Christmas Brings Flamingos

flamingo christmas card
Flamingo Season @ FPR #6, originally uploaded by JaseMan.

"Good things come to those who wait."

I usually think that statement is bullshit. But, not so in the case of my 2007 Christmas card.

I originally thought up the concept when KEB mentioned that she was getting me yard flamingos for my house warming gift. [Note to audience: have you sent me your housewarming gift yet? Need a suggestion? Two words: painters.] Unfortunately, I was unable to realize the dream in 2006 due to shipping delays on my new pink friends and the lack of an available photog with the right eye for the yob.

This year I booked time on JayLay's shoot schedule, and mine, way back in July. The whole shoot took about 20 minutes. The result was pure quality.

If a picture says a 1000 words, what is this shot telling you?


Golden Nuggets No Longer

clean teeth bleach
Clean Teef, originally uploaded by JaseMan.

Teeth bleaching is frivolous to a minor extent - perhaps scoring a two on a ten point scale with breast implants scoring a ten. And, I'm not one to typical move into the realm of cosmetic enhancements. Why would I? I too good looking already. However, one needs a certain level of hygiene, specifically oral hygiene, to reel in the ladies. That's why I decided to get my teeth bleached.

If you've never experienced teeth bleaching, it's like getting an MRI in your mouth. Never had an MRI? Well the similarity is that you're not supposed to move for the duration of each procedure. Not moving for 15 minutes is tough. Not moving anything in your mouth for 15 minutes while staring at a lamp as bright as the sun is torture. Oh, and by the way, your gums are coating in goop, your cheeks, tongue and oral cavity are packed in gauze. Made it through the 15 minutes? Don't worry; there's two more rounds.


Yelp Review of the Day

I signed up for Yelp - like I needed to join another social networking site. The difference is that Yelp's content consists of local business reviews written by members. Today my review of my dentist was selected by the review of the day. Here's a snippet:
Dr. Stephen Vaughn at Contemporary Dental ROCKS my teeth off. I actually look forward to going to the dentist now and it's not just because the hygienist, Julia, is hot.
Check out Yelp in Houston, New Orleans & Austin.


Company Christmas Party Name Tag Holder

Corporate Name Tag, originally uploaded by JaseMan.

Most folks know that I can't stand name tags. There's no real reason for my aversion, just as there's no real reason for name tags. Learn how to introduce yourself already.

The name tag police at the holiday party wouldn't shut up about me not wearing the damn thing.
Put your name tag on.
Are you too good for your name tag?
Everyone's wearing one - even the VPs.
The steam inside my head was rising quickly so I had to act fast before the pressure build-up shot my left eyeball out of my head, again. Last time that happened I had to get everyone at the bar to look in their drinks; we found it in a Roy Rogers.

In any case, I put the tag on my whisky glass. Mission accomplished. The eyeball crisis was averted, and I escaped the wrath of the NTP. Plus, now no one could "rundoft" with my brown water.

Thank God for the little things.


This is why I wish I could grow facial hair

I am a walrus, originally uploaded by JaseMan.

Dave Wrangler's monthly Vinyl Ranch party was last night. This time the element of stache was added for a bit of flava. Unfortunately, I can't grow a flavor saver so I had to buy one.

I can't wait to hit puberty so I can start growing mustaches.


My bed feels weird

This is where the magic happens
Originally uploaded by JaseMan
Early on in Jerry Maguire a montage of ex-girlfriends roll across the screen telling the audience that "he can not be alone." The same has been said about me.

In fact, my long term college girlfriend told me as much just after I'd broken up with her. I was inclined to disagree, but evidence continues to mount indicating the contrary.

For example, I have only slept in my bed once since getting back to Houston following my NC trip. After I arrived on Sunday evening, I headed straight to Le Toms for the tail end of their football watching / chili eating / ping pong party.
Why don't you just stay here, JB?

I do have my PJs in the trunk.
Bang. Crash. Snooze. And, then it was Monday morning.

A phonecall with DFT early on Monday evening went something like this:
Hey, JB. What are you doing?

Cooking veggie stew. What's up?

JayLay is cooking thai tonight. You should come over. Bring your stew.

OK. See you in 30 or so.
45 minutes later I was back at Le Toms with my PJs pre-installed in the slumber party configuration. 240 minutes later I was asleep on the floor.

I also slept at their place on Tuesday night, but it wasn't my fault. I stopped by to pick up the leftovers and my pot (the cooking vessel kind). We got to chatting. The clock got to ticking. And, then I woke up on the floor at 4:45 AM.

Wednesday night I actually managed to sleep at my own house, but it was a lot of work. My bed was covered with clean clothes so I had to deal with them before I could sack out.

My bed is the most comfortable bed on the planet, but I couldn't get situated. Reading didn't help. Watching two episodes of Heroes got me kinda snoozy, but I couldn't nod off.

"My bed feels weird," read my SMS to JayLay. "Our house feels weird," read her reply.

So, I slept over there on Thursday night, too.


Sunset from AVL to IAH #2

Sunset from AVL to IAH #2
Sunset from AVL to IAH #2, originally uploaded by JaseMan.


Buffalo Ranch Birthday Party

Steaming Cow Nostrils
Steaming Cow Nostrils, originally uploaded by JaseMan.

Mom turned 29 a couple of days ago so I decided to spend the big day with her in North Carolina. We did the usual things that most folks do on birthdays: hung out, told stories about the past, ate a birthday dinner and did whatever the birthday mom wanted to do.

Well, it just so happened that the folks down the road at the bison ranch were planning to tag the yearling calves and vaccinate the entire herd. Mom was invited to help out and brought me along.

Out for a stroll

The bison are sent down a fenced corridor after having been corralled. The photo shows the tractor in the rear "encouraging" the bison to walk toward the turnstile.

In the hole
This shot shows a pair of bison in the turnstile. Once in the hole, an observer would call out the number written on the ear tag, if the bison was tagged, and the color so that the ranchers could log the visit. Yellow tags indicate cows. Orange tags indicate bulls. Meanwhile another helper would squirt some vaccine on each bison.

Resident BisonAll freshly tagged bison were guided along to a secondary holding area for further medical work (some sort of worming, I think). All bison that were previously tagged were immediately turned out of the processing chute and released into the same area as us. Fortunately, per the ranching experts, bison aren't inclined to mingle with people and are actually scared of us so there was nothing to worry about.

The bison were returned to a grazing pasture (on the other side of the fence in the background of the photo above) once we finished with this portion of the herd.

Now it was time to round-up the remaining head and run them into the holding pen. Sweet! Where're the horses? Wrong. Instead of horses we did the round-up with some four-wheel drive trucks, a tractor and a fourwheeler.

Broke Down FenceIt worked really well, right up to the point where the herd stampeded right through the fence (right side of the photo). Most of the internal fences are 4x4 posts and electric fence wire, which works well if you want to hold a meandering buffalo. Not so much if you're trying to hold back several tons of ass-hauling bison running from a bunch of vehicles.

Oops. So, now what?

We had no way to contain the bison with the fence down so the tagging and spraying was halted. We spent the next couple of hours working out a way to fix the fence. This ranch, like most farms and ranches that I've visited, had a few piles of junk that had been kept for posterity. Now had just become posterity. We rounded up all the spare length of pipe and prepared to make a new stretch of fence out of pipe instead of wire.

