Post Thirty Post

Holiday Runaround OR The State of Texas isn't THAT big

2011-12-29T14:25:00.001-06:00

During this white elephant season, I made a killing. And yes, that is a NCAA-licensed Snuggie.

For everyone disappointed in the usual anniversary post or the "this is what I did on my birthday" post (which is usually one in the same), I was slightly preoccupied this go-round. Since I am what you call a lame son/sibling/family member, I wanted to prove my metal this holiday season. With last year lost to holiday work coverage and this Thanksgiving lost to scheduling SNAFUs, I wanted to make it up to the ones I love. Therefore, we loaded up Andi, packed as many gifts as we thought we needed, gassed her up and launched to four different stops. Yeah, who's the deadbeat now?

Checkpoint 1: In between the rural communities of Stockdale and Floresville off of State Highway 97 lies a very familiar waypoint. Uncle Gary, Aunt Tami and Grandpa hosted yet another white elephant/Chinese Christmas/Pepsi blind taste test party. This was a definite go-to because I wanted to see my grandfather in a non-wedding setting. Plus, the party is always packed with surprise gifts and discussion topics I know very little about (i.e. Whitetail hunting season in Texas). It's classic good times generated primarily by old family friends and loved ones but kicked up a notch by absolutely absurd white elephant gifts.

Painful part of the trip: watching Grandpa get his selected gift stolen from him FIVE times. He was by far the most popular target with the gift traders. I winced every time someone jacked him.

Lessons learned on Checkpoint 1: I have a little bit more to discuss with Grandpa than I thought. From natural gas drilling issues in South Texas to the family stronghold in Glenrose, The Lovely and I had a lot of talking points we went back and forth with my sole surviving elder patriarch.

Addendum: thoughts and prayers are with our friend Chesley and his family as he will be going into surgery next month for cancer. With a personality and tenacity such as his, he will whip this fight no problem.

Checkpoint 2: Barreling through more of State Highway 97 and dodging heavy trucks through State Highway 85, we would connect to the southern tip of Interstate 35 headed down Laredo-way. The trip to the parents is always interesting. As some folks would love to discover the aura and the mystery that is Laredo proper (at least the Chamber of Commerce version of Laredo), The Lovely and I practice quite a solid policy of isolationism. Once we are at the homestead, that's it. We are there, along with my sister that spent Christmas with the four of us. And everything we would ever need is in the spot where we landed. And to me, that's perfect. It's like showing up to an all-inclusive resort where there is absolutely no desire to venture outside the premises. You know, like all over Mexico? Well, this is tantamount to our trip to my parents. The food and drink are always available, the conversation is great and the relaxation level is at 11.

Painful part of the trip: my first shower in two days and I have icicles forming on my fingertips. I guess with their house, the water heater isn't used to supporting three other humans. Boo.

Lessons Learned from Checkpoint 2: Ham is delicious BY ITSELF. You don't need a stupid glaze and bag of brown sugar to cover or coat the fine, tasty meat product. It is fine. Leave it be.

You want proof? Here. Here's your proof (via Google Maps).

Checkpoint 3: One would think with a latitudinal difference of 13' 6", it would be a straight shot. But as we I have written about Corpus Christi, nothing comes easy (even though they can't help their geographical location). It took three hours mostly across US Highway 59 connecting to State Highway 44. But we hit it. Once we landed, I felt like we were on the clock...the total opposite of the Laredo trip. Drop gear, do a load of laundry, drop off some more gifts, check in with Cutaway, come back, get dressed, do Hanukkah, enjoy latkes, open gifts, go back home, watch the Spurs, watch Drew Brees break a record, think about running in the morning, think about running in the morning, think about running in the morning...you get the point. It was such a short trip, The Lovely and I always have about two to three days to stretch out the family and friends connections. It kinda sucked being rushed as this one stop felt like we were under the gun the whole time. The total time we spent was 23 hours and it did not feel like enough.

Painful part of the trip: aside from feeling rushed, realizing that we brought the wrong vehicle for transporting all of The Lovely's historical artifacts. I was kicking myself the whole time realizing that the Urban Assault Vehicle should always be the default vehicle (terrible gas economy notwithstanding) because we have no idea what will will be hauling to and fro.

Lessons Learned from Checkpoint 3: Corpus roads absolutely suck. That is probably why there is not any MINIs rolling through that pothole haven. Yet another job for the UAV.

Checkpoint 4: This is probably about the easiest leg of the trip. A cigarette-smoking monkey falling asleep can navigate Interstate 37 with no problem. Once we hit San Antonio proper, it's only a matter of navigating some patches of traffic, but nothing infuriating. Once we landed on the northside, we were golden. Granted, we beat little brother to his own house, but only by two minutes. I think this stop was a hybrid of the relaxation of my parent's house with the constant activity of the white elephant party. When there is a nine-month old and a nearly three year-old, Uncle Bam Bam and Aunt Mel have to be on point. After making Gav want more laughter and attention, we had to eat at some point. Finally, a lean protein! Brother's culinary artistry extends to the open-flame grill. Awesome. More reading of books, opening of games and watching RC tracks in action, we were far more worn out than his parental counterparts. Conversation was light and informative, but really, it was about being there. Apparently, young Gavin debriefed his mother on how much fun he had with Uncle and Auntie. Right there, that was worth the 153 mile extension.

Painful part of the trip: hearing something made of hard plastic crash then the sequential baby screaming. Fortunately, the baby gate resting against the back of the couch just missed Baby GIG. That loud noise would upset any mammal.

Lessons Learned from Checkpoint 4: Baby GIG is one tough son of a...one tough kid. The day we landed he was rolling with dual ear infections. But he was just moving about like a pseudo-normal nine-month old. He is dealing with an overgrowth development malady where his is the size of an 18-month old. GIG will have to deal with this for the rest of his life, but the glance of strength I saw in him, he should be perfectly fine...especially with a supportive, loving brother like Gav.

Missed opportunity: Our trip would have had an interesting hook route pointing to Wimberley, but our timing pattern was off. Young August and his daddy (my brother) were unable to launch until early afternoon, where we were chasing a 5:30pm sundown back to Dallas. Two out of three nephews isn't bad, especially when it comes to all of our competing schedules. So, we will have to make is down to (ugh) Houston to check on Nephew Prime (he was the first of the bunch by about two months). Better luck next time.

So, four checkpoints, 1,030 miles, 18.5 hours of road time. That's like driving from Dallas to Tampa, FL one way. That's like Dallas to Grand Forks, ND. That's like an hour short of driving from Dallas to Vegas. That's how you start your third year in your 30s.

Lessons Learned, my three things:

1) The toll roads around Austin are ABSOLUTELY USELESS. Yeah, let me pay eight bucks to get to the city limits of Austin, drive 10 miles east, then 20 miles north to realize I probably could have saved time taking surface roads...even while I am average 90 MPH down said tollways. The 45 and 130 toll is poorly planned, poorly executed and saves zero time. What an absolute waste. I blame Rick Perry.

2) Satellite radio is also a poorly executed product. Remember when it used to be commercial-free? Remember when it played non-commercial deep cuts of albums? I do, too. At least they still have Stern.

3) It's good to be reminded that family is important.

Happy anniversary to P30P. I have had just as much fun composing this blog as the seven people that read this drivel continue to read post after post. I still have some back-logged blogs to hit while I have the time. Let's see if the muses and my selectivity provide some write-time. Until then, talk later.

Dallas: Year Two -- Can I Start Complaining Now?

2011-12-13T13:16:00.001-06:00

I guess it's my town now since it hasn't been returned to it's rightful owner?

I am noticing an alarming trend when it comes to the choice of where I call home. Maybe this has been the case the whole time of my existence, but my ears seem to be listening better to the chatter of passive-aggressive rumblings. The grass always has to be greener, doesn't it?

The two year anniversary of the came with very limited fanfare. It was just another day for The Lovely and me. This is a good thing, because I want to be comfortable where I lay my head. But along with this complacency and predictability comes an added dose of responsibility for tracking and absorbing what goes on here. From the micro (my apartment building has been purchased yet again, now to a soulless megalith of a corporation that wants to be the next Merc Building) to the macro (more parks are being built downtown while no one wants to reside in the largest office buildings downtown) to the regional (worst drought in years has destroyed water sources while Dallas is selling water?) to the global (AMR has filed for bankruptcy because they don't know how to run an airline while AT&T has no concept of anti-trust laws). I almost feel just as responsible to follow how Dallas is coming along as I do with Information Security. Working in parallel, both subjects can change in a blink.

This brings to mind the same situational awareness of my prior inhabited township. The town they call Corpus Christi...that has a familiar crisp to my tongue when saying the name, but not the same familiarity of memory. It's as if I disavowed any knowledge of that town as soon as I moved from there. But it's amazing how the exact same issue that plagued the City By The Sea (I will not add "Sparkling" because that town has a huge litter problem, starting with every Wal-Mart parking lot) is dragging down the continued development of Dallas. I know, right?

At least with downtown Dallas, they had a jump start on development that was not leveled by a hurricane in 1919. But the same pains exists. There was an slow but deliberate exit of big companies from the largest buildings. The loss of HEB in Corpus was just as huge as the lights going out in the First National Bank building on 1401 Elm. Corpus losing Whataburger corporate headquarters is just as huge as residential developments at the Bulter building falling through. There's more graffiti and human waste across the street from Dallas City Hall than there is at the old white six-story building off of Staples Street.

Continue that with the frustration of a thought-to-be popular city council and a "pro-business" mayor, and that is where you can achieve parallel construction in two different townships simultaneously. Ironic that moving from one Texas town to a big Texas city would essentially have the same internal conflict.

Adding fuel to this grass fire is a healthy dose of logic not being utilized. Enter Patrick Kennedy. When I first read about him, The Lovely and I were three months into our living arrangements at the same lofts that he lived. Only difference was the Dallas Morning News wrote an article about him. When you talk the talk and really know what you are talking about, it's impressive. But, when you can walk the walk and prove it on a global scale...that puts you in line for "a cabinet post!".

An explanation: Mr. Kennedy decided to forgo his car for the sake of designing a better city. Thankfully, his focus was on downtown Dallas. Dreadfully, he seems to be running into the same bureaucratic resistance we would run into if we wanted to speed up the line for a driver's license renewal at the DPS office. It is jaw-dropping as to how some of the simple (and cheap) solutions are right there for the taking, yet the mindset is just too locked into the status quo.

So, I will continue to dodge speeding cars through crappily-marked crosswalks while attempts at "improvement" go self-served or silent. But every city has their idiosyncrasies. Portland has birds painted all over the city for some odd reason. Seattle's weather still sucks. San Francisco has a 50-50 chance of being dropped from the continental shelf. NYC is way, way, WAY too expensive for a married couple to live above the poverty line. Chicago has Cubs/Bears fans. See, the pitfalls are everywhere.

But, I wouldn't want to be anywhere else in the world...right now.

Lessons Learned, my three things.

1) I will admit it. I do have a love affair with my FJ Cruiser. I even have a stupid nickname for it. And I love my road trips with the UAV (Urban Assault Vehicle). But I do love clean(ish) air and using my fully-functional legs and feet. That's a primary reason why I live downtown.

2) You know what other love affair needs to end? Home ownership. Way too overrated. If I am not having kids and adding 19,000 more hours in a car per year, then I will start looking in interest rates and pretentious neighborhoods. Plus, I hated mowing the lawn when I was a kid. You can't take it with you when you die, people.

3) I voted for Kunkle. Just saying.

I have to say this was the quickest two year period I have ever spent in one place...other than college. I am still on back order some some blog post, so enjoy the continued tardiness. Talk later.

Just when you think you are doing nothing...

2011-12-08T13:47:00.001-06:00

So, first it was my hat...

...now it's his.

It was a simple gesture. The summer day was about as random as it could be hanging out at the Marks household. The kid (my second-eldest nephew Ryan) snags my University of Texas National Championship alternate orange hat with white trim (web image not found) and slips it over his floppy straight hair. So, he wears the hat. It looks good on him. Since it looks better on him, I just thought he could get more use out of it. Besides, I have a dozen or so hats all in the closet to remove from the rotation. No big whoop. He wears the hat all summer.

As he was set to depart back from the calm seas of Corpus Christi Bay to the constant chop of Parkland (even though that town is somewhat landlocked), he unconditionally handed it back not giving it another thought. Reflecting the thoughtful thoughtlessness, I said, "Keep it. Bring it back next year and I will take it back." It was a confusing thing to say to a 7 or 8 year-old. But it was essentially a "ah, hang on to it. I have plenty more hats where that came from" thought. He continues to wear the hat.

I didn't think it would result in a parable like this...

And now-now, it's a part of his coming-of-age story.

Here now is Ryan's speech (for lack of a better word) explaining his selection process for his reading of the Torah during his Bar Mitzvah. My apologies for the grammar and lack of punctuation as this is a copy of the actual transcript Ryan recited that day.

The name of the Torah portion is Chayei Sarah. My torah portion deals with two major subjects: death and Marriage. The story begins by announcing that Abraham's wife Sarah died at age 127. Then Abraham goes to the land of the Hittites, to find land to bury Sarah. I will talk more about this later, but I am going to tell you right now the most important message is that Abraham bought the first piece of Jewish land. After he buried Sarah, Abraham went onto his next task, to find a wife for his son Isaac. Abraham told his servant to go to the land of his birth to find a wife for Isaac and may only return if the woman he asks refuses to go. So his servant takes ten camels and goes on his journey. When he arrived in the city of Nahor, he needed water for himself and his camels. Then he prayed to God that if the girl he asked for water insisted on watering the camels, then she would be the one to marry Isaac. On his first first try a women named Rebekah offered to water all then camels. The servant then went to her house and told the story of his master telling him to go on this journey to find a wife for Isaac and how Rebekah watered his camels just like God said she would. Before the servant took Rebekah if she agreed to go on and marry Isaac. Rebekah obliged and returned with the servant to marry Isaac. After Isaac and Rebakah married, Abraham died at age 175 and was buried next to Sarah.

The part of this Torah portion that interests me the most is when Abraham insists on buying the piece of land for his wife, instead of Ephron, the landowner, giving the land to him as a gift. When Abraham first wen to the land of the Hittites and asked for land to bury his dead, all of them said to bury his dead without any payments. Abraham wasn't intending to bury his dead for free so, he replied to the people that he wanted to bury his dead at a fair market price. Ephron then told Abraham to bury his dead for just a little bit of money, but Abraham insists that he buy the land for a fair market price. Abraham took note of Ephron and heard him say the land was 400 shekels. So Abraham then measured and weighed his money, and publicly handed the money to Ephron. Once Abraham handed Ephrom the coins and Ephon accepted them, the deal was finished and Abraham now owned the very firest piced of Jewish land.

My Torah portion teaches us the importance of land to Jews and to stay loyal to your word. The first one I am going to talk about is the importance of staying loyal to your word. For example when Abraham bought a piece of land from Ephron he portrayed Chesed V'emet, which means to take are of the dead and to be loyal to your word. This is one of the most important promises because it is one promise that the person can't check, and is based on honor. Some ways to be loyal to your word is to do what you say and keep promises. By staying loyal to your word you build integrity and respect with your friends and family. Abraham kept his promise to his wife Sarah by buying the land from Ephron in her memory. Which brings me to my second point, the importance of land to Jews. Jews care about land very strongly because at one point we couldn't buy land for ourselves, and then when we escaped Egypt we were brought to the Promised Land brought to us by God. This is important because it shows we have a historical connection with the land of Israel. When Abraham bought the piece of land from Ephron it showed that Jews had overcome so much and had earned their freedom once and for all.

My Torah portion teaches me of keeping my word. For example my uncle gave me his hat from the University of Texas that he bought [from] the Rose Bowl, and he said I could keep it for a year and to keep good care of it. When I was going back home from Texas I made sure that I was wearing it and not to get it dirty. When I cam e back in about a year I remembered the hat and I brought it with me making sure it was in the best shape it could be in. When I got to my uncle I showed him the hat, and he was amazed that I kept my word. He was so impressed with me that he even let me keep the hat. Just like Israel created a bond with the Jews my hat created a bond between my uncle [and me]. As I become a Bar Mitzvah, I learn that I am accepting the responsibilities of a Jewish adult. Some examples of this are studying for my Bar Mitzvah, doing the dishes and cleaning my room.

I would like to thank my parents for helping me through the process of being a Bar Mitzvah and for all the things they do for me. Also, I would like to thank Fred Berkowitz for helpin gme learn all my Hebrew and making it fun. Lastly, I would like to thank Cantor Arnold and Rabbi Boxman for helping me find meaning and understand my Torah and haftorah. I would like to thank you all for coming here and remember to keep your word.

Just when you think a hat is a hat or a gesture is something simple or a whale is just a whale, someone--especially someone young--completely changes your perspective. By the by, he still wears the hat. It's in the same relative condition that I gave it to him almost six years ago.

Lessons Learned, my three things (for this particular event):

1) Never forget that kids are sponges...with the good and the bad.

2) If you have over a dozen of any one single item, that is plenty. May want to share the wealth.

3) There is nothing wrong with being surprised once in a while. Even for a guy that hates surprises, it's not a bad thing...in very limited moderation.

I am on the backlog chronicling all the series of events that has given Hell Month a run for it's money. Next time, it's been two years...TWO YEARS...of this DFW life. I wonder what has remained the same? Talk later.

Wedding Blog, Pt. IV - One more round, Velvet Tiger

2011-10-25T11:24:00.011-05:00

I don't always drink beer. But when I do, I do it with Michael Bittner.

So, it comes down to this. In my final adventure to completely make the best night in a couple's lives all about me, I culminate my four-part series on weddings with it's final narrative, concluding that maybe all weddings are not that bad. As explained to the three previously-wedded couples, I have successfully unfairly compared their festivities and ceremony and minimized them to a mere shindig or hoe-down status. I was invited even though the super-nuptials I partook in nearly four years ago was the best. And if they didn't like my critique, I was going to take my ball, and a slice of cake, and go home. In an exhausting seven-month run, I have tasted eight cakes, witnessed four awkward kisses ordered by officiants and blew off the World Series Game 3 (which was a pretty good game to blow off) to chronicle this institution. As I am finally done with all of this celebratory celebration, my hypothesis has been altered due to all of the experimental variables that have screwed up my control group. We jump all of these crazy hurdles for love. Not only for the love of a man or woman, but a love of family and extended family and extended family that will help life out any and every step of the way. Thanks Michael and Sarah for screwing up my original thesis that everyone's wedding other than mine is a massive time killer. Great. Just great.

If you can't tell, I am yelling at the happy couple while The Lovely smiles proudly
(Thanks to Michael & Fairy Tale Photography for the leak).

I think for the rest of the year, I am just going to fly by the seat of my pants as far as planning for what I am going to do day by day and hour by hour. Sure, I will go to work and eat breakfast and all those necessities, but in regards to the last two weddings I was invited to, the level of planning, forethought and time-brokering for mundane activities was a bit much for me. I thought Jeff's wedding was overdoing it...Michael scheduled the day of hour by hour. Who schedules their mid-afternoon cocktail? And whatever wasn't scheduled over email or Google Calendar, I felt like it was an episode of "24". Because, "we don't have time" or "we're running out of time".

As the expanding scope of the wedding continued to capture volunteers to perform side jobs before the event, I became technical support for the visual presentation at the reception hosted at the parents for the bride. Yeah, I'm complaining because I was mildly hung over from the rehearsal dinner, but it really wasn't that big of a deal. Just bring your laptop, plug it in to the big TV in the living room and run a slide show. Not bad. But as we all know with technology, the devil is in the details.

I apparently own the saddest Dell laptop ever because it only has three USB 2.0 ports and only a VGA out. I skipped past the HPs and Lenvonos that actually have supportable video capabilities. Damn my cheapness. Fortunately, there was a SD card reader on the set. Easy peasy: just move the JPEG files from the jump drive to the SD, prep the set for "infinite loop" and the video slide show of super-embarrassing pictures of the couple before they met is complete for the presentation. One problem: the universal remote does not play nice with the embedded Panasonic functions. With only about 30 minutes to spare and the father of the bride shrugging at me, I did the only thing I could think of to remedy this issue...I asked the mother of the bride for help.

Turns out wives hide things from husbands. But I didn't think it would be the TV set remote. Jill (mom of bride) procured the only device that could solve my issue in under 10 seconds. John (pop of bride) was not only impressed with the audible I called, but happy that his partner for life had his back. Crisis averted. The bride gets what she wants without a clumsy laptop teetering problematically on top of a Blu-ray player. And the small victory makes the occasion that much more special.

The Lovely and I in full wedding mode. Thanks again to Michael for the bow tie execution.

I guess this was where I turned the corner on the whole wedding thing. Maybe I should have been more involved in the three previous weddings (building an arbor that looked suspiciously like a chuppah notwithstanding). Maybe putting my heart before my head would have been the way to go with the other celebrations. Not that I didn't love all of the other participants--I do. But there was something about this wedding that holds a very special place in my heart.

It was a rough time for Michael and I a handful of years back. I was getting my ass whipped trying to pay back some of my debts in Corpus while Michael was getting his ass whipped in law school. I made my semi-annual visit to Austin (when Austin actually felt like home instead of an extension of Northpark Mall). We shot a couple games of billiards at the old home of Gingerman. We were both in the dumps, but Michael was in a far darker corner of the dumpster than I was. I expressly remember him giving up on love. He was going to be content, once with his law degree, bar exam clearance and firm job, that he was just going to have some "trophies" laying around. Sure, he would like them and all, but he knew that where he was headed, not only did he not have time for love, he wasn't in the mood to try to discover it. It was one of those statements that you rock back on your heels and say, "whoa". Not only on the fact that Michael scratched on the eight ball again, but just the shear resigning of effort. He might as well mail it in. And no matter how much shit I was in, this made me feel even sadder, especially for someone that I have known since 1999.

Fast-forward 12 years later, the tendered letter of resignation was revoked. And it made me happy. It has been a long, strange trip for Michael, likewise for Sarah (though I don't know all of her narratives in between). But when you have known someone and have grown up with someone and you see all the sections of growth and maturity, it gets to you on a different emotional plane. And it made perfect sense that this was the most anticipated event of the season. And you want to be a part of it. Hell, you need to be a part of it because it parallels life (at least mine) so much that it almost makes the universe balanced.

The one thing about an actual bow-tie is the hammered look is quite respectable.

Before everyone gets ahead of themselves, this wedding did not--I repeat--NOT top the wedding where The Lovely said, "I do". But Sarah and Michael made one hell of a run at it to overtake the ranking. And I wouldn't have missed it for 20 Texas Ranger World Series.

To the happy couple, I had no idea East McKinney resembled Stockdale, TX. That was an added bonus. I am pretty sure I can speak for The Lovely when I say that we were absolutely honored by the invite, participation and exclusivity you gave both of us during this very special affair. I apologize for secretly being a punk. I hope none of my negativity reached you (I really, really hope it didn't) but this will be my last wedding in attendance for at least four years. No disrespect, but my wedding was better. But only better in the sense that I met the perfect woman and you two are perfect for each other. I don't think I could last one week married to Michael--not that there is anything wrong with that. Sarah, welcome to the Bittner-Bolton-Gonzalez-Chapman-Garner branch of the family. Anytime you both need any thing, just ring The Lovely or me. I would say good luck to both of you but I don't think you need it since you have already dodged a severe thunderstorm by stagecoach. I love you both.

Wedding Blog disclaimer -- I am done. Done, I tell you. You wanna start something, meet me outside.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) Go Rangers! Nap Nap Wiener.
2) Hey #OccupyDallas, I support you, but come on. Walk three more blocks down and two blocks up and you get to fuck with the real suits, not the poor bastard personal banker that gets paid less than a teacher.
3) T-minus 39 days...and boy are my legs used to this.

Finally, I can start studying. Thank God. Oh, wait...I have another mitzvah is South Florida? Where are my flash cards? Talk later.

