Straight From the Horse

I Just Dumped 40 Guys All at Once

2010-04-30T19:09:00.002-05:00

No. I'm not gay. I have officially decided not to ride in Mardi Gras next year, which means that thousands of people on the Uptown route will not have to worry about getting hit in the head by an errant throw from me.

I'm pretty sure this was the right decision right now. Ask me again in 310 days when I'm standing on the neutral ground watching my float roll by.

Top 10 Things I Learned in Vegas Last Weekend

2008-08-25T19:23:00.002-05:00

10. Pulnik is Big Q's special imaginary friend.

9. That Little Midget Can Pass Out.

8. The best sushi restaurant in Vegas is Ichiza in China Town.

7. Cab drivers hate making off-strip trips.

6. Penguins think the water in the Bellagio pool is too cold.

5. Never let Pedro mix your drinks if you're trying to analyze your draft picks.

4. All future Vegas trips will include a trip to the spa just before heading to the airport to fly home.

3. Everyone is your friend at the craps table when you roll eight or more points in a row before crapping out.

2. You shouldn't feel bad that the High Roller lost close to 10 LARGE when you crapped out.

1. You should feel bad when you lose LARGE when you crap yourself out.

Missing Austin Java

2008-08-20T06:27:00.002-05:00

I got restless in the Spring of 2005 and moved to Austin after having carefully considered migrating from Houston to Chicago or New Orleans. Chicago was too cold in the winter; plus, it's my place to "do stuff." And, New Orleans was a bit too close to home. "New Orleans will always be there [for me]," I thought. Huh. Who knew?

Austin offered all that cool stuff that everyone talks about but not a whole lot of folks do. Mountain biking. Kayaking. Hipstering. For me, the appeal was more about moving out of the smallest big city in America and reconnecting with a solid group of friends.

We hung out. We drank. We played some ultimate. And, we partied. But, I spent a lot of quality time with new folks down at the coffee shop. I lived walking distance from AJC on Parkway during this stint of Austin habitation - the last few months only a block away, which is good because I was on crutches.

It wasn't until a recent trip to Austin that I realized exactly how much I missed the folks I met at AJC. Not really that surprising given that I was tucked away at my favorite corner table - as long as I got there before some tennis player named Andy - at least five days a week. The other day Christi saw me filling up my cup and shot me a big smile that almost made me cry in my Fog Cutter.

We caught up on 18 months of history in a few moments. I was surprised how much she knew/remembered about me. How's the ankle? Still traveling all the time for work? When's the next pub crawl?

I shot back with my own barrage. Are you still climbing? How are Summer & Jackie? Did y'all ever settle the disputes about the 2nd Street location?

Leaving Austin I knew I was going to miss the hell out of my friends, but I wasn't really prepared for how much I would miss the little things that make living in any city your life in that city. Told you I wasn't that smart.

And, Jackie, I found this in my wallet the other day. You can have your integrity back. I don't need it any more. I found mine.

Today I Limited My Career...on Purpose

2008-08-13T22:45:00.002-05:00

Most of my colleagues would say that I've done a fairly solid job of managing to keep my work life and my personal life in balance. I disagree, but everything is relative. Let's put it this way. I currently earn 22 days of vacation each year and typically carryover no less that half of those days each year.

Today, I made a choice to improve my life. I gave my preliminary notice. I told the folks at McCall, Gilchrist & Haynes that I am finished with the consulting lifestyle as they define it and am actively seeking a new job.

I'm done with living on the road for at least four days a week for nine to 18 months at a time
I'm tired of having stronger relationships with hotel staff than with my friends back home
I'm tired of driving rental cars more than my own although I do appreciate the opportunity to demo potential replacements for a week
I'd like to be excited to go to airports instead of immediately starting the countdown until my return flight home
I'd like to understand what it's like to stay in your hometown for a month without going anywhere

Consulting, particularly in my skill area, is a very small world. Conferences feel like a high school class reunion. Colleagues become clients and vice-versa. I thought it best to avoid burning any bridges and only lightly singe them instead. Hopefully that's what I've done.

