skip to main |
skip to sidebar
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.
Dad is to Detroit Diesel, as I am to Microsoft.
So, when I was a kid, Dad busted his ass moonlighting at Auto Shack while working diesel engines at day. Every once in a while, after his killer professional schedule, he would unwind with his glass of sweet tea (way, way, way too much sugar than should be in any beverage) and a Marlboro Light (or five). and lug home these 5-inch binders of study material that would make law students gulp.
He was always getting certified for Detroit Diesel engine makes and models. I would always recognize the ominous red and yellow logo, specifically for the Series 60 models. And, like clockwork, he would knock out his certification, bring home a certificate or plaque or some version or "atta-boy" that they would think of for that particular exam or the consistency of my dad knocking that exam out of the park.
(Dad, if you are reading, I am kinda fuzzy on what the hell the requirements were. So, you will have to forgive me if I embellish the fact that you were, and still are, a badass.)
I thought it was a Herculean effort. Every time that certification challenge was presented, he would ford along, taking it down, knowing his stuff and becoming better with the continued education, regardless of the esoteric subject matter.
Hell Month continued with one huge goal accomplished. Microsoft calls it MCSE. It's just another industry acronym described as Microsoft Certified Systems Engineer. Basically, it's a battery of tests proving a) Microsoft is the finest software product on the market today and any day and 2) if you think you know what you are staring at when that goofy little flag shows up at a computer startup...you don't.
But, the goal has been accomplished. I am an MCSE with a couple of cherries on top Microsoft calls "Security+". With that distinction, Microsoft has acknowledged that some electives were taken that stresses computer and operational security within the 2003 platform (you know, Windows XP and 2003 Server...the OS people actually like).
Why do I think my dad is a badass? Because I have officially been in front of the 5-inch binder of minutiae certifying myself as an individual that knows what he is talking about. Professionally speaking, continued education is everything. If my dad doesn't know the proper part number for the head gasket for a Series 60, he is slow to the punch. That delay could cost him a sale, an account, a trust that is fostered with the rest of his illuminated tool set.
Why are we alike? Because we continue to learn. Maybe because it's neccessity. Maybe because out careers are offshoot passions. Maybe because we have discovered that if we do not continue to learn, we stunt our growth intellectually and biologically. I can't speak for my father's motivations, other than making a decent living for all of us kids and making sure we all turned out pretty solid human beings. But he still busts out binders and study guides. Sure, the last one I saw was for a shooting (yes, with a gun) competition. But the thirst for knowledge and the challenge of the brain game is still there.
So, today, maybe just in this one instance, I can safely say that we are a lot alike. That is no too shabby of a likeness to compare.
Dad. Thanks.
Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) I knew there was a reason I didn't watch CNN anymore. Sure, the website is great, but the live afternoon coverage is insufferable.
2) Positive reenforcement and modified meditation works. I dare anyone to try it and see what happens. On that tangent, I send my postive vibes to all my family that needs it.
3) You know when you are "post-thirty" (TM) when East 6th Street in Austin, TX on a Saturday isn't the first choice for a relaxing evening.
Hell Month continues with reckless abandonment. We are back on insanity schedule at work. But Friday I make the sojoun to the only clean beach in the area. Port A is part of Hell Month for a reason. Full report inbound. Until then, talk later.
I would rather be in a warehouse full of hops than in Hell Month.
I feel like Anne Frank...you know, without the death and destruction laying about. As I post, the only destruction notable is dirty clothes on the hotel room floor and stacks of folders with pages of Microsoft reference material.
Maybe I am overdoing it a bit? Maybe I am hamming it up for entertainment's sake. Maybe it isn't all that bad. Then again, I am reminded of Jennie Bueller standing at the end of the hall.
"[thinking to herself] Maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe Ferris isn't such a bad guy. After all, I got a car, he got a computer. But still, why should he get to do whatever he wants, whenever he wants? Why should everything work out for him? What makes him so goddamn special?
[spoken] Screw him."
I just might be overdoing it. However, I think I am entitled to a little bit of moodiness. Think about it, how many times does the average white-collar worker have to struggle so much for things that should be either assumed or logically warranted? I know I chose to leave for two weeks. I know I didn't have to work an 80-hour week. But why is it such a struggle to better yourself?
That is a philosophical question for another time...especially when I have more time. But presently, 70-291 is staring at me like double-barrels to a flock of game hens. So, I much table this argument until next week.
Lessons Learned, my three things
1) You can fix anything...ANYTHING, with a GPO. You heard me, IT!
2) Files trump folder permissions. Deny trumps access permissions. Are you hearing me IT?
3) I know I need to knock it off with the movie quotes, but training has me inspired. "Well I guess we have to win the whole...fucking...thing."
Yeah, this was brief. I am even more brief on the Twitter updates. We are close...but we got a lot to cover. We will see with next week. Talk later.
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.
As Austin and I show, house parties are fun (December 2008).
Why did it take me so long to figure this one out? Especially with all the humdrum of "the economy" and a reset of goals and wishes, I am glad I figured out this simple equation. Why the hell am I going out so much?
I have two vices that I am not going to get rid of: delicious adult beverages and social interaction with professionals. Unfortunately, these are costly vices. I giggle at the assumption that Corpus is so much cheaper than the rest of the world. A Stoli vodka martini up with extra olives is still going to be $10+ if it's worth it's metal tin that mixed the wonderful concoction. A decent bourbon is still going to have a 400% markup. That's just how bars work. Plus, the lunches with colleagues, friends, enemies and possible associations aren't inexpensive either. Besides, I have to get out of the office for a couple of minutes. Can someone please tell me why mass-produced, processed food horrible to any human system is far cheaper than something wholesome and well constructed? Like why renewable energy yields a more-expensive utility bill? Very frustrating.
