Hell Month, Pt. II or "The Only Time I Have For A Post"

I would rather be in a warehouse full of hops than in Hell Month.

I feel like Anne Frank...you know, without the death and destruction laying about. As I post, the only destruction notable is dirty clothes on the hotel room floor and stacks of folders with pages of Microsoft reference material.

Maybe I am overdoing it a bit? Maybe I am hamming it up for entertainment's sake. Maybe it isn't all that bad. Then again, I am reminded of Jennie Bueller standing at the end of the hall.

"[thinking to herself] Maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe Ferris isn't such a bad guy. After all, I got a car, he got a computer. But still, why should he get to do whatever he wants, whenever he wants? Why should everything work out for him? What makes him so goddamn special?
[spoken] Screw him."

I just might be overdoing it. However, I think I am entitled to a little bit of moodiness. Think about it, how many times does the average white-collar worker have to struggle so much for things that should be either assumed or logically warranted? I know I chose to leave for two weeks. I know I didn't have to work an 80-hour week. But why is it such a struggle to better yourself?

That is a philosophical question for another time...especially when I have more time. But presently, 70-291 is staring at me like double-barrels to a flock of game hens. So, I much table this argument until next week.

Lessons Learned, my three things
1) You can fix anything...ANYTHING, with a GPO. You heard me, IT!
2) Files trump folder permissions. Deny trumps access permissions. Are you hearing me IT?
3) I know I need to knock it off with the movie quotes, but training has me inspired. "Well I guess we have to win the whole...fucking...thing."

Yeah, this was brief. I am even more brief on the Twitter updates. We are close...but we got a lot to cover. We will see with next week. Talk later.

Welcome to Hell Month, Pt. I

In Hell, there is no furniture and you are forced to do DIY projects.

You know, it could be worse. I could be this guy. Or I could be that guy. But right now, I am going through the most hellacious month a old man can go through.

I guess it was set up with Purgatory half-month in May. Here is how it started...
Me: I would like to go to Microsoft Training.
The Job: Cool.
Me: You think you can help me with leave-time?
The Job: You have vacation, right?
Me: Well, Microsoft Training really isn't vacation.
The Job: Good point...let me find out.
FOUR HOURS LATER
The Job: (in an email) No dice.

So, for the first week of the month, to preserve my vacation time (or lack thereof), I logged 80 hours in the office in seven days. Nothing says, "What is good for the company?" than logging that sort of cubicle action. No weekend. Limited rest. All balls.

Why in the world would we schedule our exodus from the one-bedroom to the upgraded apartment AT THE SAME WEEK I'M LOGGING AN 80-HOUR WEEK? Very simple, I am in Hell Month. We were suppose to pull that off at the end of May. Yeah, notsomuch. So, I am in a strange, new, bigger apartment...for a day and a half.

So, that's seven days...the following 14 days, MCSE Security Boot Camp. I don't think I have to explain the words "Microsoft" and "boot camp". No, not Boot Camp-boot camp, this is just 14 days of living out of a suitcase and staring at dual monitors running test scenarios and practice tests. Reveille is at 7. First class is at 0830. Grub is at the mess hall at noon. We go until 1730. We take a quick break and labs go until midnight. Fourteen days, six exams, four certifications. That's the goal. Rock and roll.

So, 21 out of 30 does not make a Hell Month. No, no, we need all days from dusk 'til dawn. The last exam on Sunday, I make a quick Whole Foods run and get back to the cube farm. So, again, since this is not vacation, I am not using vacation. But, how about this kick in the pants - 96 hours in six days. My instant mathematicians just had an aneurysm because 30 sans 21 is nine.

Oh, no, I need a break. The Lovely set up a "hey, I haven't hung out with the girls in 18 months, we should do something" vacation. There is a cabin in Port A that is waiting for five couples to wreak havoc. This caveat proves that Hell has a beautiful getaway spot, and some shady beach bars. Hell will be suffered in the mind, body and liver.

Seven plus 14 plus four plus three plus two equals Hell Month. Get your pitch forks and your nine rings. I will but updating Twitter more than @THE_REAL_SHAQ. I have no off-season, Big Aristotle.

Lessons Learned, my three things:
1) I love this town. I totally should have ran for city council, but I can't leave my day job every Tuesday. The latest, it takes almost a third of the salary of the police chief to FIND a new police chief.
2) See, if I lived outside of this fishing village, I would see boring stories, like this.
3) I am very focused. Attack and release for Microsoft. Time to bring it.

