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.

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.

The Prodigal Son Returns...then leaves again

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.

Hell Month, Pt. IV - Vacations and Crashes Back To Reality

I wish I could say we were talking about improving society. I wish I could say that.
(from left: Stacy, Arden, Matt, myself and Jennifer)

I have done my share of complaining this month. Mercifully, the month is winding down. This past weekend was the planned break where I celebrated my MCSE Security+ status with a handful of days away from computers and OEMs. Of course, that plan was kibosh-ed. So, before I ran away, I had to rack up a ton more hours at work before I could vacation at a house that was a non-refundable purchase.

To rid myself of the curmudgeon mindset, the sand and the sun of Port A was just the ticket. And misery loves company. The Lovely coordinated with all of her old high school buddies to make this vacation happen. Everything went off without a hitch. Everyone had a great time and no one lost a finger or a flip-flop in the process.

However, my only bitch with vacations is that you need to unwind from the unwinding. Example: Michael and Jen drove from Fort Worth with their three kiddos to make this happen. Matt met Stacy at the airport with delays from planes with mechanical issues trying to connect from Corpus to Port A. Tash and Bry rolled in from Shreveport with Bry having to ace a phone interview while on this trip. Cliff and Arden trucked it from San Antonio with a metric ton of fishing gear in tow (including a bay kayak). How can anyone consider all this work a vacation? Sure, it beats staring at spreadsheets and nodding off in front of dual monitors, but that is a massive amount of work to try to relax.

The only Hell from this section of Hell Month was realizing that 1) paradise is thirty minutes away on Park Road 22 and B) all this work to rest is still work. Clarity is painful sometimes.

With all this charging at full tilt for relaxation, reality seaped in on the last day - my grandmother, who has been fighting the good fight since two Thursdays ago, passed away in the early morning hours of Sunday. She had been sick for a while. Her good days were intersparsed with her bad days. The relief is that she doesn't have to fight anymore.

It's never as bad as it seems, whether the feeling of inequity looms and challenges come in rapid succession and delights come with struggle and strife. The whole concept of Hell Month was to make light of the humdrum and lament that comes with a busy month. But these last 24 hours have put it in it's perspective. Ironically, I close out Hell Month on Tuesday going to my grandmother's rosary.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) No matter how well you sunblock performed the previous day, two straight days in the sun will burn you. Reapply all you want, you skin is cooking is the slowest convection oven, ever.
2) It is very difficult to grow a fan base when you blow a 2-nil lead in the first half.
3) Don't be loud at Lisabella's. Your food will be two hours late and uppity white women will sick the head chef on your table to tell you to pipe down. In retrospect, we should have walked.

So, no more of the on-and-on about the woe-is-me after 30 June. Life if a challenge as much as it is a gift. And it only took me 29 days to figure that one out. On to sharper topics next week. Until then, 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.

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.

How Not To Live Angry

Yes, it was good to relax.

So, midweek was as stressful as it gets. Granted, we weren't tracking North Korea's "satellite" program. But we were watching Conficker.C. Unlike my Apple brethren, we actually had to track it. The big kaboom never came even though the threat is no where near over. To exacerbate the stress level, April Fool's Day featured probably the worst timed joke in recent history.

To illustrate how bad this joke was, I am going to state it in the form of a CompTIA exam question:
You are a floor manager of a funeral home. One of the five viewing rooms has been shut down due to a threat of formaldehyde contamination. All the rooms were checked with the same threat when someone at one of the viewing rooms was complaining of the status of a corpse. Under further inspection, the body was moving DURING THE VIEWING. When finding out the night undertakers were responsible for the "gag", who should the floor manager kill first?

White hot rage could describe my reaction. As a matter of fact, I needed the rest of the day for mental wellness. God bless that distinction. So, bad timing quickly dissolved to good timing. I had Friday off for a travel day. Nothing to get your mind off of work than crossing state lines. The Lovely and I scheduled a trip to Shreveport. I'm not really sure how this all worked out, but it was a brilliant stroke of serendipity.

Why Shreveport, you ask? To make a long story short, we have family friends that were entrenched in our wedding and embedded in The Lovely's history and future. Also, we needed an update on "the three step process" and we wanted to see how the two kiddos were doing as well. The cherry on top was that I have never been to Shreveport and Ark-LA-Tex just sounds like an interesting place to drink Abita.

