YGBFKM: Gmail turns 502

Hurry up, please. Daddy needs his junk.

Psychological opinions required

A combination of things - work, Los Pedros impending departure, my family, my constantly growing grass (not that kind) and work (it deserves two mentions) - have been on my mind a lot lately. Last night found me unwinding on Los Couch with a couple of Caucasians (thank you, Gary) after which I took 45 minutes to watch the last 8 minutes of Rio Bravo (interesting flick for another story). Pretty standard, really. The dream that ensued was not. Here's what I remember.

Los Pedros and I were hauling ass down a muddy dirt road in a parking lot tram like the ones at Disney. It was just the three of us on the tractor in the front with five empty passenger cars behind us. The landscape was country hillside with tall grass (about the same height as my lawn) and a few trees scattered here and there. Sirens could be heard off in the distance.

This opening dream sequence lasted about 20 seconds which is about the time that TP and I 'coached' LP off the tram. It was a teary goodbye, but the sirens were closing in; we were almost out of road; and, we were near the Jizzetta. I had/have no doubt that LP would have been great in outsmarting the fuzz, but who was going to pick-up KP from daycare? More importantly, she had yet to be implicated in the slowly thickening plot.

TP and I tried to unravel the facts as we raced the tram away from the sirens and LP. We were both in normal gear, jeans, t-shirts and tennis shoes. But, we both had big Crescent wrenches in our back pockets. These wrenches were part of the plot. I'm not sure how, but they were. Almost like weapons used in a crime, but we were not getting rid of them. Lord knows we had plenty of chances to dump them, but the wrenches needed to stay.

As the tram crashed through the hurricane fence, the scenery changed abruptly as it can do in a dream. We were still on the tram, but were now on a wet street, like you always see in night scenes of a movie. The grassy countryside was no longer behind us, but the sirens were closer. We needed to lose the tram.

We drove the tram around the back of an isolated rental car lot to secure a new form of transportation since the keys are always in the cars. For some reason TP wanted to ditch his wrench. He wiped off his prints and wedged under the orange vinyl seat cushion in the tractor. Then, we climbed onto the roof of the first passenger carrier and jumped over the razor wire topping the security fence of the car lot.

This place wasn't Avis. I remember it appearing like the used car lot in Silver Streak where Richard Pryor steals the Fiat. We picked out a BMW Z-4. It was fast and maneuverable and my subconscious sleeping noggin was probably more comfortable since I've driven these on a slick pad, which is very similar to the wet streets you see in the movies in night scenes.

The BMW cut a quick path down a busy divided highway. The highway had characteristics that evoked US1 through the Florida Keys or US98 through the Florida Panhandle. I'm not sure how we teleported from Texas to Florida, but then again, the sirens were no longer nearby. We also shifted time; 2 AM on a weekday became Noon on a Saturday. Don't know how I know that, but that was the feeling that I had.

The unusual thing was that the neutral ground dividing the four lanes of speeding traffic housed small businesses. Coffee shops, tanning salons and strip joints whizzed by us in a single file line. The buildings were evenly placed at quarter mile intervals and were situated with their entrances perpendicular to the traffic flow.

My mind's eye was still trying to read the business signs, but that was tough when it was also trying to generate the next scenes of a car speeding down a highway at 100 mph. In a blink, I cut a 180 in the Beemer and parallel parked it against the flow of traffic next to a sunglasses joint. TP and I were in and out of the store in another blink, both of us sporting new shades. I still had my Crescent wrench.

I was again seated in the left side of the car with TP on the right, but somehow the car had transformed into a right-hand drive model. Same everything else, but the steering wheel was gone.

Just as we were about to pull away from the curb, a Hispanic family materialized in the car. Now the mom was in the right-hand driver position with TP, the Papi and nino wedged between the bucket seats and the top, which was down. I got the sense that they were Cuban, which is probably my subconscious telling me that were definitely in The Keys and not on the Redneck Riviera.

The lady pulled us away from the curb. (Highway to the) Danger Zone started blasting from the stereo. [Note: Danger Zone also blasts in my head every time I drive through a locale densely populated with Asian drivers thanks to J-Le's power of suggestion. She posits that Asian drivers can't drive well. I have witnessed this first hand, but always chalked it up to an isolated incident and berated myself for being racist. But, I have to no reason to doubt her. She's Asian.] I was too busy digging my new shades to really notice the song or anything weird about the current situation, aside from the fact that we had four adults and one toddler sans carseat crammed into a sports coupe.

