Toddgenuity is in da house

TP & The Wall
Originally uploaded by JaseMan.
"May I have your attention please. There are six emergency exits on this house including the door through which you entered, the back door (tee hee) and the garage. Unfortunately you can only escape fires and falling ceiling tile. But you can not escape the honey-do list you created when you first toured the property."

I finally bit the bullet and got some home improvement activity rolling at the ranch. Actually, I just set aside the weekend. Los Pedros really kicked things into gear by threatening to stop my QT with KP unless I shifted from Park (it on the couch cushions) to Haul Ass (down to Lowe's).

There isn't really a part of FPR that doesn't need some sort of love. Yet, choosing the first project was super easy despite my long standing affliction of analysis paralysis. I can't decide on anything quickly for fear of making a choice that I will lose comfort with even before I make it. But, the den needed to painted so that I could buy a couch that actually fits in the house. No, I didn't want to buy one and then have to deal with stressing about getting paint on it.

The den paint job seemed super straight forward. Fix the crappy install on the molding. Patch the existing nail holes. The 220 outlet in the right third of the wall kinked up the works. Ain't no way I was having that eye sore in the wall.

No paralysis this time. I decided to yank the outlet from the wall, but only after I took the necessary precautions.

The three tenants that one must heed when working with electricity is: 1. it can kill you, 2. make sure the power is NOT flowing into where you're working and 3. make sure the power is NOT flowing into where you're working one more time just to be safe.

Done. Done. Done. I flipped off (tee hee) the breaker for the outlet and disconnected the output wire just to be safe. I even waited for the residual charge to dissipate. Apparently, it takes about two minutes longer than I allowed. I got a jolt while removing the socket.

The tricky part was figuring out a way to patch the chasm without created a mesa on the wall. Luckily there was Toddgenuity available for use. The same mind that brought the world "Will Spoon for Breakfast" and Mormons at Halloween developed a nifty approach to patching the socket.

We were able to patch the hole very effectively. Unfortunately the gap filler may not dry until 2010.

Anyway, the important things to know are: no one's been seriously injured, and the primering is finished. Perhaps the room will be finished by Easter so that I can hurry and get a couch on which to lounge until my KP QT quota is in jeopardy again.


Help Wanted: Career Needed

Somebody gimme some resume paper (paper plate - it's a long story; ask DRB or Rex) quick cuz I need to write out my resume. I have been working at the same company for the past nine years. I have learned a ton and wracked up a shit ton of frequent flyer points because of all the travel required. I loved my job in the beginning, liked it during the middle years and have been speeding toward not liking it recently.

My primary anxiety concerns the travel. Traveling to Rimini is fun. Traveling every week to Stamford, CT is not. Driving through Croatia is a blast except when you get lost, and even then it's not so bad. I hoped to get lost driving to Bartlesville, OK. Hey, at least I'm gonna score a nice 40" plasma with those AmEx points, right?

The folks at work assure me that they will do everything in their power to keep me local. Nothing is guaranteed in consulting. Nothing. Nada. Niente. I've watched project rookies roll off on their first day. Friends have been at the airport on the jetway when they received a call telling them that they were no longer required on the project. So, I'm not holding my breath for an in-town gig.

My ideal career would be one that features some intrinsic rewards, a decent salary, flexible working arrangements and the ability to wear jeans most of the time. Decent salary means that I can pay for FPR, afford to lose at a poker game and ride in Mardi Gras. On the flex front, I'm talking about being able to choose to work from home or the office depending on commitments. The intrinsic part of the equation seems to be the toughest to nail down.

You can have sexy, JT. I need to bring the passion back. No, not sex, LP (you always think I'm being dirty). I'm tawkin bout loving my job. Being motivated to get to the office early to get things done. That passion exists now, but only when I'm about to finish up the project.

I can do anything. Seriously. I've even changed a diaper. I'm not opposed to a total switch in career fields or a big salary cut provided that the opportunity is a solid.

Leave a comment with your suggestions on where to look or what I should be when I grow-up. Drop me an email if you want to see my resume.


Happy Mardi Gras Y'all

F Guys Pre-ride
Originally uploaded by JaseMan.
A year of anticipation culminated in a blurry flash of excitement that was over way too fast. Hind sight is 20/20 as always. This year it's kicked up a notch to 20/15 since I wasn't prepared as well as 2006. Nothing like a six hour drive on I-10 (thanks LA DoT) to get your reflections and ruminations out of the way. Therefore, I present you with my resolutions and forward thinking for next year.

+ Don't plan to work on Fat Tuesday. I'm back in the office right now and am a miserable sumbitch. The F Float music is blaring (yeah I'm proud of the mix, but I'm skipping The Tubes) and it ain't helping. I wish I was back in NOLA with the crew. I'll probably get shot if I ride down the street on some chick's hood here instead of the Marigny.

+ Buy more beads. I didn't read the emails or disengage my bowel-cranial syndrome enough to realize that we were back to the full length route this year. I didn't order enough beads (and whined like a bitch until the ride was over). Fortunately I was able to make a last minute trip to Sam's.