Only requesting one type of segregation

2011-08-23T12:37:00.005-05:00

Wow, look at that Greek God! Oh wait, that's me bearded and 15 pounds lighter. Those were the days.

In a quarterly effort of beating my body to a pulp a trying to create a new record for reciting the only memorable quote from Lethal Weapon, I decided to sign up for a half-marathon training at a local running store (redacted). I won the training during a silent auction, so I might as well use it. Besides, my whole "one-man wolfpack" routine wasn't working out other than looking for strippers and cocaine (calm down, it's a movie quote). So, it was a common-sense move for someone that wanted another crack at the White Rock track...but only half.

Picture yourself, waking up at four-fifteen in the morning every other day (Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday). In the waking moments, you stumble around in the darkness looking for all of your new and updated running accoutrement. The Garmin watch is clear across the way from the specially-designed running socks which is opposite room of the quick breakfast pellets to snack on pre-run. While the sleep is trying to escape your eyes, YOU HAVE TO DRIVE to the running store where the group meets (quick aside: I hate the fact I have to drive to run. I should just run...but it is a bit far for a warmup jog from the house...still hate that, though).

The car is in park. The inventory continues: watch, visor, car key separation, water bottle belt, Sports Beans, heart monitor, forgetting to powder your thighs and tape your nipples but you will tough it out. There is now a constant pile of a change of clothes and towels for the aftermath. As the truck doors are locked, there is a deep inhalation of a warm, almost radioactive, air rising from the roads that are about to be run. Get ready for 05:15...that's when it starts.

Sounds fun, right?

With record temperatures for the past--oh--sixty days (!), oh-dark-thirty is about the only safe time to attempt a run more than four miles. But it's not the waking or the anticipation of tearing my body down that ruins the group runs for me.

Maybe it's my background of adolescent locker rooms and two hulking brothers also into sports or just my general comfort level with my company during athletic endeavors...but there is an element to my group run that makes me dread Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday (other than the avoidance of alcohol on Monday, Wednesday and Saturday--boo!).

"You know, this is almost as hard as child birth."

"Oh my gosh, it is so hot out here. And I'm tired."

"You can tell that race doesn't cater to women. There race shirts were awful."

"My assistant is such a moron. She can't do one thing right."

"Are you on travel because I'm not on travel if you are on travel."

"Have you read 'The Help' or are you going to see the movie first?"

You guessed it. It's not the time or day or the strain of effort, it's the fact that I am running with a dozen women that just won't stop talking. Jeezie Chreezie, it is five-fucking-fifteen in the morning! What the hell is so important at 5:15 that you have to prattle on about it for four miles? I don't care about your job. I don't care about your kids. I don't care that you had to invite a person you didn't want to invite to happy hour. It is 5:15! Why are you talking? Stop talking and run!

Now, I don't mean to be misogynistic. And damnit if I'm not the first one in line to say I love women. To boot, all of these women in my running group are beautiful and athletic. Plus, I don't want to degrade a system that has been around a lot longer than my lone-wolf ass. The unnamed running store has fantastic coaches and a great system that keeps runners alive. For those facts, the store has nothing to do with my consternation of the group. I guess I just need to run faster.

The aimless chatter issue came to a head when we had to consolidate running groups due to a shortage of coaches. The addition of the dozen or so ladies that have nothing to do but to talk and run consumed the full-marathon group we latched onto. Ladies talking to new people...silence didn't stand a chance. The overwhelmed coach asked everyone to keep the volume down to no avail. Poor homeowners in affluent neighborhoods were subjected to my every-other-day hell.

In this case, I think a bit of segregation wouldn't hurt. Granted, the groups would be super small. My current group of 15 would be whittled to three (including me). And the limited conversations (you know, because we are running six friggin' miles at five in the morning) would be a bit more soluble.

"I sold my S2000 for a Mercedes Benz. I do miss that little Honda, though."

"Ah, that hill wasn't that bad, was it?"

"I just farted. Watch your 12 o'clock." (I made that one up because no one has had the balls to say that yet.)

I know this is merely an extension of what these ladies do while we are running. I complain. I gripe. I moan. But at least I'm fully awake when I do it. Don't get me wrong, the ladies in the group are very nice and I have had a couple of conversations, including football, with a couple of the runners. But man, sometimes it's nice to lose yourself in the run with the safety and protection of the group. Realizing I will only get that at the final mile when everyone is gassed is a saving grace. Let's just say group runs and solo runs have their respective pluses and minuses.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) It's hard not to over-think the obvious when the analysis begs for re-examination. However, sometimes the easiest answer is the best answer.
2) Don't you hate it when your state-sponsored cyber attack tools and strategy is leaked? Yeah, me too.
3) "Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."
BONUS (while writing this post): Boy, that escalated quickly... I mean it got out of hand really fast.

So, I am going to continue to take my medicine for the next 12-13 weeks, silence or lack thereof. If you see me not finish a beer or cocktail, it's because all this running is souring my taste for getting drunk (which is really messing with the image). Need to start locking down study time and fantasy football time. How about that collision of priorities. Talk later.

No Sleep 'Til...The East Village? OR Please do not try this trip without proper supervision

2011-07-27T11:35:00.015-05:00

Washington Square Park...fortunately pre-apocalypse (the yellow really makes me stand out).

Eight days in Washington for training...I didn't snap a single picture of the beauty of our nation's capital. Sixteen hours in New York City--Manhattan specifically--and I am a shutterbug.

Allow me to reset the story for those I have yet to bother to tell (because I am terrible with phone calls). I was enrolled with the SEC504 class in Washington, DC as a part of SANSFIRE. Six days of hard-core exploit training and tactics. It was good. I always appreciate the fact that I can get out of town and immerse myself in training and networking. As I have mentioned before, I work in a neat field of employment that never lacks in excitement and novelty. So, my last week was cool.

But sometimes, it's not about the sundae. It's about the whipped cream with the cherry on top. This dessert topping was one evil cherry and the whipped cream was produced by the devil himself.

Because DC was just not enough, we decided to venture to The City. When I mentioned 16 hours in New York City, I am being specific. It's not like The Lovely and I were awake for 16 hours that day and slept it off at a buddy's apartment in the Lower East Side. No-no! I mean, we were out of the DC area for 24 hours so we can hang out in NYC for 16 hours. Where's the other eight hours, you ask? It's called a train. And for a Texas kid like me we might as well have been traveling by unicorn because this was all foreign to me.

The arrival wasn't bad. Three and a half hours of legroom and townships buzzing by so fast your eyes had a difficult time refreshing the images (or maybe I was just sleepy and cranky due to the 0730 train on Saturday morning). I can now claim I have "seen" New Jersey. Not really sure how I can insert that into normal conversation. But technically, with help from a train, I saw Eastern Maryland, extreme Northern Delaware and Eastern New Jersey before parking it at Penn Station.

McSorley's Old Ale House--where they have both kinds of beer, light and dark ale.

We go topside. I have never seen The Lovely so percolated and geeked-out. It was like it was her Christmas morning, you know, if she believed in that kind of stuff. The smile got bigger when we were on 7th Ave and W 31st St. The hustle and exhaust of Gotham was finally a tangible description in my brain and my senses. I get why The Lovely missed this place the moment we took the correct turn away from Madison Square Garden. Sometimes you really, really, REALLY have to be there.

So, we set out. Go underground again to get to 14th Street via subway and we are back topside at Union Square Park. We were in search for Acme Bar and Grill, but alas it was "closed for renovations", which is code for "yeah, we didn't have the heart to tell you, so we are going to pussy-foot this one and sneak out in the dark of night". This would be one of three strikeouts The Lovely experienced while were were jogging through her old haunts (Mars Bar being the second, pictured below).

But not to worry, apparently this city doesn't have the three places. Reversing our trajectory, we hit McSorley's Old Ale House for a couple of half-pints and a sandwich. This place is so old (how old is it!) that Rutherford B. Hayes is still persona non grata for stiffing one of the bartenders (insert laughter here). Pretty cool for a reconstruction era joint to be still around and accepting credit cards.

Onward for more walking to Tompkins Square Park bordering on Alphabet City. We shifted once again back to 2nd Ave for some shade and a beverage at Demsey's. This is where my awareness of walking long distances and the similarities of long-distance running should (mind you, should) have kicked in. At that point, we may have logged 3-5 miles of walking, which is no big deal for native and acclimated New Yorkers. However, it still was nearly 100 degrees in The City. The formula should read:

Heat(Distance + Sweat(friction coefficient))Fatigue = Deterioration of Shorts.

Yeah, I should have "prepared" better than I did. More on that later.

Mars Bar--now closed, mainly because of general poor hygiene. Apparently slackers and goths are pissed.

Refreshed, we crossed Houston (HAUW-ston) Street to check out why Julian Casablancas sang a song about Ludlow Street. Confused, we double-backed to Houston now working our way through Bowery to the Puck Building. The Puck Building used to house Pratt Manhattan campus and was true stomping ground of The Lovely. We could not go without having a pint at her after-class/before-class bar. Pretty damn cool.

We whip in back up Lafayette Street and W 3rd Street to walk through the amoeba-like campus of NYU. It's like every other building has a purple flag on it. C'mon guys, Imperialism is over. Then through Washington Square Park we traveled. Remember that formula I just made up a couple of paragraphs ago? Yeah, my inner legs were burning through my boxers. If milk was a bad choice on a hot day, my lack of preparation for miles of walking on the same hot day was a worse choice. There's no way you can fake discomfort when you have to walk everywhere. So, I did what any other man in my position would do...I walked to the closest familiar bar with The Lovely and tried to gently "medicate" the pain.

The fun part was that we had a 6pm reservation for dinner and drinks with Goose and Emily...seven blocks away. I guess you could describe my gait as injured thoroughbred meets guy who looks like he needs to find a toilet as soon as possible. What can you do? We finished our beers at Reservoir and hiked it once again.

So, when you Google the phrase "Please Don't Tell NYC", you land on certain related entries pointing to the same thing. I don't feel comfortable talking about a speakeasy that we may or may not have had reservations for a booth. But if it's on Google, isn't the cat already out of the bag? That's like talking about Fight Club. Anyway, if you want to ask me about it offline, you may have to waterboard me because they said "please".

A badger wearing a bowtie. I'm not supposed to say where I'm at.

As the twosome became a foursome with Goose, Emily and The Lovely, then the tour was really on. The ladies, obviously New York veterans, we playing "Is This Bar Open?" while Goose and I were creating our own conspiracies. The evening run was on after the speakeasy as we hit Veselka Restaurant, Decibel, Big Bar and Tile Bar. The final six-hour blitz was damn-near epic. Sure, my wounded horse walk-step was damaging, but no one cares how you look or walk in large metropolitan areas, especially if you are not in their way.

Two AM came way too soon. And off we were catching a cab back to Penn Station. Limping, sweat encrusted and maybe a little drunk, we push forward back to DC. I can state that I know how a zombie feels and I would never want to be one. But three huge objectives were established: I got to see (a portion) of New York, I know what a train looks like and The Lovely got what she has been wanting for the last five years. As all married men know, when she's happy... No, that's silly. This blitz was for the both of us. We needed to experience The City. So we did. I wouldn't change a single minute. But we should sleep over next time.

Lessons Learned, my three things (DC to NY to DC edition).
1) Don't assume that the 0300 train from NYC to DC will be empty. It isn't. With all the sprawled bodies that have been passengers since Vermont at 9PM, a couple would be lucky to find two seats together.
2) I understand lots of famous people call New York home, but how is it that I could only cross paths with Todd Barry? Eh, I will take what I can get, even if The Lovely finds him "random".
3) I was fearing the smell of the hot old city but it was really not that bad. It can't be any worse than a hot younger city where people still don't pick up after their pets. I'm talking to you, Dallas!

As I try to get my head on straight from time zone changes, training and re-acclimation of 100-plus temperatures, I will try to focus for the new cert attempt before falling prey to yet another football season. I need a small victory before other smaller soul-crushing defeats. Talk later.

The Importance of Saying, "You're Fired"

2011-07-12T15:06:00.004-05:00

Yup, it's time for that mid-summer stretch.

This might be the most insensitive post I have composed in a while with the poor timing of the title and the national economic woes reported last week. But I am going to allow it. It's really not about people getting fired because there is only a small percentage in the world that actually have the balls to say that.

The angle I am pointing to is more on the service economy that we currently live in. It's a consistent complaint from POTUS to the old crazy guy standing on the corner of Lane and Jackson. We don't make anything anymore, but we sure as hell can find someone to help you find it.

My primary exhibit in my case regards health care. No, no, I am not stirring that hornet's nest. I have had the worst bout of "what the hell is wrong with my left eye" for about...oh, a year and a half. It started with my first trip to Boston when my left eye flared into one of Kypton's red suns while our CIO was chatting up my team. And it hasn't let up. I went to my optometrist with lacking results. So, naturally, I bump it up to a specialists. My new GP gave me the recommendation and I moved on that data. Now, I should have been a bit skeptical because it was a doc only three floors below his office is one of these lovely North Texas medical super-centers where you can break your hip and have a stroke and get them fix in the same building.

Anywho, I am not going to release this ophthalmologist's name. If you want my personal evaluation, I can discuss this offline. So, I go in. I say I have a stye, some extra eye mucus build-up on and around my eye when I wake up and my left eye shifts from pink to red constantly. What I thought was temporarily odd was they went through a full eye exam. I didn't object because I was a new patient and I guess they needed a baseline. Okay, let's do that. But when I wrapped up with the exam and got to qualify time with the real doc (not the techs, which I will address other issues with shortly) and ask why is wrong with my eye, I get the following answer:

"I don't know."

I don't care if you are a horse doctor, hearing "I don't know" from anyone called "doctor" is not a very good answer. So, the doc gives me the exact same prescription as my optometrist. To me, on a definitional level, there is something very wrong with an ophthalmologist and an optometrist performing the exact same remedy. But whatever, this person is a professional and I will go with their recommendation.

A week and a half passed. I magically receive new contacts and get a follow up. Right eye: 20/20. Left eye: 20/fucked up. I have no idea what is going on because my stye wasn't addressed, I still wake up with build-in from Slimer of Ghostbusters fame and, now, I can't see clearly. In my year and a half the vision in my left eye deteriorated. Lovely. So, let's do another eye exam--because that's exactly why I came to the office in the first place???--and see what we see...again. Go figure my prescription would change because they used my glasses as a vision baseline as the baseline has obviously changed. To sum up, second trip to the doc: second different prescription, no solution for my red eye ("I think it's just irritated"), my stye or my gross eye extract.

Two and a half weeks pass. I receive my second set of contacts. Once again, epic fail. 20/20 on the right but the 20/25 on the left causes even more eye fatigue and irritation. Left eye is still red. Stye is still there. I have to wake up flaking off more grossness from my eyes. The doc offers one more solution: hard gas perm contacts. Well, those would be great if I didn't have eyes that were still changing. But I was desperate.

Fourth trip: this one was the kicker. For those blessed with 20/20 vision and that never have to deal with hard lenses, let me see if I can describe the sensation. Have you ever installed plexi-glass panels in preparation for a hockey game? Yeah, it's like that, but put the plexi-glass in your eye. And let that installation swim in your eye for 10-12 hours a day. Go figure my red left eye would turn florescent red. And yes, I still have the stye and I still wake up with garbage caking my eyelids and lashes.

But that wasn't the best part...the best part was when one of the techs gave me soft lens solution instead of hard lens lubricant drops. You work at an ophthalmologist! How the hell do you not know the difference. Throughout the repeated trips, the techs were either ignorant of the hardware, ignorant of the patient or stretched thin because they were the only two that knew what was going on in the place. I spent 90% of my time with the techs than the actual doctor-doctor. This is the same with most medical experiences since 1978. But damn, come on now!

Why am I beating up a doctor's office that is prominently featured in D Magazines Best Docs in Dallas (still not releasing the name)? Because. If I was a five year-old or stuck in college I would not have done what I did a couple of weeks ago. I fired that doctor.

As an adult, I have to remember that my choices are not only tempered by education and influence, but EXPERIENCE. If I had a poor experience at a restaurant, I have a rule that I give that place one more shot (with exceptions). Everything else, I have to man-up, go with what I know and make a decision. I almost forgot that in dealing with my fired doctor. If I am merely going by a CV or resume from a recommendation from another doctor, I would still be stuck in that cold waiting room looking at a Sports Illustrated from 2009 and ushered by some tech that might screw something big up the next time.

We have to remember this because we have this power in our daily lives. Don't like what you are reading? Fire them. Don't like the news you are watching? Fire them. Don't like how your representatives are representing you? Fire them (next time the chance comes around). Don't like the people you are associating yourself with? Fire them. And if someone doubles-back and takes it personally, then they need to grow up.

Just think if I had this power when I was twelve. No, don't think that. Because you can't fire people until you have the education, influence and experience to back up your choice. Simple as that. It was about time I fired this doc. Another couple of weeks, my left eye would have been mistaken for stigmata.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) Looks like the collective caught a big fish. I'm sure we will know all the details in about a month or so.
2) There is nothing wrong with the word "bum". Jesus, can we ease up on the PC for two seconds?
3) Doesn't matter how free is, there is always a cost involved.

As much as I would like to get back to the "NFL is dead" series, I have some much important work to do and some hard core playing to do as well. I smell back-to-back posts (that will be separated by two months, but I will try to be better than that). DC and NYC await. Film...when I get it. Talk later.

The Lost Art of the Mixtape

2011-06-26T17:44:00.007-05:00

I keep things. I'm in my thirties, living halfway across the country from where I grew up, and I still have a box in my closet that contains everything from old diaries, to grade school photos, to locker notes from ex-boyfriends. It's not that I'm overly sentimental or anything but I could always appreciate the fact that someday I would want to look back on these things and...laugh my ass off.

So yes, I still have almost every mixtape anyone ever gave me. Lately, I've been rediscovering these lost treasures. Having a less-than-brand-new car (with cassette player, mind you) has allowed me to spend the last week auditorily re-experiencing my teenage and college years while dealing with my morning commute. Tapes are currently scattered in a pile on the passenger seat so I can dig through them, throw one in the tape deck, and wait to see what I'll get. I actually rolled into work the other morning, realizing that I still know every single word to that Digital Underground classic, the "Humpty Dance." Listening to these has been a lot of fun...except for the unfortunate Rod Stewart surprise track...oh, and the fact that someone actually saw (and heard) me rolling into work singing every word to the "Humpty Dance."

All in all, I've found that I have a nice collection of solid mixes, complete with excellent titles. Here's a glimpse into my box of tapes:

To Jenny From Kyle. This guy that I dated for about 5 minutes in high school made me this mix that includes quite a few sappy classics, like "When It's Love," by Van Halen, "Longest Time," by Billy Joel and "Sara" by Jefferson Starship (yeah...I'm pretty sure he knew that wasn't my name...). I remember getting this tape in my hot little hands and running over to my friend's house so we could listen to it and decipher the meanings behind these particular song choices. Was Led Zeppelin's "All of My Love" meant to be taken literally, or was Kyle just the kind of guy who could really appreciate a rocking synthesizer solo? I never stuck around to find out...

Tales from the Brad Pad. Songs from the collection of my ex boyfriend Brad. Not too bad of a mix, actually. After all, Brad was a musician and had pretty good taste. He's got one of my favorite versions of "Smokestack Lightning," (by The Yardbirds) on there, and Ray Charles' classic "I Got A Woman." Unfortunately, side B is a little heavy on the live Dave Matthews jams. Yeah...he lost me there.

Any Special Requests? (This One Goes Out To All The Awesome Animals). I'm pretty sure the subtitle here is a reference to some hilarious joke from 10th grade...probably. I had a friend who was a little more technologically advanced than I was, and she owned a multi-disc CD changer. Being more of an analog girl myself, I asked her to tape some of my favorite songs out of her collection onto a cassette so I could listen in my car. This mix includes some of my time tested favorites, such as "Sunday Morning" by the Velvet Underground, and "Scarlet Begonias" by The Grateful Dead. Scattered throughout are other other interesting choices, like "In The Meantime" by Spacehog. Yes--Spacehog. And, I love the fact that "Glycerine" by Bush has three false starts and is interrupted by a mid-song tape-flip before it finally gets underway. Classic.

Baby Goose Clothes: By Steve. This is a mix of all original songs composed and performed by the one-man-band "Steve" (aka my friend Jeff) in his bedroom one summer. Jeff was actually an excellent guitar player, and he found a 4-Track tape recorder which allowed him to lay down some of his own teen angst filled tracks for the enjoyment of future generations. Best part about this mix is that the complete song list (scrawled on a piece of torn notebook paper) has lasted through the years, as well. I can appreciate these songs better knowing their titles, like "Ivy League Wannabe (Preps & Piercings)," "Sonic Loser," and "Dripwall." The bottom of the song list indicates: "All Songs (c) Steve, 1995-1997." I would share some of the lyrics here, if I could actually understand a single word on the whole thing. Oh, and if it weren't for those pesky copyright issues....

Other notable mixes include dada extravaganza, an entire mix of songs by the somewhat obscure 90's band from California, dada, and Need Some moe, an entire mix of songs from the somewhat less obscure 90's jam band, moe.

And, while this one isn't in the box, I have to give a shout out to that one unlabeled mystery tape from the early 2000's that I found under my passenger seat, rocked out to for about two weeks, and then lost again. Don't know who made it, and don't remember any of the songs. Just remember that it was awesome.

Every mixtape says something about its maker, which is why I always took making my own mixes for friends very seriously. I remember sitting on the floor in my room with my entire tape/CD collection, my boom box with dual tape deck, and a stack of Maxell Normal Bias 90 Minute cassettes. Sometimes, for those songs that were popular, but had been deemed unworthy of $1.99 worth of allowance to purchase the cassette single, I would rely on my local DJ. I would wait patiently for the day's top 10 countdown, or for them to finally play my "special request," so I could tape that one song that perfectly expressed how I felt about the soon-to-be recipient of this particular mix. Then, once I had captured all the necessary songs, approved the flow and transitions, clinched it with a kick-ass closer, and re-arranged as necessary for minimal dead space at the end of side A, I would make it official by breaking off the little tabs on top of the cassette, effectively rendering the tape un-recordable, and the mix permanent.

While the true art of the mix tape is fading into obscurity, (except for a few other nostalgic audiophiles), I myself, have not given up on mix making in my adult years. I still make mixes (ahem, I mean "playlists") for friends and loved ones to memorialize certain events, holidays or relationships. But, it just isn't the same...it's too easy these days. Today, you share a link to a YouTube video on your facebook page. Or you can churn out a CD for someone in a matter of minutes by dragging and dropping songs, naming the playlist using an online name generator and printing a professional looking jewel case inserts on your inkjet. It's just not as satisfying as the hours that could be spent re-winding and re-taping, meticulously writing out song lists and decorating cases with markers, glitter and nail polish.

So, I'll ride this wave of nostalgia for another week or so, then I'll probably put the mixes back in their box for another 10-15 years. But...not before I break out my old VHS tape movie collection and lament the fact that not one single person I know still has a VCR...

Wedding Blog, Pt. III - Houston, you are the problem

2011-06-22T10:54:00.013-05:00

Sábado! Sábado! Sábado! Ver como una mujer se casa con un idiota! Este sábado!

And again, in my ongoing quest to somehow make the best night in a couple's lives all about me, I procrastinate to present part three of my four-part series on weddings and how they are ruining my social graces. As the two previous weddings completely understand, I unfairly compare the festivities and ceremony I was invited to the unfair disadvantage of my super-nuptials (because everyone wore capes). In the span of 14 days, I have tasted four cakes, witnessed two awkward kisses ordered by officiants and watched the Mavericks have a parade. Only one of the previous listed events I watched in my boxers. As this series is three-quarters done, I keep the same hypothesis that we as grown-ups do this to ourselves/we do/we and no one else/we do it to ourselves. So, moving forward from the demonstrative setup, let's have Kristi Garsee and Jeff Garner get married, shall we?