After defrosting in a different zip code 466 miles away, all the stress and rage and bullshit just withered away. Granted, watching a four year old and a two year old build forts from couch cushions can change anyone's focus...or can it? Sure, Wednesday sucked. If I was any younger or more stubborn, the anger would have bled into the rest of my consciousness. Ultimately, the "job satisfaction" tag would have to be removed. But, I learned something huge this weekend: I have to step back. If I don't step back, I am as good as my former horrible self and as entrapped as some closed-minded old dude with zero flexibility. In other words, I'm bad or I do not grow...which is the whole point of this maturity mission.

So, I took a breath, stepped back, and feel encouraged for the next week. I feel like I grew a little. Not so much "grow up", but discovered some new information that will make my life fuller and more complete. And just like computer worms, employment and intra-personal communications, knowledge is power.

Lessons Learned (in addition to the big one), my three things:
1) With local and major daily newspapers fighting to stay above water and maintain functionality and production, you wouldn't think a periodical's website would pimp exclusive stories while leaving the print version sparse with content and thoughtful editorial and news copy. That's like bragging about your amputated foot as a diabetic. Not a good move, Crawler.com.
2) Abita only made 1000 cases of Strawberry Lager. What a tease.
3) When driving out of Texas, you absolutely know when the state line changes. I don't know if it's the atmosphere, the altitude, the twang or the proliferation of the Stars and Bars, you just know. It's just a feeling, like humidity or accidentally crapping your pants.
BONUS ROUND: 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 this kiddos, remind them to wash their hands and be ready to slug Emergen-C and green tea. Love to Aussie and P.

Speaking of "knowledge is power", looks like the Body of Christ has taken a turn for the...interesting? I don't want to say worse, because it's pretty lame to start off with, but local elections were held and I don't feel the same confidence as I do in my inner knowledge. Oh yeah, we are posting about that so only 2 people will be interested in the post. Always looking out for my readers. Talk later.

Costa Rica, Pt. IV - A New Hope

Oh, my god, could this blog series get any longer!?!?! This entry has been sitting in my queue for two weeks now. Did I even leave the country? Ugh, life caught up with me.

I think I can get over the numbers now. It's not like this is Sesame Street or there is a diabolical pop quiz after this rant. This run, I would like to get to the heart of the matter. There are some fundamental differences between The States and CR that we as North Americans should start taking notice.

By 2010, Costa Rica wants to eliminate their carbon footprint from not only their micro-climates, but the global environment as a whole. We witnessed the country's efforts first hand. It's one thing to say that there is no litter or trash around their national parks or ecological reserves. But it's the little things that are done in plain sight that make the difference. Por ejemplo, when visiting an North American hotel or lodge, in the bathroom guests would notice the mini-bottle sized soap and shampoo, complete with about 2/3s of the soap and shampoo your body actually needs. Where do all the used mini-bottles go? Obviously, they are not edible or we would have an even bigger problem with obesity today. In CR, they keep is simple and contained. In every hotel we stayed in (save one), they had dispensers as opposed to bottles on top of bottles. All the staff does is fill a reseviour with liquid soap and shampoo. A couple of extra squirts and one could wash their whole body without burning through plastic that will never be recycled. No waste, no mess.

Speaking of recycled, what if we took all the used beer bottles I have ever consumed. Let's make it fair and add all the Topo Chico bottles as well. Currently, my hometown decided to reliquish glass recycling for the last ten years. What if we reused all the bottles, reduce waste and use them for the next run? Why is something so commonsensical not practiced in The States? Well, it's practiced in the Rich Coast. Instead of doing the measly 5 cent deposit in Connecticut, vendors, shop keepers, bars and patrons return the beer bottles to be washed, re-washed, steamed, dried and used again for the exact same purpose -- for beer and beverages. They reduce the glass in the trashpits and landfills and crack open a fresh beer while doing some good for the environment.

But enough of the tree-hugger manifesto. An English grammarian would make a killing here. Then again, they should be wary of visiting CR. Wave Expeditions doesn't know how to use a comma. Johnnie's Pizza was having trouble with transliteration of "B"s and "V"s. La Pollera was having some trouble with "Gordon Blue" which is a lot like Cordon Bleu except it's the exact same thing! The Airport (converted horse barn) in Fortuna was having trouble with Anions Rings even though they were trying to express rings of onion.

Which bleeds into my point; if an American goes to a foriegn country, the traveler might want to try to attempt the native language. Native countrymen appreciate it when you at least try to speak the language. These are the words from everyone's mouth that we encountered. "It's nice when guests speak the language", all of our lovely hosts stated in one version or another. Why try to impose a foriegn language to another country? Even the expatriots agree. I just never understood why the other Americans we hung out with didn't give it the old college try? It not like the Language Police were going to come and take us away. It's like if Russians came by the truckloads and just started pushing Cryillic on us and if we didn't understand it, they would just speak louder. Got to respect the home-court advantage. As we all know, Manifest Destiny is over.