Bayou engineered fence supportUnfortunately the junk piles didn't include bags of concrete, welding rods and a steel cutting saw blade so the progress was slow. We did have time to get three of the post holes dug and to cut a few lengths of pipe.

We had to leave before the fence project was finished. But, we had a lot of fun while we were there.

I'm glad I got to spend her birthday with her doing something she liked.


Turkey Day in Vermont

I rambled a bit last week about the freedom to do you own thing for the holidays. Last week I exorcised the demons flexed my freedom muscles by heading to NYC on Friday and continuing on to Vermont on Tuesday.

The short story is that the trip was amazing. Snow isn't so bad.

The long story follows this line, so go to the bathroom and come back with a full mug of hot chocolate.

Los Pedros picked me up at Boston's South Station after my train ride up from Penn Station. The transition was buttery. We were off up I-93 in a flash.

I caught up with Los Ps during the ride. KP was sick and would only be consoled by LP. Everything was "Mommy. Mommy. Mommy." Periods don't do that statement justice as they imply a definitive pause between the utterances. It went more like "MommyMommyMommy."

We stopped at the New Hampshire liquor store on our way up to the Vee Tee. I can't be certain that the New Hampshire liquor store was in fact the only liquor store in the entire state, but when's the last time you heard about anything outrageous going down in New Hamster? That's what I thought.

The four hour ride passed in the blink of an eye, but there was a lot to see. The trees were brilliant fall colors - auburn, gold, yellow ochre - and became increasingly covered with snow. Mountains rolled by our high performance rental car (oxymoron alert) and Christmas trees dared us to come cut them down at every turn.

TP's aunt & uncle have an amazing yet simple home up the road on Walden Mountain. There's a wood burning stove, no TV and sparse cellular service.

I loved being disconnected. I wasn't constantly blasted by Twittering friends. No TV meant no news programs, a.k.a. crime reports. We were all able to relax having been freed from a constant barrage of information.

(Un)fortunately, the incredibly relaxed environment lead to my brain not spinning at 8000 RPMs all the time. Though very refreshing, I seem to have missed etching everything into my memory from the week, so I'll just hit the highlights.

TP & I skated around on the pond after helping his uncle clear a largish rink on the frozen surface. More correctly, TP skated and I stumbled around with a hockey stick for approximately 10 minutes is what actually occurred. However, I did not land on my butt, nor did I fall through the ice, which was actually a possibility.

Thursday was Thanksgiving, but everyday seemed to be turkey day. Seriously, we saw turkeys in the snow covered fields each day of the trip. TP came close to thinking about bagging a fresh one during our Serendipity Tour through the neighborhood, but Uncle D talked him down off the trigger and save that gobbler.

Of course Thanksgiving itself was a very interesting experience. It was definitely weird to be a interloper on a family holiday celebration. Brothers and sisters caught up. Cousins reminisced about hunting trips past. I just hung out and explained that I was a friend and ex-door neighbor. Very awkward at first, but then it passed - particularly once food comas set in.

We finished the week out with some big fun, low key activities. I got cribbage lessons from Uncle D and Amy. Each delivered their own brand of complimentary trash talk as well. Caucasians and Bloody Marys were served and consumed again and again. And, we managed a hike to the "auxiliary cabin" and a rambunctious ride to the family hunting camp.

There's a lot more to tell, but that's material best shared over a brew or six. All you need to know is: The landscape was breathtaking. The snow was cold. And the company was outstanding.

Los Pedros in their natural habitatKP loves snow
Los Pedros are no longer out of their element.



This weekend marked my return to the Big Apple for the first time in two years. The trip was long over due.

Overall, everything was low key on the trip. But, my memories are pretty hazy. No, I did not get insanely drunk. I just can't remember much of the trip. Perhaps it is because I was supremely relaxed.

Scotty B and I hung out in his new neighborhood, as well as the old one. Our trip to Milady's felt like a homecoming. I spent so much quality time in that bar during my CT project that I started to become a pseudo regular. If you know the bar, then you should know that Margaret is moving back to Iceland in the spring. So hurry and get over there before it's too late to bid her farewell.

Four AM seems to arrive more quickly in NYC than it does in Houston. Perhaps that because I'm usually asleep by then. Scott and I decided to top off the free rounds of Jameson's (thanks Margaret) with some tacos from San Loco.
You been here before?


It rocks.

I gotta hose. Just order me what you get.

I got back from the bathroom just as Scott was paying for our order. FORTY FRICKIN DOLLARS!
40 bucks! Are you nuts?

Nope. That's right. It's just a bit pricey because I got us some beers.
We each had two tacos and a Negro Modelo. And, we split an order of nachos. The price tag for the same order in Houston would have been more like $20. The food was good, but damn.

The plan for Saturday was to watch the LSU game. We did that. No frills. Some anxiety, but pretty par for the course. Saturday night was anything but run of the mill.

I fought off my desire to be a couch potato and went to Mason Dixon. Mason Dixon a relatively new bar on the Lower East Side that is still considered cool and is enjoying brisk bidness due to its unique atmosphere. It is a Texas Ice House in Manhattan - rather it is Manhattan's interpretation of an ice house.

Like a typical ice house, MD has Lone Star in cans. Unlike a typical ice house, one of those cans will set you back five semolians. They also have Woodford Reserve, which you won't find at Jimmie's.

Mason Dixon also has an electric bull. YGBFKM? An electric bull in Manhattan. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, but I was. Rides were $10 for as long as you could hang on. It was evident that hot chicks got to ride for a couple of minutes, but the bull operator bounced all the guys pretty quickly. I don't like wasting money unless it's on booze or ladies, but I still had to do this.

Bad choice. I'm sure I looked like an idiot. Big deal. Landing on my head was pretty painful - even though my cranium is filled with concrete and the landing area was padded.

I wasn't sure if my neck hurt so badly from landing on my head, sleeping on the couch or playing too much Guitar Hero. I was pretty positive that I needed to get it "fixed" before I ended up in Vermont or I be a whiny bitch for the train ride to Boston and car ride to VT.

Fortunately, Scott is a massage maven. He referred me to a secret weapon style lady who has a studio just around the corner from his house. I'll call her Susan.

Susan was amazing. Per the photos on the wall, she is a former elite martial artist and it shows. She's six feet tall, but hopped up on the table very nimbly to walk on my back. This was after she tried to press her elbow through my spine and into my lungs. And, the only happy ending was me getting up off of the table with all of my limbs still attached after 90 minutes of being pulled, poked and twisted.

I love visiting that city. Four years ago I would have moved here in a New York minute. Now, I'm not so sure I could survive there.


It's your thang. Do whatchoo wanna do.

Holiday time typically makes me want to jump in front of a bus or listen to Yani. Most of the time I opt for Yani because the consequences are less permanent, but this year the bus jump seems appealing.

It's not that I don't like the time off from work. I do. I REALLY do. My family stresses me out. More accurately, I stress myself out thinking about what my family is thinking about if they are not surrounding me every second of every day during said holiday period. Anybody got some Valium?

Here's the deal. Like many folks in my generation (yikes that makes me feel old), my parents are divorced. Fortunately, each side of the family still loves me and wants to see me. Unfortunately, holiday happenings (like Thanksgiving) typically occur during the same period of the day. For example, Thanksgiving dinner usually cranks up between 11:30 and 1.