Sure, I might be in the midst of Hell Month, but I will ask permission from the dark lord to write and post. Have netbook, will travel. Who knows, we might learn something together. And that's what it's all about. Talk later.

OPERATION: Homebody

As Austin and I show, house parties are fun (December 2008).

Why did it take me so long to figure this one out? Especially with all the humdrum of "the economy" and a reset of goals and wishes, I am glad I figured out this simple equation. Why the hell am I going out so much?

I have two vices that I am not going to get rid of: delicious adult beverages and social interaction with professionals. Unfortunately, these are costly vices. I giggle at the assumption that Corpus is so much cheaper than the rest of the world. A Stoli vodka martini up with extra olives is still going to be $10+ if it's worth it's metal tin that mixed the wonderful concoction. A decent bourbon is still going to have a 400% markup. That's just how bars work. Plus, the lunches with colleagues, friends, enemies and possible associations aren't inexpensive either. Besides, I have to get out of the office for a couple of minutes. Can someone please tell me why mass-produced, processed food horrible to any human system is far cheaper than something wholesome and well constructed? Like why renewable energy yields a more-expensive utility bill? Very frustrating.

Since the hierarchy of needs is all covered, we go for the top of the pyramid. It is a simple equation here. I want (variable A). To get (item A), I must perform (action 1), (action 2) and (action 3). For example, to get ice cream, I must punch a hobo, translate 14 latin phrases and ask The Lovely very nicely the next time she goes to the grocers. So, to save some money I must not go out to lunch every day, not go out to overpriced bars (which is all of them) and basically kick it at home more often.

The mathmatics are stunning. Eight dollars plus tip every lunch. Twenty bucks per tab on a good night. Forty bucks on a bad night. Eighty bucks on a terrible night. It's maddening how someone my age is finally figuring it out. But apparently, the Gen Xers received plenty of sex ed but very little finance 101. But that's no excuse. I have enough disipline to go to yoga and run after work. But when it comes to vices, it is a bit more difficult.

It has been a so-so start to this operation. I fell on my face with the post-run drink, because all of us know that beer refreshes the body better than water. Of course, it's mitigated because happy hour drink specials are cheaper (?). Idiot. Plus, it's tough to not go out when all the organizations I am a part of hold happy hours and mixers. However, this weekend was a good rebound. An $11 bottle of Pinot Grigio and an awesome back yard at a fun house party covered that base. Operation: Homebody also counts when you use other houses. Chammer and Super Lakers Fan were pretty big fans, also on a historical level.

So, I ask my seven readers to remind me that this operation is important in this economic climate...and because I want to go to New York City in October. I'm curious as to what kind of un-damage I can do without blowing money on high-end, non-smoking bars.

Lessons Learned, my three things:
1) The Texas Baseball team has ice in their veins. After the longest baseball game EVER, they finish the job with a eight-run 9th inning rally over Army. The Horns are going to be formiable for the CWS.
2) I'm not sure the "new" city council is getting off the right foot with their proposals. Maybe they should run their own version of OPERATION: Homebody.
3) Moving sucks. Especially when it has to be delayed by two weeks.

The next couple of weeks are going to be interesting, since I will be in total violation of anything "homebody". I am off to boot camp. No, not that boot camp, Microsoft boot camp. But still, I will be away for a while. So, I need to survive this week and then write about it then survive the weeks ahead. Talk later.

Reverse Peter Pan Complex

Stupid camera phone...doesn't capture all the awesomeness.

So, simple question this time around. I know the unoriginality of asking sad questions veiled within nostalgia screams with queries like this. But I think this one has a tinge of variety. Question coming presently.

Four nephews, zero nieces. Somebody buy me a lotto ticket. The oldest nephew was mitzvah-ed this past weekend. B-don was literally The Man. He commanded the service Saturday evening and was the toast of the town as the night waned on. The event was memorable (to say the least). For focus on this current storyline, we won't go on about how extravagant the event really was. We will just say...it was memorable...which is a very good thing. More than welcome to ask that question offline.

A party is only as good as the aftermath (see last post "The Issue of Parties"). My brother-in-law's house looked like Jonestown after they drank the Kool-Aid, but the body count was only six boys after a post-party to the party. As the bagels and whitefish was served during breakfast, a grizzled B-don sat up--hazy-eyed but knowing he was still hosting his weekend.

As Dr. John and Dr. Les hung out with B-don and myself near the pool eating breakfast, we assessed the damage...which was a thirteen year old that was sneaking Jack on the rocks when I was dancing. Even though he knew that was a bad idea, the kid had his head completely on straight.

