The duck may not notice it right away but, the smell lets him know something foul is nearby. Apparently, it rolls "uphill", as well.

Life starts out with terror. Your parents console you…build you up…make you confident (if you are a part of the minority that had good parents, that is). They set you up to face the world – arming you with the false belief that you can make a difference and change things. Almost immediately, you start to run into the hypocrisy. The punk rock scene sees it first. Sadly, this is ancient dogma passed along to snot-nosed white suburbanite teenagers who gobble it up as fashion and "rebellion". They talk the talk but when challenged, they can only muster shallow surface arguments….mostly lame, generic rhetoric espoused from a record, recording or poster art. None of them know the why beyond the why. They either think that politicians and corporate greed are running the show or, something bigger and more sinister is to blame for the current, wretched state of the world. It is always easier to point the finger at someone else.

Speaking of finger pointing, the 1% that controls (what? 75%) most of the world's wealth aren't pointing the finger at themselves, either. The government "of the people, by the people, for the people" determines the rules of the game. Cheaper to pay a monthly fine than to fix that toxic waste problem? Whose fault is that? Doesn't matter that the people making the rules were purchased by the corporate fat cats. How did those fat cats get so fat? Was it YOU white suburbanite punk who paid the $25.00 for that candy apple red hair coloring and your all black Gortex jacket that you promptly safety pinned a $35 Clash t-shirt to? The circle of regurgitation spins and spins and spins.

The "good" kids study hard and go on to go to college. They get good grades. They "fit" in with the system. They graduate and become doctors, lawyers, bankers, independent business people. They get married, they have kids and carve out a life. They bitch about taxes. They bitch about the commute to work. They think they work too hard, too many hours, and get paid too little for their efforts. They worry about the future of their kids' lives. They vote. They listen to the news. They watch the politicians. One day, they die in a nursing home and nothing of significance has changed. Their kids pick up and carry on until a similar fate befalls them. And so it is with their kids and their kids' kids.

It could be worse. You could be living in a third world country. Boy, do they sure have problems! Didn't we fix those? I thought that when grandpas mom was telling him to eat everything on his plate because of the starving kids in Africa - that would've surely gotten them on their feet by now! A half a century of unwasted American food had to fatten up those starving kids? No? Don't they have McDonalds, too...now? And Starbucks? Oh, yes....oppressive regiems who brutalize the populace. That's their problem. Why don't they just fix it like how we fixed ours? Oh, you mean OUR government is secretly supporting the oppressive regieme so that our corporate sponsers fatten their wallets. What's that? Oh, yeah...yeah...I remember. WE support the corporations. We work for them. They "give" us our paid time off for vacation.

How do we control our government? How do we prevent this manipulation of global economics? My first thought is to cut off their oxygen. Money. If you do not buy "stuff" and you do not pay taxes, the government will kill you. If everyone doesn't buy "stuff" and doesn't pay taxes, the government will change. Simple, right? Well, supposing that were possible. Then, what? China steps in. Russia steps in. Mexico steps in. Someone will always step in and assume that role. Now, the Ethiopians are driving Lexus's with GPS and DVD players and warlords determine whether you will get a drink of water, today - or, not.

It's cynical. It's a perspective. Some could label it defeatist and negative. I choose to see it as a situation beyond our control. The solution, therefore - must be to use your present resources to make the immediate more enjoyable. Since, evil behavior begets evil response, it is best to pursue a path of enlightenment via, positive deeds and actions. Karma is not necessarily owned by the universe but rather, an intimate set of principals that provide your conscience with atonement and peace. It is easy to unburden your guilt if you have none.

Will Work 4 Vacation

2007-08-17T15:48:00.001-05:00

Lately, I have found myself spending an unusually large amount of time watching the Travel Channel. Samantha Whatsherface, Anthony Bourdain and Strange Foods with Whatshisface Zimmerman. I am pretty sure that my dream job entails sitting on a beach somewhere and drinking beer or margaritas and eating exquisite meals. Yes, I'm about 99.999% sure that's the job I want. I wouldn't even mind writing a few lines here and there...you know...telling people about what a fantastic place this is. Or, how incredible the food tastes. Yeah, I think I could summon up that kind of sacrifice. How does one go about getting such an awesome position bestowed upon them? I don't remember seeing any of these degree plans in my college catalog. I'm inclined to think that this is one of those catch 22 dealy-mabobbers. You know, have to be experienced to work for the company and the only way to get experience is to spend a whole lot of time and money travelling until you get picked up. Of course, as with rock stardom and NBA careers, there are no guarantees. So, the quandary: how do you travel without butt-loads of moola and how do you get butt-loads of moola if you don't have the job? Better yet...you have a job to bankroll your pre-career jaunts but, because of said job...you don't have 48 weeks of vacation time to travel the globe. I saw an interview a few weeks ago about a famous actress who said that before she become famous (or, even had her first acting gig), she worked on the boardwalk as a caller. During her breaks she would sit on a bench and fantasize about some movie director walking by and "noticing/discovering" her as the hidden talent she was. Of course, this didn't materialize quite that way. She had to open her own doors. I think this a similar mindset for travel reviewer. If anyone has any insight on this...please, let me know! Did I fail to mention that two young children, my wife and a dog would also need to travel with me? Yeah, I'm rushing right out to get those passports and inoculations in order (sigh). In the old days, you'd just join the merchant marines. These days, if you want to see the world...you definitely don't want to join the navy, ha! The only foreign place you'll see is Iraq! Not that the Middle East is all that bad of a place....it's just that it isn't exactly sandy beaches - crystal blue waters - lobster and beer. There aren't too many tours for the Yucatan....unless you are a Sandinista or, a similarly employed trooper. Still, those guys don't get to sun themselves with their toes in the sand either (while they are alive, that is...). While I am awaiting my "big break"...I will keep up the training regiment with plenty of Sol, Dos Equis, Red Strip, et al., some grilled shrimp and citrus. Someday, maybe I'll get called up to the big leagues, eh?

My Buddy, TV

2007-08-16T15:44:00.001-05:00

I was going through the list of recommended movies in NetFlix's suggestions based upon my ratings of previously viewed films. I would venture a guess of 75% + as the percentage of the films I have already seen from the proposed selections. This serves only to confirm what I have secretly known all along...that I have seen a butt-load of movies! Most of my friends can testify that I watch a lot of television. I watch about 60-40 good versus bad - with the higher number representing the good (opinion). It is all too common to flatly point cold fingers and project the blanket condemnation of a wasted life when it is spent in audience of the "boob-tube". Most of us potatoes would seldom bother to rebut. A lot of us think it's true. That doesn't really change the habit but, the worm is in the ear. Now, I consider myself a fairly intelligent person yet, I find myself succumbing to this unwarranted propaganda machine: "The TV is not your friend!" The argument goes that if I spent the time that I have wasted as a spectator and actually did something else, I'd be more fulfilled as a human being and an even smarter one at that. So, I will shine this light of analysis upon myself without prejudice. Would I be smarter? Would I be more fulfilled? I could make the argument that it is the content of the viewing that affects whether or not mental growth with take place. However, this is flawed and I'll tell you why. Presently, it is true that an episode of 'Nova' may be more stimulating than a re-run of 'Three's Company' (I say 'presently' as it pertains to 'my current state of mind'). But, if we could measure this growth in relation to current cognitive skills and a true measurement of the level or, range of knowledge...then we would have a point from which to measure accurate comparisons. Who is to say that watching an hour program on "string theory" is going to be more enlightening to me now, than the comedic hi-jinx of Jack Tripper? Hell, I learned that Mr. Furly was a bigot. True, I was 8 at the time. For a little kid, from a small town, this was education to me because Mr. Furly was a funny dude and supposedly, a nice guy. It highlighted that human nature is multifaceted. The good guy doesn't always wear white. True enough, the morals were often delivered with a sledge hammer but, it was still an effective tool - to a youngster. The world holds many such contradictions and revelations - and just because it is presented in a light and humorous format, doesn't make the snapshot any less applicable or even, real to some. Just because it is fiction doesn't mean that it couldn't be factual - to someone, in some situation, somewhere. Even in fantasy or sci-fi like, Star Trek...there is truth and there is potential. Communicators are now mobile phones. Wirelessly, we speak with people around the world. Concepts that were believed to be "crazy, dreaming brain-mush" are now, reality. Were not these ideas seeded by TV? Now days, the global communities' borders are becoming less and less physical as communication and ideas flow freely in less time than it takes to think of what to even say! A blink of an eye - more like, a thousandth of a blink of an eye! This is just one example of technology driven by individuals who developed for public demand...step by step...over time. The need was perceived and a solution delivered. Vision is sometimes created out of thin air but most times, it is inspired by the seeds that impregnated the right mind...the mind that chose to act upon the vision. Television, is sometimes, the medium used to deliver those seeds to receptive minds. It used to be books. It used to be newspapers. Reality, fantasy, the good and the bad...it's all right there. You can decide what you want to watch. You can decide not to watch. Mental growth need not be stunted for succumbing to entertainment. I bring this up because last week, one of the news headlines (ironic, eh?) was that a study showed that children who watch the "Baby Einstein" videos (or, should I say...DVD's?) were overstimulated and were in fact, learning less than children who did not watch the videos. On the surface, this looks like (at least, to parents) it is better to forgo letting your kids watch these...that, they will be smarter w/o. The deeper issue was that social interaction was a better form of teaching. Well....duh. In the black & white assessment of this article, sure...it is better to talk to your kids than to have them learn from the TV. However, the reality is that you can do both! You can interact with your kids and they can ALSO watch TV. Crazy. The funny thing is....after years of watching TV, I know that this article was flawed...that I did not blindly accept a one-dimensional news piece that made assessments based up generalization. I would not be able to see through this agenda had I not learned to question the absoluteness of television - to see through biases. Life has taught me that there are many sides to a story. Television may have had a hand in there, as well!

Otto-man

2007-08-10T16:27:00.001-05:00

I was quizzing my daughter over there various characters of the Simpsons, yesterday. When I asked her which one drove the bus...she said, "the one with the iPod?" Man, talk about branding! Speaking of branding...my daughter drew a stick-lady on my leg so, I traced it with a tattoo gun.

Learn To Burn

2007-08-08T14:37:00.001-05:00

What is the deal with grilling that makes it taste sooo damned awesome?!? ANYTHING that you grill is better. Sheep eyes - hands down, better. Monkey brains - not even close. Eel testes - out of the ballpark (no pun intended). Why is this so? I think that it is because of A) the smoke adds flavor. B) you are adding new direction in the application of heat. C) All of the crap drips away and is not choking or, drowning the meat. Do cannibals know this? Every Tarzan movie that I've ever seen had the white man in a giant black pot. I cannot think of anything more disgusting than boiled meats. A huge pig on a poke rotating over an open fire - awesome. Even dried and salted meats are better than boiled or fried.

Case in point...the HOT DOG WIENER is one of the most vile foodstuff items that I can think of. Straight up lips and a*holes with some ground up hoof in there for flavor. Boil it and the food dye coloring starts to blanch and that pink pseudo tube begins to gray and become a slimy, hot, gelatinous meal (I use that term most loosely). For this reason, the bun was invented to absorb the slime. Additionally, liberal condiment usage is encouraged. Throw on some strong onions, spicy mustard and sauer kraut and if you are lucky, you can barely taste the hot dog.

Now, take that same $1.19 pack of hot dog wieners and throw them on the BBQ. Cook them and rotate them until they darken and start to split. All of the impurities start to bleed away into the flames. Of course, it is still a tube of lips and a*holes but it no longer tastes like it. It has become something edible. Dare I say it? They even taste good. That my friend, is the amazing power fire. The cavemen knew it. They'd stab anything and everything with a sharpened stick and dangle it over the fire. They may have only had three teeth in their entire mouth and wore louse infested banana hammocks but, they recognized a grilled brontosaurus burger was the way God/Allah/Buda intended it. (well...maybe, not Buda).

More Ramblings About Driving

2007-08-07T13:40:00.001-05:00

Driving home from work, yesterday - I had another eerie vision or sensation that I was about to be involved in a traffic accident. It did not come to pass but, the feeling was so vivid and intense that it kinda shook me up for awhile. I was about to pull over onto the shoulder but thought better of it. I just continued to drive very carefully and remained vigilant. I don't know if this is a third eye glimpse of my future or, merely some subconscious memories surfacing after years of suppression. Either way, it was unnerving. I had about a 5 second flash of myself lying on the asphalt with the clear taste and feel of the rocks embedded into the tar pressed against my front teeth and upper right lip/cheek. Although the ground was extremely hot under the Texas sun, my body lying against it felt cool. I have felt this before - whether because of bicycle accidents, skateboard accidents, motorcycle accidents, car accidents or, walking-and-chewing-gum accidents...I have found myself sprawled upon the road without warning in the hottest days of summer. This is not a new sensation to anyone who grew up in South/Central Texas and spent their summer vacation haulin'ass around the neighborhood on skateboards or bicycles. One tiny hidden rock, one collection of loose gravel or, a curb that was higher than expected - usually ended up with myself splayed out across several feet of intensely hot road with the skin on my palms peeled back and tiny rocks burrowed under my kneecaps and elbow skin. There was usually some blood and sweat and I think that these (along with a quick shot of adrenaline) factors provided for that moment of mental confusion where the ground actually feels comfortably cool. Then, the wave of pain and swelling rushed back across your body and you knew that it was going to hurt even worse, later. But, there was an additional detail in the feeling that I got. It was the sensation of torn metal stuck into my arms and face. It didn't hurt but I was definitely aware of it. It restricted my movement. This is what I felt in 5 seconds as I drove down the road. It scared me to the point where my mind had to quickly talk myself down with the logic of the scenario. The logic prevailed and I didn't wreck. I don't know if I ever will again, in my life. I don't know that it won't happen. All I know is that it could happen. It could happen to me. It could happen to someone else. Correction, it WILL happen to someone else. It happens everyday. I don't know if I am more aware of this because of the (multiple wrecks) that I have been cursed by or, because I have grown older and start to see the reality that we are all just physically - bones with muscles and skin strung across them - padded with water and permeated with a web of nerves. Maybe it's that I now see and understand that the best built vehicle is merely some steel frame base and an aluminum shell (that can bend, twist and tear with little force exerted upon it) that balances delicately upon four rubber tires - of which there are only four - foot squares of contact points that actually, touch the road. Combine that with the velocity of the vehicle travelling 60+ mph hour....dropping to 0 mph in less than a second...and I can see the muscle and skin can do little to stop the momentum of broken bones as they try to exit the body. Man, I know this is some grim imagery but, it keeps me grounded. It keeps my mortality in close perspective. It keeps me honest in my driving. It makes me look over my shoulder. It makes me think before I act.

4 Year Old Law Student

2007-08-06T16:56:00.001-05:00

"Houston, we may have a problem..." My incredibly intelligent and well-behaved angel is facing some growing pangs. Specifically, she is dealing with the jealousy of her little sister. We knew that this was coming some day but thought that if we were proactive and heavily incorporated her in teaching my little one - that she'd feel empowered and like she is contributing to the family. We make sure (especially her mom) to shower her with equal affection and attention. My wife spends the bulk of her time, when the youngest takes her naps, in some quality one on one time. My wife has done a tremendous job providing entertainment, crafts, activities and plenty of love and affection to our daughters. That's everything that you are supposed to do, right? Well, it is working and then again, it is not working. It is working in the sense that our oldest is teaching her and loving her and being a major part of her daily routine. She is displaying no malicious intent and is still excited to play with her. However, all of this time and energy that has been spent with her is giving her a taste of the good life and she wants more of it! It seems to have bolstered her neediness (which we anticipated) as she tries to carve out a larger section of "mommie-attention". Being an older sibling myself, I can understand her, completely. As selfless as she is, she is concerned that she is losing ground to this emerging attention-garner. She is not used to sharing the limelight. But, like I said before, she is still handling this new development with a lot of restraint and understanding. She still has the occasional meltdown and she has always been quite the drama queen. Combine this with her predisposition of overt sensitivity and a tantrum lurks on the horizon. We try to head this off when we see it coming by employing sublime powers of the Jedi. A slight diversion here, a nudge there...and she is off to someplace else. Other times, there is no amount of persuasion or deterrence that will prevent the unpreventable. We are working to reinforce that these actions will not affect Mom or Dad's decisions or actions. But, it is kind of like that Gary Larson "Far Side" comic with the guy talking to his dog and the thought bubble of the dog shows, "...blah...blah...blah...Ginger....blah...blah..blah...Ginger...blah...blah...". It just seems like the words are going in one ear and out of the other. Well, actually..it seems like it isn't even going in the one ear. It's as if she is wearing invisible ear muffs. I can tell because you can read it in her eyes. It isn't as if she is intentionally ignoring us, it's more like she is really focusing and thinking about one specific instance of the problem and that she doesn't want to lose track of her thoughts as she debugs the problem. We have to make eye contact to ensure that she is listening to us because being egotistical as we are, it is more important to listen to us and digest what we are telling her. She can do her problem solving after we add in our two cents worth, ha! Anyways, this mindset combined with her "civil disobedience" is making for an incredible mental chess game. You have to play defense with as much emphasis as your defense. If you are too aggressive, you can undermine any gains with negative return energy and actions. If you over empower her (yeah, like that is possible?) then, you can be forced to rationalize and defend issues that shouldn't have to be defended to a three and a half year old! The key is to be bold and back it up with logical explanation so that she completely understands what is going on with the situation. That works about 60% of the time...and that is pretty darned good considering that she learns from every scenario. We have to remember that she isn't being tested....WE are the ones who are constantly being tested...examined and or defenses probed. If we (her mom and I) are not in unison, she we see that and will use it to her advantage, ha!

What Happened to My Weekend?

2007-08-03T17:14:00.001-05:00

When all is said and told, this weekend my youngest turns one year old! My whole perception of time is getting all twisted, contorted and distorted in the sublime. I blink and think - one daughter has been breathing her share of Earth air for near a year - the other, duaghter of her mother, for almost four has the brain juice of six in store. How can this be? How could I not see? How could this come to pass with such speed so fast? - in my world where M-F an eternity it lasts? They must be doing their growing while I'm mowing on weekends because, Saturday and Sunday only last until Monday - a combined 12 hours or so is not time enough, I know. If we didn't have fancy calendars and notches, marking time blocks and with digital clocks - and you ask me how old my daughters be? I'd reply most likely and quite incorrectly, "One is 45-50 moons and that is much too soon. The other is closer to - about 500 moons." I am completely screwed up when it comes to this stuff. Time perception, calculation, and justification regarding my offspring is purely, speculation. It was not that I was blinking and suspended my thinking and suddenly and strikingly, they became miniature humans...oh, contraire...it is not fair, there were 498 of those 500 spent at night up late, trying for an hour or so, trying to get baby bird to go - back to her nest and try and rest - and not wake her sister-mother-dog-or-neighbor. "Stop kicking the wall and go to sleep!" I'd call. Aye chihuahua...she didn't wanna. Oh, these kids they punch and kick my ribs, when sleep eludes us - they stir such a ruckus, a thousand moons feels like 500, sometimes. Other times, it seems like 5,000. But, I wouldn't trade a single one - not a single sun - for 20,000 of my own. Raising a troop of spazzoid monkies or android pixies has given me a greater insight into my own contrite monkey spazzoidness. Pinnoccio is habitually hacking my personality - and if she wants it, I couldn't be prouder to give it. Just how delighted this frightened planet will be to learn that more of us will take their turn, and the world becomes a better place!