As two weeks ago where lack of planning and general disorganization was the order of the day, the Garner/Garsee affair was saturated in planning. Emails from three months out noting proper behavior at the church, itineraries broken down by quarter-hours and tuxedo fittings with alerts pointing to stragglers that have not yet been measured by a really gorgeous black woman...oh, wait, that last part only happened to me. Well...okay, then. So, I ask you, good readers of the blogging blog, is it better to be the freewheeling participant or the rigid clockwatcher, slave to the seating chart?

My answer to the rhetorical: they both suck. That's why variance is the spice of life...unless you are doing something that demands precision.

Speaking of precision, my timing was impeccable to where I totally missed the setup of the chapel. I didn't have to line up any of the 3000 chairs that faced the already-built arbor. I am seeing a disturbing trend that all weddings somehow have manual labor involved in them now. I thought you just showed up, the chairs were set, the Chuppah was built, the food was on the way and the bride and groom don't have to do a damn thing except choose to get a good night's rest. The only fair review time for this wedding would be the magical day in question. No day minus one activities for me. We (The Lovely and I) are there for the mission-critical day at hand.

Mira como estos hombres tratan de crear una foto divertida, sin hacerse daño. Este sábado!

As mentioned in part II, travel always seems to be a necessary evil to partake in weddings unless everyone you know and love is embedded in the same township. So, there's no real reason to complain about something that is inevitable...

...unless it's in Houston.

To carry the same torch of many Dallasites before me, I am going to bang on that city like a kettle drum. I. Hate. Houston. I know it's silly to throw out the word "hate" to a city that has a sub-par football franchise that has the same geographical construct as the metropolitan neighbor to the north. But damn-it-all, I can't stand that town. It consists of 95% roads. Traffic is the official city hobby. Their city flag features two cars bumper to bumper. They shut down AstroWorld because they needed another park and ride (that no one uses). Houston is not Houston unless you are going seven miles an hour on an interstate highway. I hate it.

I know it is completely unfair to judge a wedding based on the city where the event takes place, but Houston is just one big demerit. Besides, it's the point of this exercise is to bash all weddings other than mine. Try to keep up, folks.

After the longest 4 hour drive ever, we hit the hotel and take one big sigh of relief that Houston traffic was not our demise today. Not today, Houston traffic, not today. After a nice hour break of watching my nephew avoid me, it was time to gear up. What's the gear, you ask? Brown tux, pink vest and tie, brown cowboy boots.

Yeah, let's re-examine that. I understand the wedding colors were pink and brown. Okay. But they are real sticklers to the scheme. This concept is lost on me because we didn't have colors at my kickass wedding. Colors for the wedding seems like one of those details that could turn your average, easy-going, reasonable human being into a maniacal, blood-thirsty, hulk-like smashing machine with the strength of 12 evil monkeys.

But the kicker--pun intended--was the elusive chocolate brown cowboy boots. I haven't ridden a horse since I was in Costa Rica (where horses are pretty solid methods of transportation). Even then, I was in my Vibrams. So, cowboy boots aren't vital to my wardrobe. I have a pair of black, soft leather ropers just in case President Perry relinquishes the federal mandate. But now I have to find and purchase brown boots to match the tuxedo? One would not think it would be difficult to find a pair of brown boots in Dallas, but Dallas isn't Fort Worth (thank God or whatever entity separated the two). I would have had an easier time finding an illegal underground unicorn fighting ring. But I found some. They are pretty nice. If ever I could force the excuse to wear them, I think I can try to slip them on once in a while. But damn, I didn't put this much effort into my own wedding.

I will be honest...I have no earthly clue as to what is going on other than Houston gang signs.

So, there we were. Three hours early and suiting up for the event in what looked to be a day-care facility within the church. So, here come three photographers that looked like they just got out of a Yearbook layout meeting. "Okay guys, let's go outside." Eight guys in boots and tuxes...brown boots and tuxes...standing in crematorium heat. Blast furnace wouldn't begin to describe the absence of comfort. And I have to stand there in un-broken-in boots and "act like you are talking to each other"? I was talking to all of them before you kicked us out of the air conditioning.

I think what it all boils down to is comfort. Was I comfortable in my tuxedo? No. I am 35 pounds overweight wearing an effed-up cotton-poly blend that wasn't supposed to wrinkle in 102 degree heat. Was I comfortable in my boots. No? I felt like I was about to tip over with the stupid, stupid heels while I am waiting for my Palomino to whisk me away. Was I comfortable in the church? No. For some non-religious reason, they didn't believe in turning the thermostat down another five degrees. Hell, I would have pitched in for the electric bill for the month if that was the case. Was I comfortable at the dessert reception? No. Ceiling to floor panel windows had a western exposure and they had an espresso bar. Fighting heat with heat doesn't work for me.

But three things trumped the whole batch of discomfort. One, my family was there. It's kinda a kick to the pants when you realize you haven't seen your parents in over a year, but that is forgotten the first hug you get from Mama. Second, The Lovely was there. No matter how my feet ached or my sweat streamed or my temperament tested, she was there to catch me or back me up. Three, Jeffery looks genuinely happy. For the first time in a while, the smile is there, the spring of step is bouncing and the wit is sharp as ever. It's amazing how a person emits negative signals when he's down in the dumps. But when there is happiness, you can't keep a good man down. And I blame that on Kristi.

To the happy couple, Houston would have not stopped me from this wonderful occasion. I speak for The Lovely when I say the ceremony was gorgeous and the prettiest flower in the whole bloom was the one walking down the aisle (not you, Jeff). I apologize for ripping on your color schemes, but the luchador masks clashed beautifully with the brown and pink. No disrespect, but my wedding was cooler. Literally, you could have walked outside without thinking you lost all your breath from the heat evaporating it. We are here if you need anything (including a baby sitter if you want to take the drive to Dallas). Good luck to the both of you.

Wedding Blog series disclaimer - if you haven't figured it out by now, I am going to be an a-hole about your wedding because my wedding was the best. See paragraph one again or just don't read my blog.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) Second wedding in a row where a ring bearer/flower girl completely stole the show. Way to go, August. I hope someone was rolling video on that. What is the saying about working with animals and children?
2) Nobody, and I mean no one, thinks you are cool if you are playing drums on your steering wheel with actual drum sticks while going 80 MPH. Houston drivers are a bunch of jaggoffs.
3) Swallowing your pride and saving 60 bucks on gas is worth it. Three cheers for the Corolla! The FJ is not a road-tripper, just an urban assault vehicle.

Three down. One to go. But there's a lot of other nonsense to get through, such as training in DC, the 24-hour blitz of NYC, the Rahr and Sons brewery tour, the loss of the NFL, an underachieving college football season, TX-OU weekend and my dog's birthday. Summer time/and the livin' is easy. Talk later.

Garbage Time - Sports are great until television ruins it

2011-06-14T12:01:00.004-05:00

How the hell did Brian Cardinal get back to Dallas so soon after the game?

I called Mavs in 7. I was wrong. Oh well. Once again the sports spotlight is focused on the fair city of Dallas (not Arlington, thankfully). I am happy for the Mavs and all of their devoted fans. I am pleased to see the city in sports euphoria. What I was not pleased about was the NBA coverage ABC served on a cold plate of LeBron James.

As a small placation from the four-letter network (you know, the guys that run the sports operations at ABC since the mid-nineties—Disney), they have instituted an ombudsman…of sorts. In years past, they have employed journalistic hard hitters to show their teeth to what is wrong with ESPN and what they are doing right. This seems to alleviate the “too big to fail” axiom of “hey, we have a watchdog…see?” Now, they don’t call it an ombudsman anymore. ESPN pulled a Dell and has just outsourced to a media analysis team that yield not-as-impressive credentials as some of the previous Knights of the Veil.

Here now is my open letter to ESPN, ABC Sports and the Internet as a whole as three talking heads and a production truck tried to ruin my good time. I don’t know if they read it. Actually, I don’t care. ESPN has just gotten so damn big that I am the skull that the Skynet machines run over and turn to dust on a daily basis. But hey, at least it makes me feel better.

I'm confused. I thought Tyson Chandler was taller...and less female?

To the Poynter Review Project (via ESPN.com)

Unfortunately, my complaint and observations may seem biased due to my geographical location. However, I would like to disclaim any sort of presuppositions with a bit of background as you did with your Poyinter Review Project mini-biography. And I have had a couple of days to think about it.

As a lifelong Spurs fan, I have enjoyed a good streak of fandom from 1987 (when David Robinson was drafted), to the new awareness of playoff basketball, to a renaissance in 1997 (when Tim Duncan was drafted), to the championship runs in starting in 1999 and, most recently, in 2007. With that, I have watched hours of NBA coverage with all the networks. When ABC took over the Finals telecasts in 2002, ABC and ESPN brought a superior production value covering my beloved Spurs three times as they would reach their championship goal. The Finals series matchup between the two conference champs were the focus with ABC/ESPN coverage as the athletes and team personalities were featured in a secondary light. The game on the court was the most important storyline with the professionals broadcasting the game.

Due to previous commitments made with ESPN in the previous free agent season, this year’s Finals coverage made an erroneous left turn into a brick wall.

I guess ESPN/ABC sports had to continue the failed path of “The Decision” all the way to the end. It was obviously good television as the ratings windfall for Mavs/Heat hit highs not reached since 2002. People did want to see LeBron James, in whatever capacity “The King” would display his South Beach talents—to fail or succeed. However, your broadcast team completely forgot 1) there was another 12 players in away jerseys defending against the Heat and 2) there were four other Heat players on the court handling the ball.

The broadcast team of Mike Breen, Jeff Van Gundy and Mark Jackson were incorrigible in their blatant disregard and non-attempt of objectivity with their play-by-play and commentary throughout games 1-5 of the NBA Finals with a complicit production team. It’s as if the other team (the champion Dallas Mavericks) was transparent in their eyes of LeBronVision. In Game 6, the booth and the production truck started to turn a corner as the momentum was too difficult to ignore, but only marginally as they both continued to focus on replayed missed jumpers and hot-potato passes by James. Never have I watched such a broadcast where the primary objective was to follow James on his solitary quest from the May 2010 announcement to the coronation of the King ESPN always wanted to crown.

It would take a massive amount of naiveté and blind faith in objective broadcast journalism to think ESPN/ABC would not be tainted by “The Decision”. The fingerprints were everywhere as SportsCenter devoted 35 minutes on an inadvertent shoulder bump from James to coach Erik Spolestra—in December. I should be giving credit instead of rendering shame for the stick-to-itiveness of the story, which is one man in a team sport with 30 other teams vying for the same goal. However, this strikes a negative cord in one of the primary tenets of journalism: do not make the byline writer the story. Every nudge toward James smacked of the spin being performed, either purposefully within production or unconsciously with editorial. But again, naïve thoughts like this do not compose the national collective of broadcast journalism.

I also understand the broadcast team has to give the fans what they want. However, the execution was completely off target that is ruined the actual play on the court. Finals MVP Dirk Nowitzki would shoot a 15-footer in the second period of Game 2 with the broadcast collective continuing their discussion of how great James has been on defense. If the viewing is disconnected from the broadcast, that is a failure of the broadcast. Sure, fans listen to sports pundits such as Charles Barkley, but that sort of braggadocio is better reserved for the halftime, post-game or pre-game show. Van Gundy and Jackson (and unfortunately in certain points, Breen) have that flare for confliction and aggravation. Again, this is what our current sports broadcasting construct consists of. But it was as if the other team (the Mavs) was an absolute afterthought. By halftime of Game 3, I had the play-by-play on mute opting for the Mike Tirico and Hubie Brown radio broadcast.

Is there a “fix” for this? Partially, Mark Jackson is departing for the Golden State Warriors. But that is only a personification of the bigger problem. The following season will allow for incomplete story lines striving for closure. SportsCenter will once again follow training camp of the Heat and all 82 games will have the microscope set to 100x. The only “wish” I have for the next time the Finals roll around is that there is a certain amount of cognizance when broadcasting the next two teams, as opposed to the solitary chess piece that should be the sum of their parts.

Thank you for allowing this platform of critical analysis of the ESPN/ABC Sports product. This is a great evolution of understanding sports fans have evolved from the weekend watchers to the sharper eyes and ears that need to be heard to continue to (try to) enjoy the every-expanding ESPN product. Who knows, this Finals broadcast could be a successful spinoff to the ESPN original series featuring James and his exploits.

So...for what it's worth...

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) Hey, Houston Rockets fans...calm down. You have two, the Spurs have four. Can't the Mavs have this one? One? Good gravy.
2) There should be something about planning a parade BEFORE the champ is crowned.
3) No, I have not been converted, thank you for asking.

Thursday's the parade. It's in the neighborhood, so why not? Kinda cool. Then to a wedding, in Houston. I will review the coolness of that next post. Talk later.

Wedding Blog, Pt. II - "You see that hill...that's Canada"

2011-06-10T14:37:00.014-05:00

Congrats to Jenny and Bryan. This totally looks like a Chuppah. But apparently it's an arbor. Okay then.

Once again, in my ongoing quest to belittle everyone else’s “big day”, I intrepidly present part two of my four-part series on weddings and how they are ruining my liver and bank account. As you may already know (all four of you that read this drivel), I have unfairly compared one of the year’s four invited weddings with the camera obscura of my awesome nuptials (beef wellington, anyone?). The second wedding, one of the three in which I actually had to dress up for, will be no different. And yes, I keep the same mental tenant that we as grown-ups don’t need the trouble, but will gladly go through the trouble of getting hitched. So, without any more needful explanation, I give you Jennifer Murphy and Bryan Pena.

I think it is more the norm than the exception that most people invited to a wedding have to travel. It was the case for my folks recently departing Corpus that they had to drive in from Laredo. Some of my side drove in from as far as Columbus, Ohio (thank you, Matt) to get down with our festivities. So, me bitching about flying to beautiful and scenic Traverse City, Michigan is a non-factor. The trick was not to get hosed on the flight costs. To alleviate said financial beating, The Lovely stayed back in The D to look after our Tasmanian Devils while I report the scene.

And what a scene it was.

The spot was gorgeous. The town (can’t really call it a city) is right off Lake Michigan with golf courses, wineries and harbors peppered throughout. Everything was within a mile of base camp and there was literally no way of getting lost. So, my unwitting fear of foreign lands was quickly quelled. Too bad I couldn’t rent a Vespa for the weekend. It was aimed to be quite picturesque: ceremony on the beach, reception in the ballroom, post-party wherever you can stumble. Awesome, right? Right?

To the uninitiated, the devil is never in the general plan. The devil is in the details.

Victory cigars! Celebrating like they won something. Yay, winning!

So, Friday afternoon I touched down, sans The Lovely, with Bryan and Jenny and the wedding photog Janessa picking me up from the airport. After the free ride, I was finally afforded the pleasure of meeting Jenny’s parents Ray and Sue…while weaving around three active ironing boards. Mom-of-bride and two other ladies were ironing gentle fabrics that would be adorning the seat backs of the reception hall chairs (hot pink and blaze orange if anyone was curious of the color scheme, plus sea green). This was my first interaction with a furrowed brow.

Bah, no worries. Last minute heroics happen all the time at weddings. That’s what makes each wedding truly unique. So, of course I blew it off with par for the course.

Five o’clock hits (Eastern effing Daylight Time) and we are standing barefoot in the strip of beach outside the hotel and we are doing the walkthrough. Easy peasy. Wanna do it again just to make sure we’ve got it? Sure! We’ve got time. Run it again, no issues. Rehearsal dinner’s at seven…perfect. Go to a kickass brew pub for some din-din. Get some gifts, drink more beer, fill up on food. Good stuff.

So, the devil tapped James and me on the shoulder and gave us another pair of details…(Bill Lumbergh voice) Ummm, yeah, I’m going to need you to finish 60 wedding programs with bows and colored ribbons before you do anything else tonight, mmmkay? And while you’re at it, we are going to need help tomorrow morning building the arbor on the beach and decorating the seat and aisles for the ceremony, mmmkay? Thanks.

No, it's not the latest boy band. But if it is, I call dibs on the "angry but with a sensitive side" boy band member.

There is no room for complaining during a wedding, especially if it’s the night before…but goddamn! Really? We have to finish wedding programs and help out Bob Villa with “This Old Arbor”? It would be tantamount if I went to Scott, Michael and Matt to say: “So did you guys have plenty to eat and drink? Excellent. Okay, let’s get crackin’. The Chuppah isn’t going to build itself.”

Call me a punk, but I merely assumed that my only responsibilities were 1) make Bryan’s life easier, 2) hang out and give advice when needed and 3) run interference with the bride to prevent any pre-ceremony sightings. That’s it. Granted, they don’t make a contract for these types of things, but that was what I thought I was there for…along with moral support since there was only about eight Texans in the whole wedding party.

But there we were. Bryan, James and I were making bows out of ribbon of hot pink and blaze orange on programs while a small parade of people jumped in and out of our hotel room. Not the “last night of freedom” I was thinking for my man, Bry-Bry. We gutted it out and made one more run at the bars downtown.

The next day, there was an itinerary that was apparently created and floating somewhere around the hotel for the participants…but it never got to room 330, where the groom and two groomsmen were trying to get wrinkles out of 100% cotton. So, of course the ceremony was late. Once the boutonnieres were installed and the ladies in pink were sequenced with the men in green, the temperature climbed to 85 degrees. The men were savvy enough to remember their sunglasses but the women too easily forfeited them as a wardrobe faux pas. So much for sun protection, the men lost that battle pretty quickly.

The sand was hot, the shirts were quickly swashed with sweat, James and I thought it was a terrible idea to go commando, my eyes were melting in my shitty new contacts and, to cap it, the flower girl had a straight up, “I don’t wanna do this” meltdown of a meltdown halting the ceremony at least another two minutes.

But none of it mattered when Jenny walked down the aisle.

It still didn’t matter afterwards when James and I showed up too early to the reception, or when the guests were fed out-of-order, or if I had to shell out 60 bucks to a cash bar on hotel well Scotch (bastards!), or if I had no one to dance with, or if I felt like one of the last fighters in the Alamo, or if everyone sounded like Sarah Palin, or if the event felt like a fire drill, or if I broke James with a Busch-league move on a scavenger hunt I would lose anyway, or if I was not having fun, or the cake was dry, or if I was missing my best friend at an event that I really, really wanted her to go, or if we missed last call at “Club Skittles”.

None of it mattered when Bryan said “you fit me like a stickshift” and Jenny said “I do”.

To the happy couple, Michigan was more beautiful than I thought. I absolutely appreciate the invite. For your first wedding on a shoestring budget, this was pretty damn beautiful. I apologize for being a punk but I was not the biggest fan of being “that other guy from Texas”. Eh, that’s okay. Everyone will figure out who I am eventually. No disrespect, but my wedding was cooler. Literally, it was an indoor wedding and no one sweat thought their clothes, especially the linen pants. Just like the wedding, it takes a village. Anytime you need some advice, just let me know. Good luck to the both of you.

Wedding Blog series disclaimer - I am going to be an absolute jerk about your wedding because my wedding was the best. See paragraph one, again.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) I hate voting for the guy that’s about to lose. It’s like Nader all over again.
2) If no one else wants to do “Hack of the Day”, I might have to do it myself.
3) It is surreal when a Spurs fan roots for the Mavs. Now I know how Katie Couric feels. Wait, wha?

We are coming in hot with the next installment as big brother @Garner_99 has his weddin’ day. If it wasn’t bad enough that I had to deal with some crazy accents, I am going to have to do it again. Three teasers: brown tuxes, dessert reception and luchador masks. Uh oh. Talk later.

City Politics Fever! Catch it!

2011-05-17T12:06:00.010-05:00

Being a mayor is like racing a go-cart. You have to know your limitations.

One would think a relocation from a small town (for the lack of a better term) to a large metropolitan area, changes would be abound. In the big city, people do things differently than the small towns. It's a complete paradigm shift from closed-minded focus on a few menial facts to a large swath of complicated issues. With that thought ringing some truth, and the complexity of pleasing "approximately 1.2 million people" and 507,000 registered voters, the one-and-done bickering of the cosmetic issues do not raze my political curiosity anymore.

In the big city, my love/loathe/aggravation of local politics has been restored. Bless their crooked hearts, no matter what city you land in, the players try so hard to be relevant yet all of the other government constructs (state and federal) just make it a trickle-down action or a springboard to advance political stature. But they try. And sometimes they succeed. Cory Booker has made a second job out of finding common-sense improvements while every year upping the stakes for bigger, faster and stronger actions. Then again, I don't see either of the runoff candidates rolling out a night patrol in South Dallas.

It's down to two as David Kunkle and Mike Rawlings race to facilitate the wacky looking building that was used in Robocop. Lest we remember, it's Texas politics. And even though Dallas is 193 miles from the fracas--nay, fustercluck--of Austin, it is still Texas politics. The fun part about Texas politics is that you have to peel off the initial, shrink-wrapped layer to find out what the angle is. And yes, there is ALWAYS an angle.

Mike Rawlings had a $1.47 million layer to comb through...that's a lot of shrink-wrap. Along with being on the board of the Dallas Parks and Recreation department and Ace Cash Express and as a former CEO of Pizza Hut, it looks like his angle in to lure a Fortune 100 company to downtown, claim it as "business growth" and leave to serve as the that company's CEO or chairman. Or I could be wrong. He could be the agent of change that relocates the Rangers to South Dallas and boost their economy urging other neighborhoods to reconnect with South Dallas. At that point, he will vie for VP of player personnel. I'm sorry, I have my doubts with a guy that is a tad bit on the Kingfish side of politics.

David Kunkle is the former police chief during a down slope in crime within Dallas. Name recognition was his game as about 2/3 of the men in the city only really know of him through a poorly-planned interview on the Little Ticket. His name alone got him second place in the first mayoral election as he spent little to nothing on advertising. Seriously, his campaign banner looked like something out of a Microsoft Office template. But, the singular message of great neighborhoods equal a great city could push him over the top or push him to the wayside. His angle is that he is so bored that maintaining a city and 14 different egos every other Wednesday sounds more exciting that collecting a police pension. I'm sorry but I have my doubts about how one man can unify neighborhoods as distinctive as their citizens.

To continue the Debbie-Downerism, the city is broke. Just like the state is broke. Just like the US has raised the debt ceiling because they are in the red. How can you push pie-in-the-sky dreams when you can't afford the ready-made pie crust? Until a city representative (other than the City Manager) can come to grips with that reality, the rest of the talk is cheap. On the neighborhood front: you can't build great neighborhoods without fixing the street lights and paving the roads. On the business front: you can't lure a huge company to take over an empty skyscraper with the temptation of tax breaks. It's a chicken v. egg argument that I don't think either of these guys have come to grip.

And don't get me started on the "education" angle. Part of the $1.47 million within the Rawlings camp was devoted to television. It's a great message but when you see it next door to this commercial, it makes you cringe that some promises might be broken. At least Kunkle didn't burn money he didn't have to blow smoke up a lovely woman's skirt.

So, here we are again. I am stressing out about local politics with the writing on the walls. It's like I'm in Corpus again. But comparing Dr. Seuss with Homer is just not fair. Whomever the 13% (or less) of the registered voters select, I will be along for the ride...as I always am. And I wish the best for the victor. It's a monumental challenge. If my cynicism is killed by the new mayor's resolve and (more importantly) fulfillment of goals, then I will be the same citizen thankful that I had the right to vote. There's nothing wrong with the capability of being proven wrong.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) Priorities, people...
2) I mean, c'mon! Priorities, people!
3) Every time I think about work and the job I do, I always have this movie in my head..."Good for you, it's a growth industry."

The one cool thing about Dallas right now is that it is getting an awesome economic shot in the arm from the Mavs' deep dive into the playoffs. I have never been a Mavs fan, but the more money we can snake from those casino-loving sod dwellers north of the Red River, the happier I am. Mavs in seven! Talk later.