It's a Small World: Episode 16

2008-08-11T22:28:00.001-05:00

A seemingly normal trip to the Central Market in Southlake, TX turned into yet another illustration of how small the world can be. I'd gone to grab a few healthy snacks for the office and decided to dine in the restaurant as well.

There were only three other diners in the place. A booth held two girls yapping about wedding planning. A familiar looking red head sat alone eating a pizza. But, red heads all look the same (don't hit me Peaker) and I was still focused on work so I thought nothing of it until she left.

I used my CrackBerry to get to the bottom of things by trading texts with Windy:

[JB] What is your red headed friend's name who moved to Dallas and had gone out with Bruce? Was it Cindy?

[Windy] Yes, Cindy. She's about to move to Chicago. She was in Austin yesterday.

[JB] Huh. Ask her if she just ate pizza at Central Market. I was sitting behind her and didn't get a solid look. But, I think it was her.

[Windy] Yep, that was her. She thought I was a psychic. She asked if that was you.

The last time I saw Cindy, I was living in Austin and partying with Windy's Austin crew on 6th St. for a birthday three years ago. Small freekeeng planet.

366 Days & Counting

2008-08-06T19:26:00.005-05:00

My Cell, originally uploaded by JaseMan.

On this day in history:

1806: The Holy Roman Empire ended

1890: First electrocution by electric chair

1911: Lucille Ball was born

1928: Andy Warhol was born

1932: The drive-in movie was patented

1945: The Enola Gay dropped an atomic bomb on Hiroshima

1967: Mike Greenberg was born

1984: Prince released Purple Rain

1998: Monica Lewinsky testified before the Grand Jury about her relationship with President Clinton

2007: I started traveling to Ft. Worth on a weekly basis to work my current project. I was told that I couldn't decline it because I was a named resource in the contract. I should have started sending out my resume right then.

Farewell Fish, Hello Hamburger

2008-08-04T21:46:00.000-05:00

JLay came up with the incredibly brilliant, yet colossally stupid idea to not eat meat for the month of July. Naturally I signed up right away thinking that the concept was more brilliant than stupid. Wrong. The idea was stupid and so were we.

Have you ever tried to forgo the flesh (tee hee - not that way) for any length of time? It's really not that hard buscept when you're at a bar and your weggie options are chips & salsa or a spinach quesadilla - neither of which sound appetizing after half a dozen pints.

We love cows and pigs and fowls and everything else that tastes great with minimal amounts of sauce. So, it should come as no surprise that we all said a collective "Thank ya, Jesus" (pronounced HAY-zoose) when the digits flipped to 12:00 in the AM on August 1st.

DFT & JLay decided that we should head to Saigon Pagaloc for Beef 7 Ways to celebrate our return to meat-a-tarianism. However, the plan was changed to Beef 3 Ways because 7 Ways would likely be too overwhelming. Whatever.

I was down with beef any way at this point. Tired I was of not being able to get dishes cooked in beef broth. Like Yoda I was talking because my brain was so confused.

The first three courses involved succulent bits of meat seasoned and cooked in Asian ways - so you know it's good - and involved wrapping them in rice paper so that they were supposed to look like egg wolls. Let's just say that I came in last in this category.

The evening took a turn for the weird when our Return to Meats ended with a gianormous fish. Gianormous as in it filled most of the table top with its fried self. Per JLay, it was not a small whale as I believed but rather some sort of catfish that had clearly been hitting the HGH a little too hard.

Despite being a culinary adventurer, I was a bit cautious about the whole situation. Friend Girl Amy, who'd tempted us three morons with short ribs on the 4th of July, was stoked. She ate the eyeballs. I put down my chopsticks and asked her to never ever mention the taste of fish eyeballs again. YUCK!

We left. I dropped off everyone and then stayed up all night thanks to the two Lee's Iced Coffees I downed on the ride home. Clearly I'm still not that smart.