Since the hierarchy of needs is all covered, we go for the top of the pyramid. It is a simple equation here. I want (variable A). To get (item A), I must perform (action 1), (action 2) and (action 3). For example, to get ice cream, I must punch a hobo, translate 14 latin phrases and ask The Lovely very nicely the next time she goes to the grocers. So, to save some money I must not go out to lunch every day, not go out to overpriced bars (which is all of them) and basically kick it at home more often.
The mathmatics are stunning. Eight dollars plus tip every lunch. Twenty bucks per tab on a good night. Forty bucks on a bad night. Eighty bucks on a terrible night. It's maddening how someone my age is finally figuring it out. But apparently, the Gen Xers received plenty of sex ed but very little finance 101. But that's no excuse. I have enough disipline to go to yoga and run after work. But when it comes to vices, it is a bit more difficult.
It has been a so-so start to this operation. I fell on my face with the post-run drink, because all of us know that beer refreshes the body better than water. Of course, it's mitigated because happy hour drink specials are cheaper (?). Idiot. Plus, it's tough to not go out when all the organizations I am a part of hold happy hours and mixers. However, this weekend was a good rebound. An $11 bottle of Pinot Grigio and an awesome back yard at a fun house party covered that base. Operation: Homebody also counts when you use other houses. Chammer and Super Lakers Fan were pretty big fans, also on a historical level.
So, I ask my seven readers to remind me that this operation is important in this economic climate...and because I want to go to New York City in October. I'm curious as to what kind of un-damage I can do without blowing money on high-end, non-smoking bars.
Lessons Learned, my three things:
1) The Texas Baseball team has ice in their veins. After the longest baseball game EVER, they finish the job with a eight-run 9th inning rally over Army. The Horns are going to be formiable for the CWS.
2) I'm not sure the "new" city council is getting off the right foot with their proposals. Maybe they should run their own version of OPERATION: Homebody.
3) Moving sucks. Especially when it has to be delayed by two weeks.
The next couple of weeks are going to be interesting, since I will be in total violation of anything "homebody". I am off to boot camp. No, not that boot camp, Microsoft boot camp. But still, I will be away for a while. So, I need to survive this week and then write about it then survive the weeks ahead. Talk later.
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.
So, James' 30th was fun (dude in the center). Kind of a sausagefest.
Hilarity ensued this past weekend with Jamesrico's 30th birthday party: food was catered, kegs were ordered, bottles were opened. A great cross-section of people attended and there were no signs of boredom or clique-ish-ness. To say the least, The Lovely and I had fun. And I have a new eligible blogger.
Of course, the weeks leading up to the event were (merely per observation) frenetic at best. With the backyard transformation, appliance failures and logistics, Rico and the roommate were stressing. This made me think...parties change on you after thirty.
Party planning younger than 18: 1) defaulting to parents. From bunny cake to moonwalks to Sweet 16's to quinceaneras...the only thing we worry about is all our friends showing up or 2) if you are the underage drinker, who's older sibling is buying...and the only thing we worry about is too many friends showing up.
Party planning from 18-22: The party falls into one of two scenarios. 1) You are in a fraternity/sorority, therefore you pay dues to not have to worry about it. 2) "I got some beers, let's drink 'em!" Either way, it's not very formal unless you have to go to a formal.
Party planning 23-29: Wait, there's planning involved? I don't know about everyone else, but I was broke as a compound fracture. If I was lucky to have a couple of fingers of Scotch and an unopened bottle of wine...well, we are in business. If someone brought an extra bottle...bonus. If you want to be PC about it, parties at that frame were more organic. They just happened.
Post Thirty parties: There's so much planning. Too much planning. Why do I have to plan for vegans? I never had to before. Wait, how many people are we calculating? How much is that going to cost? What do you mean I can't have cheese dip? Non-alcoholic drinks...what the fuck is that?
Naturally, Rico's party fit this same paradigm. Anytime you have to figure out sushi portions per person, THAT'S TOO MUCH PLANNING. Drinks somehow always take care of themselves, whether it's lemonade or Mike's hard lemonade. But I guess the game changer with the Post Thirty party (damnit, where is my copyright on this phrase?) is far more logistical than bottles. Then again, the ROI (that's return on investment for the non-administrative types) is to note as well. The more effort someone puts into anything, the bigger the benefit. Maybe that's how we grow up a little more. Sometimes we want to extend the effort for the bigger payoff. Maybe that's why we do it...
Bottom line, the party changes. There is no negative-positive analysis, it is what it is. So, from now on, we always have to look at timeframes, calendars, budget, limitations...oh, wait, and the reason has to be pretty solid. This is why my Columbus Day kegger is on hold.
The other bottom line, Rico's party kicked ass. That is all.
Lessons Learned, my three things:
1) God, why do I get suckered in to terrible television? Dancing With The Stars and Celebrity Apprentice...why am I caring who wins this garbage? I'm losing brain cells by the second. Three hours for a finale? I'm never getting that back.
2) Prequels are hit-and-miss. Execution is paramount. Wolverine missed. Star Trek hit. Set phasers to stun.
3) If you think your last Tuesday was bad, just ask The Lovely's cousin about her Tuesday. It can always be worse.
A couple of finishing moves: I will be awaiting my new contributor's entries. And the next couple of weeks are going to be helacious. The road show hits next weekend and I got some hot topics to cover. Operation: Homebody will be interesting...so all will have to wait for that post. Talk later.
I wish I could say we were talking about improving society. I wish I could say that. 
Posts