Flyin' With A Turkey

2007-08-01T15:04:00.001-05:00

Am I real person? I think I must just be a mirror or something because as of late, it seems that people who ask me questions are just talking to themselves while looking at me. I should add that this is mostly an "at work" phenomenon. User "X" will come up to me and whine that, "...the system says that a record is currently locked by another user... is there a problem with the system?" To which I reply, "No. The record is locked by another user." Apparently, unimpressed nor satisfied with this rather uncomplicated response to their life or death dilemma, user "X" walks off grumbling, ...no...no...I don't think so, all of the records are locked.." completely uninterested in my further elaboration that, "yes, somewhere on the system right now, someone has this (and other) record pulled up. I know this because a record was locked for me 10 minutes ago but is now unlocked." But, this message sails out into oblivion...completely ignored by the uncaring boob. 10 minutes of "talking to herself" (at a volume where I can hear it over my music, two cubes down...and the hen house consensus is to "reboot" the PC. Brilliant. When in doubt, reboot it out. Yet, who am I to stand in the way of Edison? So, I bite my tongue and do not add that this is most likely an ID-10t error...as it would entail me engaging in further one-sided conversation. A couple of reboots later, "viola! The record is unlocked!" Wow. Incredible. The first reboot didn't fix this issue, but the second one did? Could it possibly be that the time it took you to flab your gums and annoy the whole office plus, the time it took to completely reboot your system twice....could it be that the original person who was editing this record may have finished in this time frame? No, no, noooo.....that just isn't possible because then, you might have to admit that you could have been doing something else (like work) while you were waiting for the record to unlock - and that kind of logic just won't work at all. I guess next time, I'll just save myself the time and when asked about an issue respond, "What do YOU want the resolution to be? Then that's what it is." I know that I must be coming across as an a$$hole geek but, dang-it, I hate putting on a freggin' corporate monkey suit everyday just to come to work and get second-guessed by someone that has to be reminded not to stick her finger in her nose while she is walking - lest she trip and finger-up her brain (which might actually improve her IQ (see also, episode of The Simpsons where Homer had the crayon removed from his brain)). I mean, geesh...why do I need to be here at all if my advice isn't good enough for her? I guess I could spend my time on more important issues. I guess I could re-sort my NetFlix queue, again....catch up on what's going down with Britney or Paris...create a playlist in iTunes for each day of the week - based upon workload and mood...or post a blog bitching about an unbearable moron of a co-worker that is sucking the will to live out of me. Hmmmm...

Yards of Darkness

2007-07-30T15:06:00.001-05:00

Another weekend of lawn care and house repair. Since we weren't around last week and apparently, our sprawling manor was visited by a monsoon, our grass had taken the opportunity to express its unruly nature and ascend to new heights. In some areas, it was 8" or, higher! We started at 9AM to try and catch some of the coolness of the morning but the flip side of this was that the lawn was weighted by dew - making for an even tougher task. This was even more glaringly evident when the mulch becomes to heavy and dense to be pushed out from under the blades and merely drops in place. I got the front (smaller) yard and my wife did most of the back while I spent about 40 minutes trying to wind Weed Eater string onto the #@$%$#!! spindle! Once, that was finally fixed, I strung together three extension cords and got the back and sides. Then, I mowed the sides - one of which is on a 30 degree steep with a mud wallow at the bottom. Dangerous to say the least but, we wanted to get it over with because a storm was supposed to be rolling in at any time and then, we'd miss the window of opportunity and get stuck with a strips of lawn that you don't want to waste your time getting the mower out of the garage for - but, they look hideous. Plus, we have to keep it short because with all of the rain, there are a lot of little frogs about...which means, lots of hungry snakes hunting for little frogs amongst the overgrowth. For the safety of our family, we gotta have that cover trimmed back...and also, yes...it looks nice.

So, I was watching TV (no big surprise, there) and my daughter (3 &1/2 years old) yells out to me, "Dad-d-d-d! There's some crap over here!" I said, "What did you say?!?" To which she responded (strikingly clear), again "There is some crap over here!"

Trying to use my Jedi mind control....I asked, "You mean CRAFT???" Which of course, she did not. But, she replied, "Yeah, craft". Her tone was like, "...yeah, whatever you wanna call it...its over here...). So, I told her to pick it up and throw it away because it isn't going to get any better just sitting there on the floor (and we all know who and how it got there, anyways). So, she picked it up and threw it away.

After a quick mental audit and review, I realized that the suspect terminology could have easily originated from either my wife or my myself as we had not placed enough censorship on the low level curse words. However, upon hearing it verbablized from my daughters mouth, I am going to have to escalate and add this word to the list of the verboten.

My good friend Todd brought over some preAmp tubes and I replaced a suspected faulty tube in my JCM800. That solved the problem. I had been dealing with volume fade (outs/ins after playing for an hour) for about 4 or 5 years now. Since my priorities (kids) had shifted, I hadn't needed to play for durations exceeding an hour or, so. At one point 4 years ago, I took it in to get repaired but minus my cash, nothing changed. Recently, I had been corresponding w/ Todd via, email to troubleshoot said issue. After a thorough cleaning and dis assembly, he recommended the chopstick test. I removed the guts of the head (talk about a weird sentence) and inverted it between two tiny wooden chairs. With the guitar volume turned all the way down, I tapped each tube lightly with a wooden chopstick and listened for any anomalies. On the suspect preAmp tube, the sound of the tapping was amplified through the cabinet. It didn't sound "bad" but, this behavior was notably absent when the other tubes were tapped. I continued tapping on anything that was soldered or that look like a change in temperature would possibly affect. Everything else sounded good - leading me to believe that it was the tube or, possibly something to d with the speaker cabinet. That's when my friend came over with some tubes to try and viola!

THANK YOU, TODD!

Also, watched Pan's Labyrinth and Apocolypto. Ironically, both were subtitled. I mention that this is ironic because...since the only time for us to watch movies is when the kids are asleep, we watch ALL movies with the volume down and subtitles, ha! Pan's Lab was pretty good (3 out of 5 stars) and Apocolypto was really pretty good (4 out of 5 stars). Both were visually stunning movies...and they are worth viewing for that fact alone.

Little Bay, JA 2007

2007-07-27T11:31:00.001-05:00

We made it back intact. Jamaica was awesome. We stayed at an estate/BnB in a small fishing village southeast of Negril. The people were very friendly and helpful. Perhaps because of their sparse interactions with tourists they have not been jaded into reviling in contact with ugly Americans, et al. Whatever the reason, it was nice to be around people who seem genuinely happy to hang out and rap with you. Of course, we had a posse of hooligans that would normally throw up warning flags to even the most accepting of U.S. inn keepers but, it was "no worries, Mon" in JA.

We had access to a small reef not 50 yards from where we slept. It was home to multiple colored fish of all sizes and shape. Additionally, a school of squid would cruise through and a rogue crab and lobster were even spotted in the community. The fact that you could be submerged and swimming along with them in a matter of seconds was incredible. I just decided not to plan anything at all because the urge to snorkel would overtake me at any moment and I would find my zombie-esque gate wobbling back down to the beach. And because of the close proximity to our shower and hammocks, the duration of our aquatic endeavors never incorporated mental time-keeping. Short or long trips, it just didn't matter because you could always go back with little effort. We even made a brief moonlight venture which was cool as sh!t! - AND a bit unnerving at times! Seeing the ocean and reef with an underwater flashlight was cool but when you surface, it took a little longer to get your bearings with the coastline in the dark. Add the element of sharks or barracudas coming to get you from within the blackness of the sea (even an underwater flashlight can only illuminate so much when aimed out towards the depths!) and the hairs on the back of my neck were standing on end, ha!

So, to recap: excellent and convenient snorkeling, way cool people, and total relaxation. Did I mention that our friends got married on the beach and had a steel drum band play? Ha! It was great. They played some Lionel Ritchie and George Michael to name a few. Not surprisingly, these tunes were 10,000 times better than the originals. I guess most music sounds better via, steel drum!

Good times, Mon...good times!

T-Minus 5

2007-07-17T13:47:00.001-05:00

This weekend, my wife and I are going to a wedding for our friends. Normally, I hate weddings. This one however, will be awesome....but, I'll fill in the details later. This post concerns half of the team.

Jason is one of my best friends. I have known him for 20 or 21 years...since high school. When I first met him, he was about a half foot shorter and half the weight as me...and I was a small guy! He had a small (you see a theme, her?) half pipe in his back yard and we'd go over to his house to skate. Back then, in a small town, skateboarding was somewhat frowned upon and looked at as deviant behavior so, us losers tended to stick together. That does NOT mean that just because you could skate - that you were liked or, even 'okay'. Jason was however, liked (the jury is still out on 'okay'). Despite his knack for getting into trouble (and anyone else within his proximity), you could not help but like having him as a friend. As if life was not challenging enough when everyone wants to kick your ass, Jason added another unpredictable element. You just never knew what was around the bend when he was about. But that was cool. I'd rather have faced the unexpected than lived a life in a social comma - as most in our school did. He fit in perfectly with the whole hooligan mob that we rolled with and he gave as good as he got.

In twenty years, a lot can happen to a person. Everybody changes in one way or another. Jason grew mentally as well as physically. That does not mean to imply he wasn't smart before....like myself (and our habit of using our collective intelligence for devious undertakings....), he refocused his energies in pursuits that were less likely to carry a prison sentence! I think he is probably a foot and a half taller than me, too. But what hasn't changed about Jason is the most important aspect of these last twenty years. You can always COUNT ON HIM having your back and you are ALWAYS glad to have him around. Friends can come in go in life but, it seems like the good ones stick (even, if they live far away). Their qualities form a subconscious template that we slowly form our own traits and qualities to fit. It can make you a better person and I like to think that Jason has made me a better person through his good character.

Before my eyes start blurring up from excessive tearing, I must also add that the mischievous side of his character also affects that template and well....yeah, without incriminating myself...you know how that goes. But that is alright with me. I cannot think of a single action or event that Jason has ever done that has caused me any pause to question whether or not he was a great friend and I'd bet every penny I have or will ever have that in another 20 years, he will still be the same person and I consider myself fortunate to be his friend.

This "bold" prediction is bolstered by the fact that he is marrying his girlfriend of X+ years (where is X >15). She is The Force that keeps Jason on the right path.....and I assure you that must be no easy task! She is a great person and together they form a model that inspires everyone who knows them to emulate. They compliment each other, perfectly. They are always fun to be around and we are so happy that they are signing the papers and making it a done deal!

Congratulations! We wish you guys all the best!!!

Hot out here, for a pup...

2007-07-13T13:51:00.001-05:00

Thank Gawrsh Its Friday! T-minus 4 hours and 8 minutes to "grill-time"... I've got a chunk of meat and enough cold Dos Equis to get us to Saturday, ha! Last weekend, it was my niece's 1 year old birthday! Way to go, HH! (that was my lame attempt at a "shout out") This Saturday, its my daughter's friend's 3rd birthday. You go, WM! Sunday, is a party for my friends' pre-wedding shindig. If ever there was a time when I was complaining about not having a social life (and of course, there was), I can safely say that the summertime brings me back into the game, ha! Cold beer, grilled eats....and CAKE! Summertime rules! Throw in swimming and bliss is more than a four letter word.

I used to hate (well...."hate" is probably a little strong. Let's try, "frowned upon") the summer because in Texas, it is not uncommon for streaks as long as a month or so to pass with temperatures over 100 degrees. These temps aren't the "Arizona-esque" dry heat that everyone mentally references. These are hardcore "kill you" temperatures that have a high humidity index. Compound that with the fact that we are coming out of a month of heavy rains and it can get down right oppressive!

I had always thought that the "Dog Days of Summer" were called that because the days were longer and you were worked like a dog...and when you got home, all you wanted to do was sprawl out on the cold floor and lay there like a dog. But apparently, I was mistaken.

Webster defines "dog days" as...
1 : the period between early July and early September when the hot sultry weather of summer usually occurs in the northern hemisphere
2 : a period of stagnation or inactivity

Via, the incredibly informative Internet provided me with the reasoning. A long time ago, the Romans watched the stars very closely. The noticed that Canis Major (Sirius) was the brightest star. To them, this translated to extra heat. It figures that if the biggest grand-daddy star of them all (the sun) gives off heat then, so to must the other stars. During the summer, Canis Major rises and sets at the same time (or, close to it) as the sun. They figured that this was the reason why the days were so much hotter than normal. Canis for canine = the "dog star" and hence, the dog days of summer.

Wow, I actually said that as if I knew what I was talking about, eh? That edu-ma-cation and skoolin is really startin' to pay off!

Short-term Trippin'

2007-07-12T15:39:00.001-05:00

We have an upcoming vacation looming. It is a short one but, I am excited to get out of work for those days. It is the carrot that my body stumbles after with each uncontrolled step - for every waking minute of my conscious day, until the "D-Day" (Departure Day) arrives. If there existed a term to describe the level beyond "burned out" then, that is where I am at, right now (maybe even a level beyond that!). My wife said that she already misses her babies. Hello?!? Did I miss something??? We haven't even gone anywhere, yet! They are still here! She says that it is just the thought of being without them. Oh, no, no, no no noooo....

This is a prime example of the differences between men and women. More so, the polar perspective of fathers and mothers. "I" am NOT missing my kiddos. In fact, the thought of 5 days without them...well, it kinda makes me down right giddy! Yeah, I said it. Should I feel some kind of guilt or something about that? Am I a bad person for daring to envision a momentary existence without two spazzoid monkies crawling on my head and cannon-balling my stomach? I mean, come'on already...it's not like we are selling them to the circus?! Me? No way. I barely have a conscious, anyways, ha! It's not even like we are checking them into a kennel. They will be slumber partying (all inclusive with many exciting excursions and activities) at my parents and my in-laws houses. There will be no pitchforks in the small of their tiny backs, coercing them to walk the plank. They actually, LOVE spending the night with the grandparents. Did I say LOVE? I meant, "L-O-V-E X 10". I think that staying with them is their favorite destination in the entire world. "Do you want to spend the night at Grandfather's house or go to Disney Land?" The answer 9 times out of 10 is staying with Grandfather.

So, yeah, it's kind of hard for me to get all choked up about not seeing them for less than a week. Heck, I am looking forward to 2-3 week summer camps, ha! It will be even better getting to see them when we get back.

Grasshopper Theater Presents

2007-07-09T16:15:00.001-05:00

It has been severely rainy around these here parts, as of late...On the plus side, the grass is green and lush. On the con side, I can't mow it because it is too muddy. Additionally, my daughter has been spending a whole lot of time indoors and is getting some serious cabin fever. During a break we went outside and she caught grasshoppers. I have taught her the spots where they like to hang out and her catch rate has sky-rocketed. She has a special plastic container made especially for collecting bugs in, that her grandfather got for her. It is ventilated and has a clear plastic window so she can watch them. She has even taken on applying voice over for the captives as they are introduced into general population (actual, overheard quotes):

"Let's get this party started in here!"
"Put the candles on the cake."
"Yes, I want some juice!"
"I'm the momma..." (as if the grasshopper were introducing "herself" to the other grasshoppers as the mother of the pretend family)

Most 3 year olds have dolls, mine works with grasshoppers. At the end of each day, she releases them back into the "wild" to be with their mommies and daddies (much to my lawn's displeasure, ugh!). She adheres to a "catch & release" policy.

Occasionally, she'll rustle up a frog or an ant or another creature of the frontier. Then, we'll discuss whether or not said bug is a "good bug" or a "bad bug". She pretty much understands that there are not really "bad" bugs or animals and that they bite or sting us because they are sooo small and we are sooo big - that they think we are going to hurt them so they bite. She totally gets it but, brings it up for discussion anyways, (I think) just to have a conversation about it. She gets real deep that way...probing my story for chinks in the chain...analyzing all of the statements. I catch myself thinking really intently about the things I will tell her - knowing that they will most certainly come back to bite me in the butt if there is inconsistency! For that reason, I am 99.9% truthful in imparting my "wisdom". Of course, the .1% is not really "untruthful" but opinion. For instance, one night it was thundering and she was kinda scared, so I told her not to be worried, that thunder was "kind of LIKE God slamming the garage door down." I asked her, "Doesn't it sound LIKE that?" She agreed and asked if that was true or if I was just being silly. I told her that "yes, I was being silly." She knew that wasn't what thunder was and I didn't have to explain the whole warm cloud - cold air mass concept to her (her eyes would have glazed over) but, I left the door open for those details should she be interested, later and put her mind at ease.

Ruth

2007-07-06T16:58:00.001-05:00

I once rented a room from this crazy old lady named, "Ruth". She was renting out rooms in her house as her sole source of income. I lived in a basement room. It was about 12' x 12' and had an additional space just outside the door. I shared this space and rent with three of my fellow band members and my dog, Otto. It was cramped but it was the best we could manage, at that time. My friend Darrell had been living there long before myself and my dog showed up. Even though she was crazy, she was nice enough to allow me and my dog to stay there, too. Of course, this was accommodated with additional expense. Then, Bruce showed up and needed a place to crash. Same deal and more dollar signs. Then, Sean showed up. Sean's girlfriend got an apartment and he stayed with her as often as he could but it was in Hayward on the other side of Oakland. We seldom spent much time in that room because when we weren't working, we were doing something out and about. We didn't have a TV so, this was easy. Ruth had the rooms upstairs in the house rented. She had some long-timers up there who she was quite fond of. We were the stuff that clings to the bottom of your shoe - in her book. The bathroom and dining room were off limits after X-o'clock PM so, we got most of our eating (when we did hafta eat there) done by 6 or so - followed by a lightning quick shower. Any nocturnal relief was done in the woods and in the dark. Occasionally, Otto would float some air biscuits and the room would get even smaller but usually, it was alright. We all had jobs and had to get up at the same time. Free afternoons and weekends were spent looking for a new place to rent. It took over three months to find a place. Apparently, Marin County is not a welcome place for struggling musician/screen printers.

Ruth was crazy in the sense that she could be totally lucid and easy to hold a conversation but could at any given moment get hung up on something and then you were stuck. She would go off on how she knew every person in Atlanta (where she was from) and that if you said you knew so and so from there, she'd be all like, "No, no no...they don't live there...and if they do, they were new and probably lived in the bad side of Atlanta (is there such thing as a "good side" of Atlanta? Just kidding...geesh.). We would have to get to the TV guide at the first of the week and circle and initial any programs that we wanted to watch in the living room area...and that was no guarantee that you'd ever really get to see it but, you could always tryyyy.... You could NEVER watch anything that came on opposite of 'Murder She Wrote' nor 'Wheel of Fortune'....EVER! Life was miserable that year as the Spurs advanced into the playoffs and games that start at 7:30PM central time were aired at 5:30PM west coast time - directly opposite of the afore mentioned shows. And then, she'd watch it with you and talk the whole freakin' game...."Who is that? I think I know his parents. Where is he from? No, I've never heard of him before. Who is that?" As crazy as she was, you had to talk to her because she was letting you live under her roof (or, "floor", should I say?).

Most times, we would try to avoid her or give as short and precise answers as possible without being rude. A one minute conversation could warp into 20-30 minutes, easily. It was however, rather humorous whenever a telemarketer was unfortunate to call and speak with her. She would not let them go! Poor guys (or, gals)...they were victimized. It was always best to stay downstairs and to remain very very quiet...lest she hear you and seek you out to "discuss" a towl left crookedly on the bathrom shower bar - for an hour.

She had another habit that I found out....she washed her dishes with turpentine! She would rinse with water but the initial wash was turpentine! I discovered this one day when I was looking for a bowl to marinate a steak in. I thought it smelled funny and I asked Darrell about it as he was standing nearby. He matter of factly told me yeah, she did that sometimes! Needless to say, that steak hit the garbage. Crazy. I guess she did this because she had this germ trip about people using her dishes (which we never did even though she said it was okay for us to do so). One time she totally wigged out on us about a missing spoon! She completely geeked out and I can remember clear as day how she had us all sit at the table and just laid into us about it. "Who used it? Why didn't you put it back? It's too small for a man. It is a ladies spoon. I don't know why you would even use it! I use it for the sugar bowl. That is where it is ...ALWAYS!" Over and ove about the damned spoon being too small for a man to use...I just never knew the spoon laws. At least 50 times..."No, Ruth...we didn't use your spoon. We have our own spoons." The sugar bowl sat in the middle of the table that we were sitting around at that time. Fortunately, Darrell prevented her from grabbing a knife and killing us all (not really...but, ya just never know, do ya?) by leaning back and looking under the table. "Is THIS your spoon here on the floor?" Yeah, that was the priceless irreplaceable center piece of her house. Not so much as a thank you or sorry for falsely accusing you, etc. Oh well. She was crazy. You slept with one eye open in that house.