Then I saw the headlights. They were ahead in the distance about five miles or so and closing rapidly. "Um, I think we're on the wrong side of the road," I suggested to the driver. She mashed the accelerator into the floor; the car lurched forward.

The headlights were much closer now. It was apparent that the road didn't curve or bend or dip. The headlights were at our 12 o'clock and were growing. TP and I were both screaming at the lady to pull over. She drove faster. Perhaps she was thinking that she could out run us.

We passed a motorcycle cop who'd set-up a speed trap in the neutral ground. Passed is actually a generous interpretation. We nearly ran over the sumbitch. Four black and white units appeared between us and the headlights. Their rollers were rolling. Blue. Red. White. Blue. Red. White.

"Oh, shit. This lady is going to kill us in a head-on collision with a cop. This will not end well," I thought.

Just then the dream blinked again. The new scene was surreal. We were all hand cuffed around a bamboo patio table situated in a large, one room tiki hut that functioned as an interim interrogation room/police station for the Florida troopers. All of the cops were dressed like the cops in the Matrix. Weird.

The cops were super nice. They offered us coffee, water and smokes, but not the keys to the cuffs. Turns out that they suspected the family of being illegals who carjacked us since neither of the adults had licenses or spoke English. However, I fail to understand how a little, cute lady would have carjacked me with a toddler. Then I saw my Crescent wrench in an evidence bag laying on the bamboo table top. They must have viewed that as a weapon.

I gawked at the wrench in the bag wondering how it really fit into the whole scenario. TP looked anxious, but said nothing; he just stared out into space. Two cops were preparing to transport the family to another facility.

The cop by the coffee pot interrupted my gawking, "Anything I should know about this car?"

"Nope, it's just a rental. The contract and my sunglasses were stolen from the glove box when we stopped for gas. That's why we stopped earlier - to get new shades."

He reached for the receiver of a large black rotary phone.

The dream stopped.


I'm honored to have been your first

A young colleague just made my day.
"I just realized that you're the first person i ever drunk dialed that was drunk too. Congratulations.

Did you call me? Must have been Saturday.

Haha yeah it was. You were like, i'm gonna go pass out and i was like ok, me too.


Poison, poison. It's driving me outta my head.

Work has been an interesting experience ever since I rotated back into the general population. No more working from home from 10 am to 8 pm in my Batman PJs for days on end. No more fancy pants EVDO connection so that I can work from anywhere in the Wide World of Sports that I so desire. In short, my flexibility is gone.

I'm not looking for sympathy. I realized that the work location part of that job was the gravy train. Rather, I am merely pointing out that I've had a bit of trouble adjusting.

I struggled to find the fun in work since I jettisoned the PJs and began commuting to the office. Fortunately, I was accepted by the finance folks and permitted to join their commune of insane sanity within the bastion of boredom that is the balance of the cube farm.

Commuting still stinks, but at least my compadres are a good time. They rattle off jokes and movie quotes like college kids all day but still get the work done. Plus, Nick is a YouTube junky who sends me links all day.

Here's today's YouTube highlight; my favorite scene from Scrubs.


It's "B" like Boy, Bravo or Beatyousenseless

It is an understatement to say that I agree with the sentiment of this video one hundred million percent.

Looks great on paper

Pundits, teachers, parents and that guy on the corner keep telling us that we may learn a thing or two about our future by examining where we've been. Huh. OK, Kreskin, let's take a look back at my job history. There's no way in hell this will help me sort out my career woes. Believe me, I've tried. But, if that guy on the corner says it'll help, it must be true. Plus, I just so happen to the paper plate listing all of yobs handy.

Yeah, I said my jobs are listed on a paper plate. The short story is that the FatBayou Millennial Haze crew was sitting around the elephant house chatting about jobs we had had while we awaited the arrival of the end of the world in late December 1999. I was unable to find a piece of paper large enough for my list so I wrote them on a paper plate.

All jobs included on the list below were jobs for which I received a payroll check. Jobs for which I was paid cash for services rendered are not included. That list is long, sordid and complex. I thrive on simple.
JB el JB's List of Yobs
  1. Bus Boy, The Pilot House Restaurant & Marina
  2. Drive-thru Monkey, McDonald's
  3. Utility Burgerman, McDonald's
  4. Scooper & Cake Maker, Baskin-Robbins
  5. Prep Cook, Fudpucker's
  6. Dishwasher, The Back Porch
  7. Painter, Rubicon
  8. Engineering Intern, Sunland Fabricator's
  9. Welder's Assistant, Sunland Fabricator's
  10. Office Assistant, LSU Vice Chancellor's Office
  11. Bartender, Lion's Club Bingo Hall
  12. Orientation Leader, LSU
  13. Carpenter, NSU Theatre Department
  14. Research Assistant - Ornithology, LSU Museum of Natural Science
  15. Resident Assistant, LSU
  16. Assistant Director of Orientation, LSU Dean of Student's Office
  17. Chief Announcer, klsu
  18. Graduate Assistant, LSU Public Administration Institute
  19. Tutor, LSU ISDS Department
  20. Internal Audit Intern, Vulcan Materials
  21. Instructor, LSU ISDS Department
  22. Consultant, McCall, Gilchrist & Haynes
I was only terminated for cause once. It was my first job. The 'cause' was being grounded. Cut me a break. I was 13.


