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

 

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.

Just when you think you are doing nothing...

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

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.

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

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.

And what's the deal with dinner parties?

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.

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

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.

You can NEVER go home again.

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.

What did we learn? Lessons Learned 2009

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.