However, the experience taught me one crucial (if not blatantly obvious, now) lesson...do not ever live in your landlord's house, ha! Yeah, she was crazy but, sometimes she was fun. I hope she's doing well these days....with a whole new crop of tenants and a whole new demographic for Wheel of Fortune.

Attack of the Killer Raccoons

2007-06-29T14:26:00.001-05:00

It was pitch black that cool summer night. The windows were cracked and the sounds of the city were relatively subdued. My boxer, Otto awoke and headed down the stairs. Like a trained monkey, I willed myself out of bed and followed him down to do his business. Since we lived in a relatively quiet section of SF, it really was not an issue to just open the door, let him out and wait to hear him come back when his business had been wrapped up. It was old hat by now and besides, what purpose would it have served to be standing outside in my underwear? Otto was a bit self-conscious about observers when he was trying to answer nature's call. Then again, aren't we all? So, as usual, I afforded him his time alone outside while I waited in the warmer climate.

This time however, there was a problem from the moment he exited the doorway. There was a loud "CLANK!" - followed by barking, growling, yelping, more banging and all kinds of chaos! I opened the door and flipped on the porch light and ran out onto the porch. There was Otto - engaged in mortal combat with a raccoon that was equal in size and a little bit larger in girth. There were two other smaller raccoons nipping at his free legs as they rolled down the stairs. I went to try and backup my wing man but was intercepted by three more smaller raccoons! They formed a line and were closing in on me. Their tiny porcelain needle teeth gleamed in the porch light - reflecting droplets of spit. Their mouths did not close as they slowly stalked the prey (me!). It was like facing a marching row of miniature Roman soldiers but rather than spears and shields - these guys were armed with razor sharp claws and mouths half the size of their bodies.

Since I was wearing only underwear, I dared not to try and leap over them lest one of them catch me in my most sensitive region. Trust me...when confronted with this scenario - no man would ever attempt that maneuver. I was cornered and separated from my dog - who seemed to have his own hands full on the other side of the porch. We were on the second floor of a triplex so, leaping of the porch was not an option either. My split second of hesitation had allowed the beasts to position themselves between me and the door or stairs. Otto and the others were rolling and scratching and the sounds of war sent chills up my spine. I needed to get over to him as soon as possible but I did not know how or even, what I would do once I got there. Then they rolled down the stairs and out of my field of vision. This caught the attention of the attackers and gave me a moment of opportunity. I reached out toward the door but my movement broke the millisecond truce and their venomous killing chompers swiveled in my direction.

In the headlights, 'Plan A' was no longer an option. However, between me and the door was the hibachi. With no choice, I grabbed out at the hibachi and retrieved the lid as their final assault intensified. I swung the lid into position between myself and the raccoons if only to buy some time and space to get to the door. But, there were three of them and they looked like they knew what they were doing. If I tried to hold off one or two to the right - the other would make a run at my open left. If I blocked that advance - it re-opened up my right flank...and I was loosing ground. I had to go on the offensive. Animal lover be damned - I swung and caught one...sending him a couple of feet back. This gave me room to get a good swing on the other two and I knocked them back a few feet. The first one tried to close in but I had built up some momentum. I was able to angle my next swing to knock him into the pack and all of them - onto the stairs. With the narrow stairwell working as my ally, I was able to beat them back - swing by swing, step by step until I got to the bottom step. I called out to Otto and he was able to put distance between him and the others and eventually, made it behind the hibachi lid with me. Realizing that Otto and I were now fortified, the vicious coons knew that they could not prevail and hastily withdrew in retreat.

We assessed - our damage - minimal. A couple of scratches but, no blood. We ventured up the stairs with one-eyed surveillance - scanning the darkness should they choose to re-engage. We made it back into the safety of the house and gasped in relief. We had won this battle but, the porch light stayed on until daybreak.

Criminal

2007-06-28T14:55:00.001-05:00

I watched Larry King interview Paris Hilton last night. Talk about a weird scenario. Strangely enough, Paris was less peculiar than Larry. Man, he was freaking us out. Anyways, the more that the interview went on, the more that I realized that Paris is just a somewhat normal girl with a lot of money and media attention. The media seems to have cultivated the opinions and desires of the audience. Her fault (if you want to call it that) is that she failed to alter this public perception or even encouraged it. Whatever. In the end, it was a very young girl who had to spend three weeks in the LA county jail for driving on a suspended license. That's a shame. I feel her pain. The Man is always cracking the heads of the youth - - trying to keep 'em under the thumb of mindless compliance. I can relate.

Years upon years ago, I too, had a run in with the local law enforcement agency. Yes, it's true. Upstanding citizen that I am - it is hard to believe that I would ever be on the wrong side of authority. At the risk of laying it all out there...and revealing my dark and seemly history, I will relate said events and let you decide if our tax dollars really need to be spent on civics tutoring.

One sunny afternoon - just outside of downtown Austin - my friend, Bruce and myself were riding our BMX bikes from Deep Eddy swimming hole to downtown. We were riding against traffic on 6th street between Swedish Hill Bakery and Waterloo Records. In this particular stretch, traffic is one way directional and three lanes wide. This is the conduit for traffic coming from downtown heading on to MOPAC so cars are travelling about 40+ MPH. Because of this, we were riding on the sidewalk (gasp!)...No, you say? How could I? Was I smoking crack or something? No. I was just a lazy teen and it was the quickest route home. We could have ridden in the road - with traffic - on 5th street...but somehow, the thought of three lanes of high speed traffic coming up behind me really didn't sound that enticing. So, we were riding and there before us...is an APD bicycle cop peddling our way (on the sidewalk). He yelled at us to stop. He started going after Bruce (who was riding on the sidewalk across the street) so, I figured I'd get the hell outta Dodge. I hooked a hard left and booked it up into the hills of Clarksville...emerging on the other side and crossing Lamar. I was in the 7-ll parking lot when I sped Mr. Pacific Blue about a block away, clearly intent on getting me to stop. Realizing that my brief high speed chase was going to be fruitless, I waited for him to catch up. Apparently, he followed Bruce because he knew that we'd meet up, again. I don't know what I was thinking anyways. I probably would have just gotten a stern talking to or something. Instead, I got a $98 ticket for riding a bicycle on the sidewalk (cursing freggin &*#$%^!).

Being young...feeling cheated...and feeling "above this bullsh!t, I promptly decided to forget all about that incident. It was, after all, a ticket for riding a bicycle on a sidewalk. Flash forward about a year later and my band was playing a party in an alley way (yes, I realize that sounds weird) when the cops raided the party and decided to shut it down. It's very difficult to flee (as was every other person there) AND make sure that your equipment doesn't get jacked. So, apparently I did not put enough distance between myself and the shenanigans because the shortest cop I have ever seen singled me out..."to ask if I was the suspect throwing the party". No, I was not. During the "interrogation", my license check pulled up the warrant for failure to appear for that bicycle ticket (I had to "appear"?!?). Even the police officer admitted that he felt embarrassed taking me to jail for this offense. However, not embarrassed enough to let it slide! So, I got cuffed and taken to the pokey.

It was quite the low point for me. It was about to get even lower. It was a Saturday night. This meant that not only was I missing out on the best night to party on - but also, that the jail would be over flowing with arrested drunks from 6th street. Superb. I got a cell that was about 8 ' X 12' - completely painted metal. Two metal bunks and a stainless steel sink/toilet combo. I got one tan rubber pair of chanklas to go with my over sized and stencilled faux doctor's uniform. I also received one very itchy-scratchy blanket that was made out of polyester and fiberglass or something similar. I had to share my cell with 5 other losers. Since it was late and they were all wasted - the bunks were taken, the floor was taken and even the sitting position against the back wall was taken. Lucky me...I got the spot underneath the bottom bunk. At least I didn't have to worry about an ass-pirate attack since I was fortified by all sides. Yep this was low - and getting lower by the minute.

I was so bored out of my skull. I imagined what all of my friends were doing. The constant sound of some vacuum-like machine kept going off. If it weren't bad enough with that sound came the usual crying-whining-yelling drunks who just won't shut up. They are only antagonized by the other losers yelling at them to, "Shut the hell up!" Of course, you cannot see any of this because unlike Hollywood's interpretation of jail, real jail cells are enclosed not with bars but thick metal walls on all four sides. A shatterproof Plexiglas rectangle (4" x 6") is the only window out of the cell and into the corridor. You can see the cells across from you but cannot see down the hall. The tedium was overwhelming. I counted every letter of the graffiti on all of the walls and determined that there were waaaay more 'E's' than any other letter. I even gave it a whack myself but the walls had been painted so many times that by the time you scraped through one layer, there were 4 or more behind that. I couldn't sleep and I couldn't vandalize. Dinner came as a bologna sandwich, some watered down Kool-Aid and a cookie that I could successfully carve my initials into the wall with. Ahhhh....the life!

Since I couldn't sleep, minutes seemed like hours and hours seemed impossibly long. The effect was compounded by the absence of any time-relating devices. After an eternity, breakfast arrived. I carefully and slowly unpacked my brown paper sack. What hurry was I in? The longer it took - the better. Wasting time became my primary goal. So, I got myself all comfortable (lying on my back, underneath the bottom bunk) and pulled my itchy-scratchy blanket up to my chest. I took out my styro-foam cup and opened it up....Rice Krispies. Cool. They provided a tiny carton of milk and a tiny sugar to go with it. There was also an orange. Maybe things were looking up, eh? After I had read the tiny sugar packet and the milk carton labels (4 times), I decided it was time to prepare my meal. I held the opened cup on my stomach and sprinkled the sugar on the dry cereal. I did this so that when I poured the milk into the cup, the milk would mix with the sugar more evenly. I poured the milk into the cup and quickly felt an odd sensation on my crotch. Milk! The danged cup had a dime-sized hole in the bottom and all of that milk went straight through the cup into the scratchy blanket (WHICH DOES NOT ABSORB LIQUID - BY DESIGN) and into my lap. Nothing like sugary milk-soaked pants to start off a fine morning in the big house! Yes, it was getting even lower.

Because the crowding continued (and morning court was cancelled), they opened up the doors of the cells and those who wanted, could lay out in the corridor (still walled off by bars from the rest of the facility). It afforded the inmates a chance to talk to each other which is really a big deal when you are wide awake in a 8' x 12' box with 5 passed out drunks. Everyone would ask what the other was in for. Whenever I was asked, I was too embarrassed to say so I just said, "eh, some stupid sh!t." That seemed to work as everyone agreed that they were all in for some stupid sh!t, too. Pretty soon, the hallway was strewn with everyone laying head to toe. This was the first chance for many to lay down all night and many promptly fell asleep. At least the yelling had stopped. That is - until it became quickly apparent that a sleepy drunk at one end had wet himself and the trail was making its way toward the center of the corridor - underneath the backs of the unsuspecting. Fortunately, I was on the other side of the drain. It was a rude awakening for many people - including the main offender.

For afternoon court, they handcuffed us to each other in a long chain-gang style line and marched us downstairs to court. We sat in our pews and one by one the judge went through the list and read the names and the charges and asked for the plea. It was a real eye-opener to see the charges match up with the people. You just would never have imagined. The drug possessions were easy to spot..but the dude who was in for injury to a child? Whoa. It got real quiet when he was singled out. I was definitely glad this was my last stop on this bus. I didn't want to be anywhere near that guy when court let out and the inmates went back to the cells. Then, the judge called out my name....

Judge: "Buck Osbourne?"
Me: "yes."
Judge: "You are charged with riding a bicycle on the sidewalk. How do you plead?"
Me: "Guilty!"
Other inmates: "Ha ha ha....riding a bicycle on the side walk! ha ha ha..!"
Judge: "Time served."

It was really funny to the other guys. Fairly humiliating for me - had it not been for the sugared milk crotch and my anxious desire to get the hell out of that place! So, I was discharged and I walked to East 38th street, home...I damned near skipped the entire way! So, while I have never car-jacked, murdered, robbed, etc., I can relate to poor poor Paris on a certain level. I know that she spent three weeks in jail and people who have never been in jail pass it off as if it were some kind of cake walk. But, it is the mere reminder that at any time, you can be made to feel powerless. To feel insignificant. To feel very alone with people that you don't want to be anywhere near, much less sleep next to. To have no free will. It was good enough for me to make sure that it never ever happens again. I can't make the same promise about the milk though.

Muchas Gracias!

2007-06-26T14:06:00.001-05:00

WARNING! "Syrupy Content to Follow!"

I suppose that every close call...every bullet dodged....every escape by the skin of your teeth eventually serves a greater purpose other than to remind you of your momentary invincibility. Now that I have kids, it is not a cliche to say I have a whole new perspective on things. Not only do I understand what may be potentially going through their brains as they come across some perplexing issue, I also know what was probably going through my parents' heads as "I" was going through perplexing issues. All of this time, my parents were probably closer to being keyed in on my situation than I had ever suspected. And they never tipped their hand, ha! I guess (hope) that they had enough confidence in my decision making, character, and ethics to give me room to make my own mistakes and thereby, learn from them. I know now how difficult that must have been for them. At the same time, I always knew that they were there for me if I ever needed them and that gave me the confidence to seek independence for myself. Without 'fear of failure' as a hindrance, I was free to explore and take chances. Sometimes it didn't work out. A lot of times it did. It all developed history for me to reference whenever I came across similar scenarios. I have to try and remind myself that when my girls get to that point, I am going to have to try and force myself to give them space enough to make their own mistakes and build and assert their independence without thinking the entire world would fall apart for making a poor choice. With great support, you have to work really hard to screw up success. I should know...I almost did and too numerous of occasions! However, those events did shape my personality. I guess I could be all wrong on this but, if you are a good person (a belief in karma helps) and you treat people right - you just keep trying to do the right thing...eventually, things start going your way. People want to help, support, and associate with people that make them feel good about themselves...and in the process, help you become a better person. The greatest thing that ever happened to me was my family. They are always there for me and my wife and kids (as I will be there for them). The second best thing that I ever did was to meet great people and become their friends. Whether or not you try, you are always learning from your environment. If you've got yourself a good posse, you can take away the best traits and make yourself an even better person. Man, this is really turning out to be quite the sappy post, eh? I guess that I'll have to throw in some random facts about me to validate how my own sabotage was thwarted by my excellent support network: I once lived in a barn and used a coffee can to poop in and a water hose to bathe. That was prime living - solo style! Previously, I lived in a 2 room section of a quadplex with 5 other people...and another slept on the porch! At one time, I had a cat who ate Chex-Mix cereal. This was because we were too poor to buy cat food. We lived off of the day-old doughnuts that Dunkin Donuts through out (they never touched the garbage or anything - the lady handed them to us in a box, okay?) (thank you!). There was probably a 10 year stretch when I never bought an article of clothing. Strangely enough, I was never forced to go naked. I know how to make Top Ramen noodles egg drop, Thai, salad or Italian style. I have walked from one side of San Francisco to the other because I missed the last bus. I have attempted (twice) to pay with quarters to see a someone strip. Surprisingly, it was successful one time, ha. I have undertaken multiple long distance travels to find abandoned swimming pools or ramps. I once used a car jack to elevate a toilet that was falling through the floor of our bathroom so that it would be level enough to use. been tied to a back seat of a Volkswagen Bug to prevent my falling through the missing floor while I slept. I have licked the back of finagled my way into about 25% of all the shows I have ever seen (and that is a considerable number) by either redrawing a stamp or using the licked-press method to transfer. Well, that's enough for now. I have to leave some stuff to write about in the future. At least this kinda illustrates that as much of a slack-ass I was, I was still fortunate to be considered a productive member of society and a decent human being. I guess this is my opportunity to thank everyone for helping me out!

Another Weekend Zips By...

2007-06-25T11:02:00.001-05:00

The grass has not only grown in height but also in density. That is awesome. It means more clippings which means more surface composting and a better layer of soil on this crappy black turf. Slowly, the parasitic vegetation is being pushed out by the more desirable lawn. It is truly sad that I take such pleasure in observing this incredibly slow battle for control of the yard. It's like watching a green glacier. To add insult to injury, I incurred a blister on each thumb from mowing! That's rubbing salt in yer eye.

On the way to work this morning, I passed a house that was starting a fire in their BBQ pit in their driveway. Grilling at 7:15AM? At first, I was all like, "Heck yeah! That's the way to go! Grilled steak and eggs for breakfast!" But then, upon further thought...the pessimist took over and I reconciled that it most likely was some meth addicts or something. I guess it could be somebody who works the graveyard shift somewhere? I dunno. Perhaps I should work on expanding my optimistic side.

Why can't somebody come up with painless pneumatic injections for kids that induce sleep? Perhaps it could be lavender or something organic and healthy? Maybe injections is too strong. What about Flintstones Chewable - PM? It seems like it has been two years straight that our oldest daughter fights us EVERY TIME she has to go to sleep! She is obviously tired and we would not be doing her any favors by letting her stay up. Now that the little one is starting to develop her own sleeping schedule...it would sure be nice if we could synchronize them! Alas, I think that "enticing" your kids into slumber can be viewed as child abuse and therefore, illegal. I am truly an old man when I am ready to go to sleep before my 3 year old and am only staying up because she is still up! Once she goes to sleep, I am usually snoring within 30 minutes or so.

Speaking of which, this past Friday, my mom courageously volunteered to watch both girls for the night so that my wife and I could have a date night! We meticulously planned our evening. First, we'd go out and have a real dinner at a real restaurant (not Taco Cabana). Then, we'd come home and kill a few minutes before we went to see a movie at a local theater (not Shrek III - saw that last weekend). After the movie, we could go see a band. Wow. Part one of the plan went very smoothly and we ate a good meal. We came home and decided to lay down for a moment. The next time I opened my eyes, the alarm clock read 2:42AM! So, I got up and turned off the lights and we went back to sleep. And what glorious sleep it was! We slept in until 8AM! It was great.