Welcome to the holiday shuffle. You need to arrive at the first location at least twenty minutes early so that you can schmooze as much as possible. Only serve yourself tablespoon sized portions so that you can taste everything but will remain hungry still have room for food at subsequent destinations. Depart Destination #1 as soon as someone gets up to serve themselves another portion of anything. Arrive at Destination #2 and repeat above steps while limiting yourself to a 30 to 60 minute window of visiting before heading off to a subsequent destination.

Sounds like a whole shit ton of fun, no? During college I "had to make" FOUR stops on Thanksgiving. Stoopid.

Many of my friends are married now, some with children, which means that they have gained some sort of secret power that allows them to say no to their families without the guilt trip or constant torment. What the?

I'm grown up, too. I am over 30 and have a mortgage. Just because I'm not married con kids doesn't mean I should be trapped into mandatory family visits on the holidays. Perhaps their families are just cooler? Maybe they're not Catholic so they don't have the built in guilt machine?

Sara and I were talking about this the other day. She's got the same issue. We've decided that the best course of action may be to be holiday dates for each other.
Sorry, I can't make it home for the holidays. I'm going to Sara's.

Sorry, I can't make it home for the holidays. I'm going to JB's.
Instead, we head for Fiji, which would be great because then I'd get to stare at her boobs in her bathing suit. She's got great boobs.

Please don't misunderstand me. I love my family. No, really. No, really. I don't always like them, but I love them and like hanging out with them. But, I don't like having my time off from work mapped out without any sense of freedom.

This year is different. I put my foot down. I'm doing my own thing for Thanksgiving. It was easier than I thought. I blamed it on Los Pedros. Not really, but slightly. I accepted their generous offer to explore the wilderness of Vermont for Turkey Day. I didn't even have to get married.



It's Not Easy Being Green

New Yorker Wrapping Paper

New Yorker Wrapping Paper, originally uploaded by JaseMan.

Most folks assume that I'm just another run of the mill consumer who throws caution to the wind and his recyclables right into a land fill. Suck it. You're wrong.

For a few years now, I have combined a small recycling effort with my disdain for the manufactured industries surrounding the holidays - specifically the wrapping paper industry. Do you honestly expect me to pay hard-earned cash for wrapping paper just so giftees can rip it apart and throw it away? Are you out of your tree?!

This year folks will once again be receiving items wrapped in deconstructed magazine pages taken from New Yorker and Harper's and maybe a Wired or two. Just to be clear - I'm not being cheap. I'm protesting Hallmark industries.

Any money saved gets passed on to friends and family as kickass presents. Suck on that, Mr & Mrs. Hallmark Set.


The Height of Irony is Cooking

It should come as no surprise that I frequently get tired of eating out all the time. I'm on the road for work so it's breakfast, lunch & dinner at some eatery - way too often it's a chain. Because of this situation, and more over my penchant for eating at the same places all the time, I get sick of eating out. At least someone else is picking up the tab most of the time.

Fortunately, I love to cook. Unfortunately, I hate cleaning up which means that I don't cook much besides sandwiches and toast most of the time. However, occasionally something snaps in my psyche that results in a perfect storm of cookery in the kitchen. That happened this Sunday.

I woke up on Sunday determined to cook - more specifically to cook a lot. My plan was to make a stock out of the frozen turkey and chicken carcasses that were taking up all the space in my freezer. I then planned to turn that stock into gumbo and jambalaya, which I would then freeze - which would occupy more space than the carcasses did initially. Yeah, I'm a genius.

Given the fact that I hate cleaning up, I decided that I should probably go ahead and make some Moroccan veggie stew and Andy's White Chili, too. That way there would only be one real mess to clean. Huh. Clean? Huh. Anyone seen how clean my office is?

In any case, the cooking went down on Sunday and finished yesterday. The cleaning has yet to be completed, but it is in progress.

Here's the poultry stock on the stove. Big ups to JayLay & DFT for the pot hook-up (not that kind).

Poultry Stock In Process

I didn't burn the roux! I bet the folks at Fudpucker's wished I'd been able to manage that way back when.

The Roux is Done

Voila! Turkey & snausage gumbo served over a bit of plain jambalaya rice.

Turkey & Andouille Gumbo

Looks good, doesn't it? Yeah, you right. The only problem is that three days of cooking have resulted in my being sick of looking at the food. Thus, I am back to eating out.

Next time I'm sticking with cooking toast.


Test Driving Scrubs & Sports Cars

The day started out innocently enough with breakfast at 10 AM. Then DFT and I had a quick chat to figure out what we were going to do today. It went something like this:
"I think I'm going to clean up the outside of the house with the pressure washer."

"I'm going to clean up my office and throw away all the clutter that I've been staring at for the past six months."
"We could go test drive cars..."

"We should stop by the hospital and pick up scrubs first."

We took off shortly there after in the direction of a one of the hundreds of hospitals in town that also happened to be on the way to several of the hundreds of car dealerships in town.

DFT and I figured out my "story." Should we get questioned during the scrubs mission, he suggested that I was a classmate from med school who was in town and interested in touring the hospital. Done.

I suggested that my back story for the car salesmen was vascular surgery. Orthopedics was my first thought, but then I figured someone might ask me to examine an ACL or give a consult on a torn rotator cuff. No dice. I was a vascular surgeon for the day. Who knows anything about that besides a real vascular surgeon?

Apparently XXL is the most preferred, or least common, pair of scrub pants in the hospital. We were able to quickly locate a XXL top in the first locker room but the matching bottoms were no where to be found. Shit. They did have XXXXXL bottoms. I hopped into those, and we continued to the cardiovascular men's room to search out the XXLs. Nope. There was one locker room left to check; it could be dangerous. Of course we had to check in it.

There are two places in a hospital where security is super tight - anywhere they store drugs and in the baby wards. The OBGYN locker room was the last locale where we may find the XXLs. Love my XXXXXLs as I did, I really needed some smaller pants.

We circumvented the Nurses' Station by wandered through a labyrinth of cream colored corridors before arriving at the back door of the OBGYN ward. I couldn't help but thinking, "This must be how Luke Skywalker felt wandering around on the Death Star," buscept no one had guns in this hospital, and I'm pretty sure DFT and I could bullshit our way out of any scrutiny.

We found the locker room. No OBGYNs around; I guess I'd have to wait to question them about if they get tired of looking at nahnees all the time. I swapped my bottoms, but held on to the XXXXXLs just because they're so cool. Who knows when I'll need pants big enough for two?

I was just telling DFT how surprised I was with the ease at which we'd accomplished our little covert mission. Then, we passed two cops on our way out the door. Then, we passed another security guard in the garage. Then, we drove past the security patrol vehicle. Then, I finally started breathing again.

But, it was easy. However, I should point out that none of this would have been possible without DFT's badge. And, for the record, this type of access was not illegal, unorthodox maybe, but not illegal. People tour hospitals all the time - they just don't get to take home such a sweet outfit.

We were really pleased with ourselves. Really, really, really pleased with ourselves. I can't speak for DFT, but this level of "pleased with myself" rivals the feeling I used to get when I would walk out of my high school chemistry class, past the Vice Principal, hop into my MG-BGT (parked in the teacher's lot) and head out to Taco Town for lunch. I'm 34, but I felt like I was 17 and skipping AP English again. Holy shit! I'm old.
"What are you going to tell the salesman when he asks about your Vans?"