I'm not sure how we got on to the subject of B-don's future, but we got there in a hurry. Discussions of how organic chemistry and applied human anatomy sucked as college courses was the backdrop. The Man said he wanted to be an environmental engineer. Kudos, it's a growth industry. He knows what he wants in life WHEN HE IS THIRTEEN!

So, the cheesy, nostalgic question: what the hell was at the top of your mind when you were thirteen? I can only tell personally, it's wasn't honing my skills for my future employ with DuPont's Green Initiative. Fuck. At thirteen I could barely dress myself, let alone plan for my next thirty years. I was getting the shit kicked out of me in The Valley (no, not that Valley...the Rio Grande Valley) trying to remember my locker combination, resenting the fact that my dad moved us from San Antonio to Los Fresnos. Los Fresnos! I will buy everyone a beer if someone can tell me where that's located.

I'm certain every life story is different. But it's amazing how a thirteen year old figures it out so quickly. Almost makes you think that you are the next in the herd to be thinned out. So, I was a kid at thirteen getting roughed up like other kids. But I still want to be rough and tumble within my search for professional satisfaction. Our boy B-don has the opposite, chilling effect. He can't wait to grow up and rock the eco-friendly Cashbah. Who knows; maybe he already has the girl he wants to marry lined up. Maybe he knows where he wants to live. Maybe he knows what classic car he wants to buy so he can rebuilt it and brag to his buddies, "Hey, you see that PT Cruiser in the garage...yeah, I restored it..."

I can't wait to see this kid un-grow-up.

B-don, if there is one person that can pull off the Reverse Peter Pan (not the dance move)...it has to be you. But no pressure. Growing up is a process. Believe me, I'm blogging about it right now. Much love to you and the fam. You did the whole clan proud. Mazel Tov.

Now, on to more stuff that I learned other than Hebrew...

Lessons Learned, my three things:
1) People in South Florida don't know how to park. It's not a big deal, really, because the whole state compensates with larger parking spots for all cars. Highest accident rate in all the union. Awesome.
2) 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.
3) I have to quit spoiling my Lessons Learned on Twitter. If I blurt out everything I know and learn instantaneously, then what the hell am I going to write about?
BONUS: Maybe getting out of Corpus during Beach to Bay is not a bad idea...

Special thanks to Mom (not Mama, but I always love to thank Mama for everything), Jon Gregory and Robin for their Southern Florida hospitality (you can take the Texans out of Texas but you can't take the Texas out of the Texans) and the boys, B-don and Ry-ry. Love to all of the extended side of The Lovely's side. I love meeting new cousins. Next blog...Operation Homebody.

The Issue Of Parties

So, James' 30th was fun (dude in the center). Kind of a sausagefest.

Hilarity ensued this past weekend with Jamesrico's 30th birthday party: food was catered, kegs were ordered, bottles were opened. A great cross-section of people attended and there were no signs of boredom or clique-ish-ness. To say the least, The Lovely and I had fun. And I have a new eligible blogger.

Of course, the weeks leading up to the event were (merely per observation) frenetic at best. With the backyard transformation, appliance failures and logistics, Rico and the roommate were stressing. This made me think...parties change on you after thirty.

Party planning younger than 18: 1) defaulting to parents. From bunny cake to moonwalks to Sweet 16's to quinceaneras...the only thing we worry about is all our friends showing up or 2) if you are the underage drinker, who's older sibling is buying...and the only thing we worry about is too many friends showing up.

Party planning from 18-22: The party falls into one of two scenarios. 1) You are in a fraternity/sorority, therefore you pay dues to not have to worry about it. 2) "I got some beers, let's drink 'em!" Either way, it's not very formal unless you have to go to a formal.

Party planning 23-29: Wait, there's planning involved? I don't know about everyone else, but I was broke as a compound fracture. If I was lucky to have a couple of fingers of Scotch and an unopened bottle of wine...well, we are in business. If someone brought an extra bottle...bonus. If you want to be PC about it, parties at that frame were more organic. They just happened.

Post Thirty parties: There's so much planning. Too much planning. Why do I have to plan for vegans? I never had to before. Wait, how many people are we calculating? How much is that going to cost? What do you mean I can't have cheese dip? Non-alcoholic drinks...what the fuck is that?