The 6 P's

2007-06-21T14:46:00.001-05:00

I have a twenty minute commute to work and a fifteen minute commute home, ha! During my drive to work, my mind debates many many non-work-related issues. It's my best "contemplation" time...seeing as how I have listened to every single song ever written and played on the radio or out of my CD collection, 500 times or more. Talk radio is barely better. Everyday, it seems like a repeat of the day before. I often think myself lucky that I only have to spend a half hour or less driving. I always hear about people commuting from Round Rock to San Antonio or, San Antonio to Corpus Christi and it blows my mind. I guess you gotta do what you gotta do - to put a roof over your family's head. It was a decision that was made easily for me. One morning, I was tasked with driving to one of our locations in North East Houston...on the north loop. I used to live in Houston but it doesn't really take a rocket scientist to know that Houston traffic is horrific. So, to plan on making it to the store by 8AM, I woke up at 3:30AM and left at 4AM. I added a couple of energy drinks for fuel and they were history about a half hour into my journey. It was smooth sailing until I hit Katy. Katy, TX used to be a small town outside of Houston. Now, it is a large subdivision at the edge of the city. To the inexperienced driver-tourist, it is almost impossible to tell where Katy ends and Houston proper begins. I made it there at about 6:25AM. I will not divulge the rate of speed that I was travelling at as that variable might triangulate more domicile coordinates and might bear witness to self-incrimination via, traffic law violation. There were no cows on the road, DPS troopers were few, and I made it at the targeted time - miscalculating that an hour and a half was way too much time to allot for travelling across Houston. I had erroneously figured that I'd spend 30 minutes or so eating a Denny's grand slam breakfast while awaiting the store's opening. The wall of I-10 red break lights on the west side of Katy got my attention. The specter of doubt presented itself. But at that point, what can you do, eh? In for a penny - in for a pound. You can only drive as fast as the 15,000 cars ahead of you. I tend to remain in the middle lanes of traffic so as to enjoy the uninterrupted peace of driving without merging morons from access roads and still give myself a relatively quick lane change opportunity should I need to exit. In highway-parking lot traffic, the "fast lane" can get rather claustrophobic....with four or more lanes thick of traffic to the right and a concrete wall to the left, stopped traffic can conjure fears of running out of gas or worse yet, answering the call of nature. And that is what happened. Nature came a knocking in response to my liquid energy breakfast. The exit was parallel to me when I realized my predicament. It was too late to exit. There was no way that I could get across two lanes of stopped traffic. It was even a desperate mission to make it over for the NEXT exit which was seemingly, ten miles further up the highway. At a rate of three feet for every minute or so, I felt my bladder ballooning within my abdomen. I flipped around radio stations and rolled down the window in a futile effort to distract my attention from the taunting exit sign that danced out of reach. Then, there was the other sardines and their hostile dispositions. In H-Town, you are not given anything on the roads and the jam gods require at the very least - a commitment to loosing some paint. So, I began my one mile an hour squeeze play. I could almost punch the other driver in the face were his window rolled down. You would think that another car's door-mounted mirror - virtually intruding into the confines of your vehicle would alert you to at least make eye contact with the offending driver. However, in H-Town, visual contact means you must acknowledge the other driver and ultimately have to make the decision to laugh in their face or let them cut in front of you. Since this is Texas and it is legal to carry firearms, many drivers go to great lengths to avoid making eye contact and make the subsequent decision. The only way to get what you need is to slow (even slower than one mile an hour) down and begin angling the nose of your vehicle towards the rear bumper of the parallel driver's bumper in attempt to insert yourself behind him and in front of the next jerk off. Unlucky driver number two HAS to make eye contact (because you are slightly in front of them) and possibly let you in. I have, on occasion, seen these trailing drivers veer off to the right a little bit to avoid making contact with you and trying to block your entry into their lane. These guys are the epitome of guile. I truly do not know whether to hate them or admire them. Fortunately, I was able to squeeze into the lane. I then, repeated the drama and barely made the next exit ramp. Unfortunately, relief was still unattainable because the early morning traffic is not solely delegated to the highway. It lives on the access roads as everyone attempts to gain entry on the road. So, I had to repeat the above maneuvers to get to the inside lane of the access road. Now to find a gas station bathroom. There are ALWAYS gas stations at intersections of highways, right? Not on this particular stretch. So, I sat through the traffic light and continued down the road...in traffic. I pulled out my pocket knife and started contemplating the removal of the tops of the discarded energy drink cans. However, the thought of the jagged aluminum rim spurred my desire to make it further down the road. If push came to shove, I could hope the curb and water the lawn in front of 15,000 automotive turtles. Thankfully, it never came to that. At the next intersection, there WAS a gas station and my mind was unburdened. One hour and 20 minutes later, I arrived at my destination with 5 minutes to spare, sans my Denny's grand slam breakfast. Which brings me to the moral that my dad always told me...but with the slight modification of one of the letters: The 6 P's - "Proper Planning Prevents Piss PoUr Performances"

Why Can't I Force Myself to Like Coffee?

2007-06-13T10:53:00.001-05:00

I have made my third attempt at trying to drink coffee. My first attempt was twenty-something years ago. I figured that coffee would help with my "Good-morning!-phobia". I just cannot get motivated in the mornings unless I am under water. Fortunately, we have a shower for this but, if you have read any of my previous posting on our plumbing nightmares, you know that an occasional dunk in a cold tub of water gets the job done when we are without running water (which seems to be about every 4-5 months, or so...). My last two attempts at forcing myself to "enjoy" coffee were this week. I have been spending just way too much on energy drinks or Colas. Monster energy drink costs about $2.50 a can but comes in the "tallboy" can. Still, 5 of those equates to $12.50/week! Ouch-E-chihuahua. My preferred wake up is a 44oz fountain drink of Mountain Dew with a Red Bull floater. That baby is the perfect wake up without the overblown effects of over-caffienation. Mellow and smooth enough while allowing for even distribution and release into my body's network of neural endings. Traffic jams are allieved. Tasks are completed. Life is good. However, Red Bull goes for $1.98 and fountain drink is about $1.50 so, the concoction relieves my pockets of almost for bucks for a half morning's worth of adrenaline. Factor in my ever growing tolerance and you can see why I leave this as my last alternative. Colas out of the vending machine are a somewhat reasonable option. Mountain Dew is available and costs uno dollaro. The problem with that is that I seldom have the cash on me for it. I primarily use a debit card for most daily expenses and it is kind of a hassle to carry around $5 in one dollar bills (or Gwahd forbid...20 quarters) for a week's worth of drinks. Don't get me wrong...if necessary, I will FIND the change...it's just a pain in the ass.

So, that brings me to coffee. My office has FREE coffee! We have multiple flavors. So, it seems logical that I just switch to coffee. Unfortunately.....I hate the taste. I tried another style. It tastes like flavored coffee. I think that it is the coffee taste that I do not like....not the flavor that is added to the coffee (yes, that was sarcasm). You might sense a bit of attitude here. That is probably because coffee drinkers will inevitably tell you that..."such and such flavor doesn't taste as 'coffee-y' as coffee!"...which is a lie in the same sense that vegans will tell you, with the barbecue sauce, my tofu ribs taste JUST LIKE PORK!! (not) It has even been suggested that I add lots of cream, milk and sugar....that it will taste like hot chocolate. Yeah, right. Like horrifically awful tasting hot chocolate. So, why not just drink hot chocolate and save yourself 8&1/2 minutes in cup prep time?

I guess I'll just keep checking back periodically and hoping that my taste buds change and I don't mind putting a cup of crap tasting, skin-searing liquid in my mouth. In the meantime, I have turned my urine into glow-in-the-dark syrup by taking a morning B-12 vitamin tablet. In conjunction with a cola, it isn't too shabby.

What's Up, Doc?

2007-06-07T16:29:00.001-05:00

Is it possible to develop a tolerance to Tylenol? I take about 6 tablets per day...with at least 4-6 hours between dosage so as not to incur acetaminophen poisoning/over dose - and still...I have headaches and pain. Arthritis and foot pain. Sometimes I feel as if I am eighty years old. Man, it is going to suck - big time - when I do turn 80. I'm fallin' apart, man...!

Oh, well...no pain - no gain.

I've been in project meetings all week for work. It's nuts. The third party consulting contractors roll into corp headquarters and schedule all of this junk and we all meet for various teams. I'm in at least three separate teams. The common thread is that apparently, nobody is really sharing any information?!? It's crazy but alas, predictable. It is the white collar way to dole out multiple titles and then each person has to try and justify their corporate existence by creating as many PowerPoint presentations and matrix's to basically tell you what you already knew. Believe it or not, there used to be a day that I wanted to sit on my ass in an air-conditioned room and nod my head while slides clicked by....no wait....that was school and I hated it. Never mind. Nothing has changed. Everyone creates paper to push around and eventually, something finally gets accomplished. Kind of like using buckshot to kill a fly.

On to other news...I went to the doctor last week and they put me in an exam room and told me to wait (like they have done since the beginning of time). At first, I was my usual self - pissed. "Crap" I thought. I am going to have to sit in this room for at least a half hour and the only damned thing to do is either go through all of the drawers or read "Popular Fly Fishing Monthly". Then it occurred to me....I had my video iPod on me! So, I busted out and started playing some Ms.Pacman. Awesome. Before I knew it, the doctor came in. "Just a sec...." I motioned to him. I had to finish the level I was on. It is nice to finally be on equal ground with my doctor. Of course this does not apply to knowledge-wise comparisons but, for too long...people subconsciously defer to their doctors as if they were some genius deity or something. In fact, they are just people who have put in a lot of time, effort and money to get this cushy job where you McTreat 10-20ish people a day. Sore throat..."Oh yeah, that's what it must be. It's going around right now." Blah-dee-blah-blah. It is one of the major reasons that people HATE going to the doctor in the first place! 98% of the time, I feel like I was rushed through and half-listened to...then, written some generic diagnosis/prescription. My last doctor, I would have to create a cheat sheet so that I could remember and give him my symptoms! He rushed through the exams so fast, if you did not give him all of the information, he'd bum-rush yer ass outta there, muy pronto! I started figuring out that unless I was bleeding uncontrollably and seeing Allah, I was better off researching my ailments online. I know a lot of people will poo-poo all over that but...I am not a hypochondriac and I will go to ANY length to avoid having that perception heaped upon me. It doesn't help that I have sleeve of tats and an Amish-esque appearance. The docs automatically (although, never verbally) start thinking that I am out doc-shopping for some pain meds or something. Maybe I am just paranoid but still, I am fully in touch with my body and I KNOW when I need to take action on it.

Sometimes, my wife has to force me to go. That was the case for the last visit. I was walking down some stairs a couple of months back and heard a really loud popping sound that was followed by a feeling of intense pain in my right little toe. The pain wasn't as bad the next day and varied with each subsequent day. My first thought was that I may have pulled a muscle. However, the pain persisted. Unfortunately, the information that comes up when you do a WebMD search for "Toe Pain" is sooo generic that it was of little help. I guess my constant whining was just too much for my wife to stand so, she made me an appointment at the podiatrist. Result? Stress fracture. Treatment? Stay off the foot as much as possible and wear soft-soled shoes. Unfortunately, because of neural damage from my broken neck, I have a case of drop-foot that prevented me from wearing the cast that the doc wanted me to wear. I couldn't clear the ground and kept tripping over it.

The crazy thing is that the doc thinks that he may be able to treat the drop-foot with a spring loaded brace -- meaning that I may be able to walk like a normal human being (and not Quasi Moto) for the first time in 10 years!! You see, when I had my wreck, I was paralyzed below the nipples and all the doctors said that I'd never ever walk again (see, doctors don't necessarily know everything). So, four months later, when I started regaining feeling and eventually re-learned how to walk...they were all like, "that's great! That's all bonus." They figured that if it did not come back all the way (which it did not), that I was still 600 thousand times better off (which I am). After a while, I was in that same thought. It never occurred to me to be greedy and try and force someone to fix it 100%. I figured that they knew what was best and that was the way it was to be.

Do NOT get me wrong....I am not dissin' doctors. They SAVED MY LIFE. I owe them everything. However, they are human. They are people. They deal a lot with the mean and average. They would get really depressed really fast if they expected and shot for miracles or perfection every time - for every patient. Their job (as tempered by malpractice insurance claims) is to give you the bottom line and conservative estimates. I mean...afterall...if they had told me that there was a chance that I might one day walk again and it never happened...they would be the first people that I'd blame. I would be depressed and wonder what went wrong? They just have to cover themselves. It's not an indictment. But the bottom line is....you set the standard for yourself. You set the expectations. You know your body best. Don't ever take anyone else's opinion as gospel.

I am optimistic and now, have a new goal for myself. I will walk as good as new. Someday, I will even run. IT IS GOING TO HAPPEN.

Chairway to Heaven

2007-06-01T10:33:00.001-05:00

Two weeks and the garage door opener is still not fixed. I would say, "...it's not for a lack of effort..." but in fact, it really is. You see, I got a little bit off track. I guess, a lot off track. No, more like, completely derailed. I started out okay on this project. I went into the garage. I opened up the door that was not attached to a garage door opener (much less a "broken" garage door opener) to cool off my working space. I surveyed the area of operation. I decided that I needed to prop up the door a bit. Fortunately (or, unfortunately - depending upon your perspective), there was a big pile of wood in the garage that I had leftover from the porch. My first off track thought was to build a doghouse. That didn't really move me as much as my second idea.....a chair for the back porch. I took a quick count of my supplies and made a diagram in my mind. They seemed to match well...I wouldn't need to purchase anything in addition to the current inventory. So, it was all settled. I would put off fixing the garage door (after all, I'd have to purchase a new garage door opener....something that was not high on my list of desired tasks (spending money)). With my wife's blessing, I looked up a couple pics on the Internet of Adirondack chairs. The world wide web really is awesome. I found a pic and then, began cutting, sanding, and screwing into place various pieces. Including the priming and painting, the project took two weekends. I probably could do it a lot quicker now that I have a prototype model to scrub against. It looks pretty danged good - if I do say so, myself. And comfortable, too. Anyways, the garage is over-rated. The back porch is where it's all at!

The Monkey Suit

2007-05-24T11:50:00.001-05:00

Another day - another march towards the mushroomed cloud. I retain the corporate-given courtesy of selecting which pair of prison sanctioned beige slacks and equally unnoticeable long sleeved & collared shirt to wear, today. Five days a week, I am lucky enough to forgo the constricting tie because of relaxed summer dress code. A lot of people enjoy dressing nicely. I do not. I hate it. It cuts through my personality like a rusty, snaggle-toothed, gasoline soaked, rip saw in the hands of the slowest carpenter in the world. It has always been the case that I do not like to wear pants, shirts, or shoes. Standard attire is unwashed t-shirt (preferably, not a smelly one), long shorts and maybe....if I have a destination or something, flip-flops. If its is below 30 degrees, I may add the hooded sweat. Above 100, sans shirt. This has been my modus apparelliti for as long as I can remember. It is a primary reason that I hate any kind of formal event. Anything that I have to dress up for cannot be that good. Just hand me my f#$%^g lottery check, already!?! I cannot believe I have adhered to this clothing imprisonment for 5 years (length of current employment). I know that it is a mental hurdle - and recognizing that is half the battle, right? (no) However, try as I might, I cannot get comfortable with the concept of being forced to wear a monkey suit. My shoes hurt my feet. My wrists chafe at the presence of unwanted cuffs. My belt pinches my belly because I sit behind a computer for 9 hours a day. My collar rubs the back of my neck. Miserable, just miserable. I have lobbied (as expected-unsuccessfully) for wearing the all-body coveralls. I would wear the same thing everyday. I guess it is the price of doing business with the devil. I do sooo like getting paid. I guess it is a relatively small sacrifice yet, it is chipping away at my soul. I think it even more so of an irritant considering that I see maybe 12 different people in the course of one business day - compounded by the fact that I a capable of performing my job from home. No one has to even see me! Almost every business process performed incorporates PC/laptop, Internet connectivity and a phone number. I know this for a fact because I often do my job while out sick or on vacation. So, I guess it all comes down to power and that must be the real reason it bugs me. The "man" keeping us under his thumb - because he can. That must be that gnawing sensation at the base of my entrails. How can I keep this crushing adversity out of my psyche? Answer: I cannot - as evidenced by this tirade. I am already a victim (or, loser) of this war on individuality. Why is it that the most successful companies have the most liberal employee environments yet, the rest of the world fights it at every step? My protest began years ago...I decided not to cut my beard. Well, my wife ended that one relatively quick. It is still, just inside the scope of corporate acceptability with a stray hair here and there tiptoeing across the boundary line. It is common to get an Amish crack but, I don't mind. They are too scared to compare it to a Muslim (wouldn't be PC) and somehow, targeting this other religion is perfectly acceptable, ha! Now, I have moved on to growing the moustache. I am not particularly fond of it. It is a bit annoying having something growing on top of my lip. I don't see this lasting much longer before I revert to my barn raising persona. Then again, maybe it will not be so bad once it gets some length on it? Also, I have stopped giving myself haircuts. The last person to cut my hair was my 3 year old. After a good shaving, nature is going to take over. We'll see who caves first: me, work or, my wife. Ultimately, they do sign my checks...and those checks feed my kids...so, I don't see this battle going the distance.

Resistance is futile.

Rain Pain

2007-05-22T11:56:00.001-05:00

"It's raining, it's pouring...the old man is snoring..."

No, I am not. I used to love sleeping through storms. It used to be so relaxing. That has all changed very recently. Now, I get very little sleep on stormy nights. It starts with my whiny boxer, AJ. He is terrified of thunder. We have anti-anxiety medication for him, but if we do not get it to him well before the storm begins, it is useless. So,the first thing that wakes me up in the middle of the night is the relentless clicking off dog toenails on hardwood floors as he circles around and around in the dark with no clue of what to do. We (my wife or myself) have to fumble out of bed, navigate a hall way strewn with toys-clothes-whathaveya, locate wandering canine (its really easy. like sonar. move towards the clicking), and lead him back to our room so that he can sleep nearby. He is such a big wussy.

Thus, the dominoes begin to topple...

The power cuts out for 5 seconds. I am not only awakened by noise - I am awakened by "lack of" noise. The sequence for dealing with a power blip (no matter how short of a span) is: get up, go out into the garage, quiet the alarm (a high pitched ringing THAT WAILS INFINITELY), trudge over to laptop, power it up, confirm the correct time, drag my zombie corpse back to the bedroom where I attempt to reset the alarm clock's time and then reset the alarm time. Did I set the clock time for 2:20AM and alarm time for 6AM or clock time for 6AM and alarm time for 2:30AM?!?! @#$%^!!!, I cannot tell in the dark. I try it again and again and finally have to get up and turn on the bathroom light so that I can see. Fine. It is set.

15 minutes later, the power hiccups again and I repeat the sequence all over.

Shortly thereafter, my oldest daughter stirs from her slumber. The cause could be any number of reasons: neighbors "basing" their stereo/video games, the thunder outside, bad dream....but in this case, "me" - herding the dog down the hall. Of course, I am unaware of her state until I have re situated myself and reacquainted myself with the comforts of that warm concave spot from where my body typically, fails to deviate. My wife and I are alerted by the sudden apparition that hovers beside our bed. She is like a ghost leprechaun with her outline barely visible - highlighted by blonde-white hair that picks up the low light of the room. She even speaks like a ghost...in whispers barely audible. The ensuing conversation almost goes as such:

E = "whhdhdjdvjvjjs...(whispering)
Me = "What?
E = "whhdhdjdvjvjjs...(whispering)
Me = "What??"
E = "whhdhdjdvjvjjs...(whispering)
Me = "What ?!?! I can't hear you!"
E = "whhdhdjdvjvjjs...(whispering)
Me = "What did she say???"
Wife = "She is cared of the thunder and wants to sleep with us!!!!!"
Me = "Oh."

Now, I am a compassionate person...and what I am going to describe might make me out to be quite an a$$h@le were I not to introduce this disclaimer: My daughter is not scared of the thunder. I know this because she has been sleeping like a rock through it for many years now and this is a recent trend that has developed as my younger daughters crying has garnered more attention from my wife. Knowing that acquiescing to her demand would set precedence that leads to a slippery slope (that has me sleeping on the floor at the bottom), I am forced to walk her back to her room and engage in a 15 minute discussion/debate about how thunder is not scary and that she is a big girl. A bit of negotiating ends with me agreeing to turn on the bathroom light and pull the covers up (she has to walk away with some sort of victory). I make my way back to bed and as soon as I shut my eyes - she's back. This time, my wife assumes the duty. Apparently, her classical music CD ended (when in fact, it was just at a quiet point in the composition). My wife turns it up a hair and returns to bed.

The dog starts to stir to get a more comfortable sleeping arrangement. I yell as loud as I can in a clenched teethed whisper for him to "sit yer butt down! Lay down!!" He complies.

Ahhh. Can I make it until my alarm goes off? Nope. Daughter number two begins crying. It is time for her nightly wake up. My wonderful wonderful beautiful wife gets up and makes the bottle that soothes the savage beast and it slumbers again - until 5:30AM. This time, we get a third wheel in bed until my alarm goes off at 6AM. Time to get ready for work. I look forward to tonight, maybe the stars will align and I will sleep all tonight. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha.....fat chance.