"Oh, I like wearing these because the footbed is so wide it holds my orthotics well. Yeah, they're still comfortable even after you've been standing in the OR for a couple of hours. Plus, I don't have to worry about them coming untied since they've got Velcro straps."
The first salesman started trying to break my cover immediately.
"So, you guys doctors?"


"What kind of doctors?"

"He's in anesthesia. I'm a vascular surgeon."

"So you fix the ugly veins in people's legs?"

"Yeah, but that's kind of boring. The fun stuff is taking a piece of one vein and putting it somewhere else - like making a new aorta."

"Wow. Doesn't that gross you out?"

"It's kinda weird at first, but you get used to it."


"Yeah, it's not nearly as bad as the formaldehyde cadaver smell in school."
There's no way I was getting busted - especially by a dude like that.

We'd needed an exit strategy because the salesman was way too talkative, and we had more cars to drive. DFT was behind the wheel of a new Volvo C30 (we'd seen one at a light decided to drive it), and we were just about finished with our test drive when my phone buzzed. Perfect timing.

"That was Zamora. They've got Mrs. Jones in pre-op. We've got to get back."

Off in a flash, we headed to the Porsche dealer.


Top Ten Things You Need to Know Right Now

Originally uploaded by Finstr
10. I'm sick.
9. I'm sick.
8. I'm sick.
7. I'm sick.
6. I'm sick.
5. My project is on hiatus for the next 3 weeks.
4. My travel plans for the next 4 weeks all have to be canceled and rebooked.
3. I may not make the trip to New Orleans this weekend so that I can get well in time for Thanksgiving.
2. My destinations for the Thanksgiving break are still the same - NYC & Vermont.
1. I'm ready for vacation.


Bicycle Pub Crawl Great Success-uh

Bikes - good. Beer - great. Together, they are outstanding. Thus, it was no surprise that Saturday night's re-emergence of the Urban Getaway was a great time despite the fact that 20 people RSVPed but only 11 made the journey.

I was psyched that my high school buddy, Hank, and his traveling crew of film makers made time for the trek. They've been working pretty much non-stop for the past six weeks or so on The Smart Show and were wiped out from too much NOLA. Is there such a thing? They rented bikes. They made the ride. What happened to you nine missing "Yes RSVPers?" THAT'S WEAK SAUCE PEOPLE!

During our seven hour tour, we covered roughly 17 miles, visited seven bars and one wooded park to savor the suds on this trip. Here's the quick and dirty run down:

Stop #1: Petrol Station @ 7 PM
Petrol Station is a quick two mile ride from the starting point. Er, that is a quick ride until your rear wheel locks up just after you cross a busy intersection despite the bright orange hand telling you to hold your horses. No worries; a bit of wrenching and a Session made this an easy fix. Ye Ole PS just wasn't happening. I guess the Guitar Hero tourney got moved. So, the crew mushed on to Red's.

Stop #2: Red's Country Inn @ 7:30 PM
Red's doesn't look like much from the outside, but the inside is pure gold. The stools and chairs are uncomfortable but hand wrought and so heavy only Hercules could pick one up and hit you with it. The interior is hand painted to look like a Tiki bar/Jimmy Buffet video. Thank God that there was a TV so that I could check in on the LSU v Bama game. Great. The Tigers are losing. Time to head to the next bar.

Eric & The King at Rose GardenStop #3: Rose Garden @ 8:15 PM
Rose promised to have Polish sausages ready for the gang when we arrived. The sausages were there, but she wasn't. What the? We stuck around for a second round before Rose arrived with Alice. We told her her thanks and gave her a high five. We told Alice we were headed to her place next, but she didn't hurry along to meet us - probably due to all the corn nut throwing from years past.

10th Annual Crew with the Tall TexanStop #4: Alice's Tall Texan @ 9:20 PM
I ordered 10 goblets for the gang and nearly fainted when the barmaid said, "That'll be $17.50." I LOVE CHEAP BEER IN FISHBOWLS! We sucked down the goblets and took a few pix with the Tall Texan. Then the wheels fell off for me. I couldn't remember the way to Shiloh Club. I couldn't even remember that Alice's was on the opposite side of the street from Shiloh, which would have pointed me in the right direction. Fortunately, Foley lives in the area and was able to get us to Shiloh before I had a mental break down in the parking lot.

Somehow I believe itStop #5: Shiloh Club @ 10:15 PM
What's that they say? It's something like, "When you fall off the horse, the only thing you can do is get right back up on it." Thomamas must have seen me fly off the horse, or maybe he heard me yell, "Fuck beer! Shiloh is the spot for Jack shots!" In any case, he was Johnny-on-the-spot with a round of Jack and Budweiser chasers. WOO HA! The Jack got me back in action and ready to push on to OC.

Miguel rallys the gang at Onion CreekStop #6: Onion Creek @ 11:15 PM
Riding down White Oak on a Saturday night is tricky due the cars trying to decide where to park and if they are going to run you over. Lucky for us all riders made it safely into the parking lot. Guess what I found inside OC! A Colombian, a Bolivian and a veggie sandwich. Neither one of the guys were riding bikes because these two only know how to ride llamas (pronounced YAH-muhs). I'm pretty sure I enjoyed the weggie sandwich more than the guys only because I was super hungry which often leads to grumpy.

The Not Stop: The Shady Tavern
The tentative route called for a swing by The Shady Tavern, but they didn't answer the phone so we didn't stop in. No, I didn't warn them ahead of time that we were coming. They only ever have eight customers on a good night. 'Parently, they didn't want any of our mojo. Their loss.

Stop #7: Tall Boys in the Timber @ 12:30 AM
I had originally planned, at the suggestion of El Pedro, to grab beer for the park at a Stop 'N Rob at Shepherd and 11th. But, midnight was dangerously close, aka two minutes away, when left OC so I ducked into the Shady Mart next to the Creek. Whew. That was close.

We arrived on time (and under budget whatever that means) in West 11th Street Park for a sip in the pines. I informed the crew that they were imbibing on endangered grounds since developers have been threatening to turn this incredibly cool, totally wooded park into a bunch of condos. We savored the suds as appropriate, and I gassed up my newly flat front tire before continuing on to El Spot.

Stop #8: The Spot Club @ 1:15 AM
Pound for pound The Spot Club delivered more entertainment value than any other contender along the pub crawl route this year. You just never know what you're going to get. Saturday night featured a one-man-band set-up turning out the R&B classics as well as anything else you could think of. Plus, Jan was behind the bar slanging cans of Lone Star like she was born to do it.

I took my can outside to work on my flat. Some regular who doesn't know me, because I'm only a semi-regular, tried to stop me from leaving the smoker's patio area.
"Uh, you can't take that beer past the door."

"I'm going to fix my flat tire."

"But, you can't leave this area with that beer."

"Jan said I could."

"You need to come back over here with that beer."

"Go take it up with Jan."

That shut him up quickly. Ain't nobody taking nothing up with Jan because she "don't take no shit from nobody" - not even the bar owner.