And the Oscars aren't that big of a deal in Central America. I would be safe to bet a couple hundred colones that it's just The States that cares about it.

So, that's it. That is what I learned while in Costa Rica. So, yeah. Books are overrated. Unless they are bird books with full page pictures and distiguishing markings. Consider the debrief completed. Talk later.

Costa Rica, Pt. III - Stereotypes Are Not Fun

As we learned on the last post about Costa Rica (which seems like eons ago), ziplines are cool, ATMs are awesome and drowning is difficult when ten people are in the same river. Who knows what we are going to learn today? Because really, I don't know what I am going to write until I type it. Don't you just love the Internets?

9) So, when The Lovely and I were in the passenger van headed toward our waterboarding torture...er, white-water rafting trip, the guides asked where we were from. Since not everyone on Earth recognizes the burnt-orange silhouette of livestock, we said "Texas". Appropriately (?), our trusty guides responded with a "Yee-haw" enough to pierce Roy Clark's ears. Funny enough, we would have to prove our Texan spirit on a three-hour horseback ride (traveling to the gorgeous private waterfall above). Internationally speaking, if you are from Texas, you must know how to ride a horse, or fake as if you did what your stunt-double just did seconds ago. As an added bonus: did you know horses can fall asleep anywhere? Just ask my wife. Consider that stereotype dissolved, yet recovered after thirty minutes in the saddle (western saddle, of course).

10) A popular question amidst our return was, "how was the food?" When it wasn't beans and rice, it was outstanding. But we had no clue that this country could go toe-to-toe internationally on creation and execution of pizza. Yes, pizza. We had it four times while in CR. These guys kick some serious ass when it comes to the bastardized Italian dinner pastry. But why does (or would) pizza taste better here? We have isolated the fresher ingredients coming from direct vendors, such as fruit and veggie producers, dairy farms down the road with butchers two doors over. Plus, nothing beats a wood-fire oven. Nothing. Natural carbon flavors with the cedar and ash scents permeating over fresh cheese, meats and pineapples from a creepy dude in a truck. Now, that's flavor! So much for that stereotype.

11) I can merely go by Travel Channel footage. However, La Fortuna and the Arenal Volcano look disgustingly similar to the angry volcanic islands of Hawaii. This sounds like a no-brainer due to the second-largest active volcano in the country would produce black sand, sulfuric-blue water and the lack of crocodiles. And, of course, with the fauna and the constant rain, you would have to squint hard to discern the different. And boom goes that stereotype. By the way, thanks for nothing Arenal Volcano; a cloudy four days could not reveal anything other than ninety percent of the apex and only part of the gassy north facade of the pissed-off mountain.

12) Please remove the old Costa Rica out of your head. As referenced earlier, this is a country with an economic identity crisis. With all the westerners dumping in money to visit, live or to create adventure/spa businesses, CR is not a cheap trip. If you think it's a third-world country, cut it out - seriously. I give this country another five years before it becomes the next Cancun (only safer).

Oh, you think this is over. "Nothing is over until we say it is. Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor...hell no!" Join us next blog when we try to wrap this up in less than a freaking month when the little red bow I try to place on this trip ends up being way too large. Will the hilarity ever stop? Talk later.

Costa Rica, Pt. II - Transistional Traveling

As we learned yesterday, grab a jacket, we are nerds, this whole country is in an identity crisis and I am a dumb bastard when it comes to languages. Let's see what other fallicies I can suffer from as I continue my debrief on Costa Rica.

5) Ziplines are pretty damn cool and very damn easy. Here's how it works. Gravity does 92% of the work. If you're scared, don't be. The strongest and weightiest part of the body is attached to steel cables cross-supported by another series of steel cables. If you are still worried you are going to fall after the heavy-duty straps, the metal pulley and the trained professionals, may I advise not to travel abroad at all. Part of the adventure was to have other adventures. Just lean back and enjoy the ride. . .

6) I teased about this point, so I might as well get over it. CR drivers are crazy. CR vehicles are crazy. CR roads are crazy. The drivers are only crazy because the vehicles are crazy. The vehicles are crazy because the roads are crazy. When only 60% of the roads are paved, you start having this pattern of crazy makes crazy making crazy. Does that make sense? But I got over it very quickly because I don't have another choice (...or do I?). More on that, later. At least they drive on the "right" side of the street. This is the fundamental reason why I always suggest hiring a driver. I'm not saying, I'm just saying.