Eye of El Tigre

2007-05-16T06:42:00.001-05:00

I am so fortunate to have daughters. If they had been born boys, my DNA would have most certainly doomed them to a life in the state pen. It is a miracle that I am not there right now! In fact, it is because of them (and my wife - very much so...) that I am living such a productive and stable life!

You see, I have issues with patience. The problem is...I lack it...completely. Do not confuse patience with focus. I mean, if I were trying to solve a problem...I will find a solution no matter how long it takes. The duration is not defined by patience but rather, stubbornness...almost to the point of obsession. My lack of patience is augmented by my hatred of failure. Yes, I said 'hatred'. Not 'dislike'. I hate losing....anything. Arguments, basketball games, horse races (by horses I have vested time in less than minutes of interest), anything. You name it - I want to be the best at it. Now, this could be a problem if I tried to force this on my daughters...and strangely enough, my parents never ever forced this philosophy on me either. I just want them to do the best they can. I will still love them just as much if they finish 2nd...or, 3rd, or last (or, decide not to participate at all!) as if the placed first. I have always felt that from my parents. I think that knowing they are there for me and that they support me no matter the outcome, gave me the security to attempt to run the race, to compete - without fear of failure. I loved to compete. I always felt like I was the underdog. I was always one of the slowest, one of the smallest. I wasn't the strongest nor the smartest yet, I competed. I tried my best and many times succeeded. Victory is always sweetest for the underdog and I had the taste of blood in my jowls. The more I competed, the more I wanted to win. I became infected. Of course, many many many times, I did not place. I had to endure defeat. I learned that I really did not like defeat. I suppose, if I really really didn't like it, I could have exercised the option not to participate and avoided it altogether. That just didn't seem to work too well for me. All of my friends were in the game. The competition is the point. That is why they call it a 'game' or games. Even in losing, being involved is way more rewarding than passively watching from the sidelines. Years of participation reinforced my mindset. I am biased, but I think it is a healthy attitude to possess. My intention is to allow my daughters to involve themselves in whatever activities they choose and encourage and support them regardless of the outcome. It just may not be in their personalities. I don't know. What I do know is that it will be their decisions and I will be there for them.

I have never had the albatross of fear around my neck and I thank my parents for that. If I can pass along this confidence to my kids I think that they'll be alright when they grow up. If they are mentally strong - the rest will follow. They can thank their grandparents for setting the standard. I thank them as well.

Garage Around My Neck

2007-05-12T08:23:00.000-05:00

Project "Garage Door Opener"

Before we even moved in to our home, my wife made a very specific point to advise our real estate agent that we MUST have two function garage door openers as we had one small child and were in the process of "negotiating" another and needed to be able to drive our vehicles into the garage before dismount. It was an understandable safety concern. We cannot leave the kids in the cars as we exit and open the doors.

"No problem" our agent responded. However, when we moved in, there was only one (used) garage door opener installed. Our agent took the opportunity to suddenly, disappear and become unresponsive to our communication efforts. So, fine. we would just make due with one opener until we could afford to get another one. The vehicle with the kids would always be the designated control carrier.

This worked out okay until about two months in. Suddenly, the door slammed shut upon an attempt at opening it. The chain-driven door decided to ignore the stop sensor and proceeded past it to the point of auto-release. Once tripped, the door releases its grasp of the chain and gravity takes hold - rather abruptly, returning the door to the closed position. Fortunately, our vehicle was not in the process of entering the garage at this time and avoided damage. Most importantly, my daughter was not under the door when this event transpired.

No problem-o. I would just re-adjust the chain and clean the sensors. Easier said than done. I would get it set up just fine and it would work for a couple of times and then, it would start creeping up on the safety release. No problem. It was most likely a case of setting the distance on the main box. After countless failed attempts at adjusting the distance, I decided to consult the manual - only...there was no manual. Not a problem. I would look one up online. Strangely, not only could I not locate a manual for the opener....I could not even find the make and model of the opener! It was as if it had never been entered into cyber-space logs much less, acknowledged in passing reference on the web! It was almost as if the opener had never even existed. What was this? Some kind of demo version of a garage door opener whose production was cancelled before production? It had a name brand on it so, it was not Ted Kazinsky'd. Perhaps the alpha numeric numbers were forgeries? Then again, what would be the motivation to bootleg garage door openers other than to annoy me beyond my mental threshold? The amazing case of the ghost would have to be shelved until I could devote more energy to tracking it down.

I decided to not use the opener for awhile. "Awhile" became a year or so. Without a garage door opener, you make a mental decision each time you pull into the driveway: "Do I really want to get out of my car, open the door (if it is unlocked), get back in the car, pull car into the garage and then get out and shut the door?!?" Laziness wins that argument 9 times out of ten. So, the garage didn't get much lovin' from the cars. She responded by growing more cold and distant. She started collecting items and hiding them within her recesses. Islands of boxes became walls. Walls grew and joined to form pathways. A maze began to develop. Did I need to get a tool? Then, I would need to navigate around some items, duck under an object or two and avoid tripping over some extension cords. Debris began to settle. The cat's litter box became difficult to locate - visibly... you could always follow your nose.

So, with great reluctance, I tried was again, to rig the opener to operate. Armed with wrenches of multiple size, I spent sever hours climbing up the ladder...making adjustments....re-aligning the chain...climbing down the ladder....pushing the open/close button...observing and marking the points of error....and repeating the sequence all over, again. Finally, it was working!
Working that is....for 6 months! This time, something completely different was happening. The point at which the chain connects to the door consists of a flat metal elbow from the chain and bar that intersects with a flat metal slat that connects to the door. They are joined by a nut and bolt. The problem was not with the opening of the door, but rather, the closing. Pulling the door open kept the joint taunt. When the door started to close however, the elbow and slant intersect would double over and the door would remain in place until the chain had pulled the elbow along far enough (about a foot or, so...) that it would catch and begin to pull the door down. This was acceptable while the door was up along the garage ceiling but, as the door made the bend and began the decent, gravity would grab the door and the weight of the door would exceed the speed of the chain movement....that is....until the elbow unbunched and was re-extended! It was like a 2 or 3 foot door free fall. At the point where it caught, the pressure on the chain and bar was too great. It began skipping on the gear and the bar was in serious jeopardy of breaking. I could not afford to have the whole thing disintegrate above my vehicle (oh yeah, and my head) so, it had to be repaired.

The solution was genius in its simplicity. I took a bolt and corresponding screw and inserted them into a hole that drilled through the slats. The additional bolt keeps the pieces from collapsing together when the elbow is pushed and since it is taunt the whole time...there is no free fall and no additional strain on the chain/bar.

Well, that worked for a couple of months. Then the sensor issue struck, again. I adjusted it, again but it reoccurred weeks later. I wish that there were a happy ending to this story but, I believe that this is a horse that I am going to have to put down.

The Force is strong in this one

2007-05-09T17:31:00.000-05:00

Have I mentioned that my daughters favorite movie character is Yoda? Apparently, he is all the rage with the kids these days. I guess it has something to do with him being small, green, has big ears and a bad-ass with a light saber. The Force probably factors in there somewhere. Nonetheless, I am impressed that she constantly wants to watch Star Wars. I wasn't planning on subjecting her to mandatory Star Wars viewings until she turned 6 or 7. I figured that she would not be ready for it until then. I guess I was wrong. Although, this is just one of the many instances where my designs have deviated from reality.

When my wife and I were planning for our first child, we had many detailed conversations about our own childhoods and how we would apply our experiences towards raising our children. It is only logic to take the best practices and toss out the one's that don't work. On the instances where we don't agree, we would reach a compromise. The trouble is, that the best laid plans are difficult to apply to a variable such as a kid. Personalities (especially as they are being formed) are not static nor consistent. I heard it a bazillion times (and I am still hearing it) but, every child is completely different. When I ask my parents, "How did I act in situation X?" They always say, "We neeever had a problem with you...(I'm lying, of course)..." and "Every child is different". I guess it is true because my brother and I are very different and yet, very much the same when it comes to various aspects of our personalities. What worked (and didn't work) on me (discipline-wise) was not necessarily the same for my brother. Then again, sometimes it was. Also, just because one strategy works in situations X, Y & Z...is no guarantee that it will work in situation 1, 2 & 3. There is not even a guarantee that it will work in X, Y & Z the next time it comes up! It is like trying to nail down a virus. Sometimes you see success. Sometimes they are resilient. The key seems to be approaching each situation with an open mind to alternative paths if Choice #1 fails. This used to go against my persona. I am a very hard-headed individual who does not accept defeat (especially to a 3 year old!) and subscribe to "My Way or the Highway, Monthly Magazine". My methods are more Spartan than my wife's. My wife is a more nurturing and caring person (I don't hold that against her) We have two daughters. My daughters spend 99% of their awake time with my wife. For these reasons, my wife gets first crack at enforcing discipline. Failing that, I am bad cop to her good cop. Now, I do not relish the role of bad cop. I have always heard that daughters were closer to their fathers and was looking forward to this type of dynamic in our household. However, I guess that relationship happens at 25 or older? But I digress. I have seen kids reared in both discipline circles: "Total hands off free will" and "Soldier robot mode". Our hope was to raise our kids somewhere down the middle. Obedient, respectful, bold, creative and uninhibited.

So we plotted our approach based on the best of these methodologies and combined it with the "Best of the best" of our own childhood experiences. The free will method is conducive to creativity and independence but dangerous to the creating boundaries of respect for others and self. Kids need rules. Without rules they tend to get stressed out very easy. As cheesy as it sounds, I equate it much to dog leadership hierarchy. You have to have an alpha dog and a beta and so on. I have seen many many stressed out small dogs who think that they run a household and bear responsibility for anything that may possibly go wrong. Compounded with the fact that they are much much smaller physically than the humans that they are in charge of, you can easily identify the small cop syndrome at its worst. Once these dogs are given rules and accept their place in the pack, a sense of calm and belonging to a team or family eases them of their burden. Kids are somewhat similar. I think that it first sunk in when my first born was just running around going berserk every night. The later and later it got, the more out of control and self-endangering her actions became. She didn't look tired. In fact, she looked like she was far from sleepy. When asked, she'd tell you that she was not sleepy. I can't remember if someone told us or we read it but, 2 year old's are not supposed to stay up until 10PM or so! The recommendation was 6-7PM! So, despite her objections, we put her to bed at that time - every night. The first night was brutal. The second, not as brutal. And so it went. She still resists (every night), but she falls asleep and sleeps well. She wakes up at a regular time and she has a schedule that is honing her internal chronometer. She is much happier about it to. She has her bedtime routine and that has eased her in to accepting that she is a little kid and needs to go to sleep.

That is just the must obvious example. I bring it up because it is strange that when our kids are learning from us, we - as parents - are learning from them. I have to keep an open mind and be very open to alternatives because this is the most important "project" that I have ever worked on and I really want to get it right! Having said all of that, my oldest daughter has boundaries but is not a robot. With her focus and her obedience, we find it easier to include her in activities that a lesser disciplined kid would be able to handle. For example, she has scene the Spider man movies on TV and wanted to go see Spider man 3 at the movie theaters! I know from experience that she can sit through a movie in her seat without having a meltdown. So, we went. Just the two of us in a sold out theater for a 2+ hour movie! And she was perfect! She watched the whole movie and asked me questions when she had them. I was so proud of her and she had a great time. She knew not to scream and holler and run around. She knew that we'd have to leave if that happened. She understood the consequences of her actions and made a decision (SHE MADE THE DECISION) to sit and enjoy a movie. If she had wanted to leave, we would have left. By empowering her, she is learning that fun and new and cool things are at her fingertips. Armed with this rationale and understanding, she applies it to her everyday circumstances. I cannot believe how fast she is growing and how beautiful and open her mind is. Did I mention that she appreciates Star Wars?

Jello Mold Theory

2007-05-03T18:12:00.001-05:00

The Jello Mold Theory. This is my personal view of human existance and of course, it has a few holes in it, but it fits in my head and it keeps me sane whenever I catch myself daydreaming about the big picture. The theory is that we exist inside a giant glob of time and space. By using the Jello analogy, time is visible and tangible. In reality (opinion), it is not only intangible and invisible but unproven and unverified with our limited technology and resources. But, let's discuss the dynamic of the mold with how it relates to ourselves as entities within it. Our universe is one of the many in an assortment of chunks of fruit and marshmellows suspended Within the mold. Our galaxies compose the ingrediants of those chunks. Our planets are the chemical elements within. Our lives, our physical being is the (relatively) molecular composition within these elements. My science is a bit rusty but, you get the picture. We are very tiny...there are things much much smaller to us and a whole lot of things much bigger than us. Nothing new on that front. What differentiates the mold theory from others is how the small relate to the big within the scope of time and space. The mold represents time. From the outside, looking at it, it appears static. It appears as nothing is going on. The fruit and marshmellows just sit there - suspended. But the jello is really liquid in nature and not concrete. There is room for movement although it appears limited when viewed from a perspective outside the mold. Limited that is, until you compare the molecular level existance to the overall scale. The tiniest of pressure, exerted from the outside - upon the mold creates a cascading domioe effect. The slight vibrations of the chunks shift universes a bit...galaxies more...worlds even more and the lives of the populations are moved immense distances. What does that mean? What is the context? Time. Remember, time is the Jell-O that the worlds are suspended in. Time is not static. It can move. We are dynamic but not conscious of this movement. At the highest levels of movement it is noticed but at the lower levels, the shifts are so huge that it travels outside the scope of a human being's lifetime or millions of generations for that matter. A shift that great - in a gazillionth of a fraction of time is not detectable. We would not even know how to begin designing the technology that could recognize these shifts. For this reason, it is erroneously assumedd (opinion) that time is linear and static. It is just too great of distance and too large of a scale to be noticed from our vantage point. It's like watching a movie and it is suddenly spliced to another film...but only that splice is noticeable because it is going from one frame to another and is relatively slow. When time shifts with such magnitude and constantly, our minds do not recognize the shifts. Mainly, this could be because we cannot see the future but rather "feel" the future using the context of the moment. Mentally, we have been programmed to "assume" the continuation of action. For example, when you are walking down the sidewalk, you assume that your next step is going to be on the sidewalk. It is what happened for the previous step and the step before that. If you take a breath, you are most likely going to exhale and take another without the slightest of consciousness dedicated to it. If this happens 99.9999999999% of the time, you start to get a sense of the "future" chain of events. Occassionally, it is unexpected. Let's break down time as it further relates to the mold. Time does not exist in a linear state. It is not flat. It is not a tapestry nor a road. Time transcends dimension and exists in every possible direction - in countless non-linear "paths". For example, if you were a baseball, the smallest instance of measurable time would be a poppy seed (it's tjhe smallest round object I could think of on the fly). Spray the baseball with a coat of "I Can't Believe it's not Butter - Sparay" and roll it in the poppy seeds until it is good and coated. That is the most immediate one-billionth of a second in your future. Re-apply butter and roll in seeds. Roll and re-apply countless times and you'll have a minute. But which direction? From the baseball, you go from poppy seed to poppy seed outward. But which chain of seeds do we take? Do we even have a choice? No transfer the visual viscosity of the poppy seeds and the baseball to the fruit-planet-universe Jell-o mold. The Jell-o in the mold acts in a similar but more condusive manner. The Jell-O touches and exists throughout. Time exists throughout and overlaps (deja vu) and intermingles. If you think of having ownership over your time then, think of it as a collective. Time is shared property once it touches someone else's. The poppy seeds exist for everyone. Time is all around and joining multiple entities - always. If you are still looking for a linear representation, take a knife and cut the Jell-o mold in half. You now, have a straight line. That (theoritically) could be the course of an individuals life...of the lives of billions and trillions of worlds although it is less likely to happen (statistically) but it is a valid path. It will also, sever infinite amounts of worlds. Most likely, time (as it relates to the example of the straight path afore mentioned) is the rarest example and an anomoly in the construct. Remember how the slightest movement of the mold shilfts universes, planets, and populations? It would be highly improbable (but again, not impossible) for time, at the lowest levels, to keep still. This constant movement - the interactions of the poppy seeds - give the illusion of time moving in a direction. You say, "it must be moving....I remember getting up this morning, showering, dressing and driving to work. Those events happened not only for me, but for other people." That is because of "memory". Memory is a recollection of history. The typical human mind is only able to recall events in terms of years and then, only as it relates to the affected individual. If you could strip away these constraints, humans would be able to see all of time. There would be no future nor past. There would be no lifetimes. How could you see before your birth or after your death? You would because there was neveer a birth nor a death. These events are merely borders and illusions created by the mind to deal with the borders or limitations self imposed by the conscious. But you have seen birth. You have witnessed death. How about those people? Where are they now? Those people have stepped to another poppy seed. They still exist albeit in another form, physically. Yes, this brings us to the subject of the soul. The (soul) is not tied to the body. The soul is merely a smaller subsect of the body. In fact (opinion), the body is composed of multiple souls. It is this "community" of souls that make us unique, that drive our minds, our personalities. It is heredity and genetics on a much much more expansive level. All souls do not exert their presence on the hosts conscious with equal force. Some are aggressive. Others are passive. Depending upon the soul's "charisma", the fingerprint on the conscious is more prevelant. This is why we sometimes sense kindred with other personas (reincarnation). It is also why we are inclined to be receptive or hostile to stimuli previously, unencountered. It is that "gut feeling". Anyways, this helps when I contemplate the big picture. Don't get me started on God.... I mean, the Jell-o mold has to be sitting on somebody's cafeteria tray, right?

Fiesta Freeze

2007-05-01T18:09:00.000-05:00

Sitting at work, watching the gray skies turn bruised and weeping, this locale could pass for the North West were it not for the flat landscape the extends toward the horizon. The rain alternates between light drizzle and heavy downpour - but, seldom stops. I am thinking that the roads are going to be a mess. Most likely, there will be automotive carnage.

People seem to be of two divergent driving schools: those that drive overly (and dangerously) cautious and those who treat treacherous drenched roadways (with impaired visibility) as if it were just another day on the road. Even the most experienced wet road driver is going to run into (no pun intended) problems when they come across a car going 40mph in their lane and they are doing 80mph'ish. Oh well, I just try to stay in the middle and out of the way. Fast enough to avoid the pack and slow enough not to catch the next one. I am thinking to myself, "It would really suck to get killed in a car wreck on the way home from work. If it is to happen, I'd prefer it to happen (insert anti-jinx, here) before I spend the whole day working." I guess that would be the ultimate "Fired on Friday at 5:00". But at least that extra 8 hours would go to my widow.

I'm sure she'd appreciate that.

Oh, well.

Fiesta just ended in San Antonio. People really get jazzed about that. I just don't see it. I've been to a few of them - growing up near SA. It is always like some cheesy county fair with lots of drunk people and over-priced fried crap that you have to wait in line for. I suppose that if you can afford the $5 Dixie cups of beer and get loaded, the drive home is all the more appealing (not). Its not like Christmas. There is no true meaning to be overlooked. It is a party and that's that.

Anyways, I am reminded of a time that me and my friends decided to go to the St. Mary's Oyster Bake after a day of sessioning a local half-pipe. Back in the mid-late eighties, you could count every single Texas half-pipe on two hands. It was a truly pathetic endorsement of skateboarding for a state as large as Texas - with a population of kids larger than any other. Anyways, when the opportunity lent itself, we'd make a road trip. This particular day, we loaded up my friend Tyson's dad's jeep (he was out of town and we are hooligans...enough said) and made the pilgrimage to the Zulu's ramp. I believe that it had an official name like, "Bob's Ramp" or "Windsor Ramp" or something to that extent but, knowledge of this particular ramp was pilfered from the local skate shop with great cunning and coercion. We were not disappointed. The structure was a humongous (to a 16 year old) and finely constructed monstrosity. Along with great ramps come capable skaters. Fortunately, at that time, skate snobbery wasn't at its climax and the locals were kind enough not to lock us out and we were able to grab a few runs. I have since been to skate parks in Dallas and Houston where it mattered not who dropped first but rather who flinched from their line last. Flat bottom chicken produced numerous concussions and a few broken limbs. To an extent, it was like trailer park poker. You had to read the guy on the other side and determine if he wanted the run more than you. He was likewise, sizing you up. I do have friends that never got snaked. My friend Joey (aka., "Toey") K was so out of control, people did not want to stand any closer than 3ft to the coping for fear of catching his reckless wrath. Joey never fell. He was the train wreck on wheels that that inspired the timid to push the envelop. I mean, if Joey could ride it out, I should be able to land a fakie-ollie to tail, right?