Nine years came and went but I'm still here

June 8th marked my nine year anniversary at McCall, Gilchrist & Haynes. WOO HOO!!! 9 YEARS! NINE FREEKEENG YEARS! That's forever, particularly in the fickle-tastic world of consultants.

I'm conflicted. Sad/depressed that I haven't gotten any closer to figuring out what I want to be when I grow up. Psyched about my staying power at a company that has seen layoffs over the years.

I just spent the better part of an hour answering questions from rookies taking the onboarding class I'm teaching. Most of the questions concerned my tenure at the company. Why have you stayed? Why haven't you left? What do you like so much about the company? Have you thought about becoming an independent contractor? Blah blah.

I used to answer these questions all the time when I was the czar of campus recruiting. In short, there's a lot of reasons that I haven't jumped ship over the years. Here are a few. My resume is in a perpetual status of "not ready for prime time" which makes passive job seeking a chore. My in-house professional network is extremely solid which enables me to call my own shots. I'm typically so busy that I don't have time to execute a proper job search. The most significant factor is that I have no idea what I'd like to do when I grow up.

Most folks have this somewhat sorted by the time they are my age. Not me. I've been annoying my family, friends, neighbors, cab drivers, bartenders and flight attendants with the same topic for about eight years now. Now it's your turn.

I'm miserable at work. I'm not exactly sure why. Got any career suggestions for me? What should I be when I grow up?

Is it too late to be an astronaut? I hear that they just fired a couple.


Top 10 Things You Need to Know Right Now

10. I passed my week long training in Dall-ass.

9. The weather here was spectacular all week.

8. I am currently sitting in the DFW President's Club since my flight is delayed due to weather.

7. It's official - El Boliviano broke H-town's leg. The preliminary investigation indicates that it was a calculated attack stemming from a playground incident from 1982.

6. Flight attendants at training are bigger party animals than consultants at training, which is pretty tough to accomplish.

5. I am no closer to figuring out women than I was at any other point in my life so iff'n you're interested just tell me.

4. I am seriously considering adopting some kids so that I don't have to mow the lawn or trim the hedges any more.

3. Great news! There's a killer house coming up for sale on my street. You should buy it.

2. Not so great news! The house is next door. Todd & Lisa are moving to Dallas.

1. I am busy crying in my High Life and trying to figure out how to move El Shed to my backyard.


Never showered? Here's a plan.

Project Plan for Showering
Originally uploaded by JaseMan
Certain things are given when one lives in the tropics of the Gulf Coast. There are two seasons: football and hunting. The food is great. People are nicer. And, you'll sweat your ass off.

Let's focus on the last pernt. Sweating to death isn't that big a deal if you have access to plumbing or a wallpaper's bucket (see Hurricane Continuity Plan for more on this). As such, I have become a bit of a shower addict.

I love to shower. I shower twice daily and sometimes more if I start to smell like a curry buffet.

I'm in Dallas this week for training on our internal project management methodologies and tools. One of the exercises was creating a work plan for showering.

My team and I created a moderately detailed plan on the activity. Fret not, you only need to allocate 30 minutes for this - unless you have "collaborators."


The Life of Riley

What do you get when you cross a manatee and a lady?

You get a Riley.

Her hotness arrived with a flourish this afternoon. She has red hair. Let's hope the rest looks like MJ.

Congrats, kids. Have fun not sleeping.


Coffee Shop Analysis

Coffee Shop Analysis
Originally uploaded by JaseMan
It seems that my brain cycles are being used more and more for introspection and thinking about thoughts that need thinking about. These thoughts that need thinking vary from day to day, hour to hour and moment to moment; the variations caused by chaotic happenings of everyday life. One form of introspection and thought thinking involves the chaos of ladies.