Please fasten your safety belt before reading this

2008-08-03T08:06:00.001-05:00

It is done. MY LIVING ROOM IS PAINTED. The effort took 523 days to complete. No, it does not look like the Sistine Chapel, but it is ready for new furniture, which will be nice.

Special Thanks to Los Pedros & Le Toms for being gentle with the cattle prod and skillful with the paint brushes. As JLay said on Saturday, "Damn. If I'd have had to paint this room all by myself I never would have done it either."

Thanks to El Padrino & The Manatee for berating me all the time about just doing it, and showing off their own home improobment skills in the process.

I'll post a picture once I get back to Houston.

San Fermin in Nueva Orleans, Part Dos

2008-07-26T21:13:00.012-05:00

My loyal reader may remember my post about San Fermin in Nueva Orleans around this time last year. Los Pastores deemed last year's event a success once the unknown participants outnumbered the known participants. The 2008 incarnation was a slam dunk by the same standard considering that there were nearly 1,000 folks participating between runners, bulls, spectators and post-run partiers.

Where were you? Did you make it to the run? If so, lemme know. For those of you who couldn't make it down to the Vieux Carre from say...DC, here's a bit of behind the scenes scoop to make you feel like you're not that lame.

Thurday, July 10

21:10 - Meet Los Pastores at NOLA Bulls HQ in Algiers Point after flying in from DAL

21:12 - Bef (La Madrina) serve me a bowl of cassoulet; four bites later I realize that I've been eating sausage. RAT FARTS! I decide to write off the meal and continue dining on the deliciousness.

21:38 - Scan my own credit card through the reader to pay for my admission to the exclusive SFNO Pre-party

22:32 - Start helping Mic (El Padrino) silk screen bandanas and t-shirts

23:01 - Crack open my first High Life of the weekend. Did I forget to mention that High Life was the official beer of the event? They recognized the opportunity and contacted El Padrino about sponsoring the event

00:48 - Sacked out on the couch after drinking only two High Lifes and screening not nearly enough pieces of apparel

Friday, July 11

08:27 - Wake up, caffeinate myself and start doing real work so that I can get back to screen t-shirts and other prep activities

10:ish - El Padrino departs to deal with last minutia that needs attention

13:11 - Resume screening shirts

14:26 - Off to the Wal-Marts to get duct tape, OxyClean and other essentials

16:53 - Arrive at RioMar to set-up for the pre-party

18:00 - The pre-party is packed, and RioMar's regular dining crowd is trying to figure out what spectacle is beginning to take shape before them

18:07 - Fugett arrives after having driven in from Florida

22:15 - The party is done with clean-up nearing completion. The Manatee and I take the ferry to the Crown & Anchor for some Guinness & bourbon

01:11 - Sack out on the couch at NOLA Bulls HQ

Saturday, July 12

05:00 - El Padrino wakes me up

05:10 - Dressed and ready to go set-up

05:11 - The Manatee is in no shape to operate

05:20 - Man-sit The Manatee while MicBef are crossing the river

06:33 - Tuck in The Manatee for a last minute nap in an illegal parking space near the French Market

06:38 - El Consejero and I depart the Gazebo Cafe and make our way to Three Legged Dog to do whatever needs doing

06:42 - Gawking at the more than 120 people already gathered for the event. The official gathering time is still 18 minutes away.

07:00 - El Padrino is interviewed for a story by AP Reporter Janet McConnaughey

07:11 - The Hurricane questions me as to the whereabouts of The Manatee and attempts to convince me to go retrieve said animal as I slip away into the fray

07:44 - The Manatee has rallied and appears

07:45 - The invocation is delivered to a crowd of nearly 700 runners who are going rowdier by the minute

07:55 - The runners begin filtering themselves out along the course

07:58 - El Padrino and I are jogging at the back of the pack reveling in the turnout when the air horn signals the release of the bulls

08:01 - Run around the corner of Rue Bourbon to find the runners standing around at which point I start screaming "RUN! THEY'RE COMING!" while trying not to trample anyone

08:02 - My butt gets bashed by the wiffle ball bat of a bull

08:18 - Fugett finds me despite the chaos of the Gazebo Cafe. He hasn't slept yet but did manage to run. Here's some brief video evidence.