But, I digress. We skated and then, since we were already in SA, decided to go try to drink some beer and hit on some girls. Both of those goals were total busts (no pun intended). It might've helped if were weren't dressed like skate monkeys and actually had money. But, we stayed and checked out the scenery. For the previously mentioned reasons, it was L-A-M-E. So, we decided to bail in search of other possibilities that the night might offer up. There was one little problem...the weather had changed on us.

No lie, the temperature went from 90 something and sunny by day - to misty and 40ish as the dark rolled in! Easily, a 50+ degree change in a matter of hours. It would not have been so bad but we were in a Jeep (w/o top - because we thought that we wouldn't need it and it took up space devoted to skate gear) and we were dressed in T-shirts and shorts! To top it off, we had no place to stay locally, so we decided to head back. There is nothing like barreling down a highway at night - in a Jeep - without the top on - in shorts and a T-shirt - in 40 degree, misty weather. I swear that I chipped a millimeter of enamel off of my teeth, chattering so hard. Tyson's theory was to drive faster and to get us home sooner so that we could be warmer sooner. Even with the test of time, I guess that rational still holds up...but oh, how it was a painful 45 minutes or so. I remember pulling my entire body into my flimsy-ass T-shirts for what minimal warmth my body generated could be shared with my appendages. I remember myself and the other guys yelling to pull over - that it was too cold and we needed to warm up just a bit before continuing (although that might've just prolonged the agony further).
Tyson persisted with the torture until we exited the highway and were taxing down the access road at 30mph. Suddenly, the 40 degree misty evening felt more like 85 and cozy. I shook my fist at Tyson and swore that I'd always remember the frostbite freeway...and twenty years later, I am STILL whining about it. Ah, good times.

Dino Bone Person

2007-04-26T18:20:00.000-05:00

The weekend before last, my wife, daughters and I took a trip down to the coast. From my perspective...the sand was dirty and littered with half buried trash, kelp and driftwood..45mph wind sandblasted us...the water was brown and luke warm...and it was overcast and cool. From my daughter's perspective...it was a blast. I tried to keep my grumbling and mumbling to myself and pack away my Debbie-Downer persona. My daughter finds such excitement in having rogue waves crash into her, finding shell shards, and pouring water on my sand castle (aka. large indiscernible pile of somewhat packed sand). She also enjoys staying at the hotel. I guess it is sort of like spending the night over at a friend's house - only with your parents and without a friend. It's all new to her and she takes full advantage. She is after all, 3.
3 but, occasionally going on 13. Case in point, I was flipping through the channels in the motel room to get a read on the extent of our premium cable channel availability (it stunk, of course). Due to my 3 year old channel-surfing co-pilot's similar inclination, I was forced to skip channels that had excessive gore, profanity and sex....you know, all of the good channels. I stopped on Discovery Kids channel. This was the compromise channel. Not too much for her and I guess, if I have to watch kids shows, I want to at least walk away with something.

The show on at that time was about dinosaurs. I figured that this would appeal to her because she loves monsters and lizards (typical girl). There was a somewhat attractive young lady standing besides a Tyrannosaurus skull in a laboratory, discussing the specific bones in the jaw. My daughter didn't even bother looking at me and matter-of-factly asked, "Is that paleontologist a lady paleontologist?" My eyeballs almost popped out of my head. If I had had anything in my mouth at that time (fortunately, I did not), I would have most certainly, spit it across the room. "Yeah...uh...yes, I believe that IS a lady paleontologist..." was my stumbling reply - only after mentally analyzing if this person actually qualified as a paleontologist (she did).
My mind raced. I have always known my daughter was a genius but, this was too much! She wasn't just regurgitating or mimicking words she had overheard. She knew what a paleontologist was and was more concerned with whether or not women could fill this job description. Of course she could! I do not know why she would have doubts as my wife and I have never put the sex qualifier on any careers. Could it just be society? I don't know but, I will refocus my efforts on assuring her that there is nothing that she cannot do if she puts her mind to it.

So, my mind was flooded with a domino effect of thoughts relating to this confirmation of my child's potential. She is sooo smart! I cannot believe she is only 3 & 1/2! How am I going to keep this kid interested in school and not bored? Hours later, as we were making the lengthy drive back and my thoughts retraced the events, my daughter made one of her many annoying yell-wine-honk sounds....."whaaaaaaaaaaccckkkk!" followed by a long and loud open-mouthed sluuuurp as she sucked the juice from a hard candy. "Whaaaaaaaackkkkk!!! Sluuuuuurppp! Whaaaaack...!!! Slllluuuuurp!" This series of sounds filled the car for the better part of half an hour...serving to ground me. Yes, she is only 3 &1/2....3 & 1/2 and AWESOME!!!

Last Stop - Psyche Ward

2007-04-20T18:00:00.000-05:00

At last entry, I was attempting to dig a trench across lawn to find a subsurface pipe that tied into the meter. I had dug about six feet from the break and about two feet down (a foot and a half wide) when I passed the area where it would have been logically placed. No pipe. I had to re-evaluate what I was doing here. Thinking out of the box was not helping me. So, despite my better judgement, I decided to excavate and follow the line from the point of the break. As I had already known, the line led to the opposite direction of the meter box. This is how I knew that it had to U-turn somewhere and makes its way back to the box. That is also why it perplexed me when I couldn't find. I dug and followed it for about three feet and there it was....the U-Turn. The problem was that it did NOT turn to the right as predicted but rather, to the left...and down. The return pipe was directly UNDER the broken pipe....aaaargh! It was descending so, it must have been very deeply laid.

Now, the focus was back to the repair. My neighbors suggested that I move the cooper/PVC intersection back away from the foundation (where it currently, resided - 3 inches from the foundation. This would provide for copper elbows and perhaps 2-3 feet of copper line-intersecting the PVC in a straight line. It would allow for more flexibility and less shearing at the exchange. This made perfect sense to me. Additionally, future repairs (and you just know that there will be future repairs) would be more accessible and simple (insert anti-jinx, here.) to resolve.

Friday night, last week - after work, I sanded down pipe and cut the sections and implemented my plan. I had just one joint left to weld when a thunderstorm whipped in and started dumping rains and high winds on me. I was covered in mud and it was 10PM so, I decided to wait out the storm before finishing welds. I was going to complete this and take a hot shower! Fortunately, the storm only lasted about an hour so, I went back out and proceeded to weld. Unfortunately, the cold wet pipes were resistant to take the weld. I had to keep the torch in place for what seemed like an hour (most likely, considerably shorter duration) to dry them up. When it was all said and done, I turned on the water. Pop! The welds did not hold. Crap crap crap. At least it happened at that point and not after I had re-buried the lines. Still, I contemplated Hari-Kari. The only problem with that is that I could leave my wife husbandless AND without water. Then again, maybe her next husband would be a plumber?
Since it was 11:30PM, I hosed off with the neighbors water hose (freeeezing!) and went to bed grumbling.

The next morning, work resumed. This time, I would have dry pipe to work with and would carefully consider the order that I weld the pipes so that the final weld (that junctions the line) would be furthest from where water could pool up (not that I would allow such a thing to happen...again!). Did I mention that I made several trips to the hardware store? This time I bought extra product...just in case). When it was all complete, I turned the water again. The water hit the line and then, boom! Big leak. I assessed the situation. Good news: all my welds held. Bad news, the leak came from the copper pipe at the point where it disappeared into the foundation! Apparently, the multiple repairs had overworked the pipe. This time, I washed my hands of it. I know that I've said it a million times before but this time, I meant it. I am calling a plumber. Since, it was the weekend, we would have to wait until Monday.

Monday rolls around and my wife calls me to tell me that the plumber came and that it would cost AT LEAST $800.00 to repair. $400.00 to fix pipe and $400.00 to chisel through 6 inches of concrete with X amount for every inch needed after that. She paid him the $35 minimum for visit and sent him on his way. She needed to speak with insurance company first to see what our deductible was.

Of course we did not hear from the insurance guy until the next day and lo and behold....our insurance does not cover that!! Only damage caused by the leak. How much is my family's agony for two weeks without water worth, eh? @#$%^^!! So, the ball was back in my court. I thought about it and thought about it. Actually, it was a relatively simple decision. There ain't no way I can afford to spend $800.00 for this! I hoped my family would be okay with the delay and decided that I would chisel away the concrete and re fix the pipes....again. So, I spent another $12.00 on parts and a mason chisel and drill bit. My plan was to drill and chisel away enough space to repair. After two afternoons (after getting home from work) and taking late night showers at my friends Cindy & Brad's house, I had chiseled away about 5-6 inches only to discover another leak that had been wrapped in some kind of tar paper sleeve and encased into the concrete foundation! Ugh, that meant that I needed to chisel away another 4-6 inches deep.

Add to this that my wife has night classes on Wednesday and Thursday nights and I watch the kiddos, my time work time was restricted and to project extended. It is a good thing that we didn't go the professional plumber route. I don't know what the final bill would have ended up! Thursday, my very generous boss allowed me to leave at 2:30PM so that I could get more work done before my wife went to class. Despite to bloodied knuckles, cuts, scrapes and bruises...something finally, went our way. I beautifully precise blow from the chisel dislodged a large chunk of concrete and I now had enough room to operate. Getting the torch on the pipe without burning my eyes out would prove a daunting task but I remedied this by doing most of my welds above ground and leaving it for a single subterranean weld. A funny thing happens to concrete that is exposed to the tip of a torch for several minutes...the gravel rocks embedded get very hot and then explode! So, I adorned my goggles and continued. Cut, sand, flux, weld. Cut, sand, flux, weld. Cut, sand, flux, weld....and then it was done. I turned on the water and a funny thing happened....the pipe did not explode. It did not leak. It worked! Still the inner-pessimist made me leave the whole site unearthed until we are positive that it is not going to leak.

In the meantime, I cut a couple of sections of 8" diameter PVC to wrap around the lines and provide for more flex room without the weight of the drying and shifting soil, bearing down upon the joints. I intend to cover these with 100% river pea gravel. If the line breaks, you will never hear from me again. I will be resided in the state mental hospital.

Misery by Air, Misery by Ground

2007-04-12T06:56:00.000-05:00

What is the most lamest thing that could burden me? I mean, you know...if you had been following along....you know that I have a couple of white whales hanging around my neck. The heater? The A/C? The plumbing? Yes, the heater AND the plumbing have struck me upside the head once again. I hesitate to use, "blindsided" because I could see this coming. If anything, I thought that we might get away with it for another 8 months to a year but, alas.....no.

We hadn't been using the furnace for awhile because it has been really warm outside these past couple of months. Lo and behold, we get a rogue cold front. I awake about 3:45AM to notice that it was really cold in our room. 65 degrees to be exact! From unfortunate previous experience, I knew that the problem had to be that the pilot light had gone out after months of non-use. So, I scampered up the ladder to my very favorite in-house destination....the attic. Like a champ, I was able to get it re-lit. This is a far cry from my past experiences. It is a difficult task because the light is way back underneath and I have to affix a match to a long metal rod and insert it between two vent slats and hover over the gas spigot while I use my free hand to compress a knob, that is most inconveniently located on the other side of the furnace, until it lights. Once the pilot light is lit, I have to keep the know depressed until the pilot sufficiently warms a censor and then twist the knob into position. If I release pressure on the knob too soon, the pilot goes out and I have to restart the process. I have had many an unlucky night where I have gone through 15-20 matches until it lit.

I guess the problem was that the censor has a nice fine layer of carbon on it that delays causes it to be less sensitive to the heat of the pilot. I remedied this by thoroughly scraping the element and bending it closer to the pilot spigot. That seemed to have fixed it up...for now, that is.
The plumbing....well...what more can I say? Same'ol issue at the same'ol place. It is causing me to quickly loose my hair. That which has yet to be lost...is turning gray. The pipe that always breaks, broke, again. It is at the point where the PVC line from the street meets the copper line at the house's foundation. I had buried it in pea gravel to reduce the impact of the shifting soil but apparently, this didn't save the day as I had so hoped it would. So, I will attempt to repair...once again. I need to think "outside the box" on this one. Ideally, I believe that I need to afford a certain amount of room to allow for the pipes to move as the house/ground shifts. Since the pea gravel didn't quite provide for the flex that was needed. I am thinking that I need to put a certain length of the 3/4" PVC within a larger section of PVC (perhaps 8" diameter. That would keep the weight of that clay-like soil off of the 3/4". Yes, that is what I think I will do. Cross your fingers....if this doesn't work....my next option is to dig up the entire line from the meter to the house (ugh!).

Death to Political Polarization

2007-04-04T18:45:00.000-05:00

My wife and I are all over the road - politically. "The government is best which governs least" (thanks Tom Paine) seems the most applicable to our standards. The current parties constantly play off of each other - swapping roles like "good cop/bad cop" against the public in order to stay in power and make money for one another. The Republicans would have you believe that the Democrats are more into government control over Johnny Man-On-The-Street's life than they are. They point to taxing and increases in funded programs, gun control, and reject giving people the choice in investment of social security. The Democrats say that the Republicans are the real control freaks. They point out that Republicans would like to make it illegal for a woman to decide the future of her pregnancy, they want to build a big wall across the Mexican border, keep marijuana illegal and fund the mega corporations with pork (wait a second....both parties do that). Anyway, how can you vote for any of these villains if they all want to keep the average person under their thumb? They are all a bunch of gluttonous pigs with overflowing troughs of self interest. It is enough to make the majority of people shun the process out of confusion, apathy or even disgust. We try to vote for the candidates that "best" represent us and that causes us to vote across the spectrum. The problem is....that once they are elected, they all compromise, negotiate and glom back together in packs to pass legislation - otherwise, there would be no movement on the issues. Although this prods along (ever so slowly) legislation and tailors our lives with laws, liberties and impositions...it also keeps the two main parties atop the juggernaut. Lately, I've noticed more left-leaning Republicans and more conservative Democrats than ever before. Could this be signaling the erosion of the political "gang" structure? The nature of politics is the formation of coalitions and platforms with planks that take precedence in campaign hierarchy. The hot button issues polarize the voters and we end up looking through red or blue lenses when trying to run the government. The faces that seek the office hitch their wagon to these polarized issues that are packaged and distributed for the main stream media to gobble up and spit out to the public without having to over exert themselves. Easier, quicker....add intro and put it on the air. Simplicity allows for less thought and equals more money as you can work in more faeux news stories and sprinkle liberally with commercials! Yummy!

Could a government function without parties? Could it exist with the truly "best" man or woman representing the voters and not the candidate with the deepest wallets, supported by the least hated party? Then, perhaps people could seriously ponder prior voting records and actions of the individuals in question when choosing whom they will commit their vote for.
So, how do you destroy the party umbrella and expose those underneath to the same litmus test that you would use to pick a plumber or meteorologist? What would happen if your decisions were based upon a candidate's track record? On the word of mouth from trusted confidants? Upon experience? Then, the best person should win 9 times out of 10 and the people would have the confidence of true representation because they would know that no one skated through the process. Nobody got hoodwinked by the flavor of the month. The candidates would be forced to actually relate to their constituents. They would no longer be able to espouse the same old tired rhetoric and company lines that are merely tweaked versions from the playbook. I cannot believe that we've endured this farce for so long. I cannot believe that the people have just accepted the system as the way it is and that it will always be so. I cannot believe it ...yet, I am one of the reasons that it has not changed. Myself and several million others. I think (hope) that, were a solution to present itself, the collective frustration would support a movement of change.

The biggest concern would be the prevention of a big party hijack. Whenever political parties see any growing movement or trend, they instantly adopt it as their own (rather ingenuously) or quash it. They cannot help it. It is their nature. It is all black and white...red and blue in their world. They are a force to be reckoned with. The powerful corporations and interests pay for the politicians and the votes they carry. The laws that are created, amended and terminated are a direct result of the lobbyist and the dark forces that send them to Washington to enforce their bidding. These entities will not relinquish control so easily. They will target opposition,. They will smear. They will destroy. It is the defensive strategy that has kept them in power for so long. It is the fear of facing these forces that keep us subdued. Nobody has the desire to step forward and face execution. When the consequences are weighed against the benefits, most are apt to rethink their present situation as, "I guess it really isn't that bad...it could be worse." And so, it will most likely continue to grind away our rights that come from our voice and resistance becomes an even more elusive and fleeting concept.

One day, you will wake up and notice that the pawn shops, liquor and gun stores that had previously been relegated to the poorer neighborhoods - has finally come to yours. Lottery tickets and payday loans, the opiate used to pacify the masses that could affect change, are now, targeting your children. The less rosier their future becomes, the more they will need the corporate hand out. The hand that purports to help you up, conceals the other - the one that holds your head under the water. As with the rising cost of living...with the growing gap between the rich and the poor...it becomes difficult to scream when your mouth lies below the surface. Who would hear you, anyways? And will they even care to?

Fiddling on the Roof

2007-03-28T19:53:00.000-05:00

Aye chihuahua...it has been awhile since I last posted. So much has happened. So much in fact that I continuous delude myself that it is too much to blog about. A quick ego check reveals that it isn't really all that much and technically, hardly worth mentioning. Yet, here I go...stringing along events and adjectives in an effort to pacify my self psychosis..

I love my job and I hate to work. Or, is it that I hate my job and love work? Sometimes, I just can't tell. I love getting paid. I enjoy my co-workers immensely. My boss is awesome. I even like the problems and tasks associated with my position. I just hate (HATE) getting up while it is still dark outside, putting on a business monkey suit, driving for half an hour, dealing with red tape, covering my ass (because it is after all, the corporate mantra), driving home, getting only a couple of hours to spend with my family (half of that time is used for decompression) and going to bed by 9:30PM so that I can do it all over again for five days a week. But, I guess that it makes me appreciate weekends. That is where the REAL living is done!

I do so looove the weekends. I get to drink beer, grill a good meal and hang out with my family. My wife usually has a few projects lined up for me to take care of and I get a bit of meditation going on as I check them off. For the last couple of weekends, I had been working on a porch covering project so that there might exist some shade on our back porch (which during the summer - is like a rather large, concrete frying pan). I had previously, spent some time sketching out detailed plans for the covering. It was fun to use my drafting skills that I hadn't used since school. Although I decided against architecture as a career choice (as is usual with my many neurosis, the thought of people's lives depending upon whether or not something that I designed collapses on them - proved to much for my deep seeded paranoia of great pessimistic possibilities), I still love designing and creating technical renderings of buildings and objects as I see them laid out in my mind's eye. So, I took great joy in detailing every joist, crossbeam, intersection, et al.

I logged into the lumber store's website and attempted to attach prices on the building materials so that I could submit my expenses to the head superintendent - my wife. Unfortunately, the website does not carry pricing for the pieces that I needed. I suppose that is because they want you to come down and see for yourself and hey, if a power saw jumps off the shelf and into your arms...well, I guess that works that is bonus, eh?