Perhaps the biggest questions we face presents themselves in the form of finding a mate/partner/spouse/cool person to hang out with for a while. How do you pick the right one? Did you already meet the right one and not know it? Does your friendgirl/friendguy think you're the one, but you don't know it? If so, how does one ask the F.G. what's what without freaking them out? These are all bullshit questions.

The question you need to be asking yourself is, "What am I looking for in an S.O.?

I've been trying to figure out the answer to that question for a while now. I'm guessing that you other single kids out there are still trying to figure it out as well. The answer is much more involved that a brunette with big boobs and a nice ass. No, the answer is not a brunette with big boobs, a nice ass and brains, but that's pretty good start.

The truth is that the answer will vary from person to person and potential S.O. to potential S.O. That makes my head hurt. Why do things have to be so complex? Why can't The One just appear with a big flashing police light above her head? That'd make things tons easier.

One day about five years ago - October 12, 2005 to be exact - my friendgirl Debbie and I let loose our brain cells in the direction of the question during breakfast at Coffee Shop in Union Square. We didn't plan on it. All I did was order grits - kinda like this:
"Hi, can I get you something to drink?" asked the hot waitress in wife beater and jeans.

"Yeah. Coffee and a water. And, do you have grits? I don't see them on the menu."

"Nope. No grits. But, there is a place across town that does. Are you from the South? I'm from Tennessee."

"I'm from Baton Rouge."

"Cool," she said before leaving to fetch the coffee.

"Damn. She's hot," said my inner monologue to Debbie.

"What makes her so hot?" asked Debbie.
And, voila! Coffee Shop Analysis was born on the back of a dinner napkin. Debbie and I spent the next hour discussing the qualities that factor into the criteria against which a potential S.O. is evaluated prior to said potential S.O. being pursued as the S.O. You may not know that you're doing it, but you are. It's a fact. If you don't believe me, you can look it up.

Here are the criteria that our Coffee Shop Analysis yielded:
+ Cultural Awareness
The ability to discern differences between populations of folks as well as the ability to not stick your foot in your mouth when interacting with folks who don't look just like you.
+ Financial Stability
You don't have to be rich, but please don't be so leveraged on your credit cards that we can't buy a packet of Kool-Aid and the sugar to go with it.
+ Intelligence
Ya ain't gots to be in MENSA, but it would help if you could string more than five coherent thoughts together in a conversation.
+ Maintenance
Do you have to be dolled up to the nines every time we go out or can you hold your own in a t-shirt and some flips?
+ Personality
You need to be interesting and have a sense of humor.
+ Physical Beauty
No Shrekettes allowed, but I haven't seen a Shrekette since I got lost in the Sonora Caverns.
+ Psycho Factor
This area includes codependence as well as general mental health. You must be able to function on your own at least part of the time. And, you'd better not jump my case if all the canned goods labels don't face in the same direction.
+ Spontaneity
You cool with driving all the way to Austin on a whim to get BBQ for lunch on a Monday? No? Please exit stage right.
Together these criteria are called the Partner Quality Continuum. Each of the criteria are scored from 0 to 10 with 10 being the best. Clearly folks would love to find someone who's a ten in each area, but you've got a better chance of seeing God than having that happen. Debbie and I decided that the best approach was to rank the criteria in order of importance and go from there. I'd share our rankings with you, but then I'd have legions of chicks lined up outside The Ranch.

Can't have that. It might piss off the neighbors.


HookerFest 7.0 Index

Beer can being properly used
Originally uploaded by JaseMan
HookerFest was a blur as usual. Memories are hazy. And, what happens at HookerFest stays at HookerFest...at least until the pictures are posted online. The following points of information have not necessarily been approved for disclosure, but they seem innocuous enough.

HookerFest 7.0 Index:

+ Number of beer drunk during HF 7.0: 117
+ Number of beer cans launched from campfire: 17
+ Greatest distance traveled by a beer can: 34.5 feet
+ Greatest distance traveled by HookerFester: 2,314 miles
+ Number of HookerFesters under 36 inches in height: 3
+ Number of folks in hot tub - outdoor variety: 13
+ Number of folks in hot tub - indoor variety: 6
+ Number of chins possessed by Waylon, campground hound dog: 3+
+ Number of times Waylon, the campground hound dog, bathed his genetalia in public: 19
+ Passionate kisses shared by KG & Waylon: 3
+ Super Lame sessions contested in the cold spring pool: 3
+ Successful Super Lame rounds: 3
+ Bottles of tequila consumed during shout outs: 6
+ Speed limit in Pecos County: 80 MPH
+ Excessive speed warnings received by HookerFest 7.0 attendees: 1