08:22 - Friends keep raising their beers in my direction. I can't tell if they are waving at me or flaunting the fact that they were able to get a High Life before the beer lines started to wrap around the park.

08:43 - Jump behind the merch table to help La Madrina & Jenny B before they pass out

09:12 - Steady selling t-shirts. O'Neil is still flaunting his High Life. I would punch him in the face if I wasn't in the middle of peddling some goods.

09:15 - A customer buys me a bottle of water. I slam it, but my tongue stills feels like I've been eating flour for an hour.

09:18 - Dispatch Big Sleazy to the bar with a $20 bill and tell her to get as much High Life as she can carry

09:44 - Big Sleaze appears with 10 beers just before I start to enter panic mode

16:ish - El Padrino, Fugett, Chad, Toni, NOA and I are among the final crowd group to depart the Gazebo Cafe & head to Molly's on the Market

18:47 - El Padrino & I head to the ferry, dine with La Madrina at Dry Dock

20:01 - Sacked out on the couch while watching news coverage of the SFNO

Sunday, July 13

08:00 - woke up feeling like a whole dollar and crawled onto the sofa to start Googling NOLA Bulls

08:03 - asleep on the couch. I repeated this pattern every 30 minutes until MicBef were stirring

10:12 - Pete SMSes me that CNN Headline news is running a clip of event

10:13 - Began a CNN HLN watching & TiVoing marathon to capture the footage

10:28 - Gave myself a headache trying to figure out how a gored Hurricane had become one of the most memorable images of the footage

12:30 - Dined on tapas with my bro-ham (Face) & three fourths of Team NOLA Bulls

12:33 - Observed as El Padrino & El Consejero began promoting the 2009 SFNO Food Fest (my words) to a Spanish restaurateur

14:45 - El Padrino and I run into Janet McConnaughey on the ferry back to Algiers and overhear her husband say, "Was that the NOLA Bulls guy?"

15:23 - Back at NOLA Bulls HQ to pack-n-go

18:00 - Asleep on the plane from MSY to DAL

San Fermin in Nueva Orleans is poised to become the New Orleans event of the summer in 2009.

Be there on July 11, 2009 for the third annual event.

Check NOLABulls.com or the NOLA Bulls Twitter page for more details.

Top 10 Things You Need to Know Before Attempting to Boil 500# of Crawfish

2008-07-22T20:49:00.000-05:00

You'll need this, originally uploaded by JaseMan.

10. The right venue is key. And, by right venue I mean some place where the beer flows like wine and the owner, manager and staff are supremely laid back yet organized.

9. Estimate 3 pounds of crawfish per person if you're boiling in Houston. You may think it's too conservative, but you don't want to be staring at a shit ton of leftovers at the end of the night.

8. Have the crawfish supplier deliver your bugs directly to the venue. There's a reason that the detail shop doesn't offer "Live Crawfish" scent for your interior.

7. Be prepared for anything not in your immediate control to become a disaster. For example, your crawfish may arrive two-and-a-half hours before you're ready so have a pran - like eyeballing a shady spot outside of the venue for emergency stashing of the critters.

6. Pack a suitcase the night before the event and put it in your trunk so you don't forget it. You should include three changes of clothes and some smell good juice to mask the fact that you're going to smell like a seafood market

5. Plan to have at least three crawfish boiling rigs available so that you're not busting your ass for more than three hours. Beg. Borrow (thanks, Randy). Buy...from BoilCrawfish.com (thanks, Andrew).

4. Error on the side of buying too many veggies, seasoning and what not. You can always use it later.

3. Three propane tanks is enough. And, no you can not return the extras for a refund...unless the nice lady at the Lowe's return desk thinks you're sexy...or something.

2. Have a kickass team of helpers committed to making your berle a success. The Houstonist staff kicked ase at getting things done and managing the masses.