Problem numero uno: we no longer have a pickup truck. We sold our truck to help finance the purchase of a Honda Civic which gets better gas mileage (and is a much better vehicle) for commuting to and from work. Our truck is hopefully, now across the border and deep into Mexico. But, I digress...that is another story for another day. So, I called up my dad and he came up with his pickup truck and we went to purchase some lumber from the "Home Supply" store where I donate half of my income on a regular basis. We picked out the wood and loaded it up and brought it home. Carrying the wood from front to back yard, it struck me that the porch is a whole lot bigger in reality than when I surveyed it and drew it up in plans! I had three 16 foot long 2x8's that made up the width of the porch covering. I had 13 10foot 2x8's that make up the cross beams. I had 4 4x4's to hold the load. The next thing that struck me was 'damn, this is going to be heavy!' I kind of foresaw this aspect so, I had purchased plenty of 3/8 8 inch bolts with corresponding nylon locking nuts and washers (to keep it from coming undone and from tearing into the wood.

To say that it all went smoothly and we got it up as quickly as I had imagined would do my suffering some serious injustice and face time. It took all of two days and tore my body to hell, ha! I had warned my poor dad that if he helped me out, I'd have a cold beer for him and I would provide plenty of comic relief. Unfortunately, I held my end of the bargain. An example: I was standing on the porch holding a 12 foot 4x4 with my back to the edge. Something happened (as it always does when you are focused on not messing yourself up by distraction) and I dropped the extremely heavy piece of wood across my toes. Since the lumber was on top of my feet, I was prevented from jumping 20 feet into the air in my agonizing release. Instead, my knees immediately gave out and I dropped to my ass like a sack of cement potatoes. Once, my butt was on the same level as my feet, they were easily (and lightening fast) pulled out from under the wood. Sadly, the sudden recoil of my legs knocked me off balance just a smidgen and I fell back a bit to steady myself. Unfortunately, I had forgotten how close to the edge of the porch I was and my outstretched arms (sent back to brace myself) pierced the non-existent porch and my body followed. The porch is only about three feet above the ground but, it is on a hill that drops another couple of feet before meeting the fence that separates us from our neighbor. Since, my butt was still on the porch and my upper torso descended backwards below that level, I found myself in the midst of a back flip. Had the ground level been higher, I would have just conked my head. But, it wasn't - and I didn't. Instead, I completed the flip (or flips, if you will) and found myself sitting on my butt, against the fence, staring up in disbelief. No harm - no foul...other than my smashed toes. Like I said before, I'd provide the entertainment - however involuntarily.

So at the end of day two, the monstrosity was erected and affixed. My ever grateful wife's first words were, "Is that it? Are you going to put something on top?" There were a lot more comments but I seemed to have tuned her out during the conversation. Alas, as usual....she was right. It just didn't look like it did in my head. It looked "unfinished" and worse yet, it really wasn't providing any shade at all. The problem is, we live on a hill the is on the edge of a big field that allows for strong winds to come up on the back porch. My design was for these rafters to allow for the air to pass freely and still provide shade because unless the sun was directly overhead, the rafters would make shade. A solid roof would provide too resistant to the wind and add stress to the structure (which I most surely did not want to be permanently affixed to the house (see other blog entries about foundation shifts, fix and warranties with strings attached, etc.). We finally agreed on wood lattice across the tops of the rafters. Once again (the very next weekend), my brother and my father graciously answered the call and helped me add the roofing components.

Next, I surveyed the two 4x4's that were supporting the primary load (because of the slight pitch). I decided that they must be bolstered. Yet another weekend and another trip to the lumber store where I loaded up two more 10 foot 4x4's in the Toyota 4Runner and made the quick trip home. Despite my drill bit being too short to clear 8 inches worth of wood, I managed to affix and bolster the load bearing columns. My wife then, designated a 3 foot wood fence be erected on the high side of the porch - ironically, to keep idiots like myself from falling off the porch. Long story short (or, as short as I can make it), it is done!!! I think it looks pretty damned good - if you ask me. The important thing however, is that my wife likes it.

Groundhog Repeat Groundhog

2007-02-21T20:57:00.000-06:00

This is an update to "Operation: Lake Victoria Drain". To get up to speed, see also - the prior two postings.

Yesterday, after my friend told me it would be okay...I slipped out of work 15 minutes early. That's what friends are for: turning that spark into a house fire. I( figured that an extra 15 minutes would give me a little breathing room to get home, survey the scene, head to hardware store, retrieve the needed materials, return home and repair the leaking pipes. No problem-o, right? Sounds like a good plan. The sun is pretty much gone by 7 PM so that gives me about an hour and a half to retrieve the materials and repair. You can see why that 15 additional minutes are golden. So, I hauled ass home - changed into work shorts - glanced at the disaster area - made a mental note of needed supplies - and hauled ass to the hardware store.

Having arrived at the hardware store, I proceeded at a near sprint to the plumbing section. I looked for the gray PVC but was unable to locate it. After about 10-15 minutes of looking up and down the aisles, I asked store personnel if they carried said product. I was informed that it was in stock and currently resides about 4ft from my nose on the other side of the aisle that I was now facing. Good grief. It was shaping up to be "one of those" days. I located the PVC and my mind went completely blank. I could not for the life of me...remember if the pipe was 1/2" or 3/4". I knew how many elbows I needed. I knew that I needed nylon tape. I was stocked up on cement and catalyst. I needed an extra bag of pea gravel. I just couldn't recall the diameter of the !*#$% pipe! I stared and stared at it. I tried desperately to envision the pipe in my hand. Did it feel larger than a 1/2"? Smaller? I thought that maybe the gray color was playing an optical illusion upon my seeing grapes. I went back to the white standard PVC section and hefted varying diameter pipe. I failed to jog the memory. I went back to the gray. What if I bought both sizes and returned the unused segments? No, that would be a colossal hassle. I would also have to buy the corresponding elbows.

As I have been so fond of uttering, "crapcrapcrapcrapcrapppp...!" Daylight was burning. The pressure was making my mind go even emptier than empty!! It was like trying to untie a knot in your laces by pulling both ends tighter! I decided to go get the gravel and that perhaps, some time away from the plumbing section might allow for a cleaner thought process and an improved recollection. So, I scurried over to the "Home & Garden" section. Of course, this hardware store did not have the type of gravel that I was looking for...! Aye chihuahua! You would think that this wouldn't be such a big deal. That gravel is gravel, right? But it IS a big deal (at least to my twisted mind). The smaller and smoother the gravel, the less dirt will work itself in between the pieces and congregate around the buried pipe and thus, reduce the likely hood of additional pressure on the line when the earth shifts (as it always does). I am thinking "underground flexibility" and I am sooo stinking tired of digging this mess up - over and over again and again. I want it fixed and I want it fixed the best possible way that it can be fixed. The pressure was oozing out my ears. I had a mental implosion right there in the "Home & Garden" section. Fortunately, nobody noticed that my nose was inside-out. I held my nose, took a tremendously deep breath and blew my head back up and walked out of the store without a purchase. The trip and the day were a total waste - except for one very important lesson:

Stop and take a moment to compile a detailed list of the supplies that are needed before rushing off to the store. Just because I hadn't needed a list the previous 659 trips, doesn't ensure you that it won't bite you in the butt at the precise moment that you need it.
I will try again, tomorrow.

I Ain't Diggin' This

2007-02-20T18:33:00.000-06:00

By the first rays of light I spied it yet, again. Just sitting there....laughing at me. The languishing pool of water that has taken up residency on my neighbor's lawn, defiantly laughed at me as I left for work this AM. What is the deal?!? I was 99.9% sure that I had fixed the gay water pipe and that the water would have drained down into the earth...but it hadn't. That means it was: 1) The original leak - yes, the one that has been fixed three times in the past two years - has returned to haunt me (despite the surface dirt being dry and hard as concrete. 2) The water simply is so saturated that the water couldn't possibly be absorbed in 12 hours. 3) The gray water leak was NOT fixed. or, 4) The leaks are coming from underneath (gulp) the foundation.

My wife called the city and they sent someone out to survey the damage. He politely confirmed that the issue was not a city problem. He felt pretty sure that it was coming from the house. I did rule out that the water was fresh and not gray. I guess I should have been able to do that, right?!? So, apparently my fixes to the new water join at the foundation juncture was not up to par and the issue did not even make it a year this time. Admitting that you have a problem is the first step. "Hello, my name is 'Buck' and I own a home. It was been under 120 days since I last fixed this plumbing issue...." Like shoving a knife into my armpit, my wife and I agreed to call out (and PAY for) a plumber to come and assess the issue from a professional vantage point.
The plumber re-affirmed the rumbling in the bottom of my stomach was not hunger-related...it was that cursin' freggin albatross around my neck! He called me at work and I quizzed him for several minutes. He recommended that I use the dark gray 80 gauge PVC piping for the repairs as it has more flexibility and is less likely to rupture in the (immediate) future. I asked him about the unusual (to me) winding layout of the pipe path (pipes go past the juncture, double back, drop down, and then angle up to connect with the base). He assured me that this is a common practice. I asked him if it was a good idea or bad idea to add the gravel around the pipes. He said that this is good. He charged us $35 bucks for his advice and parted company. After work today (yes, I spend my crummy lunch break whining/writing about this junk), I am going to my oh-so-favorite hardware store and trade my daughters' college funds on some more plumbing equipment. Should be under $20....we shall see. If no more blogs follow....I most surely went postal.

Swampland, TX

2007-02-19T20:02:00.000-06:00

There used to be a time when I believed that weekends were for relaxing. Better yet - for socializing, ha! I have come to the recent understanding that weekends are for fixing your home or running errands during daylight hours. This will be my fifty-billionth blog on fixing something that is wrong with my house. If each day were 75 hours long and my weekends were 4 days long...I still doubt that I'd ever get ahead of my home improvement gorilla. As mentioned in yesterday's post, I fixed the truck, cleaned out (part of) the garage and replaced two ceiling fans. After that post, my neighbor knocked on our door and informed me that we were flooding her lawn. My stomach climbed up my esophagus, gripped my tongue, and sling-shotted out my mouth into a belly-flop at my feet. (crapcrapcrapcrapcrap -pardon my French) Here we go....again. As you may recall, this is not our first swampland rodeo. The first time, we discovered that the water was leaking at the point where the line from the city attached to the line from our foundation. Of course, this was on our side of the meter and therefore, our problem. I dug up the mud that entombed the connection and shut the water off until the insurance sent someone out to repair it. Two and a half weeks later - it was fixed. I year to the week that it was repaired...BAM! It happened again. With my father-inlaw's help, I dug it up and repaired it.

So, was it any wonder that I grabbed the shovel and started re-digging up the usual suspect? The point of carnage is on the left side of our driveway and on the highpoint of the property that sits on a slopping landscape. Because of the landscape configuration, the underground leak runs under the driveway and shows up on the lawn of the neighbors on the opposite side of the house. Sneaky lil' bastard. It is for this very reason that the surface above the leak can appear dry and 10" down, the clay will be saturated. The clay....did I mention how much I hate the freggin' dirt that we live atop?!? When it gets wet, it turns into suffocating clay. It makes mud look like soup in comparison. When it dries out, it turns to rock!! You can imagine my joy at the prospect of chiseling through a concrete sidewalk only to encounter another foot and a half of cold Gummy Bear! My back weeps at the memories.

Like a good little robot....beaten down by the futility of the reoccurring nightmare....I began the laborious process of excavation. I was about 8 inches down when my wife hollered at me. Apparently, the leak was coming from a different line on the other side of the house. The leak was coming from a break in our 6" PVC gray water line that leads to the sewer. Yes, my digging just dropped another peg on the "Could It Possibly Get Any Worse Than This???" ladder. Digging in clay that smells like a toilet. Yes, that is much better. So, I unearthed the line and dug a foot to the left-right-bottom to give clearance for any surgery yet to come. Sure enough, there was a nice little "stream" that was pouring out from the underside of the pipe.
I only had three hours of daylight left so I made another trip to the hardware store (I average 4 to 6 a weekend). They know me there as the zombie guy that wanders the aisles with the glassy eyes - mumbling incoherently to himself. I spent some time looking at apparatus' that could work until I found a 1/4" thick rubber tubing gasket with two metal ring tighteners on each end. This looked to be the bet option because the pipes were about a 1/4" off (in hight) at the point of the break. The culprit was the shifting soil. Curse the black dirt....curse it!!! I purchased the gasket and headed home...with serious doubts in my head as to "if" this solution would work. Since there were no other options available to me at the hardware store (...and the next option was spending a few hundred dollars on a plumber), I decided that $4.86 was not a bad price if it were to turn out to be a failure.

I was able to weasel the gasket between the segments and cinch the ends. I had my wife run some water to test. It passed test numero uno. Next was to wait until this afternoon and determine if no new "water" has accumulated in the hole. If it looks good, I will dump some purchased gravel (yes, that's right....I had to buy gravel - the city frowns upon you taking it off their roads) into the hole to facilitate drainage at a deeper level into the ground should the leak rear its ugly head.

If it works, I will have saved a couple of hundred dollars from a plumber's bill (only to be added at a later date to a chiropractor's bill). It is amazing what hoops I will jump through - just to avoid dealing with the cursing-freggin' insurance red tape!

Chores Galore

2007-02-18T11:21:00.000-06:00

I awoke this morning at 3:31 AM Central time -Earth, U.S.A. It used to be confusing - trying to mentally sync time down on the surface with orbit time. The days (if you could call them that) go by much more quickly. You could drive yourself mad if you focus too much on the "real world". It is better just to concentrate on your job and your tour will be up before you know it. Anyways, the source of intrusion upon my already tenuous slumber, was the INF-ANT mini droid. Fortunately, my crew mate tended to the issue. She is much more familiar with the software and the mechanics of it. Her first diagnosis was that the batteries ran low and tripped the alarm. She tried to "re-juice" them but they were already charged. In fact, they were completely charged. After tinkering with it for awhile, she discovered a bug in the coding. It was programmed to awake at 3:30 AM and launch into full functional mode rather than remain in hibernation until 7:15 AM (as how the model was designed to function). Dealing with code while half asleep and in the poorly illuminated void of space can be rather challenging. After a couple of attempts to access the panel, the coding was debugged and by that point, the unit returned to hibernation. I lay awake during the episode but keep my eyes closed less I become a part of the consciously aware and not maintain my foothold in the dream state that is fleeting. It is gone. I will have to start from scratch. During my mental countdown, my mind darts from image to image - task to task - reports, duties, and anything else that desires an audience with my mind. I cannot focus on "not focusing". So, I do what I always do when I cannot fall back to sleep...I detail my duties. They are so mundane, I cannot help but fail to pay attention to my own thoughts, ha!

It has been a week past 7 months that we have been up here. Sometimes it feels like years-sometimes it feels like 7 months. It just depends upon the moment. Right now? It feels like 7 years. Growing up, the thought of living and working in space conjured up images of Star Wars, Star Trek, Planet of the Apes and countless scifi adventures. Oh how mistaken I was. Having finally arrived at my dream job, I find myself nothing more than a glorified gas station attendant. There is plenty to do but, it is nothing at all like being a star fighter pilot - transversing the universe - blowing up hostile aliens. it is a whole lot of sitting in tight quarters and maintaining your equipment. The reason that we are limited to one year tours is because of the boredom that rots your mind. One on, one off for up to six tours (12 years, total). After that, the agency figures that no human being could take. Nobody that I no has made it to six tours though. The pay is five times what you could make on the surface and by your fourth tour, there isn't really any reason to subject yourself to more. Some of the younger guys only make it to one tour. Some never complete a tour. If you go 364 days and bug out - you forfeit your salary. That's a tough break but it helps you keep your focus.

So, today's task is the same as yesterday. I have to fix a forward motor assembly in the coolant pump. It isn't a high priority, but all the same, we are better off getting it done. I replace the rear motor yesterday. One is sufficient to push the ammonia (in the cold temperatures of space, ammonia is one of the few liquids that functions without freezing) through the outer lines. Once that was up and running, it is safe to take the forward motor offline and repair it. Fascinating, right? I can feel sleep starting to take hold... Also yesterday, we did some house cleaning in the cargo/docking port. Mainly, it is like a game of Tetris where you can jettison to pieces that are no longer needed. We use our rudimentary tools to break the scrap down and compact it into a rubbish container. You only get two shots a month at disposing of this waste so, it is imperative you fit as much into the containers as possible. It is another one of those tasks that I have put off until I absolutely, positively had to address. I also, fixed a connector line to the forward ignition bank battery console of the shuttle. It had been shorting out on previous jaunts and it needed to be fixed before we found ourselves drifting aimlessly in space. Again, we have communications that are not reliant on this - and could easily call for aid if needed, but it is best for it to work when we need it to.

It was a little more entailed than I had thought it would be. I scheduled myself for 15 minutes to a half hour to fix it. It took me an hour and a half! I had taken the battery offline and removed the cables that attach to the terminal housing. I cleaned the up and reattached them. As I was bolting them down to the housing, I noticed movement between the housing and the terminal. So, I tried to crank down the bolts on the housing. The housing had been cranked as tight as it could go from previous attempts. I knew that this was coming so I had previously ordered a replacement housing. I had put off replacing it when it arrived because 1) I wasn't sure that the piece would work with the existing terminal structure 2) It was working just fine - for now and 3) I am lazy. But, the day had come and it was time to swap it out. The old housing was lead and getting "mushy" from being over-worked. The bolts were starting to loose their edge as well. There were two bolts on the housing with embedded receptor nuts on the underside. These bolts (in my mind's eye) were where the incoming cables could attach. On the old housing there was only one bolt that received the lines - pancaked atop of each other. The newer housing made much more sense to me so, I installed it. I cleaned it all up and attempted to activate the shuttles ignition systems. Dead as dirt. So, I figured that the two bolt housing theory was not compatible with this shuttle design (this is an older model). I dis-assembled and reassembled with the cables pancaked onto one of the bolts. Second attempt to ignite...no dice. I had to step back and think through the design of the new housing. Obviously, it was not designed to work with this architecture. How can I "force" it to work? "Why" is it "not" working? Following the electrical flow from the cables, I determined that the metal clamp-down bar (that provided (supposedly) conduction between the two bolt posts) was not carrying the charge to the terminal. Since, I could not order a new conductor bar (it would take forever to get here), I turned my attention to the underside of the pancaked cabling. The housing was painted in red to identify the charge. The paint was providing a barrier to prevent electricity being carried through. I removed the housing and ground away the paint in a dime-sized area immediately below the point where the incoming cables attach to the terminal bar. I reattached and viola! Houston - we have ignition.

Anyways, that's life out here in the frontier. Han Solo I ain't.

Alarmed and Dangerous

2007-01-31T17:30:00.000-06:00

Every day, waking up is a monumental task that I undertake. I know that it is hard for everyone. It is especially tough for me. If I had my way, I would probably sleep 12-14 hours every night. As it stands now, I go to sleep at 9:00ish PM and wake up at 6:15ish AM. That's a good 9 hours of sleep! You would think that'd be enough, right. I seems not to be the case. The whiny beep of my alarm makes my skin crawl. After years of enduring it, it hasn't become any easier. I have heard that same alarm on various TV commercials and it has a chilling effect on me, every time. Each morning, I hit the snooze and dream (for each 9 minute sleep interval) of what excuses I could render for arriving late at work that morning. Each morning, I lose the internal debate and succumb to the command of the 10 dollar chronometer.

This morning, I had a flashback during my 9 minute reprieve. My mind raced back to a time long ago when my nemesis (alarm clock) and I engaged in mortal combat. As it is obvious that alarm clock is not writing this blog entry, I'm sure that you can appreciate the sole survivor has keyboarding skills.

As with most shameful recollections, this one begins with the all too common preface, "It was back when I was a freshman in college and prone to frequent alcohol consumption sorties...". Perhaps, it was more likely that I was just a dumb ass (back then). Whatever the case may be, the facts are the facts and the fact is...I was a few bricks short of a load. You see, one not-so-fine morning, I was slumbering blissfully in my dorm room when my netherworld escapades with Farah Fawcett were menacingly intruded upon by the ungracious whining of my alarm clock. UGh!! Of all of the times to remind me that I was firmly rooted in "reality"...this was NOT the time! Realizing that if I was quick enough, I could silence the intruder and possibly rejoin the presentation already in progress and stave off another mundane morning routine...at least for a few more precious minutes. So, without applying any energy in lifting or moving my eyes nor head, I reached over and flipped the snooze button.