A Brave[r] New World

2011-05-03T12:36:00.008-05:00

From Sunday morning to late night, nothing changed too drastically in the neighborhood...did it? (courtesy of Google Earth)

I will be honest (stupid phrase), I was going to attempt to write about the NFL draft. The Draft, seriously, was at the frontal lobe of my brain. An exercise so futile with unrealistic trajectories that gives one last polish of an ego that no 20-year-old can live up to...because he will soon get rocked by professionals that have been doing this football thing much longer than they have been getting kickbacks from alumni. Yeah, that was going to be brutal. Plus, it's all moot because there won't be an NFL season anyway. So, there.

No, I was saved (?...for lack of a better term) by a late-night presidential address. At 21:27 CDT, The Lovely sent me a text...

"Pres Obama is expected to make an important announcement shortly[.]"

Now, it's very difficult while I am at work for anyone to get the jump on me news-wise because we have a news feed (local and national) within the office and closed circuit television all around campus. So, when news breaks at work, we know. But The Lovely totally got the jump on me. That is rare.

Naturally, I kick it over to the national feed with CNN. Wolf Blitzer can probably tie a half-Windsor in his sleep. John King looked like he had a couple of cocktails before he rolled into the office. Ed Henry was hoarse from howling laughter at the Correspondent's Dinner the night before. They seemed like they didn't know what the hell was going on. Until someone--and I wonder who or what office--leaked the headline.

Osama bin Laden is dead.

Now, when it comes to news, there are very few times I react. The 2000 and 2008 election results solicited a reaction. But elections do that. And I wasn't in front of a feed during 9/11 because, interestingly enough, I was at work as well. I fortunately did not see that insanity when that was rolling live. Unfortunately, technology was matured enough to see replays and stuff you did not want to show on broadcasts.

But, at around 22:00 local, the haggard John King repeated: "bin Laden is dead...bin Laden is dead." Then it took about 40 minutes for POTUS to rally up an 11-minute speech that glossed the highlights like SportsCenter did with Celtics/Heat Game 1 of the East Semis.

It was a "where were you" moment when at the same time in Philadelphia, the crowd started checking their phones and read the same thing I heard, chanting following. With @KeithOlbermann tracking sources, @MrChuckD pissed off at the execution and @DonaldGlover tracking idiot celebrities not knowing what was happening, this was an event.

But that's exactly what it was...an event. Singular.

What now?

Granted, I am enjoying the news orgy where information is flying the moment it sees a clearing. From Navy leadership quarterbacking the op being a Texas Ex to recovered hard drives, computers and external media devices to Jon Stewart basking in the news as the Republican leadership invokes empty statements, this is a singular event that was anticipated but never predicted. That's why we have to be grown-ups and segregate the event to the strategy and the policy.

So, the head of the snake has been removed. Congratulations, you've made it. Now, what about the 21st century version of Vietnam? What about the millions of billions of dollars going to the failed state that harbored the head of the snake? What about Guantanamo? What about the shadow Guantanamo in Bagram? Hell, we haven't completely pulled out of Iraq? And don't get me started on air travel. The reasons are falling to the wayside as you have one singular event.

As everything is in the world we live in, it's complicated. We received intelligence from prisoners held at US-owned overseas locales. The argument of instability will be raised with Pakistan because Kashmir, Waziristan and Mumbai will tear that country a new orifice without support. And of course, some floppy argument about spreading democracy to Afghanistan via occupation will be thrown around, even though al Qaeda has flared out to other locations...but the Egypt, Tunisia and Syria counterargument will be ready for the parry-reposite.

I know it was welcome news for a grand amount of people. This symbolizes closure. It closes a loop--a story arch--if you will. But we are now two days separated from the pop of the story and the drop of the jaw. If this is going to be a braver new world for the States, we are going to have to put on our big boy pants and make some decision. By the way, the meter is running.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) You know, as much bagging I do on Microsoft products, at least they are doing something right...or not wrong, as illustrated by the PlayStation Network hack.
2) Come on people, let's quit being naïve. Before the GPS technology was installed, it was still A PHONE! Has no one heard of triangulation? No one cares about your location unless you are cheating on a spouse or if you are a criminal.
3) I can probably go another thirty years before another time waste like this. Thanks for all the useless information, American media.

If petrol would drop about 20 cents and schools can be funded without firing teachers and compromising quality...now that's a news cycle that is on a roll. A guy can dream, can't he? I will try to find a softball for next time. Until then, talk later.

And what's the deal with dinner parties?

2011-04-19T12:02:00.005-05:00

Dinner parties: a tradition unlike any other. Or the other.

Without trying to be Seinfeldian, I do wonder what the deal is with dinner parties. Sure, it's a great excuse to bring people over that 1) don't live in the neighborhood, 2) show off some culinary mastery and 3) yet another excuse to overeat...as if we don't have enough of those excuses lying around. But why in the hell would we (the collective I) need a reason to wash four times as many dishes as we usually do for one orchestral event?

I will contend that there is a nature versus nurture element to the reason behind dinner parties. The nature part is personified beautifully by The Lovely. The nurture part is clumsily portrayed by me. I always love a showdown especially since we won't have pro football this year.

The Lovely, as not to be her fault, was born into a social construct that always--ALWAYS--had a reason to party. Whether it be professional, family or the gray parts in between, her parent's house was ground-zero for any event you can imagine, except circuses. The Lovely's mom prepared all the food for nearly every event that was held at the homestead (save for the 30-35 party and our wedding, she was the cook).

On a recent trip back to Corpus, we scanned through volumes of cook books to find various softball dishes we could prepare without too much hassle. While scanning these cook books, The Lovely's mom had detailed, specific notes in the back of every cook book used and annotated dishes prepared and attempted, volume of ingredients and people hosted for every categorized party executed for the purpose of historical context .

For example [paraphrased]:
Uncle Joe's birthday
Invited: 100, attended: 94
Korean Steak x 7
No vegetarians
Dessert - cream pie, needed 4 gallons extra milk

The detail of these notes were astounding, like she was studying for med school and needed to know immediately where the insertion point of the latissimus dorsi was. It was as if Mom's innate skills and savvy was easily transferred to a double-helix of The Lovely's DNA. So, for The Lovely, it was in her nature to throw dinner parties.

I, on the other hand, needed to be trained for this like some rescued mutt from the animal shelter. I no longer mess on the rug, thankyouverymuch. Aside from the random birthday party I was rarely invited to, possibly because I messed up so many rugs, my learned sensibilities with dinner parties started just like it started with a lot of kids...at lunch time.

Granted, Styrofoam trays are not the wedding-gifted china and haphazardly-opened 1/2 pint milk cartons are not the glassware. However, you have to crawl before you can walk. Hell, you have to faceplant a couple of times before crawling is a viable option. You have to learn to sit still and enjoy pleasantries, like "I love pizza day" and "math is hard". But you learn that eating and sitting with people is not mutually exclusive. Later on in junior high and high school, the conversation [somewhat] evolves to where...hey, I like having discussions with people I [somewhat] chose to hang out with while eating food I normally don't eat! Victory. Somewhat.

Let's face it, I like dinner parties so I can hang out with people. The Lovely likes dinner parties because she wants to show off how kick-ass her ninja skills in the kitchen are. And just like a dinner party, we don't do this every day. So, we add a couple of bottles of wine, extend the serving time another two hours and go from there. It's in her nature and my nurture to have a party involving dinner every once in a while.

And now, just like The Lovely's parents, we seem to have a rotation going. Just as long as I don't backslide in to trading someone's side dish for double dessert, I think I will have the decorum down. Because I am still learning, you know.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) So, you have to have more of an athletic stance over the ball to where your hands will be directly over your chin. When your back is straight, you can rotate your shoulders naturally to where the weight of your body is balanced on the follow through. Then the ball will naturally straighten.
2) Gas prices will stay high until they are off the commodities market. No speculators, no problem.
3) So, the orange-infused vodka needed another day or so. Formula number 2 is not a total fail, it's just weaker in flavor than I imagined.

Well, April is quickly ending, just like the scenic views at PK Lake (ooh, too soon?). But there is one more cool thing that happens in April...The Draft...no, the other The Draft. Talk later.

Thank God, it's baseball season

2011-04-03T13:39:00.008-05:00

Roman is ready. I am ready. Red is ready to taste orange Gatorade for the first time. (from Aug 2010)

I'll admit. I was not and never have been a part of the Communist party. I have also never been a life-long, gung-ho baseball fan.

As most brainwashing--err--fandom starts, it starts young. My youth was introduced to baseball as many 6-10 year-olds trot onto a little league field. But my distaste started when I was positioned in right field. Now, if you are playing any outfield position on the 5-6 year-old team, that basically means you have zero hand-eye coordination to prevent a baseball from hitting you in the face. If there was a baseball card for my stats, it would include zero errors (due to zero balls driven past the infield dirt) and a few HBP from other dads (during coach-pitch ball). I better served the team and the league pulling weeds from the outfield. Hey, keeping up those fields was a team effort.

I stuck it out for two years, if you can call it that. It's wasn't my finest hour quitting "the great game". But it just wasn't my bag. I was going to take my talents to PE and score a Presidential Physical Education award by being a prepubescent gym rat (amazing that it's still around today). Two days a week of dodge ball, two days a week of some goofy volleyball hybrid that wasn't volleyball and one mean game of wall ball a week with pull-ups, push-ups and wind sprints in between. So, I was essentially giving an underdeveloped middle finger to baseball.

So, aside from stealing glances at my older brother's and younger brother's baseball card collection, I had a limited engagement with baseball aside from the annual "hey, you wanna go to an Astros game?" conundrum. Pre-strike, it wasn't so bad when they played at the Astrodome. But later, well after the strike, it was a beating to drive to "downtown" Houston to watch lethargic NL Central baseball. Also, they play in a venue with the dimensions of a little league field, with a "berm" in center field. Ha! Enron Field.

So, to recap, the high school and college time frame was nearly absent of any baseball conscientiousness. Which is sad.

Then, I roll up into Dallas. If there is one thing Dallas is starved for is a champion in the 00's. The town was spoiled in the early nineties with the Cowboys as all of the teams got better and better. The Stars won the friggin' Cup in '99 while half the fans didn't know what a blue line was. Hell, even the Mavericks showed up as a NBA team of reckoning. Then there were the Rangers...the lowly, lowly Rangers.

They are still paying ARod (he was still a financial consideration during the sale of the Rangers in 2010). They had a dysfunctional series of owners and team management that somehow looked better after they ruined a baseball team. It was literally an ugly stepchild that was stowed away in the back upstairs bedroom when dinner guests arrived. During the Hicks stewardship, there were Dallasites disowning the Rangers like a daughter marrying the wrong guy.

But then something happened...to me and to the fine folks of North Texas (and likewise the remote Ranger fans that have been long suffering). The Rangers started winning. Within all of the turmoil of the team sale and the skeletons in the closet coming out, the Rangers were playing solid baseball under the radar. Their June and July of the 2010 season was so torrid, they locked up the division as early as in previous years they were eliminated from any playoff contention. The DFW area was talking about significant baseball in August as opposed to following the circus of Cowboy training camp. It was a complete mental shift that no one was prepared for but was totally prepared for.

And I was sucked in. I was caught in the vacuum of awesomeness that reignited the reason why I wanted to play little league baseball in the first place...because baseball is exactly what you need when you need it.

I wanted to be part of a new town. I needed a common thread. A baseball team that had absolutely nothing to lose brought a town and a region together every damn day they took the field. Downtown was a hub with the traveling fans and the hometown revelry that brought everyone together, including me. I fell in love with the story. It was a rag-tag bunch with a survivor of addiction, a statesman of the game, a kid primed for greatness and a traveler that showed up at the right time. They were all meshed with a modern-day zen master that isn't the perfect zen master, but a zen master of the passion that found him.

C'mon, at that point, who wouldn't fall in love.

So, the Rangers are back. The configuration and the love affair might be different and matured, but it's still there. And just like I needed it to facilitate the geo-social identity, I need it again today. My mind is everywhere. This has been one hell of a month and a more-intense past two weeks. Sometimes you need to see how an inning is built or falls apart to get away from things that are falling and constructing in your life. Sometimes watching the challenge of pitcher and batter puts your challenges in perspective. Sometimes you need a break. And as much complaining there is of the 162-game schedule, for my mental and physical health, I am certainly glad it is there. To boot, it's another cool thing Dad and I can talk about. So, the love affair is back. And it doesn't matter about balls and strikes, it's about the escape that is sometimes desperately needed.

So, go Rangers. Yay, baseball. And Yankees suck. Welcome back, past time.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) So, that's how it happened, huh? Okay, then.
2) That's a pretty creative name, Longhorn Network. Did you think of it 15 seconds ago?
3) If you don't know how to convert your time zone from GMT, "I bid you no points and may God have mercy on your soul".

So, now that one fixture has been re-established, there seems to be a new-coming fixture that is close to installation. More on that next week. Until then, talk later.

The Best Things in Life [Were] Free

2011-03-30T12:26:00.004-05:00

I quit volleyball in the 10th grade because I hated conditioning--running suicides, endless jumping drills, crunches and pushups. During one such session, my mind let my body give up and I left the gym, effectively quitting the team. I admit that part of it was due to my then-blossoming teenage resistance to anything slightly authoritative--I mean, no one was going to actually make me do anything... I did miss playing in games, and the team camaraderie, but I was also coming to that point in high school where I found that I would rather spend time at the park listening to Grateful Dead bootlegs, watching my friends play hacky-sack and trying to see each other's auras. I had decided that athletics just weren't my thing after all. But here I am, post thirty (by two years) and I have realized that I had it easy back then.

A few years ago, I realized the importance of "working out." I've spent my share of time at the gym and have learned to use some of the stranger looking weight machines. I would have tried recreational volleyball but my hard-ass coach's training is still ingrained in me somewhere and I can't even enjoy a game in someone's back yard without instinctively sacrificing my body for a save or getting angry when another player does abosolutely nothing with a beautiful set I just gave them. So I had to find something active to do that was more satisfying than spending time in a basement gym walking up 75 imaginary flights of stairs to get nowhere.

Well, I recently found myself paying someone to torture me exactly the same way my coach used to. How did this happen? I actually shelled out money for this; I paid someone to order me around and yell at me to do all the things I hated. Suicides, drills, crunches, pushups--they're all back--and too late. Only now do I realize that I should have appreciated the fact that my younger self could not only actually do these things, but could do them without pain and do them for free. I've missed my chance. My body isn't up for it, and I have a doctor's note getting me out of P.E. (I mean Bootcamp). If only the Doc could guarantee me a refund on the registration fee...

Of course this happens to me now, when I actually want to do these things. I needed to challenge myself and push myself like this. It felt good...until it didn't. So with a bum hip (yes, a hip--talk about feeling old) I'm having fears of being limited to low-impact fun like water aerobics...and Jazzercise... I'm sure I'll figure something out, but in the meantime, I still have my Birkenstocks and a moderate collection of Dead tracks. Does anyone play hacky sack anymore?

OPERATION: Homebody...part two?

2011-03-27T14:47:00.012-05:00

Well boys, you get your wish...you get to see more of your daddy.

Addicts call it "rock bottom". It's the absolute lowest level before the self-realization or assisted proclamation that help is needed and their current state is unsustainable. Granted, my problems are no where near as detrimental as a clinically-deemed addict, but I did need some help in something I have been struggling with for a while.

I know, I know, we have been through this before with varying results. But I was in Corpus where I could make the excuse to be a homebody (or not). But this is Dallas. This is a town where they build stuff on top of stuff to exercise boredom. This is a town that blows up stuff that used to be fun, because they thought is was a good idea. But there is a true reason for the operation reboot. And I don't think I have a choice in the matter.

So, there are these things called taxes. Apparently, you are supposed to do them every year. But I am not sure if you are supposed to pay them in the amount and frequency we have done in the couple of years in Dallas. I don't know if The Lovely wants me to divulge the amount paid from our last two submissions. But I will say that the grand total could finance a small counterinsurgency in an unstable region overseas.

Last year was a bit different because we actually had a war chest ready to use for the huge number changeover we were going to experience. And yes, your hand shakes whenever you write a check with five significant digits for the first time. But this year, we are in a bit of a pinch. So, what do responsible adults do when they are in a pinch?

No, seriously, what do we do?

We -- more in tune to the situation, I -- know exactly what to do. OPERATION: Homebody 2 has to work. If it doesn't, that's all I need to compound a situation...tax issues. It's really not a big deal. I either pair down the optional living expenses and throw money at the problem or I arrange a payment plan and get worked over by simple interest to pay this off. It's not a big deal. It has to be done. And I'm sure it will go to a good cause.

It sucks. My outings and my schedules will now be affected. Hell, The Lovely is skipping one of the four weddings to save some money. My social schedule will be altered by trying to load balance other things to do in the saving effort. No more drunken nights of random iTunes purchasing binges. No more kickass dinners where we shrug at triple-digit tabs. No, all the spare change we have goes to Uncle Sam. Blogs will consist of reading back issue magazine articles and supplanting delayed opinions as opposed to comparing which restaurant has the better short ribs (Bolsa has the Shiner Bock marinade as Craft just slow roasts the hell out of them). That might be an accidental benefit from the op reboot. And I can cancel that miniature giraffe order.

But in the back of my mind, I hate this. I wish I was one of those crooked bastards that gets away from all of this fiscal responsibility. I could stare and bold-face lie to some sap to protect my secret millions. But I'm sure there are some pitfalls with that as well.

Or I could fix my W-4 like a normal person.

So, for all my social connections, I will be in hiding for the next four months. I may sneak away for a rebound of the fun life. Hopefully, my debt to the nation will be paid sooner rather than later. I'm sure I can generate some action while at home, but we will see. I have this thing called a PS3...I wonder what it does other than Blu-Ray and Netflix?

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) C'mon, admit it, VCU and Butler in the Final Four is kinda cool. However, you will never make me love the bracket of 68. Make it an even 96 and move on.
2) So many hacks...so...many...hacks.
3) Welp, I have lost another dozen brain cells. Eh, it happens. Catchy. At least it's not that damn "Saturday" song.

Seriously, this homebody thing has to work. If anyone has any suggestions or assistance, don't hesitate to comment. I may need the comments to read to pass the time. Lameness. Talk later.

Wedding Blog, Pt. I - Dunes are different from the beach

2011-03-21T21:01:00.009-05:00

Congrats to Derica and Patrick, looking lovely on the most important St. Patrick's Day of their lives.

In my ongoing quest to turn this blog into a series of telenovelas, I now present the first part in my four-part series on weddings and why anyone would invite me to them. Within this ongoing series, I will unfairly and unjustly compare everyone's wedding to my wedding. I know, it's not a fair fight because I had the best wedding, ever (everyone should be so biased). Also, as the convention of this blog, I will attest to the mature nature of this very important ceremony simultaneously with the immature hypothesis that we don't need all this pomp and circumstance to be with the ones we love. The adult in me loves the stability, while the kid in me just wants to eat wedding cake.

First up, the lovely daytime nuptials of Derica Shipley (not related to the footballer Shipley family) and Patrick Griffin (not related to the Griffin's from TV's "Family Guy"...because he is not animated).

Last Thursday was a very good day to get married on the coast. Yeah, you read it correctly...last Thursday, as in St. Patrick's Day...as in the first REAL day of The Tournament. Yeah, that last Thursday. Speaking of the kid in me, the spoiled brat in me was throwing a hissy fit. A personal lesson to me would be that love does not care what your schedule looks like or what holiday it collides into. Of course, this is the second time I have been scolded with this harsh reality. My younger brother was married on New Year's Eve. Of course, he got his feelings hurt when I left a shade before midnight. So, St. Patty's Day should not have set me crooked, right? Right?

See, this is what I expect on St. Patty's...and that's it! Say hi to Amber...

God bless this lovely couple, but if you were told only these four things about a wedding:
March 17th
5 PM
Corpus Christi, TX
Padre Balli Park
...what would come to mind?

In my simple, panicked mind, I am thinking, "okay, a beach wedding during spring break on one of the drunkest days of the year." What could go wrong?

My doomsday scenario was nowhere close to being realized. Balli Park is probably the best possible location to avoid drunken beach sunburned zombies as the pavilions ask for the cash deposit before anyone shows up near those buildings. All of my fears were quelled. Even the weather cooperated with my sports jacket and heavy slacks as the sea breeze was comfortable and somewhat calming.

As the wedding ceremony goes, I also expected a very heavy catholic tilt even with the neutral ceremony site in between the dunes separating the tides with Park Road 22. No dice, with the unknown association to clergy from the officiator of the wedding, the ceremony lasted, maybe, 15 minutes with very few religious overtones. The wedding procession of seven groomsmen, seven bridesmaids, the proud parents, a ring bearer and bagpipes(!!!), the walking portion of the wedding nearly eclipsed the ceremony running time (Lessons Learned sidebar: I need to have a stop watch to measure how long these ceremonies last if I am going to blog about it).

"It's easy to grin, when your ship has come in, and you've got the stock market beat..."

With all timing and sequencing analysis aside, there is one constant that remains...everyone looked beautiful. The bride was beautiful, the groom looked slick with the all-black. The green of the bridesmaids' dresses offset the groomsmen's highlighted accessories brilliantly. The sun-kissed blue sky was the ultimate backdrop as the rows of waves behind us came with five rows at three feet. The only natural element that was a bit of a bear was the cloudless glare of the sun...but that was the witnesses' problem that a pair of sunglasses could easily solve.

To the happy couple, thank you for the invite. I apologize for the mumbling as this was not what I expected. I appreciate being surprised in a good way. No disrespect, but my wedding was cooler. Literally, we had central air when we were inside. Good luck to the both of you.

Wedding Blog series disclaimer - I am going to be a jerk about your wedding because my wedding was the best. See paragraph one.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) If Corpus could pull off nights like last Thursday, they would have to worry about their image because the tourists would just be pouring in enjoying themselves. Quit over-thinking and just be a city by a sea.
2) If Austin was the size of Dallas, locals would probably not bitch all the time about visitors invading their city. It's SXSW. What the hell did you guys expect (see: ComiCon)? Blessing and a curse...
3) If Dallas wanted to be more like Austin, they should have asked this guy to come north. Ah, the North Texas identity crisis continues post-80's TV show. Wait, what?

Unlike the Costa Rica series, the "goin' to the chapel" series will be a bit more spread out. We double-down in June as April and May are sans ceremonies. July through September are also quiet for reporting as we finish up the ego-trip in October for the event of the season. Then and there, we will see how these bums stumble out of the blocks on day one. If trash-talking weddings are wrong, then I don't want to be right. Talk later.

Master Procrastinator

2011-03-21T11:17:00.002-05:00

Last week I finally paid my library fines to the fine Dallas Public Library. I had had outstanding fines for several different additions of editions to my music and audio book libraries, most notably, Why You Procrastinate and What to do About It. I had returned the book late, late last summer, after having heard about it on NPR, checked it out and failed to read it, so I still don't know why I procrastinate, and I still have no idea what to do about it. I have long ascribed to the dictum, "Why do today what you can put off 'til tomorrow?" and found that it's only caused minor problems in my life. Ms. Henry, my high school math teacher, always allowed me to turn in my homework late with no penalties. Taxes are always filed on April 15th or later, just like I saw my parents do annually. My Car Registration is initiated by a citation every year, just like clockwork.

I don't know where I was going with this... I'll finish it up later. Time to check out some lolcats....

Stealing Words

2011-03-19T16:41:00.011-05:00

Being thirty-two, I am years from my college English courses. English majors learn to think and write, but in a way, unless you are creatively writing (the thought of which always completely terrified me), you're just putting your ever-growing internal vocabulary list to work in order to analyze and explicate someone else's words in some meaningful way. However, I've come to realize that even just doing that is better than not using your words at all.