Naturally, Rico's party fit this same paradigm. Anytime you have to figure out sushi portions per person, THAT'S TOO MUCH PLANNING. Drinks somehow always take care of themselves, whether it's lemonade or Mike's hard lemonade. But I guess the game changer with the Post Thirty party (damnit, where is my copyright on this phrase?) is far more logistical than bottles. Then again, the ROI (that's return on investment for the non-administrative types) is to note as well. The more effort someone puts into anything, the bigger the benefit. Maybe that's how we grow up a little more. Sometimes we want to extend the effort for the bigger payoff. Maybe that's why we do it...

Bottom line, the party changes. There is no negative-positive analysis, it is what it is. So, from now on, we always have to look at timeframes, calendars, budget, limitations...oh, wait, and the reason has to be pretty solid. This is why my Columbus Day kegger is on hold.

The other bottom line, Rico's party kicked ass. That is all.

Lessons Learned, my three things:
1) God, why do I get suckered in to terrible television? Dancing With The Stars and Celebrity Apprentice...why am I caring who wins this garbage? I'm losing brain cells by the second. Three hours for a finale? I'm never getting that back.
2) Prequels are hit-and-miss. Execution is paramount. Wolverine missed. Star Trek hit. Set phasers to stun.
3) If you think your last Tuesday was bad, just ask The Lovely's cousin about her Tuesday. It can always be worse.

A couple of finishing moves: I will be awaiting my new contributor's entries. And the next couple of weeks are going to be helacious. The road show hits next weekend and I got some hot topics to cover. Operation: Homebody will be interesting...so all will have to wait for that post. Talk later.

Earning My Keep: My Second Blog

My mother claims that I was "cautious as a child." O.K. That makes sense. She says my brother..."was not." O.K. That makes sense, too. Neither is inherently good or bad. It just is.

Fast forward: This weekend while hanging out with my newest, latest, and just-as-great nephew, we were all kickin' back watching several DVR'd episodes of Nitro Circus. For those of you unfamiliar and not interested in clicking on the above link, no problem: It is basically like MTV's Jackass, but with professional extreme sports athletes...but still with all the same death-defying, off-the-wall stunts and antics. I was both mesmerized and scared. I suppose this is good marketing??? If you don't know Jackass...well just click on the link...

It is fair to say that these guys are cheating death in each episode. I don't care how well-trained they are in whatever their designated specialty, the point of these shows is see these folks test themselves and out-do themselves with each and every episode. Again, this could never be me...but then again, that is not the point. I can appreciate the risk-taking and appreciate that some people are like my brother...and to acknowledge my mother's anectodal evidence, they are pretty much this way from birth.

OK, rewind now. Back to summer of 2000. My friend B-Haas' two college buddies from A&M-College Station were hanging out in Big Ben National Park, camping and enjoying life. Then Jared (one of the friends), in a split decision, jumps into the Rio Grande with a bar of soap. Two seconds later, Marty jumps in to save him. Yes, I said SAVE him. He was immediately paralyzed and unable to breathe.

Hospital stay and rehabilitation proved successful for Jared. He was able to breathe on his own in two-months time. It has been nine years since this "casual" jump, and he is currently still paralyzed.

NOTE: I said he is currently paralyed. Jared is an inspiration because Jared knows that he WILL WALK AGAIN. If you have seen or heard about The Secret, you will know what I'm talking about. Positive attraction. What you think about you bring about. Many people have cured themselves of cancer and other illnesses from this practice AND state of consciousness.

Jared and Marty have teamed up for a collaborative mixed media show at Bass Concert Hall in Austin. It is currently on view till June. Please, check out this show if you are in the Austin area.

You will be inspired.

If you can't make it, or if you would like a preview, please check out Jared's website and his show.

Till next time, stay safe and appreciate this moment. Peace.

I Still Don't Get It

D-Small and I at a concert...that is not a cover band (circa 2006).

Much love to Patty and G-funk for making this post possible. Patty calls me two weeks ago and hooked up The Lovely and myself with tickets to The Spazmatics for the first Friday of the month show at Brewster Street. I just thought this was going to be a simple dinner-and-a-show evening. Until I found out 1) Spazmatics is the "number one" cover band "in Austin" and B) "they sold out the last couple of times they were in town."