No effect. The alarm continued to bleat.

Perhaps, I had flipped the wrong switch? Pushed the wrong button? I repeated the action.
No effect. The alarm continued to bleat. I was beginning to become agitated, myself as my opportunity was slipping away with each semi-conscious nano second that ticked away. I decided to forget the snooze and just turn off the alarm.

No effect. The alarm continued to bleat.

I was being pulled kicking and screaming toward the light. I decided to try another switch. No effect. ANY switch....no effect. I had to get that thing turned off! I would unplug it and go through the reset sequence later. The blanket of sadness began its descent upon my head. I had realized that the odds of picking up where I had left off were "slim-to-none", but at least, I could possibly begin anew. I groped the back of the clock and gave it a forcible and somewhat enraged jerk.

No effect. The alarm continued to bleat.

How could this be?!? It defied the laws of physics? It had to be a defect located within the electronic. It continued to scream at me like an ice pick - repeatedly stabbing me in the top of my head. All hope of a peaceful morning were dashed. It was now a matter of revenge. I was now bent on inflicting pain upon the device that had ruined my day. Without getting out of bed...without lifting my head from my pillow...and without opening my eyes, I located my skateboard from underneath my bed...grabbed it by the trucks and swung it like an 80lb hammer into the alarm clock.

No effect. The alarm continued to bleat.

I swung, again! Again. Again and again! I obliterated the clock.

No effect. The alarm continued to bleat.

What was the M#$%^&ING deal, here?!?!!! Why was this happening to me?? It had to be a little tiny piece that was malfunctioning and I was never going to be able to hit it directly while blindly swing. So, I did what I did not want to do. I got up and out of bed. I went over and looked down upon the mess of broken black plastic and twisted segments of annihilated metal circuit board and transistors. I located the speaker. I grabbed it and ripped it out of the fragment of board.

No effect. The alarm continued to bleat.

I was close to bashing my own head in with the skateboard when I noticed that the undying siren was coming from directly above me and not from the dismembered corpse in my hands. I looked up and realized that it was the smoke alarm! The batteries were dying and it picked that exact moment to notify me. What are the #$%^97ing odds?!?!! I climbed the desk and removed (temporarily) the battery and my headache ceased. Oh, the guilt. Oh, the shame. The torment. The rage. It was all there. There was no way that I would possibly be able to go back to sleep at this point. So, I got dressed and went to class.

The alarm clock's last act was fulfilled. It may have died that morning, but it won the battle. It's ghost continues to haunt me every morning (except Saturdays, Sundays, and holidays). With marching orders from the grave, it's kin and I tango with the snooze button and every day...the electronic device gets the last word. I am a broken man.

Life & Limb

2007-01-30T18:19:00.000-06:00

This past weekend, the sun graced us with her presence. The air was cool, but if you stood in the rays, you could almost imagine that it was Spring. The momentary change in climate afforded me the opportunity to catch up on outside chores. The main issue one was the removal and disposal of a giant tree limb that was threatening to crash through our front window. I noted this impending tragedy during the recent ice storm. Incased in an inch of ice, the branch began to bow under the increased weight. I could have lived with it breaking off, but the destination was our living room window. It would have been unbearably cold had that wound been opened! So, I decided that as soon as the weather cleared, I'd remove said menace. Now, I really and truely HATE cutting down trees or parts of trees. I am not a hippie by any means, but I do value greenery and the benefits of vegatation in our proximity. I feel no remorse in hacking away weeds and unruly plants, but cringe at the thought of removing shade from my front yard. Texas summers can be brutal and the smallest of braches can tremendously aid in preserving lawn, body, and soul. Alas, the issue was a non-starter. This was about a 25 ft limb that was angling directly towards my TV! Tree or no tree, I cannot afford to loose my access to cable television.

I borrowed my father-in-law's retractable ladder (my 12ft would not reach) and his chainsaw. I had entertained thoughts of completing this mission with a hand saw. After all was said and done, I am so thankful for the chainsaw, my father-in-law, and the inventor of the chainsaw. To be honest, I'd most likely STILL be working on this project. The point where I was to make the cut was about 16 ft above the ground and about 10 ft out from the trunk. I leaned the ladder up against the branch at a point between the intended cut and the trunk. I scampered up the ladder to survey the area where the cut was to be made. Besides noting how high up I was - and to a greater extent, contemplating how much damage I'd inflict upon myself if I were to fall that distance with a chainsaw in my hand - I noted that the branch was much thicker and heavier than it looked from ground level. I re-evaulted the sequence and determined that once the tree was deprived of that substantially weighted branch, the trunk-side portion of the brach might suddenly jilt upwards. This would be a serious problem if my ladder was not sufficiently extended enough to cover this increase in the ground-to-branch height ratio. Again, the scenario of me falling with a chainsaw in my hands flashed back before my eyes. I scurried down the ladder and extended the length anoth two feet to cover the shift.

On the ground, I decided to tst start the chainsaw to get a good feel of its weight once the blade was in motion (I did not want to discover any lurching or magical possesion, once I was atop the ladder). It was a good thing that I did because, well...I couldn't get it started!The problem was the safety button and the start button were far enough apart that I could depress both, simultaneously. This waas not a design flaw rather than, an operator flaw. Posr car accident, I am unable to move my right thumb that way. This was a problem...because....I am right-handed! So, I started it up and practiced using it left-handed. This was not as difficult as I had imagined it to be because this was a fairly mid-sized chainsaw. Then again, I was standing upon solid ground.

So, I scrambled (albeit, cautiously) up the ladder, chainsaw in tow. I leaned across my body to my right side with the chain saw clutched left handedly. I started it up and began to cut into the branch. I got about an inch into it (it is 8 inches thick) when another premonition of doom flooded my consciousness. "What is going to happen to this branch after I cut through it 'gravity-wise'?" Sure, I'd like to think that it would drop straight to the ground, but in a situation this precarious, I can make no assumptions. There is the possibility (remote as it may be) that the branch could swing down and under - and knock the ladder out from underneath me....and then there is that whole image of me plummeting with a spinning chainsaw landing atop me. So....down the ladder I scooted and readjust the lenght and the angle to give clearance to pendulum-esque branches.

Back up the ladder I trudged once again. I started up the saw and was about to resume cutting, but that nagging feeling would not let go. So, I turned off the saw to think about it some more. It is always best not to rush these things. At that very moment, my wife and daughters pulled in to the driveway and were witness to the smoke billowing from my ears as the hamster-wheel thought process of my mind kicked into overdrive. An idea came out like an overcooked Pop-Tart. I asked my wife for her assistance. With the kids confined to a safe distance (although, near enough to be traumatized for life if Daddy does a "chain saw tango" dive) my wife held a piece of rope that I attached to the limb that was soon to be amputated. The rope was long enough to allow her safe distance as the branch came down. In fact, she was standing in the neighbor's driveway. You just can't be careful enough about these type of events. I live by Murphey's Law. She was not to tug but rather, just keep the line tensioned. She was pulling from the opposite direction of my ladder. If all went as planned, I would cut the branch very slowly and she would pull it down and away from the base of the ladder. And wonders never cease....that is exactly what happened!

So the branch was down and there were now 5,986 branches all over my lawn. I spent the better part of two hours cutting the bigger pieces into portions fit for the fireplace. The thinner branches were too small to be handled with a saw so, I left those for Saturday.
Saturday morning, I awoke early. You see, we still live within the city limits so, I am not fortunate enough to be able to burn the branches in a brush pile. That means, I have to take them to the city dump or fennage a way to get the garbage man to take them. Since, the dump costs money (and I currently pay a monthly garbage disposal fee), I decided to try and get garbage man to take them. The problem is that he comes at 9AM. Fortunately, I was dressed and outside by 7:30AM. I snapped branches into tiny pieces and threw them into the garbage bin. I filled it to the top and I was only half way through! At 9AM, the garbage man came and took half my branches away. It took me two more hours to snap, stuff, and compact the remainder of the branches into the newly emptied disposal container. Alas, it was filled to the top. The good news being that there are no more branches. The bad news is that we have to make it another half week with out throwing away any garbage because the can is full!
The last task was to coat the fresh wound so that the tree would not die. I went to the local hardware store and purchased a can of pruning spray aerosol. For what seems like the millionth time, I climbed up the ladder and took aim at the intended target. I sparyed and coated it with a thick black spray. Unfortuantely, at that height, I was held hostage to the whim of maverick wind currents. It was one of these rogues that redirected my spray - back at myself....coating my face and arms with countless black freckles. I finished coating the spot and hurriedly, attempted to seoperate my newly adorned marks from my body. Unfortunately (..and it seems like I am always using that term...) these were not water soliuable blemishes...and they remained.

By work time Monday morning, the dots on my face have faded. However, my hands and arms still bear the tattoos of home improvement.

Quack!

2007-01-23T18:43:00.000-06:00

My 3 year old had a cold...a week, ago. We took her to her pediatrician and got her meds. Then, I came down with a sore throat. Totally unrelated. My daughter never complained about her throat. She just had an occasional fever and persistent cough. A couple of days later, a full on fever hit me. That broke and was replaced by a cough. I figured that the cough was somehow related to drainage from a head cold...which I thought was a result of allergies (which caused the sore throat). The cough stuck around awhile. My wife, caught the cough. She did not have a sore throat so, I figured that it was unrelated. Her cough stuck around. Then, my father-in-law was diagnosed as having bronchitis. Apparently, he had a cough for a couple of weeks. He advised that we see out doctor, immediately. As you are well aware, I am a cheapskate and HATE going to the doctor. You have to take time from work because they are only open during business hours. You have to wait for an hour past your scheduled appointment time (if, you are even lucky enough to get seen on the day that you make your appointment). The doctor sees you for 10 minutes. He writes you a prescription for $20 cough syrup. You get billed for a $60 office visit (if, you are fortunate enough to have health insurance). You are left unsatisfied and further convinced that you would have been better off diagnosing yourself.

Then, my littlest started coughing! So, my wife took her to the pediatrician and got her setup with meds. Then, she went to our doctor. Doctor "X" quickly diagnosed her as having asthma!!! Are you kidding me?!? She told him that all four of us have almost identical symptoms. She asked him what were the odds that we all have asthma?? "A million to one" was his deadpan response. He sent her for chest x-rays. My wallet was itching....I could feel my bank account bracing for another hit. $70 with insurance...not counting the doctor's visit. My wife called me to deliver the bad news. We put it on a credit card. Thank goodness there is an opportunistic bank out there to capitalize on our misfortune. She called back again when she got the test results....bronchitis.

So, she got meds at the store. Fortunately, H.E.B. has a $5 generic drug plan (it is sooo awesome!) . I guess that's one good thing that came out of the Bush administration. So, she wanted to schedule me an appointment. No dice! I looked it up on WebMD and it basically says that meds are necessary unless it is an advanced infection. The best treatment is lots of liquids and rest.................................easier said than done with kids, ha!

Molar Terror

2007-01-20T13:27:00.000-06:00

Everybody hates the dentist...except the dentist's spouse and kids. If anyone else says otherwise, they are lying through their teeth (no pun intented). People are either, "You are right. My dentist is a cruel demon bent on replacing precious mouth bones with tiny bits of metal" or, "I have no idea what you are talking about....my dentist is the best. Her office smells like fresh flowers and new age music tumbles from her overhead Bose sound system." It is the latter that I was skeptical of. You see, my family dentist was most likely (in my ignorant opinion), formerly employed on a prison death row. "Anesthesia?!? Why would they need anesthesia? My taxes ain't goin' fer no convict's good time trip..." You see, unfortunately...as a kid....I had a whole lot of cavities. I brushed my teeth all of the time, but alas...I liked candy and colas....a lot. Of course, this bit me in the butt. I think that I have a filled cavity in the center of each of the back two teeth in each quadrant of my mouth. If it has 4 roots, it also has at least one chunk of metal lodged down the center. Additionally, some of these molars have fillings from the side. In total, I think that my old dentist gave me 11 fillings. Ironically, from the front view, my teeth look pretty danged good. They are straight, fairly white, and have no markings on them that would alert the unsuspecting to the tragedy that lies within my pearly compound. I did not get those 11 fillings done in 11 sittings, either. Oh no no no. I had several visits where multiple fillings were drilled. Ok, ok, ok... I deserved it, right? That's what you get when you can't control your sweets intake. But, still...there was a lot of pain, a lot of smoke, and a lot of rinsing that went into these teeth. My dentist did not believe in giving shots nor numbing the area before drilling. He used fear to keep patients mouths open and their heads still as he dug rot and decay out from within its hidden residence. The thought of that drill accidentally ripping across my tooth - leaving a gashing trough on the enamel - made me sight absolutely still. From the outsider, it might look like I was a 12 year old warrior, but really, I was a terrified sinner, repenting his way to a healthy smile.

Because of this fear of the dentist, I never went back after I was old enough to bear my own health's responsibility. In particular, I do not enjoy paying people to hurt me. However, fast forward almost 20 years to a time when I finally get dental insurance, my thoughts turned to returning. That - and also, my teeth hurt whenever I bite down on something. So, three more years of contemplation combined with my wife nagging me to go because of my incessant whining about only being able to chew on one side - I make the decision to go.

My wife recommended her dentist. She said that she gave out pain meds liberally - which was good because I didn't want to be a big baby and beg for it. So, I decided to go. My initial examination and deep cleaning went well. Like scraping barnacles off of the Titanic's hull (what's left of it, that is). Topical anesthesia was applied and two new cavities were identified (not bad after 23 years of neglect). I made an appointment to return to get them filled. I would have to go twice because she didn't like to numb both sides of the jaw at the same time. I guess that is a liability issue. I can totally see myself - swallowing my own tongue.

After weeks of consideration, I decided that I would ask the dentist to try and fill both teeth at the same time. Maybe she could numb the deeper cavity and perhaps, the shallower one could be done without? You see, something more important had come into the picture. I had to take time off of work to go to these appointments. I had to use valuable saved time that could have been applied towards sitting on a beach or something. Anything would be better than spending time in the dentist's chair...no matter how numb and rosy I felt. I guess, when you are footing the bill, your pain tolerance increases. So, I got both cavities filled. The shallow one turned out to be the deeper one and it required a shot. The other one was still deep but I took it without meds. Got them both fixed and I don't have to go back for awhile. It finally dawned on me that my old dentist was not a sadist after all. In fact, he was probably looking to help my family out by keeping the expense down for all of the work that needed to be done. And now that I think about it...my parents probably told him, "Drill 'em all at the same time. We can't afford 50 visits and expensive pain medicine. We've got two kids. You trying to break the bank?!?" And all of these years, I thought my dentist hated me.

The Week in Review

2007-01-19T18:21:00.000-06:00

I have been slacking on the posts because my eyes are still a little tweaked by the LASIK, but they are finally to the point where I can work on the computer w/o glasses. So much has happened since last time:

1. Followup eye exam revealed that (my eyes) need a full month of healing before they re-asses my vision. There is a possibility that they would re-operate. This is a possibility that I am not looking forward to, but heck, if they fix it up perfectly, I guess that I'm down with it.

2. Sold a broken down gas stove for $25 to used appliance vendor. Replaced it with a used gas stove that turned out to have a leak in it. A leak that would cost more than the stove was worth to repair. Sold that stove to used appliance vendor for $25 dollars more. Spent $15 of that on a hot meal from Taco Cabana. Bought a new electric range for $300. Less the $35 from used appliances and we got new stove for around $265. I guess that's a good deal. Still separating that kinda dough from my wallet is like pulling teeth....no, really. It hurts like pulling out my teeth. No, really.

3. My wife allowed me and a couple of my good buddies to go out to the local bar and catch a couple of bands. I DO NOT turn down such opportunities when they knock on my door. The opening band (I can't remember their name) was very good. Very high energy rock and roll. Sounded like a cross of The Gaza Strippers and Iron Boss. The second band, Blackholicus (black-hole-i-cuss), was phenomenal. A friend had tipped me off that they sounded like Iron Maiden...and I was like, "yeah. OK. sure. uh-huh." But, they were better than that! They were like oooold Iron Maiden. Very tight. Very technical. Very high energy. They were very good. Since, I had decided not to drink that night (designated driver), I had a couple of bucks to spend on their CD. The disk just doesn't do them justice, but what the hay....at least they are making some green. I will be on the lookout for the next time they play. I will try to get my wife out of the house to catch them. The third band was, Hognose. As usual, they were very good. I have seen them many times so, it is cool to chart their evolution over the course of time.

4. Yesterday, AJ (the dog) got into one of my wife's bags while she was in other room and ate a small bar of Dove soap. It was like a promo type bar - like hotel soap. He ate the entire thing...box and all! Needless to say, this made him very sick. Mt wife found six piles off white, foamy yack in various locations throughout the house. She tossed his butt outside and cleaned them up. I got home from work and she relayed the traumatic experience to me in great detail. I let him stew out side for another 30 minutes while my wife left for her evening class. Being just myself and my two daughters, I decided to let the other male of the house inside. Like a good boy, he went and laid upon his over-sized doggie pillow. About 10 minutes later, I am distracted from my hyperactive three year old by the sound of AJ hacking more white lava into his doggie pillow. I quickly show him to the door. Apparently, not quick enough - he made another deposit a la "drive-by" style. So, I cleaned it up, rinsed the pillow in the tub and then, threw it into the washing machine...followed by the dry cycle -- rendering a previously 2'x 3' pillow into a 2'x 2'x 1&1/2'marshmallow. I flattened it out as best I could and left to retrieve said albatross from the backyard where I discovered that he wasn't sick enough to prevent him from chewing off the foam covering placed upon the water spigot (for guarding against freezing). I chased him around the yard with the piece and finally, back into the house. Once inside, he makes a B-line straight to the freshly washed, warm and toasty pillow. He sniffed it and began to yack again. Apparently, the nice clean smell reminded him a little too much of Dove soap! Fortunately, I was able to redirect his effort and thus, spared the pillow yet another cleaning (it might have been further altered dimensionally). He spent another thirty minutes outside until I could locate a sufficiently dirty dog blanket that met his approval.

5. We had an "ice storm" in central Tejas. Yes, the ground ices over and the population screams like it was 10ft of Buffalo snow! Good news was that I got out of two and a half days of work. Bad news is, I was trapped inside with a 3 year old with a cold. With medication, she is 180mph to 5 mph and back again - at any given point in the day. In addition, she came down with a dire case of "cabin fever". Poor kid. She was climbing the walls. No, really...literally, climbing the walls...and the treadmill, the counters, the chairs. My wife noticed that she was in the bathroom for a prolonged period of time and went to check on her. To her horror. The sprite was perched atop the top of the commode. The top of the commode tank, that is! We had to get this kid some exercise. So, we investigated all of the ice outside. As far as she is concerned, it "snowed"...at least, "Texas Snow" plentifully adorned our yard. We had a non-stop fire going and made potato soup and homemade turkey meatballs with spaghetti. We watched TV and chilled. I was able to remote into the company network and perform my job - business as usual. I reiterate, "why do I ever need to come into the office?!?" Answer: because being with your family too long can make work look like a vacation, ha! Anyways, I am back at work but have a cling-on cold thanks to a 3 year old that knows nothing of personal space nor keeping her nose wiped, yikes!

So here I am. In no man's land. Physically, at work. Mentally, your guess is as good as mine. The medicine for the cold not only dries out my sinuses, but my eyes as well! Instead of apply eye drops every 15 minutes (for post-op LASIK), it seems like I am applying them every 5 minutes. Today, is Friday. Another weekend of cold and rainy weather and family bonding awaits.

Also, to follow up the LASIK post and address the pricing "bait and switch", I investigated and found out that the actual surgery was $299 per eye. The rest of the expense is for the office visits, et al. I guess that is still a good deal.