So, after being urged by a friend to write, I find myself making an attempt. This is not the first time someone has suggested I do this, but it is the first time I've taken anyone up on it. It's strange how people have told me before that I would be a good writer, never even having read two words I've attempted to put together outside of a Facebook status update. The fear of proving these people wrong has kept me from this for a long time. But, I think I'm ready to get some words down on a page (or screen).

What to write about? How about words themselves? I love words. I own an extensive collection of magnetic poetry, I love to play Scrabble, and I am the owner of three books about vocabulary building. As much as I do love words, I sometimes have a hard time putting them all together on a page and shuffling them around to find that perfect mix that will completely express a thought with all the subtleties and shades that might be required. I used to collect quotations and song lyrics because I thought that there was nothing that I could say about anything that had not already been said better by someone else. I mean, we are limited by the finite number of words that exist, and I thought that it was best left to the professionals to combine them in appropriate ways. Don't get me wrong I understand that new words are coined every day. There is a continuous need to describe or explain new technologies or to find different ways to communicate complex (or not-so complex) ideas with our thumbs. But there is something magical about the most simple combination of everyday words, when their interaction manages to completely capture a single true emotion.

Simple words are often overlooked. I once had a conversation with a person who was able to appreciate my usage of the word "trite." He commented on its infrequent usage, ironically showing that it has become a word that is in itself the opposite of its own meaning. I appreciated his appreciation. Then, I smugly commented that one need not be sesquipedalian in their expressions to convey an important idea. And yes...at that point I was just showing off. I just really enjoyed the fact that we could have an entire conversation about the very words we choose to converse with.

So, back to putting words together...I think I'm ready to try it. I'm sure I will be regurgitating words already learned and known. And I will most certainly be leaning upon the crutches of my thesaurus, my extensive collection of magnetic poetry and the most intriguing work ever to be published by the London Philological Society. Yes, the words will all be stolen, but the ideas will be my very own.

March Madness can mean so many things.

2011-03-14T20:19:00.003-05:00

Meli's kickass hat is from The House of MacGregor. Daniel's hair is from decades of bad haircuts.

With all the insanity that is going on globally, it is difficult for me to use the word "epic". First of all, it's part of a title of a Mickey Mouse video game. Right then and there, the word lost a bit of it's intensity. Secondly, I would be breaking the Louie CK rule of exaggerated vocabulary. But I have no other adjectives in the word box. I'm sorry.

Anytime you get to go to two sporting events without having to pay for a single ticket, that's pretty awesome. Granted, it was hockey, but it's a professional sports league. So, for most people, that would be their weekend. Spool it up and wait for Monday to show up. But no, I had to entertain out-of-town guests, go to a birthday party, pull a late night filled with service industry alienation, Old Milwaukee, YouTube video references, ditching The Toadies, calling an absolute stranger a d-bag for cutting in front of me in a food line (yeah, I don't know if it was the beverages or the sunburn talking at that point), the luckiest pizza delivery guy outside of a porno storyline, the best shower ever, and a home-cooked meal in which my mother would assault a small child for the recipe.

Yeah, yeah, this is a 32-year-old's epic weekend.

Part of the epic-ness was moving through a cloud that I used to navigate all the time when I was younger. You really start to appreciate stamina when you start to lose it. But then when you have 12 hours on your feet and in the heat without collapsing under your own weight, you start scrambling for those gold stars you used to earn because, damnit, you just got yourself a new one. Also, where did that tolerance come from?

Maybe I should back up...

Dallas is known for very few things because it's filled with plastic people ballooning plastic thoughts. But if there is one thing this city does right, it's the St. Patrick's Day Parade. Every Saturday before drunky's night out, this town goes greener than Al Gore's PowerPoint presentations. The scene is controlled chaos before the floats, flat-bed trucks and one poorly decorated OU alumni trailer (it's 8:47pm...). Then the parade rolls out. Living downtown and being trapped near kiddie parade central (thanks Adolphus Hotel for waking me up so early on a holiday weekend), it was a welcome change of pace where the subject matter is not overtly adult, but PG-13 enough to tolerate the Charlie-Foxtrot of traffic, people and waking up relatively early on a Saturday. Then it ended. Media juggernaut Gordon Keith stole my thought on The Musers this morning, but I will reiterate. The aftermath is the most realistic looking post-apocalyptic, zombie-plagued urban scare-scape that I have seen in a long time. And it was awesome.

For most people, just the parade would be enough to call that an epic weekend, especially after witnessing the revelry and the expiration of some people's sobriety and good graces. As a parade virgin, it was all to be expected with a couple of fun surprises in between. As I have mentioned before, it is amazing how the body responds to different stresses. And with the White Rock Marathon notwithstanding, this was about as impressed I have been with my sad sack of beyond-the-warranty bones. But when you really want to continue to stand to see what happens next, the stamina shows up in buckets.

Good job, human body. And thanks to everyone that joined along in the fun. If we do it again next year, remind me to grab a hat and get a better night's sleep.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) Never, ever, ever, ever buy something you really want. Three months later, another something will come by and CRUSH EVERYTHING IN IT'S PATH, INCLUDING YOU.
2) So, my older brother is now on Twitter. I wonder in how many formats, languages and social media platforms he can offend with? Now he's just showing off (@garner99...go ahead a guess what his password is.)
3) If it wasn't for The Bachelor, Dancing With The Stars and Modern Family, ABC would be my generation's version of CBS. BTW, fuck The Bachelor; can I have my wife back, now?

Pow. It's an update. Now I have to watch a lot of basketball. PS - I have a couple of new correspondents. Hope they come up with something a delicious as post-parade coverage...wait, that sounded odd. Talk later.

Yet another anniversary to mark...Year One in Dallas

2010-11-30T15:11:00.023-06:00

The 'hood, as viewed from the Belmont Hotel patio. First one to find our building gets a prize!

Humans are weird. We react and behave completely differently than any other animal on Earth. We are so weird in our behavior that we study other species to see if any of their behaviors match our own, mostly to no avail.

No more is this chasm of differentiation more apparent then when we look at how humans associate memory with dates. No other animal (other than elephants) has the capacity and the desire to associate events with dates and mark them for memorial or trivia. March 6, 1836. June 28, 1914. December 12, 1980. Whether good or bad, we have to make a friggin' anniversary for everything.

And on some of these events, someone else will try to monetize the anniversary. Could I interest anyone in some commemorative Obama inauguration plates?

So, in my quest to seem a bit more human to everyone, I have done the same today with...today. On November 30th of last year, we landed on our version of Plymouth Rock.

There were ample reasons and discussion points as to why this was such an important event.

In reaching Dallas, this was the first Manifest Destiny move I have made since college. For good reason, no one counts college as they foray into the quote/unquote real world. That's like saying the Oklahoma land grab was done right outside of Philadelphia. No, this was the reason why you go to college...to move on up, to the [north] side.

This move was to unfamiliar territory. I had to adjust with only a generalization of the area and my penchant for hating to get lost. As an extension to Manifest Destiny, there was nothing really stopping this move other than want for something better.

Also, on a personal level, this was my Laverne and Shirley moment. No, no, not working for a beer company. But this would finally mark the end of my rehabilitation of immaturity and proceed with the adult move completely from under the parents' shadow. Granted, I needed every bit of their help. But this was the move that placed the exclamation point on "Let's blow this Popsicle stand!"

Finally, I have moved to where I can get some stuff done. I moved to where I can grow with the niche I found. And I can finally make something that my mother said a decade ago a reality.

And it all started a year ago today. Got to say, it's been a pretty good year.

The year started well, with the alma mater putting a one-point beating on the men of red from some state in the Midwest.

Then the snowpocalypse. Was I an omen for the fair city of Dallas?

Then Michael hosted New Year's. That was nice...

But toward the end, it got a little weird.

Celebrating Year Two of a super-cool union with The Lovely. I have no idea who the blonde is behind me.

Lots of sleep was lost in between, especially during the graveyard shift. Just trying to help a brother out.

Special guests visit all the time. Sabrina liked our neighborhood but the neighborhood did not appreciate all the yelling.

Then Mom showed up...and I had to behave myself (BTW, Mama is my mom. Mom is Meli's mom, just FYI).

The cool thing is that there is always something going on in Dallas, but the distractions were always around.

Dallas is like Casablanca, you know, without the Nazis.

The Metroplex is a scary place. Grande and I almost died that day (from heat exhaustion).

First year in Dallas, first year for Fantasy Football...yet another thing Michael is superior at than me.

Got a second job as a superhero. They have GREAT medical and dental.

Granted, Thanksgiving was different, but a first Dallas Thanksgiving to remember. We didn't disavow the holiday altogether!

So, Dallas, I just have one request...stay classy.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) I have to keep doing this. This is cathartic. This is supportive. This is necessary for me to stay sharp and poignant. Besides, my writing has been so lacking I'm misspelling layup words. Nothing more angering than that.
2) I know it's necessary for a state to collect sales tax. But if Cyber Monday is any indication of the stomach punch Texas is taking, the state may need to figure out a new method of collection other than a customary tithe.
3) It's not that The Social Network made me hate Zuckerbergnet and all he stands for, it just pissed me off that I studied the wrong subject in college.
BONUS: Listening to the Trent Reznor/Atticus Ross score for Social Network. I dare you not to write code while listening to it (Money tracks=2, 4, 5 and 11).
SUPER BONUS: Light a candle for me when you are hitting up mass, church, temple, et al. this weekend. The Rock will be fun, but not easy.

I would like to thank everyone in my life right now. As the snapshots show, it would not have been possible without everyone. Also, the next post will be nowhere near as sappy. Talk later.

The Big XII: 1996-2011

2010-06-10T13:26:00.005-05:00

Welp, I guess we can put that next to the Southwest Conference trophies...

I have to chime in. There is so much circulating with this story and so much to say. With twelve internal moving parts and four big external moving parts...mostly dealing with football, television and levels of money that would make The Donald blush.

But hey, it's not like we weren't heading to this. The writing has been on the wall since The Big Ten Network came into fruition. Hell, with the formation of the Super Alliance and the BCS, it was going to be a money grab featuring the have's and have-not's. The current financial system could not and would not be sustainable. Once a foot goes one step down the slippery slope, the effects were bound to happen.

So, since the "expert" line, such as Jesse Palmer(?), Craig James (maybe a Tech expert - ha!) and Dan O'Malley(???) is chirping like somebody pulled its voice string, why not I add a little rolled-up newspaper on this wildfire. Here is the list of my favorite players...so far:

Hero of the story - Chip Brown, OrangeBloods.com: Who knew that a former beat reporter from the Dallas Morning News would be the hot knife through the cold stick of butter that was supposed to be a boring conference summer meeting. Yeah, notsomuch. This gentleman is crushing it. He is pouncing on the real stories, staying focused on the actual storyline and staying on top of the static. I think he just about scooped everyone. Much apologies to my beloved Austin American-Stateman writers and the know-it-all in New York, but Mr. Brown is in the muck every minute and is bugged by ESPN for fifteen minutes of his valuable time.

Goat of the story - Dan Beebe, Commissioner, Big XII: I'm not sure if he has queued the band while the ship is taking on water, but the cardboard statements aren't bailing the Big XII out. I lost all confidence as soon as I knew his name. How did I know his name? After the UT/OU/Tech tiebreak debacle. The problem with having a young conference is when a once-in-a-generation situation occurs, there is apparently no need to change the screwy rules borrowed from a broken system. If all you know how to do is shake hands with the championship game winning coach and not be a CEO for a multimillion dollar enterprise, then maybe you should go away. By the way, the ultimatum was a really, really, really bad move for a starving, cornered animal.

Harbinger of the story - Big Red: Rewind to last week, the Big XII (in an awesome leadership move reminiscent of any empty threat seen on a sitcom) told Nebraska to make a decision--stay or go. Nebraska did not take the comedic bait. Besides, we already mentioned the Big XII leadership always gets two for flinching. Okay, Nebraska says, we will start looking around if you are giving us a "deadline"...wink, wink. The North and South divisions have always had a dissonance geographically and competitively. So, why not? It was crazy enough to work when we took the Big 8 down south. Experiment failed, so let's try something else. No big deal, so, here you go Big XII, we are out and taking the state with us...wait, Colorado beat us to the exit?

Darling of the story - The University of Texas: This is the most quiet I have ever seen this sports giant. Granted, being the richest athletic department in the nation takes all volumes and all tones. But with the (presumably grinning) silence from the juggernaut in Austin, they are looking like the "awe-shucks" good guy in this cast of characters. Granted, having the biggest stick, financially, has it's advantages. But no matter the outcome, these guys are smelling like January 5, 2006...like roses. The Big XII fails, "Hey, we tried. So, we are going to make the best of a sticky situation." The Big XII is restored to 12 teams, "I'm glad we can stay as a cornerstone member of the Big XII." The Big XI (eleven)? I don't see that happening; it would look too much like the AL West (Rangers joke, Hi-oh!). Texas, with the silence, is seriously the "hot chick at the end of the bar."

FTW guy of the story - A&M: "I don't know about you guys ("you guys" meaning=Texas, OU, Tech, OSU), but I'm going to the SEC!" Uh, no. That makes no sense any way you slice it. Logistically, it would be a pain to travel to Auburn, Oxford and Tuscaloosa with a athletic department hemorrhaging money from all of their athletic venue expansion efforts. Competitively, right now, as strong as the SEC is-up and down-they would be lucky to squeak away with two wins within the West division! Academically, the only other power conference with less academic hurdles to jump than the Big XII...you guessed it, the SEC. Fine, ATM, you think you are a special little snowflake that is unique in every single way, go to the SEC. Enjoy the TV money because you are sure as hell not getting any bowl money (unless there is revenue sharing).

Poor bastard of the story - (tie) Baylor/Mizzou: I'm not sure which is worse...pouting while taking your ball home or tattle-telling to your dad that you were wronged. That would be the situation for the Tigers and Bears...oh, my (wow, that was low-hanging fruit). The first childish response came from Mizzou after the Big XII "ultimatum". Since they are on an island with no in-state buddies, their silence and stiff upper lip (added with new reports of whining) make the school in Columbia look like malcontents, completely unlike Texas. Not really sure how they got that wrap but that seems to be the perception within this whirlwind of activity. Baylor went the other route, telling their parents (Texas Legislature?) that if they aren't tethered with the rest of the Texas schools for any sort of conference movement, they are going to have a parent conference...with the conference in question. Wait...isn't Baylor a private institution? I don't know how state education money breaks down with non-land-grant schools, but isn't Baylor asking Austin for help tantamount to me asking for money from my brother's father-in-law? It doesn't make sense. Neither does the "combo-pack" including Mizzou and/or Baylor...there's not enough TV's in Waco or Columbia.

Non-story of the story - "What about the travel? What about the student athletes?": Yet another example of college football is a business...mind you, a quickly-expanding, dynamic business with a modular business model. But it is a business. Every year, schedules and travel plans are made in accommodation for intercollegiate competition. This has happened since the NCAA was formed. Why would it be any different with boatloads of money now included? Athletic Directors and departments will continue to do the business they have done since athletic departments were created. With the TV money and conference inclusion windfall, the revenue assists with flexibility. Now the Griswold's can go to WallyWorld every summer...and book flights instead of driving the superwagon into the ground. A little bit more capital never has hurt business.

Preachy BS of the story - "It's all about the money!": C'mon, really? If anyone goes with that high-and-mighty garbage, especially at the "Worldwide Leader", that is the most hypocritical complaint anyone can yield. ESPN wouldn't be in existence if it wasn't about the all-mighty dollar. All of the talking heads that we can't stand (in and out of this story) would not be in front of the camera if they did not get a raise or were thrown a bag of cash with a dollar sign on it. So enough with the "it's all about the cash" with some faux forlorn tone. It costs money to run any business. And the business of college football, with TV expansion and conference contraction, is no different.

Accidental story some have mentioned with this story - Playoffs?!?!?: One less conference to worry about...money shifting to super-conferences...probably less of a drumbeat from ACC and Big East. Hmmm, compelling. Besides, if you throw away the "travel" limitation for the super-conferences, the ad revenue has to go somewhere. Jean-Jacques Taylor stated on The Ticket 1310 with Norm Hitzges that with this consolidation, that might be the way to go. But, with the rabbit-like multiplication of the bowl games...again, that ad revenue has to go somewhere.

The story continues to develop. Tweetdeck continues to break down with all Texas sports followers pushing through the cluttered bandwidth. I would personally like to thank all the information holders sharing their data with peons writing blogs like me so I can vent the wonderful yet bittersweet opinions (e.g. sportswriters, sports radio, news agencies, wizards, etc.).

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) Holy smokes, the NCAA does have teeth. Though it takes five years for them to grow.
2) Twitter should really look into getting some more support. Stupid fail whale.
3) I have never, and will never, care about Notre Dame. If ND still wants to be an independent and continue to collect checks from The Peacock, I don't care. Notre Dame is about as niche as open-wheel racing. I don't care about Danica Patrick.

I have to say, this is about as close to the hot-stove period of baseball that I will every experience. Usually, the common college football fan finishes in early January and starts counting down until the first weekend of September. Now I understand that feeling...where is the player going to go...forget that, where is the team going to go? Talk later.

Get busy training, or get busy dying

2010-05-31T13:53:00.005-05:00

At the Jewish Mother in VA Beach...yes, it's called the Jewish Mother.

Let's get this link party started!

To be a total copycat of my former boss and current badass, I wanted to gain some more technical and operational training in the field I have fallen in love with. Then again, a lot of folks of the liked mindset are doing the same thing. So, let's go get certified!

The visit was to a lovely beach venue which was a disconnect for my self-discipline. Why pick beautiful locations where it is very difficult to focus? Can't SANS hold training in Detroit or Fargo or Cleveland? Can't get distracted there.

To break it down to all my non-techie readers (all two of you), SANS is the quintessential training organization specializing in Information Security and technical controls. It's a destination for most worker bees like me. I ended going the introduction-to-intermediate route taking SEC401 Security Essentials. It's the intermediate school for GIAC, which I though would be a good fit.

Some notes for my techie readers (all four of you): if you are thinking about acquiring your CISSP, this course covers seven of the ten disciplines within the exam. It's not a bad review. Granted, CISSP is more of a leadership certification as opposed to the technical nature of the GSEC (certification from SEC401). It's an argument that will be fought back and forth with ISC2 and SANS, but it's really trying to compare limes and lemons--both are good in your professional margarita, but what is your preferred flavor...

If you have already have your Security+ from CompTIA (vendor neutral): this is a great refresh. Granted, I am blessed with a company that allows me to run away for the training I think is needed personally. However, if you are pressed for cash and time and you already have your Sec+ gunning for your CISSP, you might want to uptick to Certified Incident Handler (GCIH) or Certified Intrusion Analysis (GCIA). I know the dollar bills are a big deal with a lot of companies and training regimens. So, bang-for-buck ratio is huge. My current InfoSec mentor mentioned that 401 might has been a bit remedial. However, for people that have little to no background on Linux/Unix and cryptography, this class hits the mark for level of challenge.

It's hardcore training. It's ten hours for six straight days. And it's classroom training, a la lecture and slides. That might not be the flavor of training that some people prefer, but I can dig it. Besides, it's no where near the braincrusher that is MCSE bootcamp. Eff me.

Of course the side story was: I'm at a beach. What could go wrong? Well, if you answered "absolutely nothing", you were correct. My feet, covered with Vibrams, touched East Coast sand only once. That's how focused I was. And that's how important this post-graduate study is. The tech field is so fluid and the use of legacy and revolutionary technologies (mainframe systems trying to support iPad updates...it's not as crazy as you think) it's imperative to stay mentally sharp.

Admittedly there are two arguments I have with SANS. As awesome and powerful of a name SANS has within the tech market, why price the items so high and why not aim for accreditation. I know it's cheaper than a semester in Austin...the really big school in Austin, but if it's upward to 4000-big every class, why not aim for education accreditation as a bona fide post-graduate program that is a total hybrid? Hell, it's the University of Phoenix can collect accreditation (along with quite a few other web-enabled institutions), why can't SANS do the same thing, especially if they are pushing the product.

So, who's up for DEF CON?

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) No matter how warm you think a venue is, pack sleeves. Beaches are seasonal, but hotel rooms and conference quarters can be ff-ff-f-f-freezing.
2) Never...ever...run in swim trunks. I would show a link or a photo, but yeah, that's just not right.
3) Yeah, no one asks me anymore about joining Facebook anymore. Mmmm, I wonder why?

Next up for the mental gymnastics is the actual GSEC exam. I have 120 days to shut this door, but it will probably be wrapped up sooner than that. After that, it's going to be the physical challenge. Beach to Bay was only part of it...Harbor Half and White Rock, here I come. How do I plan do balance shift work and a marathon workout? Talk later.

The Prodigal Son Returns...then leaves again

2010-05-19T17:08:00.006-05:00

This photo did not make the cut for People of Wal-Mart.

It was inevitable.

I had to go back. There was no two ways about it. I had to return to Corpus. I had to return for probably the best social and athletic event that scary town hosts. I say scary because I did NOT want to fall into the trap of calling it "home". It's not home. I logged many-a-year in the township with the Latin name. I was NOT coming home...I was visiting Corpus. I'm sorry, that's just the lexicon I am using and comfortable in using. So, there.

Beach to Bay is the biggest athletic event the city hosts aside from a random area or regional state playoff game. It's been going on for 35 years and the participation makes this a destination event (even though it's mostly locals that take part). So, I wasn't going to make my triumphant return to the Sparkling(?) City By the Sea some loungefest of drinking and gallivanting (though I did fit that in).

With six months away from Corpitos, I did have my usual eye-rolling moments when walking back into the scene of the crime, so I am not going to bore everyone (my three readers) into the individual episodes and vignettes of humanity's backhand. Instead, I am going to go the SportsCenter route and just hit the highlights. I will go two low, three high so we can keep this love-fest positive.

Hate number one - I have bantered about this before to anyone that has bemused me with attention, but it kills me every time. I know Corpus is home to the 130th media market (takes a one-point improvement from last I checked), but one would think a market sandwiched between Columbus, GA and Chico, CA would try a little harder.
The once-proud Corpus Christi Caller-Times has not only minimized their content, but they have printed a smaller paper. In comparison with the mighty Dallas Morning News, they have cut an inch from the horizontal margin and two inches from the vertical margin. So, their cost-saving move is not to advertise more but to limit the actual news print with the inches of paper. Hope that maneuver has saved some jobs, but it has definitely compromised content or the potential thereof.
Then, to turn on the radio is even more nightmarish. Yes, yes, bitching about the Clear Channel virtual hijacking of the airwaves of Texas is like complaining that TGI Friday's is too campy. I know, I know, it's a dime-a-dozen argument that doesn't attack a bigger problem. But good lord, this is some terrible radio. Their excuse for a rock station is the play list of a strip club in the 80's. The only saving grace is Monty Montana, and you know he has be be on suicide watch every other day leaving that musical wasteland. I mean, they have a segment called "Hair Cuts". It should be named, "other hair bands we don't play all the time because our boss got mad at us". And when did ESPN radio take over three FM frequencies? Do the good people of Corpus need three different wavelengths to hear the Astros absolutely suck this season?
Then there is the television media. I know everyone has to start somewhere, but the production value combined with terrified talent makes you long for public access...no, no not the Alex Jones polished public access...the bad one. The limited coverage of the biggest sports event the city has speaks for itself. There were over 14,000 runners showing up to run one race. You would think that an economic shot in the arm to a depressed South Texas town that begs for this kind of action would use a bit more than a 30 second segment to explain how awesome it is to have 14,ooo+ people in one place doing one thing. Oh, sorry, they all weren't running from the cops, so that's not interesting enough for the bleeds-leads axiom these small minded news organizations can handle.
Yeah, I know what to expect. But I am still surprised.
Then again, no media market is perfect...I mean no market.