Let's analyze this for a second. I would like to preface this analysis by saying I tried it, so I can knock it. It's the same principle behind "if you don't vote, you can't complain." I can't "knock it" until I do "try it". And they put on one hell of a show (more on that further in this post). I will always appreciate the hard work and the hours of effort it takes for ANY band, whether it's a harp band playing for the Chamber Music society or it's some Fleetwood Mac tribute band. I will never talk down about effort. However, I will talk some noise if their music is terrible...you know, like Nickelback-terrible or JaRule-terrible. So, before my four readers get pissed about my jerkitude toward cover bands, I understand the work involved. But, I will admit that it's ten times easier to use other people's creativity than to create your own music.

There were two huge antics to speak of with this cover band sell-out phenomenon: 1) retro music makes old people feel better and B) Corpus is just straight-up fucking weird. Yes, I'm sorry, I think the language is appropriate because of the weirdness.

Everyone appreciates a simpler time. A time when you didn't have to pay a rent/mortgage, a car note, college loans, unnecessary cell phone charges or have to worry about war, economics, global pandemics, taxes or DVRing The Hills. All we had to worry about was: where the party was at, what goofy hat/shoe/pants/shirt combination we were going to wear and what cover story we were going to give the parents when we got home. For most of my generation, the 80's and the MTV revolution was the quintessential symbol of the simple time. The Spazmatics understand and harness that knowledge. Not only do they harness that knowledge, they profit with that honing of music craft that quirky 80's tunes that sing themselves. If you play the first three bars on the guitar, they will come. I cannot hate the players. I also can't hate the game since I fall into the same trap. That's why there will also be a classic rock/80's station just as much as there will be a Spazmatics. And it makes us feel better every time we hear "Pour Some Sugar On Me".

The Sasquash and I joke about our favorite bar restroom graffiti. "Corpus is like being trapped in a bad Knight Rider episode." Damnit, I wish I would have been fast enough to think of that one. After ABC and Concrete Street, Brewster Street is one of the bigger live music venues in town (I wish there was some documentation on this, but I will ballpark the venue at 500-600 capacity before fire marshals are called). This show sold out. This town doesn't sell out of anything. I wish I had some solid stats, but if you talk to anyone that works for Ticketmaster or any box office, they would agree that this town rarely sells out of any show. But a show for A COVER BAND sold out of one of the larger venues in town. That gives any outsider an indication as to how "easy going" this place is (or how time-warped CC is). This would be the impetus for Bob Dylan and Judas Priest showing up and earning an honest day's pay...past due 20-30 years when they were culturally pertinent (as opposed to a cultural influence on modern-day artists).

And what concert in Corpus would be complete without multiple barfights, motorcycle bandidos, and drunkards getting summarilly dismissed?

I don't get it. I don't get how a cover band, no matter how performance-driven the show is, can sell out of a 500+ venue. I don't get it how younger kids think checkered pants and reversible Chuck Taylors are fashionable. I don't get how a town with a solid college-aged population can't draw more progressive acts to play here (not to knock "Texas Country", but I mean national, rock-and-roll acts or Top 40 acts). I don't get why there are so many idiots that can't hold their liquor or temper for a show to just have a good time. I don't get the perpetual rut we, as a community, are in...

But to the last point, I understand why we backslide. I am a victim just as much as everyone else. We remember our first make-out session. We remember "going-around" for the first time. We remember the new and fascinating events and moments, whether poisonous or benign. And it makes us smile. It makes us laugh. Hell, it makes us dance like a jackass and scream at the top of our lungs all the lyrics of "Just A Friend". We have a soundtrack for the good times.

I get that. I just don't get the rest of the Corpus temporal amnesia. And that is why we can't have nice things.

Lessons Learned, my three things:
1) I love the Poles. I love people of Polish decent. I now (officially) have Polish family members. And boy, do they know how to party - more so organize a wedding. Congrats to Gary Lee and Jerilee (she's the newbie) on their nuptials. Everything was top-notch and tons of fun. And it's always good to see family.
2) G-Love, E-doo's and Hil's new arrival, is one great baby. I am a huge fan of babies that pass out on the pectoral muscle, not straining or hindering any of the arm muscles--then again, he is only about 8-9 pounds. G-Love, it was an absolute pleasure to meet you. And it's always good to see family.
3) Reference books are for skimming. Novels are for reading. Children's books are for laughing at. And Twitter entries are for sufferers of ADHD.

I have got a fun week up ahead. Meli is primed for another entry soon, which I have previewed and think will be a doozy. And it looks like I am going to play The Donald as I start hiring and "You're Fired"-ing some contributors. That's right. The economy and job market is so harsh, my premium blog has to make some changes. Fortunately, the severance package includes a free beer or wine (choose one) and relentless heckling in future post. Talk later.