Jan's my friend, but she broke my heart on Saturday night. "I ain't staying open another hour for you fuckers even with the time change, so drink up!" she yelled across the bar. "That's bullshit, Jan," I fired back, but she didn't budge. And, that was that.

Honestly, none of us were in any shape to continue drinking so we convened in the parking lot for the last three miles back to the ranch. The crew was tired and nursing a variety of overuse injuries to shins, calves, thighs and taints. I was sad to see them go, but glad to hit the sack. That said, I did miss the late night round of d-golf, complete with a Nalgene of Jack & water, that El Pedro and I enjoyed after the last crawl.

Is it too early to be ready for next year's ride?


10th Annual Urban Getaway Rolls Tonight

Urban Getaway - 2007, originally uploaded by JaseMan.

Here's the route map just in case you non-bike-riding, unadventurous vehicular dependent types would like to join us along the way.

FYI: no destination is certain until we actually get there. Call me if you'd like our location.


I can't believe it's been a year

Primered and waiting
Primered and waiting, originally uploaded by JaseMan.

One year ago today I signed on the line 71 times to gain possession of Flying Pig Ranch. Has it really been that long? Where did the time go?

I can tell you where it didn't go. 12 months of effort did not go into painting my living room. Hell, it took three months to get the damn thing primered.

My intentions were solid, but my execution was piss poor. I guess that I underestimated the life style change involved with buying a house. There's jacked up utility companies and service providers. There's a yard. There's painting. There's garbage. There's neighbors (not those neighbors).

I have finally begun coming to terms with my limitations and will start considering paying someone to paint the whole place on the inside. Now, I just have to clean up the joint.


I should just pay someone to do that, too.


I Love Halloween Parties

Impure Thoughts
Impure Thoughts, originally uploaded by JaseMan.

I love Halloween and Halloween parties. No, it's not just because ladies like to dress as scantily as possible, but it helps. I like Halloween because most folks are able to relax, at least a little bit, and the my world seems a little less uptight, a lot less corporate and shit tons more fun.

Don't believe me? What's not fun about partying in a toga all night and then wearing it to lunch the next day?

Nothing - that's what.


Bad Habits Die Hard

so which ones are lying?
Originally uploaded by xgray
Read the following:

"When Burger broke up with Carrie on a Post-It note, I knew it couldn't be a good sign. Boy meets girl. Boy has seemingly good time with girl. Boy loses ability to operate cell phone or e-mail.

I'm kidding a little, but for your future reference, most women (me included) appreciate and respect knowing the straight-up truth."

It's been four years since I got that email. The thing just happened again but without the email. Clearly I have not yet figured out how to talk to women. Go figure.

I'm good at small talk.

I'm good at hanging out.

I'm good at meeting your friends.

So, why can't I figure out how to work my mouth when it counts?



Sunday with Stella

Stella, originally uploaded by JaseMan.

Sunday was incredible for what was not.
I was not stressed out.
The Saints were not losing.
Rain was not falling.
And, Stella was not cooped up in the garage.


Costa Rican Coffee Pot

Costa Rican Coffee Pot

The Carriage House ladies were my gracious hostesses during my visit to Austin this weekend. They've got the coolest, most original (and only) coffee pot sack that I've ever seen. The best part is that the coffee was great.


Third time is a charm

Ms. NOA and Mr. CJC were united in marriage on Saturday, September 22, 2007, at eleven o'clock in the evening at CJC's home in New Orleans, LA. The non-traditional, borrowed-ring ceremony was officiated by The Very Reverend JB el JB. Marital blessing and practical insight were delivered by the officiant. Background commentary and overwhelming peer pressure were applied by those in attendance. At the conclusion of the swimming pool-based ceremony, TVR JB el JB pronounced the couple husband and wife after-which he dunked encouraged them to dip their heads in the soothing waters. Following the ceremony, the guests, the reverend and the couple sought out dry clothing. Earlier in the evening, the bride-to-be, who was at that time still in girlfriend status, commented "we'll get married if you all get in the pool" after having been harangued on the subject by the intoxicated pool party attendees.

It should be duly noted that the crowd in attendance - all long term friends of the couple - immediately began disrobing in preparation to enter the swanky ebony colored swimming pool. However, Pastore Bef set the bar high by cannonballing into the pool fully clothed and by loaning her and her husband's wedding bands to the officiant for the purpose of performing the marriage celebration. Even late arriving guests, Moogslie and Jen endorsed the impromptu nuptials with Moogslie representing their unit in the pool.

Following the ceremony, the happy couple disappeared across the street to CJC's ancestral home for, perhaps, some consummation and dry duds.

Congrats to you, NOA and CJC. Your Mickey Mouse toaster is on its way.


Wearing nothing but a smile and some strategically placed spray paint

The other day I got an email from a PR rep that said, "Imagine having to paint your pants on tomorrow instead of put them on..." Hmm...I'm not too sure I would dig that. Then I got to this line, "let me know if you would be interested in serving as a guest judge at the event." I can dig that. Where do I sign up?

The Tuaca Body Art Ball is on tour and may be coming to a city near you. In short, the event is a bunch of mostly nekkid folks with painted outfits on. The painting take about 6 hours on average and provides most of the "clothing" for the performers. Once painted, the ladies and gentleman (~15 total) take the stage for the presentation of the work. Most perform some sort of interpretive dance. A couple of the ladies sang and were actually good - much better than some of the American Idol folks.

Unfortunately I don't have any photographic evidence save for this press photo lifted from the Austin Statesman. Apparently, Tuaca, the main sponsor and Italian liqueur brand, considers all images copyrighted property which is just another way of saying, "We ain't lettin' you photograph our hotties." Oh well.

The lady pictured here actually tied for the win in Houston. She's dressed up like some sort of Egyptian princess and is wearing the most clothes out of any of the performers. The other 1st place finisher was painted to look like a voodoo princess. She scared the shit out of me. I keep having nightmares from Live and Let Die and the coffin full of snakes.



Bag Man I Am

My Laptop Bag - Work Version

LifeHacker was soliciting reader pictures for a feature on "go bags" aka laptop bag for work, man purses for everyday metroing and/or any other time you carry a bag. I took the photo during a field trip weekend to Los Pedros with the intention of submitting it but missed the deadline. Oops.

You should read click on the photo and read the notes in Flickr if you've got some minutes to kill. It will give you more insight into my level of OCD when it comes to gear.

I take solace in the fact that I am not alone.


If You Flick It They Will Come

Floating Heads

Houstonist's 600sqmi (that's square miles) photo show officially opened on Saturday night at M2 Gallery in The Heights. Parsonist began mentioning the idea over a year ago. And voila! It was an overnight success.

OK, not really overnight. It was a smashing success thanks to the outstanding work of the photographers and some Houstonistos. You can read more about all involved on Houstonist.

Anyway, about 250 people showed up over the course of the night; 150 of those folks were there all at once from roughly 8 to 9 PM. The joint was packed. As G would say, "it was belly button to asshole." Yeah, it's graphic, but you it conveys the idear, no?

Check out shots from the reception on Flickr.


Holidays should always be on Fridays

Today is Labor Day. I haven't labored. I am one of the lucky folks that actually get the day off. Sorry to those of you in the service industries who have to work so that I can enjoy fast food, coffee, retail and movie rentals. Thanks for doing the work.