Hate number two - If there is one thing this city can benefit from, it's inter-organization planning committee. What do I mean? Simply put, this city can't plan for shit. Corpus is large-ish in the relative sense (286,000 at 2008) but small enough to know when the biggest running event will be conflicting with anything else--for example, graduation ceremonies Texas A&M-Corpus Christi. They were graduating their biggest class ever, just shy of 900 students. Now, I'm no cotillion mother, but wouldn't scheduling two large garden parties on the same day (separated by mere hours) be a bit of a faux-pax? Why have the biggest two spring events on the same weekend? Why even try to handle the lodging and entertainment nightmare when you can get two economic boosts instead of one windfall saturated with drunken co-eds and drunken runners? You don't have to act like your bigger brothers to the north. You can prevent these sorts of collisions. A little bit of foresight never killed anyone.

Love number one - Beach to Bay is a fun race. Granted, this year had it's share of obstacles, but it is still a fun track with great concept and an excellent finish line. You will never see so many teams with the word "beer" on the listing because of the good times had by the finishers once they are done. It also helps that this race is done outside the Texas marathon schedule so rookies and veterans can return with the same dumb smile on their face. It also doesn't hurt that the run is on the Texas coast either.

Love number two - This is a relative argument because I have some more analysis to perform, but if someone wants to walk away from a bar with a reasonable tab without having to perform any favors, then Corpus is the drinking hole for you. Granted, the huge qualifier is that the selection in most drinking establishments is limited, but for what these bars (no pubs) have is some cheap drinin'. And that is not all a bad thing because you are nursing some sore muscles (if you are running hard enough).

Love number three - Let's face it, I wouldn't bother with the planning, training, anticipation or execution if it weren't for the people.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) Don Weber is the smartest MFer I know. Why, you ask? Well, he reminded me of a very, VERY important fact: beer and pizza are both carbs. So, if I carb up for my next race all I have to do is grab a six-pack from downstairs and order Domino's. Party on, Don C. Weber. I will go forth and do good things!
2) When you are at a sushi restaurant, always assume that a saketini is a large beverage and not a shot. Also, if you order saketinis for the table, go ahead and open up that wallet because you, my friend, are buying.
3) Whenever you have a very good run, you always want to follow it up with another run. The endorphins are ridiculous. So, yeah, we have a running schedule now.
BONUS: I didn't know Corpus was also on "The Cleveland Show". Wow. I miss one episode while out of town and this is what I miss (Ep 21, 17:10 mark).

I would like to thank all the friends and family that put up with my North Texas smugness enough to have a meal or a drink or a slap in the face. I appreciate it. The whole six months have been a whirlwind combined with a cold shower. I loved getting grounded once more to recharge the soul, psyche and overall demeanor of my current self. I cannot thank all the involved folks enough and do not have the bandwidth so show my love and affection for all of you. It definitely is not a trip...to Corpus...without you. Talk later.

Error 1603: A fatal error occurred during installation.

2010-04-27T16:43:00.008-05:00

Little problem = sleeping schedule. Bigger problem = read below.

I'm not sure what is better: knowing you have a character flaw and tabling the correction until it explodes or not knowing you have the flaw at all.

The scenario: my comfort level for travel in and around DFW has been limited to the major airports, North Oak Cliff and anything up US 75. It's not that I don't like travel and it's not the issue of traffic. My fatal error is that I can't be comfortable going anywhere around North Texas unless I know exactly where I'm going and know how to exit when I have to. I know it might sound silly for some folks that love to err on the side of whimsy, but I'm sorry. If my spacial intelligence is not satisfied, then I can not carry on with a right mind.

Forensically and historically, I'm not really sure how this came about. When I was younger, my family did have trips and we did travel to places that we didn't venture to every day. I didn't live some sheltered life where I had to follow the yellow brick road. I don't get it and I can't explain the origin.

The only thing I can relate it to is the simple example of a grocery store. Most times, people select the closest store for convenience. Say you go to the new store specializing in organics and other assorted goofy food bits that they have now. In the new store, you don't know where everything is, it takes you longer to find the needs, you end up buying a bunch of junk you don't need, you don't know the shortcuts and the nuances like with the local store.

Well, when I don't know the new store like I want or like I should, there is this hidden anxiety that shows up. It's the anxiety that shows up when you know you are out of time or you missed something important. I'm just one of those people that want to know where the fire exit is...the one person that actually reads the safety instructions before a flight...call me crazy.

The one big repair I need to do is to not freak out about it. I don't know why I get so annoyed when I don't know exactly (to the coordinate minute) where I am. But when I lose that sense of control, I lose my temper. I have no reason for it. I need to fix that. Where's the duct tape?

Technology helps. Granted, Garmin makes a good product, but it doesn't make up for my mental shortcomings. I do feel like I am ready for a GPS upgrade, but maybe my settings are off. Why does it want me to go headlong into interstate highways and toll roads? Yeah, it's probably the settings.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) Little and little, more by more, the Dallas Spurs fans are showing up...and I keep running into them.
2) The better the pizza, the worse it is on the reheat. Trust me.
3) I feel better about my training coming at the end of May.

So, with that catharsis out of the way, I need to prep mentally and physically. Two weeks out for Beach to Bay and this will probably be my worst run EVER. Maybe I can buck up and get ready...but I am cutting it close. Talk later.

The NFL Draft and other complete wastes of time and efforts.

2010-04-21T14:23:00.006-05:00

Colt is getting some looks from some teams...hopefully not from this angle.

Oh, the draft...how a humble phone call from an owner and a commissioner of a pro sports enterprise has completely and unequivocally exploded into it's own monstrosity. Three full days of this stuff. Sometimes I ask how something so trivial in the past now gets the super-special treatment. Then I answer my own question...

It's merely a reflection of the cultural shift. It happened in Rome so it might as well happen within the American Empire. Start with the colony, build militarily, defend swiftly, have some internal conflict, grow from said conflict, have industry bloom, have technology flourish, brag about your roads and frontier territories, have a couple more nationalistic wars and then you have professional sports. That's how Rome got their coliseum and that's how we got professional sports (with coliseums in every major metropolitan area, not counting Foxbrough).

But football fans, both college and pro, enjoy this silly exercise. It's crazy that even the most casual of fans go back and forth with arguments, pontifications and soothsaying with athletes that beat up on the 107th defense for three to four years. Now it gets more ridiculous at Radio City Music Hall.

My quick hits (Ha! I am so pun-ny!):

It starts with the Super Bowl and now it continues with the Draft. What the hell is up with the red carpet garbage? It's the draft, not Plush. It's bad enough these players haven't made a football dime and they have a suit ensemble more expensive than my truck.
Three months ago, the 1-2 was Suh and G. McCoy. Now it's a broken quarterback that couldn't finish the Texas/OU game because he doesn't know how NOT to land on his throwing shoulder. Obviously, Bradford has never wrestled with his dad in the living room. Got to learn how to fall or Sam will be a bust.
Why don't teams go for their most important need as opposed to try to fit in the best available? That never makes sense to me. Why am I going to by a Mercedes when I don't have a roof over my head? Why buy the steak if I can't afford ramen noodles.
There is a reason why the first teams in the draft are where they are. Bad offensive line and bad front seven. One draft pick is not going to do it. I'm starting to buy the whole Colin Cowherd Top-down approach for sport franchise success. If your management stinks, there is no hope, no matter how many draft picks you have.
Just to be honest, if I was any of these talented athletes, I would be a little bummed if I was shipped to Detroit, Cleveland, Oakland or Buffalo. C'mon, I don't want to play football in a football wasteland. It's difficult for me to filter out the bullshit from the genuine sentiment. At least the Oakland weather isn't THAT miserable.
It's a damn shame that we can't have Todd McShay versus Mel Kiper all year long. I know it's not meant to be hilarious, but it is.
Yeah, sure, I like to keep track of the Longhorns. But then it I get distracted and pay attention to the Cowboys and Patriots all over again. Thus, my attention span is torpedoed. So much easier to focus just on college football than to bounce around nine-eleven teams in the league.

This is seriously the most useless exercise in the creation of Western civilization. All of these predictions and wild guesses mean absolutely nothing. These men haven't played a down. Yet there is so much stock and time burned with analysis that may or may not translate. We don't do with with the NBA (unless we are paying attention to the Draft Lottery...embedded hilarity). We don't do this with baseball (because we have a hard enough time keeping up with 378 games...or something like that). We definitely don't do this with hockey (some 17 year-old Canadian went somewhere...okay). Who knows if any of these men will work out, especially with millions of dollars and on the good side of their twenties.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) Seriously, this night shift is really messing with me. I have had the worst running times in my life with strange sleeping and eating patterns. I would be lucky to go sub 9/mile.
2) I can waste my money of plenty of things, but it will not be a 3D HDTV.
3) Beer in growlers are only good for 48 hours. I wish they would have told me that at NXNW a month ago.

Okay, I need to waste more time tweeting about the 239th pick. Talk later.

Taking one for the team...not in that way.

2010-04-10T15:40:00.001-05:00

The graveyard shift is doing a number on "family time".

It was a rewarding trip to Waltham...I'm delineating Waltham from Boston not only because of distance, but because I was in Waltham ninety percent of the time and just happened to fly into Boston. Anyway, it was a rewarding trip to Waltham. I got to meet the bosses, we did some non-technical training and partook in lots of team building (accidental and purposefully). Plus, my healthy disdain for GPS devices was reinforced on the old and somewhat-unsafe roads of Eastern and Coastal Massachusetts.

Then, we had to get back to work.

It's no secret that our operations are now 24/7 (or 24x7 if you are writing code). When service is extended with such a time frame, certain concessions have to be made to perform all tasks and objectives set within the mission. So, I took one for the team. No, no, not in that way (get your mind out of the gutter).

How did I take one for the team, you ask? I had to cover the graveyard shift. Initially, I thought it would be no big deal. I would just have to flip-flop my daily routine to accommodate the change. Well, it's easy in theory, but in practice it's a whole 'nother story...especially if you were programmed for 0700-1600 shift for most of your professional life. Sure, you think it will be the easy switch, but who knew I was such a fan of daylight?

It's little things when it comes to such a change. Of course the commute will take less time getting there because not a lot of folks are on the roads...unless it's a Friday night. Trying to wind down when the Today Show is still on is a difficult mental trick as well. But keeping the mind active when more than half of the electronic world you are monitoring is asleep...that's been the real kicker.

But people take one for the team all the time. Whether in social situations or professionally, we "take the graveyard shift" at some point. Our motivations change and our reasons vary, but when we know we have taken that sacrifice for a good reason (not merely to satisfy some self-centered goal), we know we have the capacity of other wholehearted endeavors. If there is a greater good involved, then we know why we do it. We understand why dad had to work weekends and nights. We understand why mom has to travel. We see that absence but we know why it's there.

Therefore, I hope everyone understands why I haven't called or written in the last couple of weeks. Sure, I can give you the short version that my sleep patterns are a bit off. But the big picture is what matters. And that's how you know you have grown up...just a bit more.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) I do not understand golf or golf fans...and I never will. They will continue to cheer an amoral Tiger Woods while scoff and cheer for the demise of a golfer in Phil Mickelson that has two(!) members of his family CURRENTLY and simultaneously suffering from breast cancer. Pardon the language, but what the fuck, golf "fans"?
2) Therapeutic optometrists can also write prescriptions. I did not know that.
3) There sure are a lot of new people moving to Dallas. The last stat I heard was every day, 300 people move to DFW.

Hopefully this mea culpa explains some things (especially the photo). Got some fun things coming around the bend (despite the poor scheduling issues) including my triumphant return to Corpus. But that's in about five weeks. I will scrounge some things up meanwhile. Until then, talk later.

You can NEVER go home again.

2010-03-31T18:00:00.000-05:00

Austin has it's highlights, like the "biggest Mexican I have ever seen".

So, P30P is not winning a Pulitzer this week. It's just more incessant complaining on what used to be and what will never be again. Call it the Andy Rooney approach.

I spent twelve years of my childhood in San Antonio, where I learned my appreciation for good Tex-Mex and Spurs basketball. When you are young and "poor", it's the little things you tend to appreciate. As a perfect attendance award winner at Pecan Valley Elementary, we were awarded a free dinner at Pesos Cafe every six weeks we achieved the goal. The cheese enchiladas were great, but they were free and as an eight year-old. About 10 years ago, my parents and I went back to Pesos for the same traditional menu and ornate goofiness you would expect at a 20 year-old Tex-Mex restaurant.

"Welp, you can't go home again."

Those were the only words I remember my dad saying the whole time we were there. I'm sure he said some other important things, but this statement resonates for the depressing realization of the passing of time.

Fast forward (then hit rewind) to last weekend. Of course, as the timing pattern would have it, The Lovely and I would land in Austin for a third consecutive year for the last weekend of South by Southwest (SXSW). The tradition continues for us, but the insanity seems to exceed the previous years by indication of the local annoyance levels.

Sure, it was the perfect storm on Friday night with South-by out-of-towners roaming about and the old Thursday Night crew coming in from out of town as well. But when driving in from MoPac onto 5th Street under the cover of night...welp, you can't come home again...anymore.

Off the bat, you see this monstrosity scraping the formerly tranquil skies of Austin. Seriously, this is the biggest sore thumb I have seen in a while. It has to be 50-75 feet taller than anything else, if it's an inch. Once driving down 5th...it's absolutely ridiculous. It's the absolute opposite of "gun store, gun store, liquor store, gun store". It's high rise, retail space, parking garage, high rise, retail space, parking garage, rinse, later, repeat. Yeah, sure, California real estate is retarded (satire!) but that doesn't mean they have to develop downtown Austin like some gentrification experiment on speed.

I didn't recognize the place.

I hate to get on the old man platform, but it's pretty bad that ten years ago the UT Tower was on of the top five tallest buildings in the city...ten years ago! I don't know if I made up that stat up, but it sounds good. It was also the perception. The sleepy college town from the sixties and seventies grumbled with nineties expansion. Now you have...present day Austin.

Granted, I don't want to sound like the huff that complained about the Frost Tower or the DKR expansion. Austin is blowing up - has been for the last fifteen years. Slackers and professionals alike are still moving to the capital city in droves even if they don't have a job, a plan or any permanence to sustain living in the 512. If there's expansion, there has to be growth. I just didn't think it would be all vertical and saturating one zip code.

So, I did not go "home" last weekend. I was previously forlorn every time I had to leave my beloved Austin. Now, with the unrecognizable characteristics, Austin has become the ex-girlfriend that has a kid and never lost the baby weight. Oh well. I have my Dallas to fall back on.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) Uh, yeah...SXSW 2010 final score: a) crowd is either getting out of hand or b) locals are getting more and more crabby. I am scoring this a draw.
2) Sure, the food might be marginal, but Baby A's have fantastic margaritas. Remember kids, a cab or a DD is ten times cheaper than a night in the clink.
3) As much resistance as there is with Texans and toll rolls, Toll 1 should be a case study in how to do it. Stress-free, worry-free, check's-in-the-mail system that works for me and gets me where I need to be sooner than effing I-35.

For those that are unaware, I will be shifting to vampire mode starting this week. If you can't tell by the post time today I will be doing work overnight from here on until...I don't know when. It will be an interesting three months, especially with SANS, Beach to Bay and other training goodness. But nevertheless, if an email or text or phone call is in order, I will always answer the bat phone and respond to the bat signal - day or night. So, please bear with me as I haven't been this nocturnal since my wedding night. Talk later.

Several Random Topics All At Once

2010-03-15T20:05:00.012-05:00

From this perspective, every topic is random

Let's be honest, I think I speak for everyone when I say that the first three months of oh-ten have been retarded (I used satire). On this eve-eve of St. Patrick's Day - the day he drove all those snakes from Ireland then we appropriately drink green beer at two bucks a pitcher (what?) - and on the eve-eve-eve of The Madness (what, you haven't filled out your seven brackets yet?), my brain and consciousness can only handle scattered thoughts and expanded Twitter entries. So, why don't we load this literal shotgun of scatter-shot and see what we hit, shall we?

I start with a question: would you rather have full job security with all the benefits you could think of, but have to work the absolutely worst shift known to man OR work for a spot with a shaky stance for continued employment with the hopes that someone might pick you like it's some grade-school dodge ball game? See, that's a trick question because I already made that call. However, the worst shift to man is terrible (ref: Cleveland Brown, "Terrrrrible"). Come 29 March, I will clock in...at 11PM. Yeah, you read that right. HEB shelf stockers have a better shift than I do. It's a 10-hour schlep with three on and two off. So, I'm like the fireman of cyber security...but it's not a 24-hour shift. Well, that parallel didn't make me feel better! Anyway, that's coming. At least I get to visit Boston before I turn into a vampire. But it's okay, sports fans. I signed up for this. But, I won't be doing this tour forever.

Responsibility is an awesome power because it gives you foresight such as, "hey, I think we should take a cab tonight." Might I say that cabs are brilliant. Whoever thought of cabs is a certified genius. I go out. I get silly. Someone drives me home. It's absolutely brilliant. It's so effective in it's simplicity that I kick myself for not using cabs earlier. Yeah, I will admit it. But, seriously, this cab thing is awesome.

Is anyone else in the camp of celebrity-news-makes-me-lose-brain-cells? I know I can't be the only one thinking, "Why do I care what Jessica Simpson thinks of Gabby Sidibe? Wait, how do I know who Gabby Sidibe is? Oh, never mind, I know why? Because she was on 'The Soup'. I watch 'The Soup' to shortcut all the terrible television out there so I don't have to suffer through it." I just can't be the only one. But seriously, why is Charlie Sheen's (his name is Estevez!) court appearance infiltrating coverage on POTUS's last push for health care reform? Granted, John Boehner has a Hollywood orange skin-coating...err...tan. But still, leave it out. Baby steps toward Idiocracy is not a winning formula.

I think everyone should go out to dinner on a school night. There is a 100% possibility that you will either end up with heartburn or a hang over, but sometimes enjoying other people's company on a night you wouldn't normally reserve such activities for, it adds that fear of, "oh, I have no idea how I am going to feel tomorrow, but damnit, I am going to have another scotch." Sure, the risk is there, but sometimes the reward is just getting out of your comfort zone, even for a few hours, to throw that hair back and feel like a man (or woman) of leisure. It's a great feeling, especially if you have accomplices.

I may have to go into a part two, but that's enough shotgun target practice for today.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) Nothing against my surrogate home town of Austin, but if you ever have to plan anything in that crazy city, DON'T DO IT DURING SXSW (no hyperlinks needed, just search austin360.com, wired.com or sxsw.com and you will understand the Charlie-Foxtrot that city is right now until Sunday).
2) Amazing that a miserly nerd can a) get a show on TELEVISION and b) scare the eff out of everyone simultaneously. Where's my agent?
3) This town does St. Patty's Day (weekend) right. Great job, Dallas Drunks.

So, sneak preview of next week's post...the Inglorious Basterds of Whiskey Bar are having a reunion. The only difference is...we all have WAGs (wives and girlfriends). Very...very...extremely interesting. Oh yeah, and it's during the last weekend of SXSW. Yeah, I am going to need to post this. Talk later.

The New Sense of Responsibility

2010-02-23T20:33:00.009-06:00

It's like first realizing that snow is cold.

As superhero reincarnations go, this would be my second. I was a hero in a past life many moons ago before fading to a dark side that not many people know about. With some help, the villain changed his uniform. I started doing for the greater good, with some help from my friends. Now, the uniform is worn hoping to graduate to a cape some day. But such a Kafka metamorphosis origin and rebirth tale will be reserved for another day. Not knowing how many times I will have this blessing, I am trying to make the most of it.

Maybe it's this particular mentality that I speak from, because some of you may not know where I am going with this parallel. There are certain environments that heed an acceptance of certain behaviors. Continuing with the crime/punishment, good/bad theme I started with, one would expect (for example) how the institutionalization of a prison would create the desperation or the reform for a prisoner behind bars. You expect and assume that such behaviors and activities would be accepted in such a hostile and controlled environment. That assumption goes for plenty of environments and descriptions: brokers and Wall Street, the White House Press corps and the morning briefing, TMZ.com in front of celebrities...there are expectations within a microcosm experienced.

Such is the case with IT professionals in technical environments, be it personal or commercial systems. The expectation is that "we" (yeah, I guess, with four years into the biz, I can be considered as such a professional) know our way around hardware, operating systems, applications, methods of transport and other languages, is some cases. It's with this assumption that lay-mans ask for advise, support and a helping hand here and there.

The problem with assumptions is the truth is usually more than meets the eye - and I don't mean to associate IT folks with Transformers. Since I have been indoctrinated into this environment, the general assumptions have been benign for the most part. But when you get deeper into the rabbit hole, the erosion of the soil gets more and more obvious in the descent.

By nature and trade, IT folks tinker and experiment and break to rebuild and rebuild to thrive. Faster, better, stronger...without having to do one push-up. So, with innovative, engineering minds toiling away at solutions, some minds wonder. When they wonder, it looks benign on the surface, but is much more insidious that first imagined.

I laugh every time Stephen Colbert heeds the "invisible hand" of the free market. If he made time with any IT professionals, there would definitely be some "free" talk, but not a word about market. As my new cape is still on order, I see a conflict of morality with my fellow heroes...

It's the main reason why companies worry more about the inside job than the outside hack. It's the reason why countermeasures are made with watermarks and service packs to ensure integrity of product. It's the dirty, filthy, noisy secret that the IT world would never let you in on, unless you have the fifteen spare minutes in the lab or the back-knowledge of packets of data slowing down everyone's throughput.

To my IT brethren, I implore you to KNOCK IT OFF! With the general public's ever-growing knowledge and accessibility of technology and the continued general morality of the difference between right and wrong...CUT IT OUT. Just because we know how to break digital watermarks, procure legitimate product keys, acquire software developers are being laid off for, doesn't mean we have to continue our amoral practices.

In my partial decade of being an IT guy, I have seen a continued apathy and disregard for theft of product and art that hundreds of people expect compensation. It's just not right. On a daily basis, no one would steal the Mona Lisa from the Louvre. Why would anyone steal source code from Redmond, WA on such a frequency? Or for that matter, a full set of film reels from Paramount Studios?

This disregard must cease. The trickle-down is here and now with $8 movie tickets, exorbitant prices for software titles (leading to cuts in traditional-tech jobs like programming and quality assurance) and degradation of a world wide network that is pushing like a "series of tubes".

Now, in no way, shape or form am I saying "quit downloading, you are scaring the children!" The "invisible hand" is noticing the paradigm shift to where not everyone will enjoy the 56" LED with traditional entertainment service providers. The Internet is turning more and more like our TV-Looky-Box. Viacom, Hulu and YouTube get it. And also, there is quite a few alternative freeware versions of regularly-expensive software. Thank you very much, OpenOffice! No, this is not that argument. We can yield plenty of use from other legitimate sources (that want to email us every time there is an update).

No, no. This is just a special message to all of my IT buddies that know they are doing wrong. Are other IT folks that don't partake in the grand theft data accessories to the constant crime? Complicity is a bitch, isn't it? I would like to bring up the discussion as to why the state of the Internet and the state of IT is where it's at, one could easily argue that with this continued look-the-other-way mentality, it could get much worse.

Truly, how many more dominoes must fall before the doppelganger heroes of IT realize that the morality play is one-sided, not layered? Guys (and ladies), you know who you are. And you know what to do.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) No matter how long I live here, I will never become a Mavs fan. Sorry. Sloppy, slow, dispassionate basketball is not my thing. At least a Spurs fan appreciates what they have (which is one pro sport team in there town--and that's it!)
2) There should really be a class on how to fill out your W-4 form when you get married. Seriously, can someone help me carry the 2?
3) The Lovely and I have moved to the Metroplex during the second snowiest winter EVER! I don't know what kind of omen that is.
In the bonus: Happy Birthday to the big brother. Brother, you are my brother.