7) If you ever want to pulse out straight cash (homey), it's easy. Of course, when you do anything in a foreign country, there are some stipulations. ATMs are locked panic rooms with a pin number and money spitting out at the end. The big reason is to curtail petty crime or serious violence. With drug crimes increasing, they don't want to take the chance. And don't even get me started with the actual banks. I can get clearance to The Pentagon before I can get my wife, wearing sunglasses and a hat, can get in without funny looks. And they speak American. My brain needed the rest after mangling more Spanish.

8) If you think are are almost dying, you are not. Let me set this up. We did travel by plane, car, zipline, boat and white water raft. Classes of river rafting come from 1 through 5, with 5 being the most intense. When I convinced The Lovely to give this a try, I neglected to mention the Class 4 river we would traverse. Yeah, to say the least we were inexperienced. Five minutes into the wet, I fell in the drink. Three out of the five in the raft fell out. Was I scared? Yes. This definitely was not the Frio. And it was freaky getting submerged when not knowing what powers were forcing you down (other than the obvious--water!). But for some strange reason (even though it was is the far left back of my mind), I was not going down that day. So, when you think you are going to die, that just means there is a part of you brain and body still fighting. I don't think I am going to try this theory again any time soon, but this is my "blink" statement.

As an added bonus, I would like to give my dad a shout-out. When I got married, the only advice he gave me came in handy. "Don't go tubing down the river with your wedding band on. You will lose it." Thanks, Dad. With that, we will ajourn until Part III, when I teach everyone how to make a delicious dinner for four at half the cost. Thanks Rachel Ray! Talk later.

Costa Rica, Pt. I - Finally Abroad

Insert "mile high club" jokes here

I know I kinda beat the whole "I learned three things, somebody give me a gold star" theme into the ground. But for this series of blogs, I earned it. Especially since this was my first trip out of the country, ever. Ten days of delicious fresh fruit, super-caffeinated coffee and some of the friendliest people on Earth, I took back more than great mental (and photographic) images...and insect bites. So, let me re-jog my memory and point out finer points of the my vacation to the number one producer of semiconductors in the western hemisphere, Costa Rica.

1) For the geographically-challenged, Costa Rica is bordered by two oceans and owns part of the Continental Divide. We didn't grace any beach, though we were prepared for water and sun. We (The Lovely and I) took the high road...the very high road...6,000 feet high. So, in the mountains, regardless of if it's the "dry" season or the "opposite-of-dry" climate, bring a damn jacket! Altitude gets cold no matter how hot it is during the day. Also, it's a really bad idea to just bring one pair of shoes. Wet Vibrams squishing around a nice restaurant just plain sucks.

2) If Virginia is for lovers, then CR is for NERDS!!!. This was supposed to be a romantic getaway for The Lovely and I. This was supposed to be our true honeymoon. But no. We had to nerd it up. It really wasn't our intention. We initially rolled our eyes every time we caught the 100-power scope and notepad bookmarking the Birds of Costa Rica in the finches section. But the siren's song of the migrating nerd was far too powerful. We were bird watching with the other retired biologists and 12 year-olds before we could say "quetzal". Fred Palowakski can kiss my ass.

3) Costa Rica is an exercise in duality. One hand, vendors accept US Dollars. The other hand, they will tell you the price in CR colones. Some areas, it's about as touristy as it gets. Other areas, the rural beauty scoffs at the encroachment. The modern world descended upon the sovereign state with Intel and Microsoft setting up shop, while the big city has struggled with the identity crisis of population sprawl and immigration problems. Ah, the complexity of the global economy.

4) Brushing up on the Spanish is one thing (more on that later). Brushing up on my German and French freaked my ears out a bit. Outside of the flight to San Jose, our first spot was Monteverde. This was the nice little town that lied on the west of the Monteverde Cloud Forest Reserve. Our lodge was so accommodating they accepted Euros. The story goes, the Arco Iris Ecolodge was bought by a nice German couple in the late nineties that made massive improvements to make it a wonderful place to rest one's head. Apparently, the whole EU heard about this place that one minute you here gracias, and the next your here merci and dankschen in the next breath. Neat and unexpected.

Okay, enough education for now. Plenty to degauss about within our four-part series. Stay tuned for part two - when I explain why una via is merely a suggestion in CR. Talk later.