+ Get drunker on Saturday night so that I can sleep all night. We've gotta be at the Hilton at 8 AM on Sunday so that we can hurry up and wait to board the bus so that we can wait some more before we wait on the police to figure out how to block traffic so that we can get on the float. Anticipating all that waiting and cannonballing resulted in me not sleeping most of the night. I'm not into Advil PM or Ambien, so I'll just have to get a bit drunker.

What the hell am I supposed to do for the next 363 days until the next magical Sunday? And, who in their right mind would schedule the effing Super Bowl on Mardi Gras Sunday? Here come da Saints.


Start drinking. It's Cannonball Friday.

Originally uploaded by JaseMan.
Some of you may not yet be familiar with the Mardi Gras tradition/phenomenon that is Cannonball Friday. Let me splain you.

Cannonball Friday is the Friday before Fat Tuesday during which folks affiliated with a specific krewe load their float and then get ripped. The poison of choice is any handy cheap wine, like Boone's Farm, Wild Irish Rose or the like. If you can't figure out the cannonball reference, then you need to watch more movies.

Typically the time line goes something like this:

+ 9 AM: Wake-up and cook breffast
+ 10 AM: Load beads into car
+ 10:30 AM: Drink one cannonball
+ 11 AM: Load float
+ Noon: Loading is finished and cannonballs are flying
+ 1 PM: Lunch and more cannonballs
+ 3 PM: Cat's Meow for more cannonballs and bead throwing
+ 4 PM: Dance with some strange old lady on the stage while karaoking
+ 5 PM: Begin to pass out
+ 5:15 PM: Preliminary hangover pangs develop
+ 5:30 PM: Cab home
+ 5:45 PM: Emergency hydration
+ 6 PM: Pass out while watching Kung Fu Hustle



Art is alive and well in NOLA

This little vixen greeted me upon check-in at Chez Bef & Mic. Ah, yes fools. Mardi Gras is here.


A Cadillac nearly landed at my house

Super Bowl Sunday was pretty forking interesting this year. All the big kids got together at Senor Q's gourmet delicatessen in League City for the best vittles of any SBP ever anywhere. That was expected. Senor Q and the missus know their way around a spoon.

The weird part of the SBS wasn't implosion of Grossman, Rhodes getting hosed out of SB MVP or even me winning two quarters on the board. The weirdness happened before the day got really rolling. In fact, the Sunday oddities started taking shape in the middle of the street on Saturday night as I was leaving Midtown.

The not-so-short story is that SMC called asking if I wanted his 1960 Cadillac Sedan Deville. "JB, I've gotta get the car out of here tomorrow. Do you want it? Can I put it at your house?" I would have jumped at the chance under normal circumstances, but Responsible Homeowner was in effect and decided to snatch control of my consciousness. Instead of "HELL YEAH!" the following bullshit stumbled out of my pie hole: "Um, I, uh, need to, uh, think about it. Let me call my Dad and get back to you in the morning."

FYI, Dad and I have talked about getting a project car to wrench on, so lock it up. He's logical and rational. And, he's usually a straight thinker unless you don't put his tools back in exactly the right spot. Then he gets a holy case of the red ass and his head spins around. Yep, Pops would be able to put things into perspective for me since all I could think about was, "I've got a house with a project list that is long and expensive, and I still don't have a couch that fits in the house yet."

Dad's input was to the point. "He's gotta get rid of it tomorrow? OK, well get him to put it in your driveway. You can always get rid of it later if you/we don't do anything with it." For the record I was kind of leaning in this direction. It just makes me feel more better to hear him say that.

Sunday morning was filled with anxious yet joyful visions. One moment I was trying to figure out how I could fit a 20 foot land yacht and the Passat in my 30 foot driveway. The next moment I was rationalizing my way into using my couch fund for footing the engine overhaul bill.

Couch or Caddy? Couch or Caddy? Couch or Caddy? Couch or Caddy?

Can't drive a couch across Texas Fandango style now can you? Fucking ay! Let's go Caddy!

I took a break from daydreaming about names for the caddy to find out where the damn thing was. SMC told me that things with the tow truck driver had been running behind a bit and that he was about to call me. I knew things were bad as soon as I heard the words "You're never going to believe this..." or something to that effect.

SMC was outside prepping the car for the tardy tow man when a motorhead drove up. Said driver inquired if the car was for sale. Bada bing. Bada boom. Driver offered $1000 for the wheels and forked over $800 on the spot. Big bada boom.

My head actually cracked as it attempted to make sense out of the situation. Clearly my ears were broken. Unfortunately, that was not the case. The caddy fandangoing through my mind from Houston to Alpine suddenly pulled a Thelma & Louise into a bottomless chasm. My head hurt, but my ass was psyched because the couch fund was saved.

Someone needs to tell my ass that the couch ain't bought yet, and it's a long way from being in the house. Anyone got an old caddy they're looking to move?