Quick disclaimer: not every IT professional steals product and art from the Internet. In fact, it's a very limited number. Not all IT folks hack or crack or steal. But there has to be a sense of responsibility and trust when we know the whole is the sum of it's parts. If you are good, stay good (and vigilant). If you are bad, even part of the time, the example is not being set. Talk later.

Discovery Mode: MALFUNCTION

2010-02-01T19:41:00.008-06:00

All dressed up...and everywhere to go.

Since landing in 32.782778, -96.803889, the big benefit to moving north was having activities to do without burnout or boredom or reruns. It happens when you move from a "metropolitan" area that has more Farm to Market roads than zip codes. I don't want to call it overwhelming, but two months of adjustment is necessary. I jumped at the chance to hit up P.F. Chang's before waiting in line in a Corpus mall.

Of course, in abnormal fashion, I have inadvertently knocked my engine from drive to reverse and neutral. As I wanted to do in Corpus but just couldn't get it right, I have successfully pulled off the homebody label. Granted, being a homebody as a dazzling urbanite is a bit different than what I tried to pull off in the 361. But, I need to venture out to practice my spacial, geographical intelligence.

Either I am staying put or visiting the same places over and over again. Going downstairs to the cafe bar, walking three blocks to the City Tavern or picking up a bite at three-dozen-plus area eateries in a half-mile radius has kept me contained. And that is bothersome. Come on! I live in Dallas, now. That's kinda lame.

When I decide to venture out, there seems to be some pseudo-military logistics involved. Sure, there is something to be said for a central location. That's why most police departments are located centrally with satellite precincts...most located in Fair Park and Oak Cliff (I kid, I kid). But, responsibility has kicked in. If I know there is a potential to be bent out of shape with assistance from a few adult beverages, I call our driver (we have a cabbie that we have called over a dozen times so I consider that a driver). Oh, responsibility, what a buzzkill. Stakes are high if I were to do something stupid, but that's crushes some of the adventure with losing a share of freedom with safety (and some cash). Why does cool stuff have to be 4 miles from Main Street? That's kinda lame as well.

It's a paradox. There is tons of stuff to do here. There is a want to keep the car in the overpriced parking garage. That's where the lovely yin and yang of marriage comes in for the assist. The happy median (it's MEDIAN, not medium; why would anyone want a happy...wait, what?) is reached, with some help. Perfect example: since the weekend is the only logical time to venture out, The Lovely has gone on a data dump using Google, Black Book, Texas Monthly, Dallas Observer, neighbors and nervous but willing strangers to collect items for trekking. Last weekend was Louie's. It was absolutely worth it. Too bad I was so exhausted I slipped into a pizza coma. It's no wonder Elton John sang about Saturday Night(...'s Alright For Fighting") as opposed to "Going Out To Dinner On Sunday Night".

I had no idea work was beating me about the head and face so brutally that "The Danimal" has been marginalized to some small kitten until Friday evening...after my run, of course.

Lesson Learned, my three things.
1) Dallas loves the Cowboys and football so much that they are absolutely forgetting about the "charlie-foxtrot" inbound with All-Star Weekend...during Valentine's Day weekend. I had no idea Dallas had enough strip clubs to support this event? Yeah, charlie-foxtrot.
2) It never hurts to have a beer distributor as a buddy.
3) Be wary of business and branches that say they are the "Dallas branch" when in fact, they are located in Irving, Addison or Garland.
BONUS: HA! P.F. Chang's is opening in Kuwait City before they will be opened in Corpus. A former war zone is getting lettuce wraps before Corpus. Hilarious.

Wait a effin' minute? Did I just grow up right then and there? Oh, that's effin' awful. Next thing you know I will want to go to bed before 2300...wait, what? Talk later.

Sadly, I've become That Guy

2010-01-24T18:22:00.004-06:00

Yeah, just leave me outside from here on out.

After two-plus weeks of processing the Citi National Championship Game, I have come to the conclusion that I can't "enjoy" a UT football game in public. No ifs, ands or buts about it. I cannot be out in public for the Longhorns anymore.

Back in 27°44′34″N 97°24′7″W, I would watch it with a bunch of hooligans that took over a venue for every kickoff. It's a conditioned response when viewing with unabated screams and trash talk for three years. So, when I view the same barbaric game in mixed company (fueled by Shiner Bock), it's a little different.

I wasn't very proud of myself, yelling at a television screen, spatting at the image of Nick Saban, and generally making people uncomfortable...more uncomfortable than Colt McCoy's shoulder. I backslid, but the slide was just my previous behavior, if that is an excuse.

In the spirit of getting yelled at by Colin Cowherd, I have turned into That Guy. This version of That Guy would be Guy-Not-To-Invite-To-Sporting-Events. I'm not special. I do not get secret privilege to lose my cool and change someone's good time to an irritating memory. I need to be a grown-up, not a slobbering frat boy. Besides, it's just football. I have no stake in the team (unless you count the tuition I am still paying from loans). So, I don't need to behave like an angry stakeholder.

Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with being passionate. But even passion has it's limits. The limit, of course, would be psychosis.

As I have defrosted, I'm waiting to see where Earl Thomas and Jordan Shipley land in the draft. And I will be electing to just stay at home for the 2010 (pronounced twenty-ten). And just like the 19 seniors on the team, I will be graduating from the public to private yelling at my own television, because I can creep myself out much better than scaring the straights.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) I have turned The Lovely into a foodie. No, not that kind of foodie, the clean kind. With Charlie Palmer and Craft Dallas (with Local coming on Valentine's Day), I'm ashamed to even walk near the kitchen.
2) Everyone, we have this year's favorite acronym for the year, and we are only three weeks in: APT - Advanced Persistent Threat.
3) Happy Anniversary, The Lovely. Year Two doesn't sound as good as Year One, but I am positive is will be more fun.

I promise, this is not a sports blog. But, as far as the Longhorns and my house arrest, we are on a 223-day break. So, I will enjoy it. Gawd, why can't we just have a playoff? Talk later.

2009

2010-01-09T16:33:00.005-06:00

It started innocently enough,
you told me I was made of sterner stuff.

I was in bad place and you seemed to shine light,
I reached out for it and held on tight.

But you promised me diamonds, gave me nothing but sand,
and I forgave you with the touch of your hand.

Every promise broken, a relationship of empty words,
a new ache my battered heart could ill afford.

Walking away is the lesson I never learn,
the more it fails, the more I yearn.

I tried to give you what you need,
but you burned me up like gasoline.

For me no more frogs, princes, or false love,
all that remains is strength from within and above.

What did we learn? Lessons Learned 2009

2009-12-31T18:50:00.005-06:00

These two lazy pups didn't learn anything this year, other than to growl at Dallasites versus Corpus Christians.

The last couple of years, I have taken more pride in learning something new everyday, and redoubling my efforts to be better from it. Here at P30P, that effort has hit a new level with writing "Lessons Learned, my three things:" every post. It's the healthy reminder that knowledge is power and you have to continue to acquire more ammunition. And it's been an eventful calendar year. From dealing with married/grown-up issues that are not an issue, to overseas travel, to enjoying a party now and again, to a delightful trip to Hell and back, to getting out of Dodge but not forgetting the fine people of Dodge.

As a reminder to my readers and myself, I have pulled out a couple of my favorites from Lessons Learned past. Without further ado, here's another end-of-the-year list.

I am very focused. Attack and release for Microsoft. Time to bring it.
Obviously, Microsoft boot camps are not the end-all, be-all of mental tests. But it certainly was a healthy reminder that "when you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything." And that is exactly what I did. And it was pretty sweet.

If you think are are almost dying, you are not.
As we learned in Costa Rica, you can enjoy death-defying action-adventure activities with no fear of death or injury. Take that, Mexico. But when the chips are down and you have enough preparation to use the international whitewater swim technique, you will be fine. Just grab the life line, catch your breath and paddle forward. As The Lovely learned on the same trip, "you are NOT at Disneyland". Okay, so I sneaked in two lessons, but the primary one is more important.

It's not fun unless you can challenge yourself. It's not fun if I can't run a minute faster than yesterday. It's not fun if I can't disassemble a desktop and see if I can put it back together functionally. It's not fun if I can't be better than I was yesterday. So, in that spirit, it's not fun unless I can abstain from drinking while still hanging out at bars.
This wasn't really a true LL as it was more part of the post topic, but not only did I test myself mentally and physically, but chemically as well. It was a fun challenge. I know I can do it. My tendencies and my tongue will never get the better of me.

Looking for a new job is it's own full-time job.
I knew this fact when I graduated college. But I didn't learn the fact until it was drilled into me after the contract dilemma I was involved in this summer. That is in the past and my feet are back on terra firma. But, it will be thrice shy if I get bitten by this fact again.

When parents of children (that you will be hanging out with) warn you that the kids "are sick", watch your ass. Prevention is key, but you will probably get sick. Pathogens happen, kids happen. Have fun with the kiddos, remind them to wash their hands and be ready to slug Emergen-C and green tea.
I think we all learned that one this year. I hear there are plenty of H1N1 vaccines available now.

The more I complain about flying and airports, the more I psyche myself out. This trip was cake with extra frosting. I'm glad The Lovely is around for these trips, though...it does help.
"Life is better when you have a co-pilot." That's right, I just ruined a very good movie by quoting it. As extemporaneous knowledge, I have gotten much better at the whole flying thing.

The best way to learn a new location is to burn gas and drive around the whole place.
Dallas has treated me well, so far. But I am a sum of my parts. It will take all seven intelligences to be successful in my new environment - socially, professionally, biologically. But I peel back to what has made this blog and these experiences so indelible...I learned from them.

So, I will leave 2009 with that. We have come a long way, baby...with or without the cigarette advertising references. But we have a lot more to explore. Next year, we will learn where malware comes from, why grass is never green on any side, where does that white stuff from the sky come from and why Cowboys fans are terminally on suicide watch.

But that will be next year.

Merry New Year, all. Talk later.

Happy Birthday, P30P

2009-12-23T02:33:00.003-06:00

Yes.

It has been a year.

And I'm disappointed. We are not on the Googlized Top 20.

Screw it. We do things for us and we do things that make us happy. And if 30 years (and some change) has not told us that, then we are officially barking up the wrong tree.

Thank you to everyone that has posted in the last year. And if you are interested in posting...do not hesitate to let P30P know.

Thanks...and happy birthday, P30P. Now get a job.

Up next...the top Lessons Learned for the year. Stay tuned. Talk later.

Making scents of it all

2009-12-01T16:02:00.002-06:00

They are everywhere these days, the ghosts of my boyfriends past. I smell them on the subway, in the store, and while I am waiting for my flight at the airport. I remember their smell more strongly than I remember their kiss. One wore Acqua di Gio. That smell brings me back to Aeros hockey games and watching sci fi while eating Pei Wei. Another wore Obsession, and it brings me back to softball games and my first heartache. What is it about those scents that I can't forget? They are marked on my olfactory memory for all time it seems. Perhaps it is my fault since one of my favorite things to do with my significant other is to bury my nose in their neck and inhale their scent.

Is my scent in someone's vault? Do men even pay attention to the signature scent of a woman? I tend to believe that men forget their exes (and their scents) as soon as another warm body comes along, but maybe there is someone out there who thinks of me when Amarige walks by? I'd like to think so :)

Swansong Corpus Christi, Pt. II

2009-11-28T17:08:00.005-06:00

C'mon, it's not all that bad. The grass has always been greener on the other side. On my last diatribe, I was Captain Poopipants. But I really should put all of this criticism to the forefront because, when you think about it, local politics do not make a home.

Granted, it's fun to talk about outside of football season when only two guys at the office actually follow the NBA or college b-ball. But when it comes to calling something home, it doesn't matter about silly, almost asinine civic politics. Besides, driving up from Corpus to Dallas, I didn't see very many "Don't let them steal our beach." Hell, I still saw "W '04" driving up on I-35 to the 75201...twice!

I have to default to my father, as he said something similar to this retrospective. Basically, you are never away from family because family is in your heart. As sappy as that may sound, the same can be spoken for Corpus in two respects.

When you live somewhere as long as I have lived in Corpus, the city (no matter how larger or small, how "good" or "bad") becomes a part of your system. You build yourself around the social and physical adaptations. You are aware of the pace of the traffic, the cadence of speech and the twill of accents. The longer you are there, the more the city becomes a part of your physical composition...but thankfully, not a part of your DNA.

And when you live somewhere so long, you know it is never, ever, ever the place you are at that makes it a home. It's the people that make an emotional and intellectual vortex tolerable. Sure, it's a version of the Stockholm Syndrome, but it's much more lovable. It's the people in the office that make the case of the Monday's acceptable. It's the patch of nerds discovered that you can geek with. It's the series of couples that can commiserate anything from the price of gas to the difference between parenthood vs. cool aunt/uncle.

So, as many complaints I can feasibly make against Corpus, so too I have the same amount of counterpoints to the contrary to the complaints. Granted, I am not the biggest fan of the beach, but it's 20 minutes away. You want a lack of traffic, some on down (just be warned to the drivers that don't know what they are doing). You want a welding job, have at it. There are other pluses, but I will be cheating my readers from doing their own due diligence.

I will miss the Corpus Christians the most. Everyone I met and have known, I thank you for helping the sleepy city wake up at the second or third hit of the snooze button.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) Red sheds just as much as Loki, especially in my car.
2) You can come home again when it comes to Plucker's Wing Bar. And no, I am not touching "fire in the hole". There's a time and a place for everything, and it's called college.
3) The best way to learn a new location is to burn gas a drive around the whole place.

So, the new base of operations has changed, but the single-edged blade that is this absolute waste of time will remain the same. The adventures will change, but still included. Hell, maybe I can find some new contributors in the 214. Talk later.

Swansong Corpus Christi, Pt. I

2009-11-15T22:07:00.007-06:00

These scenes say it all (Downtown Corpus, November 2009).

The clock has started. I don't need a minute hand and an hour hand to tell time. The Navy calls me a "short timer". Educators think I have "senioritis". Officially, I have put in my two weeks. The door has opened and the opportunity availed itself. But, it wasn't in "This Same Ugly Town".

I have a very soft spot for Corpus. Granted, I didn't grow up here from birth. But I lived here long enough to know where to return to at curfew. I am a proud Tuloso-Midway graduate and when the going got tough, I recoiled back to CC for to lick my wounds and get back on my feet. Had I known that my recovery would have been so successful...ugh, I had no idea my recovery would be so successful.

I have always found Corpus to be such an anomaly. When I moved back from Austin (or what Dad calls, "Where Souls Get Eaten"), it was the little things that I thought were strange, like: why don't they syndicate "The Simpsons" at a decent time slot, how come the good restaurants are always closed on Mondays and why do the most scenic places smell like live shrimp. Then when I started paying attention to how this town operates, it became apparent that as much as people hate to admit it, it's quite the dysfunctional town. Limited tax base, disparity of wealth, population shift versus population boom, no advancement in new industry, ultra-dependence on service industry and tourism with no financial investment into growth, an influx on retirees with no young population replacement, a certain strata with education...I can go on.

I partitioned my swan song because there are some absolute wrongs to Corpus Christi (thus Pt. I). There are certain things I hate about this town, and it is far more rooted than just bad drivers. I hate how it is only accessible from an Interstate they just made up 30 years ago. I hate the general smallness of thinking, from mayor to non-voter. I hate how the slums aren't really slums. I hate how downtown isn't really a downtown. I hate the excuses. Then I hate the counter-excuses. It's the reason why kids don't stay. It's the reason for the incessant complaining on caller.com articles. As I mentioned in late July, I have my professional opinions. But my personal opinion played a part in our ultimate decision to ship out.

I don't know. Maybe I'm just falling under the same spell that lots of other younger Corpus Christians trip over. With my time in Austin and visiting other metro areas, I will never understand why (for example) one city as only 2 really crappy movie theaters (Dollar Cinema doesn't count). I start making the same simple comparisons with apples and oranges. Apples say, I hate the fact that no good alternate music act show up to CC. But, I know with the oranges, Corpus can't support the $50 for Them Crooked Vultures tickets. So it saddens me when I see things as part of the solution, the problems mount quickly to thwart.

Everyone...not just me, but the whole state...will benefit when Corpus gets in order. If you want to be a more-populous Port Aransas, then work on that. If you want to be Austin, work on that instead. Hell, if you want to be Odessa - which shouldn't be difficult with the oil presence - make that call and go forth. But figure it out. Quit languishing in your own excuses. Make a bloody decision and drive on.

So, for now...I hate you Corpus...for now.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) There seems to be only one Quest Diagnostics that does drug testing. It's in Flour Bluff and it's kinda creepy. But they were professional, so I went with it.
2) Having professionals box up al your possessions is expensive. But the benefits always outweigh the costs.
3) Stress leads to a terrible diet. Thank God I haven't gained too much weight, but I am eating all sorts of junk right now...not good.

In part two, I will totally love on you, Corpus Christi. See, I told you my relationship with Corpus was dysfunctional. Talk later.

Home(less)?

2009-11-08T19:58:00.000-06:00

Since I have recently uprooted 1600 miles from Corpus I have been musing a lot about what home means to me. Home for most of my life was the house I grew up in, surrounded by my family and friends I had known since 2nd grade. It may have been bitterly cold outside at times in the North Star State, but it was always warm at home. Even as I moved away to college and to graduate school, that stucco house remained home to me. Sure I made friends and enjoyed the places I lived, but I couldn't shake that my roots remained firmly planted on Livingston St. But then my sister was killed unexpectedly in a car accident at 38, and my dad followed a year later after a massive heart attack. Suddenly home represented bittersweet memories I couldn't face, and an emptiness time couldn't fill.

In a strange coincidence, I had closed on my first house in Corpus the day my sister died, and all I could think about at the time was that it would never feel like home. For almost 3 years it didn't feel like home, nowhere did. But then life snuck up on me, I formed deep friendships and even fell in love. My house was no longer just a structure, it hosted parties with all my friends, became a refuge from the winter for my family, and I realized you could get a good idea of who I was just by looking at the house and yard and all it contained. It was home, how did it become home without me realizing?

And then I did something I don't even completely understand myself. I moved out East, 1600 miles away from home. Sure it was a fantastic job, a great career opportunity, and a chance to live in a vibrant big city again, but for a girl who had spent the last 4 years wandering emotionally while staying put physically, it seems a strange decision. I left my friends, my boyfriend, my home all behind. So will this new place become home?One night, while unpacking, I was listening to the Boss, and I was struck by something he says. "It's a sad man my friend, who is living in his own skin, and can't stand the company." The Boss, I thought, knows what home is. Home is whenever you feel comfortable in your own skin, it is not a time or even a place. It is neither dependent on your friends or your family, but entirely on you. And that is why I had moved. I had found refuge in my friends and my life in Corpus, had tried to let their love fill the hole inside me, but after all this time it was still there. So here I am, "homeless" for now, but determined to feel at home in my own skin once and for all so that I will be at "home" wherever life takes me. Wish me luck!

Please Shut Up...Please

2009-10-25T12:37:00.007-05:00

If not for me...do it for the kids (Hoot 'n' Hollar '08 with Jordy Cartier).

As we have mentioned before, this is not a sports blog. That field and category is so saturated from Deadspin to Brooks on Sports to I've Got Big Balls and I Know How To Use Them that I don't need to go into that tangent...plus, I don't have the time or the effort to interview coaches set to infinite repeat on their pressers to quadruple-checking stats and figures. But, here we are again at the middle of the college football season and I am turning sour like a college student's refrigerator.

But my disdain is not sourced from my team of choice, my beloved Longhorns. The University of Texas football club is making another undefeated run similar to 2005, which started the premature demise of Vince Young. The team, players and coaches are taking care of business, even with personnel shuffling and a simple philosophy of maintaining their fate in their own hands. To quote the venerable Mack Brown, "We are in the same position that we were last year. We controlled our own destiny last year being number one in the country after this game. And we let one second take it away from us and put it back in the system." Obviously, the team is saying the right things. Without nitpicking every single play from scrimmage, the team is responding to the words being said.

No, my anger and frustration is coming from the "system". But the "system" is far more outstretched than the idling computers computing the Bowl Championship Series formulas and analytics. The "system" includes the soothsayers and provocateurs that spew verbal vomit every Thursday through Saturday.

It's a dysfunctional relationship. As a college football fan, you wake up, take the dogs down, fire up the HD set and watch "the premier college football pregame show". As far as fans are concerned, it's the only pregame show. Hell, Big 12 Live on FSN has the production value of public access compared to the massive roadshow that is Gameday. Gameday is like your ex-girlfriend. She's pretty and fun and you learn something from her. Then, later on, she starts yelling at you, throwing dishes at your head, drinks too much and insults your mother, flirts with other dudes, then disrupts your whole system of beliefs. You love her, but she is emotionally draining, no matter how much fun she is.

Add the dysfunction with a completely subjective polling with the Associated Press, the Coaches' Poll and the Harris Poll. The AP poll lost it's teeth when removed from the BCS computer formulas. However, for some strange reason, I trust the AP because of the depth and diversity of the voter. The Coaches' is always skewed with axes to grind and conferences to bolster. The Harris is the biggest wild card because the "administrators" that have a vote could have no idea what a football looks like.

The straw that breaks the camels back is the Heisman discussion. For an award that is given before the bowl season, it takes up too much time and effort for journalists, broadcasters, analysis, scouts and random experts for something completely subjective that lately never translates professionally [see: Wuerffel, Danny]. Add the skew of former winners having a vote, and you have a discussion not only disruptive to the action week by week, you take away the team element to the ultimate team sport.

So, every weekend this season, these three annoying factors ruin a currently undefeated season from my favorite team. It started early with the Tebow-Bradford-McCoy constant interrelation of action. If Tebow is making out with a co-ed he doesn't love, the "system" wonders if Bradford and McCoy is doing the same thing (the last statement was a joke...we all know all three potential millionaires are performing mission work in third-world counties, simultaneously). The hype, even before the first snap, was getting to a dangerous level. The week one catastrophe of Bradford's injury turned the tailspin of hype into a monster of unnecessary, repetitive press into more hypothetical non-news of the future demise of Tebow and/or McCoy. Then Tebow went down...hard. The Heisman chatter was at a ridiculous level bringing in non-factors, one-gamers and dark horses...three full months before players are INVITED to the award.

Then there is constant drumbeat of "the SEC is the most awesome-est conference in the galaxy" that smart people always default. When will the "system" learn a) quit being lazy and watch a Mountain West or a Big East game once in a while and b) the teams in this conference always cannibalize each other. If it's not a scare like Alabama v. The Fightin' Lane Kiffins, it will turn somewhere else (...wait for it...). In 2007, LSU loses to a ranked Kentucky team and an unranked Arkansas team. They were rewarded with a National Championship bid where they beat Ohio State for their second crystal football in four years. They lost two games and still got the nod. Tandem that with the fact that the flip-flop number one team this year in Alabama was embarrassed in it's last big game that was outside the SEC. Every year, the loudest of the microphones fall back on this exhausted premise.

So, with the press fueling the "system", I can't enjoy a smashing win from the Longhorns against a Big XII North team like Mizzou, in their house, during their homecoming. Every time I hear Kirk Herbstreit on a monologue of how "tough" Alabama is in escaping Knoxville and how ugly UT is in taking care of business in Columbia, I want to punch him in his beautiful face. The "system" protects Tim Tebow and the Florida Gators with multiple number one votes and Heisman contention while chastising Colt McCoy and the Texas Longhorns with limited votes and disappointing qualifiers and mitigation. Garbage.

And why the hell is USC always receiving undying affection from the "system"? With foolish predictions like this, it makes watching and reading and following college football unbearable.