I may have had the day off, but my Labor Day holiday still sucked. Labor Day snuck up on me. I was not prepared. There were no killer weekend plans in the mix. Actually, that's not true. My friend, Kestel, got married in Santa Fe but I was unable to attend. Rain fell most of the day, and I have yet to leave the house. In fact, I just showered about ten minutes ago.

Why am I telling you this depressing story?

All holidays should be celebrated on Fridays to prevent Monday melancholiness from ruining your day off. My subconscious mind keeps telling my conscious mind to think about work even though I keep trying not to work. Thinking about work on a holiday stinks. In fact, four out of three dentists surveyed said that thinking about work on your day is more likely to cause cavities than eating candy and not brushing your teeth. How about them apples?


Medieval Sunday: Aloe Relo & Patio Scrub-a-thon

Medieval Sunday (or any day for that matter) has been a ritual since I moved into FPR. Typically something happens internally that causes me to gain precision focus for a period of hours until I have made a significant dent, if not having completed, some to-do around the house. I get to the work location, usually my office or the yard, and get nuts whenever said switch flips or my chemical imbalance reaches meltdown proportions. The last time this happened was when I couldn't get tickets for the Saints v Texans game.

Today, I went medieval on the backyard and patio. Nothing particular set me off other than being sick of being in my house. The patio was a wreck, but it's too miserable to sit outside. I guess I just got tired of looking at the crap that had accumulated out there and the viney growth that was beginning to swallow the damn thing.

For an hour, I trimmed the vines, swept the pavers and generally straightened up the dump. I was amazed at how great everything looked. Who knew that a little elbow grease could get such results? Shut it. Another hour saw me wash the patio furniture and Round-up the cracks. No, I do not mean collecting hookers.

Emboldened by the progress on the patio, I set my sights on the eyesore of the backyard: the aloe tree. The ranch's previous owner allowed an aloe plant to grow so large that it busted the plastic pot in which it lived. It was currently sprawling across the space between the oak and the crepe myrtle.

I got medieval on it today; it sprawls no longer. I replanted two of the largest pods in the space where I went medieval on the bouganvilla. I gave away four that I potted and the rest are sitting in my front yard near the street.

Anybody need some aloe? Swing by before these suckers take root in my grass.


Overheard @ DFW

People say the most outlandish shit during conversations. I wonder if they realize how stupid they sound. All of the following are lines overheard from dialog between strangers in DFW airport.
"Mormon is just like Catholic but without all the booze."

"Hi, my name's Colleen. Irish on both sides with a little bit of German."

"I make a lot of money."

"My brother runs all of the air operations [for the war in Iraq]. He's a really big stud."


You're Never Too Old to Dork Out

Red Death
Originally uploaded by JaseMan
The guys from the Houston Crew and I used to play Risk on Detox Day (usually synonymous with Sunday) back when we all lived at Melrose Place Pin Oak Estates. As you would expect, those days are long gone thanks to diverging paths through life. I can't say that I was sad to quit playing since Gar always kicked our asses from Kamchatka to Peru earning himself the moniker Red Death.

The guys and I are dorking out once again thanks to the power of the InterWeb. And, as usual, Red Death is taking no prisoners. It's getting ridiculous. I'm not sure the WebOrNet is big enough for his gianormous ego and the five of us suckers who continue to square off against him.
Can we just talk about how good I am for a second?

I would like each of you to write down one thing you admire about my Risk abilities. This might help you reflect on your own deficiencies and enable you to improve your respective chances of winning.

- Red Death


Lock it up.



No you lock it up!

Seriously, do you guys think my dominance is more comparable to Wooden's UCLA teams or Bill Russell's Celtics? I didn't include Michael Jordan's Bull's because they only won 6 titles.

JB, you should write about this in your blog.


I'm just surprised you haven't started referring to yourself in the 3rd person. Sounds like that's coming soon.



I changed a poo-poo diaper and lived

Those of you playing along at home can cross another item off of the "JB, You're Almost a Grown-up" list. I change KP's poo diaper last Saturday all by myself. And, I only used three baby wipes.

In related news, I am now accepting applications from career women seeking a stay-at-home dad.


We Three Nearly Broke LP

Caucasian Time
Originally uploaded by JaseMan
These three ingredients are great individually but are oh so delicious when combined. Oh so delicious that is until you have more than a couple (or four) and a glass of wine.

Sorry, LP. I didn't mean to break you.


I went to pick up sushi and nearly picked up something else

Sushi Spread
Originally uploaded by JaseMan
Los Pedros moved into their new house on Monday so I stayed in Dallas this weekend to hang out and check their new digs. I arrived at the new palace around 7 PM. We quickly decided that take-out sushi was the best dinner solution since KP was down for the evening (despite Uncle JB walking into her room and turning on the light).

TP and I headed to I Love Sushi - about a mile away from their crib - to pick up the victuals. 12 pieces of salmon. Check. One spider roll. Check. One spicy tuna roll. Check.

TP headed to grab us a round of oat sodas while I paid the food bill. The bar was ran parallel to the side of the restaurant and was nearly as long. TP was seat in the second to last stool of the near end; two stools separated the nearest patron, a lady in a white top and shorts, from him.

I overheard him saying, "I'm waiting on my friend" as I walked up to his location. Just as I reached for stool next to TP, he hopped into it and forced me to sit directly between him and the lady. The lady a Japanese chick named Victoria practically sat in my lap as soon as my ass touched the naugahyde.

Victoria reminded me of the hooker that tried to pick up one of my colleagues in Vegas. Drunk. Hoochie-esque. Moderately attractive. And, super forward.

Uninhibited is an understatement when referring to this piece of work. She was all huggy as she posed with me for a photo. (Un)fortunately TP's phone didn't retain the image though it wasn't incriminating. She kept grabbing my hand and putting it around her and hugging me at the same time. She put her legs in my lap and kept trying to coerce me into stroking them.

I was lost in thought pondering my exit strategy and sipping my beer as she blew the lid off of well lit bar etiquette. She lifted up her tank top to expose her bellybutton (bebo) ring and simultaneous wriggled so that her shorts were gaping in the front. Then she grabbed my hand and put it on her belly.

"Oh shit. We need to get out of here," is what I thought. The bartender brought over the credit card tab right then in a lucky coincidence. TP could sense the need for retreat springing from his stool saying that we needed to leave.

Victoria latched on tight, grabbed my remaining beer and downed it. The time had come for drastic measures.

I gave her The Claw. Yep. I gave her The Claw. She giggled, loosened her grip and I flew off the stool bidding her a fond farewell.

TP and I reflected on the situation from the relative safety of my rental car.
"She wasn't hot but wasn't unattractive."


"She was too drunk."


"You were too sober."


"If she were a couple of notches less drunk and you were a couple notches more drunk, things may have been different."

I'll add it to the list of "Things That Make Me Go Hmm."


Smoke in the Box

Smoke in the Box
Originally uploaded by JaseMan
A test fire for the fireworks show resulted in duds going off and smoke lingering around inside the park.

This may have been my worst spectating experience at a Major League Baseball game ever. The AC vent was strategically located two rows in front of our seats; "sweating balls" doesn't even get close to how hot it was in Section 423. The game went to 12 innings. And, the Astros lost to the Brewers.

They get "F."


Attention! Attention! The Real World is Back!