My ways to fix the "system":

The Heisman should be awarded after the bowls. As a matter of fact, all the individual honors should be given after the triple-zeros are on the scoreboard. The only argument is the closing argument. If the Heisman is loosely representative as a team and individual award, then assess the whole body of work, not just twelve-thirteenths of the composite.
Don't publicize the polls, especially the BCS. If you are going to incite rage, do it once. The natural discussion of comparison of teams will be there. There is no reason to put such stress on a flawed, subjective polling system when all that matters is the endgame. Make it like college basketball where no one knows if you are dancing until the selection show (hosted by Lee Corso and Lou Holtz...hilarious).
Include everyone in the BCS. No more "BCS Busters". If you are a big school and a viable competitor for a conference championship, there is no reason for exclusion. Again, naturally, college football fans and media will generate discussion for your Boise States, TCUs and Utahs as potential champions. But the subjective, cherry picking, you are in/you are out choices hold the same credibility as the judging system for "Project Runway".
In relation to exclusion, no more independent teams. That's right Notre Dame. Go to the Big Ten (with twelve teams). NBC can modify their contract to include the Big Ten Network. Army and Navy can make an Air Force Academy move and find a natural home in the Big East.

Of course, this is all contingent on the absence of a college football playoff (which I am convinced will never happen).

Maybe with those fixes, I can enjoy an undefeated season (potentially) in peace. These fixes are designed to remove the talk and chatter and asinine comments from the press (the prime mover of the "system"). Why talk about subjective issues when you can't see them? And that's all I want to do on a Saturday afternoon - watch some football of the alma mater, talk some trash about OU and pass out with the knowledge that some idiot in Bristol won't influence some mouthbreather in Atlanta to kick out the Longhorn from an undefeated campaign to a bid to Tempe...for another Tortilla Chip Bowl. Is that too much to ask?

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) Patience is a learned virtue.
2) If morale and confusion rule the day, then products and production suffers.
3) You can burn out a router. Seriously, it can just cook itself and burn out. I did not know that.

Well, I think I have taken care of the football post for the year. Too bad I have to suffer with Brent Musburger reminding us every week that Colt McCoy and Jordan Shipley are roommates. Maybe we can exclude random factoids during game telecasts? A man can dream, can't he? Talk later.

Life in the Time of Change

2009-10-09T10:16:00.007-05:00

(This is Meli here, the last of the contributors. I was recently told that I too would be joining this dying breed unless I stepped up and posted something soon. With that quaint warning, I bring you my third post.)

Drum roll......

Change is the only constant in life.

We know this.

If you have been following Post Thirty Post (PTP) for any length of time, you probably know that a major life change may be in the works, and that at the very least, a minor change will surely happen.

For those of you who haven't kept up, our esteemed PTP leading man's current contract job will be ending soon.

For every door that closes, a new one opens.

This is exciting. This is cool for us. We are opening ourselves up to the possibility of anything and anywhere...moving to a new city or staying here with a new job...either is good...as long as it feels right.

Again, this is great stuff. It makes you focus and really take a look at your life and ask yourself once again, "What do I want?" and "What am I doing to achieve my goals?"

It also makes you see how grateful you are with what you currently have. I look around and I see family, friends, and a real sense of community here in Corpus. I have a great job that allows me to do what I love on a daily basis. I get to have an amazing life partner with me on this journey. I am blessed. No doubt.

What has occurred to me though recently is that I have somehow gotten into a
holding pattern of "stuckness" while awaiting this impending change.

Because we may move, I have been reluctant to start new things. I have been stalling out on new initiatives and not continuing other projects for fear that it may all be for naught, if we leave.

This cautious approach is no longer working for me.

The notion of putting life on hold, be it during a time of flux or not, flies in the face of the very core of LIVING.

It may sound sensible to some, as it did for me initially. After all, it is reasonable not to make major commitments and then have to drop the ball midstream. I would be letting people down and wasting a lot of people's time (including my own). Again, I am a huge fan of all things logical, and this is a sound argument.

However, I have to acknowledge the very real consequence of this life approach.

Simply stated: it is not working.

Perhaps it isn't working because I am not embracing the initial premise: change is inevitable.

We do not wait for change to happen before we act. We act and we make change happen.

With this post I am resolved to finding that balance again.

Life is always about living.

Till next time,

Peace.

The Six People You Will Meet At The Airport (but never will because you don't want to be that guy)

2009-09-30T09:47:00.005-05:00

Update: Saturday, 3 OCT, 12:32:23 CDT - Wow, you guys need to warn me when my grammar and coherence loses this much control. Holy sentence diagrams! Thank goodness I have time to clean this up...

LIVE FROM THE BWI AIRPORT...IT'S THE POST THIRTY POST ROAD SHOW.

I had a great idea for a post this week, but life caught up with me...should I say, life overtook me. But more on that next week...

I have to say that it was unprecedented when we circled the outskirts of Houston due to weather concerns. It was even more unprecedented that I had my first "diverted" flight. However, there is "diverted", then there is what I had..."Uhhhhh, this is the captain speaking. Uhhhhhh, we are going to head back to Corpus. Uhhhhh, they are not accepting any incoming flights. Uhhhhh, we will be back and fuel up in 20 minutes so, uhhhhhh, sit back and 'enjoy' the trip back."

Fun.

Anyway, being in an airplane and an airport setting for the better part of 12 hours, I have made some distinct observations involving the status of air travel. Before I go all Seinfeldian on everyone, I just want to mention [again] that I loathe flying. Not that I'm claustrophobic, just that I am not a fan of not being in control. Now I know how my dogs feel when they want to sit up in the front seat but get regaled back to the back. It's instinctive of alphas that this sort of annoyance is there when control is lost or temporarily broken.

Upon observation, there are six constants when at an airport or in a plane. These are the people flying with you. And in a Utopian universe, you could ask them so many questions that a new level of human understanding would be achieved. But, I don't know if it's reconditioned human nature or time constraints or a lack of bravery toward that Utopian world that inhibits all of us to take time and find out about other people. Or, the fact that it is 5:56 a.m. and no one appreciates a chatterbox that early in the morning...maybe that's why we don't talk to the six people we meet.

...in no particular order...

Young kid that is way too cantankerous to be on a flight but is at the terminal anyway: I am not anti-child. Hell, I was once a child (and still behave like one at times). Babies are not interesting to me because the cannot communicate effectively. But 3-5 year-olds are great. They are just as talkative as I want to be. Sure, they have huge potential to ruin a calm flight, but as crammed in as everyone is on a plane, everyone has that potential. Besides, when is the last time you have revisited how awesome fire trucks are? With the size and the lights and the sirens and the color...c'mon, those bad boys rock. But seriously, why didn't you leave the kiddo at Grams or Pepaw's house?

Individual that speaks foreign language/awesome foreign accent that checks in with everyone before the flight: Maybe it's because I never had the drive or time to learn a foreign language. Two straight years of college-level Spanish and I still can conjugate tener, but I think we can learn tons from this person. First off, why is he or she on the phone with everyone in creation? Second, I just want them to start reading names from the phone book...I love accents. For some strange reason, it is ten-times more soluble to digest a foreign accent in person than over a phone (thanks, HP tech support). Anyone that can carry on in multilingual fashion has "interesting" written all over him or her.

Senator John Cornyn...no, seriously, he was on my flight - or was I on his flight? Senator Cornyn is an interesting fellow. Forget the fact that I fundamentally disagree with every single thing he argues in support for, I think adversarial thinking is entertaining and interesting. I would have a slew of questions, but there is only a limited time to speak while he is devising strategy to shoot down health care reform. Again, nothing wrong with respectful disagreement. But, another observation was that he looked exhausted. I can only assume that his companion was his lovely wife...yet another perk as a US Senator...you can travel with Your Lovely (lucky!).

Man or woman that checks in at the counter every 10-15 minutes: We can all argue personal importance and urgency to what we are doing at any specific point in time as THE MOST IMPORTANT EVENT/ITEM/OCCURRENCE EVER(!). But, you really wonder why they are checking in over and over again. Perhaps they have bigger control issues than me. However, this is my first impression and I am rerouted and laid-over in Houston overnight. I asked one question to one person overnight and got what I needed. The service industry has never been an industry out to get us. Sure, inconveniences in air travel have gotten our goat time and again. But there is really no reason to repeatedly go back and forth to a control desk unless you are the person with control issues. What's in your head? Why the stress? Why not go with the proverbial "flow"? What is so extremely important that you have to triple-check what has been written on your boarding pass the whole time? Simply put, what is the story?

Two guys that look like they are in a band but probably not: These guys are always the chieftains that order a beer at 0900 (local time). They are constantly asking for directions. These guys are the closest to having a very interesting conversation with you, but they are too busy hitting on the bartender at the airport "pub". You do want to start a conversation, but they are too busy with their dissertation on how Muse is the next Led Zepplin. For some strange reason, you don't like where any of the conversations will lead. They have the gumption to start up a conversation, but you refuse to reciprocate. And that is lame.

Me: I'm an interesting guy. I come full circle from my thesis. I want to know what makes microcosms of society tick. In transition, we find people in their most-focused or least-focused state. We are between flights. We are between destinations. We are away from home. We are coming home. We have fear and anxiety. We have hope and purpose. We move fast. We meander slowly. It's the constant flux that we never hone-in on but we have to because of the transitive state. So, I am that guy. I want to engage in how individuals move from point A to point B. But, I don't because while traveling in this state (specifically flight), we invert. We don't engage. The push-pull of why we are flying is overriding any sort of socialization that we long to invoke. But, hey, that's okay. We travel. We move forward. We go backward. We shift laterally. But wouldn't it be kinda neat if we took the time to discover this perfect opportunity? I not saying, I'm just saying...because I don't want to be that guy.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) No matter what happens, don't panic.
2) Carry-on luggage is nice when you get diverted and have to stay overnight somewhere. Apparently, it's policy to keep your baggage overnight it you were redirected to another flight. You paid the $20, might as well earn the money.
3) Friendliness is still contagious. Bad days happen. Stupid things happen. All it takes is some understanding and a deep breath to make things easier for everyone involved.

Ha! Thematic posts...who ever heard of such a thing? As always, to my readers, I appreciate the catharsis that is P30P. Turning the mundane into the quotable is a fun exercise. One of these days, I might get used to flying. But Wonder Woman has yet to let me borrow her jet. Talk later.

post script - I really had a good post lined up for this week. We will hit it up when the time is right.

And Now, For Yet Another Socio-physiological Experiment

2009-09-14T23:29:00.007-05:00

Now, if I can get the boys to abstain from human food, we will be okay.

At midnight, it will be fifteen up and fifteen down. Fortunately, I am not going through another Hell Month. But it's another important month for me internally - not so much externally.

You ever have one of those weekends where you exceeded a certain limit? For some people, it's athletic endeavors that do not end well. For others, it's eating too much cake in one sitting. I will admit, this used to happen a lot more back in college, but I seriously tied one on in the last weekend in August. That bottle of El Grado tequila did not know what hit it, until I hit it. That could be the root cause for no blog that week.

I realized the following day that staying up until oh-dark-30 and sipping aged tequila is a young man's game, like being a soldier or competing in "Project Runway". I did not feel well all next day. In recognition of knowing I am no longer 23 years old, I told The Lovely I was going to knock it off with the adult beverages for a month, starting 1 September.

A couple of things I should note: 1) I do not have a problem with alcohol. Sure, denial is the first step, but seriously...I don't have a problem. If I had a problem, I'm pretty sure my doctor, dentist, boss and spouse would be all over the problem. I don't want to discount that alcohol has been the cause of family, marital and violence instigation issues since we all figured out the metaphor to the catchphrase from "The Honeymooners". B) This is a test of wills. I am telling myself no beer, wine or stiff drink AT THE BEGINNING OF FOOTBALL SEASON! And watching the start of the Longhorn season, this is increasingly difficult. I guess my inner Catholic is kicking up, but is still failing to do the same during Lent due to the St. Patrick's Day conflict. C'mon saints, get it together...are we abstaining or are we driving out all the snakes from Ireland? Wait, what? Anywho, I am testing my body. Again, my doctor said all liver, kidney and heart functions were good and normal. But this is more of a mental test.

It's not fun unless you can challenge yourself. It's not fun if I can't run a minute faster than yesterday. It's not fun if I can't disassemble a desktop and see if I can put it back together functionally. It's not fun if I can't be better than I was yesterday. So, in that spirit, it's not fun unless I can abstain from drinking while still hanging out at bars. It is a challenge to remove a mainstay from my consumption and my learned culture. Within the challenge, I have learned that I was just like this in high school.

Enter flashback sequence here...

When I was in high school, I drove a Ford Taurus wagon and had a deathly fear for authority. So, as a good friend and better child/driver, I was the DD for all my buddies when we would go out to the "cement plant".
>>Quick aside, I think every teenager had a rendezvous point for shenanigans and Tom Foolery. Ours was the "cement plant". I think my older brother had a farm and my younger brother had the Solar Estates subdivision. But I digress...<<
So, I really didn't have my first drink-drink (not a sip where you ask your dad what the hell a Jackncoke is and he grants you said request...for a sip--I said a sip) until college. Thanks fellas. Fortunately, I didn't have to worry about public safety since I didn't have a car in college. Personal safety was another matter. So, I figured out that alcohol wasn't as cool as everyone made it out to be, but it's the person that makes the coolness.

And end the painful flashback here...

So, booze was debunked and I just enjoyed people's company...then the beverages. My consumption is no where never out-of-hand, but it is good to take a break. While on stated break, I am also examining some specific differences:

The myth that the subtraction of empty calories is helping me lose weight - That is a Joe Wilson. I haven't lost an ounce. I'm still a shade over two bells.
I still wake up having to perform half-yoga poses to wake up my body. With those actions, my body responds by sounding like a bowl of Rice Krispies. I had to do the exact same action after a couple of cocktails.
What the hell is the point of going to a bar? Granted, I don't get stares or questions when ordering a club soda and lime. But seriously, I have a better TV and dependable Internet connection at home.
I am drinking way too much sparkling water and Topo Chico.

But hey, a month of cleaning out never hurt anyone. So, I've got another half of a month. Don't be so surprised if this experiment continues to a random series of school nights as well. What did they say about how long it takes for a habit to develop?

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) It is impossible to argue the validity of any college football team after two weeks. With no preseason and teams playing Northeast Western Cupcake State, we won't know anything until 17 Oct.
2) Louisville is a nice town, Mr. Riggs. Not really sure why you would want to leave. But hey, it's your résumé.
3) Speaking of Corpus, according to BoldFutureCB (from the Twitter boards), "the fastest growing age groups in the Coastal Bend [between] 2007-2012 are expected to be those aged 65-74 and 55-64." So, when I build Post Sixty Post, the tagline will be "Where's my pudding!??!"

I would like to thank everyone for their support with this abstinence. Just about everyone, with the exception of a drunk Australian and a rude fellow cigar connoisseur, has been behind me 3000% with this break. It's fantastic I haven't had to trade-in any friends. Well done, everyone. Talk later.

He Keeps Talking About Work!

2009-09-07T22:20:00.005-05:00

It's good to get a little frustration out.

Oh, it is very good to get back behind the drone of a liquid crystal display and the stickiness of a keyboard that's about to go out on me. I appreciate the patience to all six of my readers.

No movement yet.

Obviously the preoccupation of landing square on my feet has distracted me from my third-first love. But that just builds more material for posts. But the overriding issue remains the forefront.

So what does a grown-up like me reflect on? It's reflective moments like these that create an acute focus of desire, passion, aptitude, experience and challenge of skill that meld into a definitive answer. The answer is simple...now. The question is: what do you want to be when you grow up?

I can't be a dinosaur; that one has been taken. I want to be a security professional. And I know why. The experience and challenges previously achieved and hurdled affirmed that now more than ever, we need more security professionals. That's all there is to it. Just like we need smart teachers who are concerned about the growth of students, just like we need nurses that are passionate about doing the job right the first time, just like we need people to say what they mean and mean what they say, we need people at the proverbial fence.

Granted, I am becoming more and more embedded with Spook Central. But the news that breaks here, breaks everywhere. The Wall Street Journal tracks information security contractors like they are the new Twitter or Google. POTUS want a czar (bad example; government wants a czar for everything). And users still log on with unpatched workstations without an anti-virus program just waiting for the next event to "surprise" us . With this push, I would love to get in on this sort of action. But not because it's fashionable.

I think this education I have had for these three-plus has primed me for the next challenge. We have a baseline of where things lie and where things are supposed to be. A little training and certification has been a benefit. But it's time to see how the levers are operated on the other side of commerce and business.

I boil inside every day for the next opportunity to do good and defend and counterattack and prove the difference-maker. It's unfortunate that I don't have enough years under my belt to control the bubbling and heat and steam from the kettled reaction every morning because it sometimes manifest to cranky, misdirected anger. But maybe I have time to figure it out. Maybe.

This will weigh heavy on mind and heart until it is resolved. With the focus, I know what I want. With the experience behind, I know what I can do without. With the optimism projected to the universe, the address should resolve itself soon.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) On the Eve's eve of The Admiral being enshrined into The Hall of Fame, I do agree with Jeff Garcia - the NBA did screw the pooch on a PR goldmine.
2) Oh, Corpus Christi City council, you guys are the gift that keeps on giving. Now, you can put down an incomplete for not doing your homework after you were elected. You stay classy...
3) College football, as much as I love it, is the biggest Catch-22 known to modern times. Either I shell out have a paycheck for a lousy ticket in the nosebleeds or my ears start bleeding from pay-by-play announcers and Kenny Chesney every commercial break with TV coverage (even worse, I could only find the only other college-football-associated song unbearable for ears). Oh, I missed you so, college football!

As I have been telling everyone that asks: any change, I will certainly let someone know. Until then, talk later.

C'mon Corpus, Help a Brotha Out

2009-07-27T22:47:00.004-05:00

Yes, it is time for a change, but nothing TOO drastic.

As it is common knowledge for everyone that knows me, I am looking for employment. It's nutty that every time someone says, "yeah, I'm looking for a job", it always means that it's elsewhere. Euphorically, I didn't think that was going to be the case of me. Too bad my vocation is way too esoteric for the Coastal Bend.

Absolute sadness.

As of Monday afternoon in queuing the caller.com Jobs section (called hotjobs - what an absolute asinine name) searching the "technology" section, there were seven listings. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Two of the listings had nothing to do with "technology" (why would "Models Needed- All Ages, Looks and Types" be in the "technology" search field?). Two other listings have to do with the military, however you have to be in the Naval Reserve or the National Guard...yikes. Nothing like searching for a job in Corpus to find out you are shipped to Afghanistan two weeks later patching top-secret Windows "boxes" while a Taliban surge in raining rounds of AK-47 caliber bullets to the tech bunker. In essence, only three of the seven listed jobs are actually a tech job in the Corpus area. One, two, three.

If I type in "healthcare", there are 134 listings - mostly legitimate leads running the whole gamut of the medical field, from billing to nursing.

So, a city with a population of 266,000 (estimated) only needs three people to work on networks, applications and systems. Granted, this is shorthanded listings from caller.com, but seriously, WTF?

Even the bastion on Internet salvation, craigslist did not have any Corpus IT leads either. But in "security", there was a bodyguard listing available. I don't think I can grow from a CISSP when trotting sidecar to the Jonas Brothers. The tech support listing had six leads with one lead labeled "Chrysler Service Writer". How the hell is writing service contract for cars a tech support job? That's a "writer" position by any stretch of the imagination. And why do I need "reliable transportation" for Tech support? Cheeky bastards want me to burn miles on my vehicle for $10 an hour? I don't think so.

For a laugh, I checked the austin.craigslist.org site for Systems/networking jobs...yeah, 34 leads since 30 June.

I just don't get it. As far as this town is considered, I think there are a handful of severe shortcomings that inhibit any sort of new or existing IT talent to be fostered or imported.

What company (large or small) would have the intestinal fortitude to build a NOC, data or IT center in a city that is 17ft above sea level? I know one does...but beyond that, there are very few.
Okay, okay, economic downturn blah-blah-blah. But when there was an economic uptick in the nineties, with the dot com splash, where was the Sparkling City By The Sea? So the cheap bastards hire some guy that six months away from retiring that "knows computing machines", runs the IT shop and is now the CIO. That is crazy scary.
Give credit where credit is due - the small IT shops that are supporting bigger companies and agencies did their homework to corner the market. Richline, Identity Theft Solutions and RSSS have done very well for themselves raising their hand and saying out loud "I know computers".
All the IT professionals hired for IT professionals are probably doing something else, like running a school district, teaching Health class of being the middle management of an off-shoot department...and I'm not even going to mention the deficit of security departments with this staff paradigm.

It's sad how marginalized how IT is down here. And I'm not bitching about my position. We are talking about ALL of IT.

That's cool. If this town has settled with losing corporate headquarters and building pollutants for the future, then let's not get the largest growing sector of business to get in the way of negative growth.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) Never invest in an investment plan than you can't break away from at a moment's notice. It's your money. Don't let The Man tell you how to run it.
2) Looking for a new jobs is it's own full time job.
3) The stress is literally making me nauseous.

Looks like I am going to be bitching about employment opportunities until I find a solid job. To clarify, there is nothing wrong with contract jobs. It's just that there is no love here locally with contract jobs. Until Corpus turns into the next Ft. Sam, a proliferation of contracts are not going to mosey down the pipe until CCAD multiplies tenfold. Crap. Relocation is sounding better and better. Talk later.

"Contractor" is a dirty, dirty word.

2009-07-19T20:23:00.005-05:00

Ah, yes, those were happier times, August 2008.

I want to complain. I want to bitch. I want to scream at an entity that has no ears and plays games with livelihoods. But I don't know what good that will do.

Usually I get great catharsis with P30P. But tonight, I really can't go into the details. I can't drill down why a broken system can be saved by a scrappy team of misfits (because it might sound like too much like a Quentin Tarantino vehicle), but I really want to.

I know it's unclassified. But still, we do important work. I'm calling the gag order on prudence and better judgment.

Generic time: all I can really gripe about is a system that was doomed to fail once somebody crunched the right numbers. Why would the government hire an overpriced outfit to do tasks that you could easily specialize soldiers and civilians to perform? Why would someone form a company that has no corporate paperwork to show for themselves? Why would anyone sign on with a "corporation" that has no proof of corporate continuity? Easy - it's the evil root.

Contracting is evil. I'm not talking about buildings and paved parking lots. I'm talking about military contractors. I'm talking about the no-bid bastards that don't deliver a damn thing but the CEOs of the contracted company make millions in the turn of a ball point pen. I'm talking about the low ballers that oversell the value of an hour but under buy the souls of workers. I'm talking about stinking capitalists that could care less that the government, with specialists, could probably do it faster, cheaper and more efficiently. But it doesn't matter because the all mighty dollar is driving this uninsured bus.

I'm angry at myself for creating this illusion of solid status. I knew this was not the ideal situation, but I gutted forward because I was learning an exponential amount of knowledge. But now that I have my Microsoft chops, learning accomplished. This plan of action should have been executed last month.

So, if anyone cares, I am looking for a job. I love long walks and small, cuddly animals. I love Information Security, but I am still a FNG at the hardcore stuff. I know my way around "the most expensive Operating System known to man". I have some certs and a degree, but I can always sit down and look for some more. I may not be the smartest guy in the room, but I will work harder to outsmart the guy. This posting thing doesn't pay squat and I have two dogs and a decent lifestyle to support (yes, yes, and I am married, but we know that). If anyone has any leads, please don't hesitate to pass them along.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) Celebrating a half-anniversary is a very good way of keeping the relationship fresh. That and hotel rooms...is a very good way of keeping a relationship fresh. BONUS: Anytime you see a hotel called "historic", that is code for "small".
2) As mentioned before, other towns get it. If the service at any random restaurant, bar, dealership, shopping center is good, people will WANT to visit. Thank you, San Antonio. Corpus has a lot to learn from you.
3) As of midnight Monday morning, we have 47 days until the first Horns football game. Baseball and Lance quitting on me just isn't doing it for me.

No, but seriously, if anyone finds some job leads for me, contact me. Talk later.