I finished my first week of "real work" on my new project this week. Holy shit! This is what working is like? [Note: shut your pie hole if you were about to say something about manual labor. I've done that, too.] 55 hours a week ain't gonna last or I'm not. Get it?

The upside is the fact that my clients are smart, technologically able and well-liked by their colleagues. The latter should pay off when we get around to pulling the trigger on our new solutions.

Oh, and it should go without saying, traveling every week sucks. But, flying to a place that is only a 45 minute flight away with flights running every 45 minutes is only way to go if I have to travel.

Know anyone looking to put a freelance slacker on the payroll? I may be able to find you one.


Elvis sited in Crowley, LA

Keeffner turned 40 last weekend. I'm not sure what disturbed me more: the fact that a friend of mine was actually turning 40 (what happened to 28?) or the fact that I was heading to a party in Crowley, LA - Rice Capital of the USA.

In all fairness, I don't know anything about Crowley save for the fact that it is the Rice Capital, and it is situated on I-10 a couple of exits away from Rayne, the Frog Capital of the World. And, it also happens to be the hometown of two famous Louisianians: Edwin Edwards & Keeffner.

I'm not big on small towns or being in the country per se only because I like to be within binocular distance of a major highway so as to be able to locate a Waffle House when I need some grits or would like to hear all seven versions of the Waffle House song. [Note: don't play all of the WHS versions back-to-back or you will be "asked to leave" even if your grits haven't yet arrived.] But, Keeffner is worthy of braving such trivial fears and discomforts. The Wife had put together a dynamite party plan. And, Big Dave and The Mic were coming to town. The promise of marginally controlled stupidity was rampant.

The Keeffner Plantation is an Acadian style casa situated on 18 acres consisting of woods and pastures. The guys and I enjoyed the screened porch across the back thanks to the full-sized fridge o' beer, the five ceiling fans and screens to keep the skeeters away. We also like the detached carport/garage and the RV shelters since that's where the "toys" are kept. By toys I mean a four wheeler, a 52" cut lawn mowing race car and a full-sized tractor.

Approximately 30 seconds elapsed between getting out of the car and cranking up the toys. Keeffner gave Mic a lesson on the four wheeler. Dave climbed up on the tractor and moseyed on down the driveway while I took the mower for a spin - literally. That thing turns a circle tighter than a Green Machine and pretty much nothing is tighter than a Green Machine. I challenge you to have more fun riding a mower unless of course you're riding a mower and have a loaded shotgun just in case you have to fend off some spiders.

The party was supposed to be a surprise, but you have a better chance of being elected governor than keeping a secret in a town the size of Crowley. The cat had been out of the bag and roaming for weeks.

The party started inauspiciously enough. Food. Beer. Casino games. Things were rolling along really well. Then, suddenly, I blacked out and woke up three hours later laying on the floor of Keeffner's office. The following was told to me by the guys after I came to.

The King & the kidsApparently, Elvis rolled into the party and things got crazy. E & Big Dave took over the craps table, but The King couldn't keep the dice on the table. He decided to take a moment to regroup and caught up with an old friend. The King and Ms. Isabella Delahousaye, former Mayor, first met at Ponchartrain Beach when he first played New Orleans in the '50s.

El Rey decided to depart after a hairless guest got a bit jealous of his luxurious man mane. No matter. His work there was done. Keeffner was officially old, and The King was officially drunk.

Get down at the Geaux CupI was awakened by Keeffner shortly after Elvis left the building. Drooling on the desk pad of an executive does not make a great impression so the Birthday Boy took me and the guys to The Geaux Cup to punish us. He even made Dave buy the drinks.

The parade of 10 ounce Miller Lite cans led to me blacking out and missing Elvis. I decided to mix it up a bit by ordering a cocktail. Mom always says that clear liquids are safe so I ordered up a Vodka Soda. The twentysomething hooker tending bar asked me what size I wanted. I replied, "make it a big one," picturing a double served in a highball glass. She returned with a 32 ounce Styrofoam cup. I'm not sure what was more captivating: the size of that drink or the size of her outfit. I'm pretty sure that there wasn't enough material in her top to reupholster a bicycle seat.

Huh. The ride got bumpy, but the wheels didn't fall off. I made it through the night long enough to witness some poor judgment but can't seem to remember what it was.

Too bad I didn't get to meet The King. I would have loved to have gotten his take on the Lisa Marie - Michael Jackson nuptials.


My decisions have been outsourced

There's been a startling turn of events today. I decided to outsource all of my decision making. The seemingly innocuous activity of getting a referral for a dentist has turned out to be totally nocuous. DFT & Judy did a bang up job. My new dentist kicks ass. It doesn't hurt that the hygienist is a scorching hot Eastern European mouse.

I've also asked my advisory board, Los Pedros & Los Freaky Toms, to refer physicians and eye doctors. Five minutes ago I emailed a select few folks to provide content for my bio on Houstonist. This is when that I realized my decision making had just been outsourced. FORK!

Let's hope I can find some decisiveness before I start client-serving work again on Monday.


Saturday night's alright, but Friday night works just as well

Good Times
Originally uploaded by JaseMan
"Don't give us none of your aggravation
We had it with your discipline
Saturday night's alright for fighting
Get a little action in"
- Saturday Night's Alright by Elton John & Bernie Taupin

Hear ye! Hear ye! You can get plenty of action on Friday nights as well if you play your cards right. I nearly got more than I bargained for last Friday at a friend's "friendly" poker game.

The email stated that the poker tournament would start around 8PM and would be winner-take-all. The game didn't start until 9ish and was morphed into two tables of winner-take-all at each table. No big deal. The crew was composed of a bunch of rookies and organizing the tournament would have been pretty difficult.

I should have seen the warning signs. One guy, we'll call him Cheech, started giving me shit about being a ringer just because I suggested an effective way to divvy up the chips. Clearly he's never seen me in action. I'm far from Phil Ivey, but Cheech didn't let it drop. I stayed put.

To top it off, I got dealt pocket sixes on the first hand. I limped and let the rookies dictate things pre-flop. I picked up a six on the flop and another on the turn. Nice. Solid bets, callable bets yielded some decent change on that pot, but I probably also didn't do myself any favors with Cheech.

Fast forwarding to 2AM finds me roughly even on the night after a bad beat and some lucky suck-outs from the rookie contingent. Cheech pushes his neatly arranged chips toward the guy nearest the chip/money tray and says, "Cash me out for $20. I have to take my pregnant wife home."

"Sorry, but you can't do that. It's winner-take-all," I said calmly as I didn't want to make a federal case out of this, but rules are rules. Plus, Cheech was good buddies with the host. Honestly, I didn't care, but I wanted him to know that he was breaking the rules.

"C'mon, man. It's 20 bucks, and my wife is pregnant."

"I've got no problem with it if you don't care about the rules."

It should be noted that the host and other friends of Cheech were telling him the same things as me. Rather than get pissed at himself for being a drunk idiot, he got pissed at me.

"Fine. I'm all in," says Cheech pushing his stack into the pot. He was first to act so the pot was $21.50 due the blinds. The next two players called and folded respectively.

A quick check of my hole cards revealed 6S 9S. Great - a horrible hand, but I called since I was embroiled in the confrontation. I put my cards down and pushed in my stack in one fluid motion proclaiming my all-in-ness. As I look up, I notice Cheech's beady eyes drilling holes through the back of my skull.

"What? Is there a TV back there?" I inquired.

Cheech made got up and took of his visor. Yeah. He was wearing a visor. Anyway, I guess he was trying to intimidate me by dragging his very solid, but less than intimidating, 5'7" 180 pound self out of the chair.

I guess he hadn't heard the story about Toups' roommate pointing a gun at me after our poker game, in which the roommate had participated, woke up his girlfriend. Oh, how I miss college.

Cheech didn't have a gun, but did look like he could break me. However, I am not one to get out meatheaded. I attempted to defuse the situation by calling him stupid. Fortunately for both of us, the host and posse intervened by re-focusing Cheech on the fact that we were playing out the hand and that he could kill me later if he saw fit.

The two guys behind me had folded and called leaving four of us in on the pot which now totaled about $40. All four of us flipped our cards. Cheech showed pocket sevens. The other guys had some sort of face cards with shitty kicker, and I had my suited sex trick.

The flop came up. The only card I could see was a seven. The jackass hit a set on the flop. I started laughing my ass off. Cheech yelled something like, "Shit! Now I can't leave." Wrong.

The pregnant lady had gotten up off of the couch during our little ruckus and had been watching the entire ordeal.
She must have given him some sort of sign that only he could see or whistled some sort of siren song. In any case, it was clear that they were leaving.

The host tried to pay Cheech his 40 bones, but the elation of winning must have snapped him out of his stupid ass trance. He declined the cash and apologized to everyone at the table - including me.

He felt like an idiot. He probably felt like a bigger idiot since now he was leaving $40 on the table instead of $20.
But at least his pregnant wife wasn't about to killing him or send him out for ice cream in the middle of the night.

Here's to you, Cheech. It was a rough night for all of his. I just hope you bring your weakass game to a poker table near me soon. Daddy needs some new shrubs at the crib.


Please adjust the fame clock to 14:59:52

Please adjust the fame clock to 14:59:52

Blogging New Orleans used one of my photos. WOO HOO!

In fact, a bit more digging revealed that they've used a few of my photos before.

+ NOLApic: Time To Run on 2007-07-10
+ NOLApic: Dome from I-10, pre-first home game on 2007-01-13
+ NOLApic: Half the Stash for Mardi Gras on 2007-01-06
+ NOLApic: Bead Mosaic limo on 2006-11-30


It'a been worth his doin' it, if I coulda just caught 'em

A few Mondays ago I returned from a weekend trip to Chicago. The trip kicked butt, but what I found upon my return did not. My car had been keyed, very thoroughly, up and down both sides. Thanks, degenerate.

I was starting to get bored with a normal paint job. I really appreciate the pin stripes. Couldn't you have at least made them straight? I guess not since it was perfectly centered between those yellow lines on that legal parking spot. Who knew it was reserved for you? You should have written "Reserved for Asshole" in neon green on the parking stopper.

I'll defer to Pulp Fiction on this one.
They should be fuckin' killed.
No trial, no jury, straight to execution.

I just wish I caught 'em doin' it, ya know?
Oh man, I'd give anything to catch 'em doin' it.
It'a been worth his doin' it, if I coulda just caught 'em,
you know what I mean?

It's chicken shit.
You don't fuck another man's vehicle.


Recent survey shows politicians are as full of shit as ever

The Democratic candidates were really entertaining tonight on the CNN YouTube debates. It drives me up the wall that they don't directly answer the question. So much bullshit in such short time.

The BS meter was off the chart for Clinton and Obama. Minimal BS from Edwards and Gravel. Biden seemed to answer the questions most directly, which is why he likely won't get elected; not enough ass kissing.

They're all so full of it. In fact, they out bullshitted many of the consultants that I know. And, everyone knows that we're totally full of shit.

Another round of Buzzword BINGO actually sounds refreshing.


TicketMaster should burn

Single game Houston Texans tickets went on sale today. The Saints are coming to Houston on November 18th.

I have been salivating about today since the schedules were announced a few months ago. My weekly ritual on Mondays has been: 1. get plans working for the next weekend, 2. put the trash out and 3. investigate buying tickets for Saints v Texans.

Here's how my day shaped up:

9:45 AM: should I stay and buy tickets on the phone or web. Or, should I go to TicketMaster at Fiesta?
9:46 AM: Internet connectivity issues encountered. Looks like I'm heading to Fiesta.
9:47 AM: scramble to find clean clothes and my wallet.
9:50 AM: buckle belt as I'm walking out the door to my car.
9:51 AM: get pissed off again about the key marks on the side of my car.
9:52 AM: peel out heading toward Fiesta
9:53 AM: call everyone who may have potentially to be interested in going to the game to offer to buy them tickets.
9:57 AM: slide around the final corner; Fiesta is in sight just on the other side of traffic.
9:58 AM: dial up TicketMaster on the phone to hedge against a long line.
10 AM: screech to a halt, exit the vehicle, slam the door and wog to Fiesta.
10:01 AM: enter third and last position in the TicketMaster line; overhear first position lady asking for Saints tickets.
10:02 AM: enter the voice prompt menu for ordering tickets via phone.
10:03 AM: FPL says, "That's too expensive" and leaves. Number 2 assumes the position
10:04 AM: No. 2 begins asking about every section in Reliant Stadium for the Colts game
10:05 AM: nearly throw my phone across Fiesta after I get booted from the voice prompt system. At least I am still in line.
10:06 AM: call TicketMaster back.
10:07 AM: voice prompt system puts me back in another loop.
10:08 AM: I would be sleeping through his interrogation of the one ticket seller, but I am too pissed off about him and the phone. The steam would scorch my eyelids if I shut them.
10:09 AM: voice prompt system tells me that I have successfully nailed down two tickets together for the game.
10:10 AM: I am able to clearly visualize virtual tickets to the Saints game flying out of a cash drawer type dispenser. My return to reality yields the interrogator still in action.
10:15 AM: voice prompt systems informs me that my total for two tickets is $656 and asks me to enter my method of payment
10:15:01 AM: I hang up the phone and shove it into my pocket.
10:22 AM: No. 2 finally leaves after saying: "Well what do you have in this section? Nope. That's too much" and repeating.
10:23 AM: I reach the window and ask for four seats on November 18th for Saints v Texans.
10:24 AM: "We only have single seats left, and none of those are in the same row" comes the reply.
10:25 AM: I head straight for the automatic doors and am behind the wheel before the lady can finish asking me if there's something else she can help me with.
10:30 AM: arrive back at FPR anxious and stewing about the debacle that just unfolded.
10:35 AM: confirm that it is not a dream; this did just happen.
10:36 AM: check HoustonTexans.com for any sign of a pre-sale, which may have led to only single seats remaining for the general sale, as the ticket lady suggested.
10:39 AM: begin counting to 1,000 in an attempt to lower my blood pressure
10:40 - 11:56 AM: replay the scenario in my head again and again just to be sure that there was nothing I could have done differently.
11:57 AM: decide that it's time to get medieval on the backyard
12:30 PM: the backyard flowerbed has been annihilated in lieu of beating the crap out a TicketMaster executive or anyone who happened to be able to buy a pair of tickets to the game.

I didn't get any tickets, but I got some chores done. "So, I've got that going for me..."