1. Remain calm. All is well.

Ponder This: Hometown

2008-07-18T09:17:00.004-05:00

I have finally joined the 2005 crowd and created a Facebook profile. Facebook, like other social media/networking sites, tends to stress me out a little bit about the information listed on your profile. What if people don't think my favorite book (The Count of Monte Cristo) is cool because of that lame ass movie? Are people gonna judge me because I think WHOA KELLY CLARKSON! is great bubble gum pop? Are folks going to hunt me down because I declined their friend request? [Note: even writing that makes me feel like a pompous asshole.] These and other seemingly innocuous questions make me fidget.

The one real question that drives me nuts is: what's your hometown? That's tricky to answer. I lived in Baton Rouge for 20 years - birth to 8th grade and then seven years of college. All of my immediate family except for Mom live in BR. BR is where I go for most holiday type functions and funerals. But, whenever you tell someone you're from The Rouge, the first question people ask is, "Where did you go to high school?"

I went to high school in Ft. Walton Beach, FL. FWB is where I got my first driver's license, had my first kiss, skipped class, snuck into movies, worked at McDonald's and did all the things that I typically think of one doing while you're growing up. As such, that make me think of FWB as my hometown. Plus, it was the last place I lived before moving away for college. However, like Cusack in Grosse Pointe Blank, I rarely ever go there. And, no I'm not an assassin. At least not as far as you know.

At what point does the town your living in become your hometown? I've been in Houston for 10 years now. I certainly feel like I'm "home" when the humidity smacks me in the face as I exit airplanes and walk up the jetway. I think the Houston: It's Worth It campaign kicks ase and agree with many of the reasons given. I chose to live in Houston over Austin. Yet I respond, "I live in Houston" when the "where are you from?" question rears its ugly head.

To me this indicates that I should list either Baton Rouge or Ft. Walton Beach as my hometown. Plus, Ft. Walton has beach in the name so that makes it instantly cooler than BR or H-town. But, I feel like I'm cheating on Houston when I do that.

Anyone have any suggestions?

Fish. It's what's for dinner...kinda.

2008-07-10T22:37:00.002-05:00

The Wasabi Triad issued a challenge in late July that I couldn't resist. We are spending all of July shunning meat in the name of "por que no?" Not eating meat for a month isn't as bad as it sounds buscept for:

getting hungry, after you have gotten drunk, at a pub on your first day as a wegetarian and the only menu option is cheese quesadilla
having to eat at the same two restaurants for lunch most of the time
having to remember to not eat meat when you're sleepy or distracted
the somersaults my tummy will do when I start to ween myself back on to the goods
having just been distracted and eaten a bowl of cassoulet con snausage

RAT FARTS! I hope the tummysaults hold off for at least another couple hours.

Ready. Set. Cook!

2008-07-07T22:38:00.003-05:00

Lately Mom has been trying to convince me that I should host a cooking show or something similar. She got her wish last night, sort of, as I participated in an Iron Chef challenge hosted by Le Toms.

As in the show, the chefs wouldn't know the secret ingredient before hand. DFT would SMS the ingredient at an appointed time. We then had to cook, transport and present at the Le Tom abode three hours later. That may sound like a lot of time, but not when you've got a bachelor consultant pantry like mine. I planned to be parked at the grocery store well in advance to maximize my kitchen time.

During my drive to Central Markup, TP and I discussed teaming up on the challenge since Los Pedros couldn't make it. So, I called JLay to get a ruling on that.

"What do you think about me and TP teaming up?"

"Well, I'm sure that the chefs may be getting input from others....It's fine with me, especially if you think you can't win without him."

"That's it. I'm flying solo. You got no shot."

I'm pretty sure that the last line didn't come out quite like that, but there was no way that I could dismiss a challenge like that.

I arrived at the Markup feeling good with plenty of time to peruse my copy of The Joy of Cooking and open Maw Maw's Menu on my lappie. Feeling good that is until I got the secret recipe.

The password is: CORN.

CORN? What the? YGBFKM! I hate corn. Not hate like Brussel Sprouts hate, but at least a strong dislike.

Think quickly, knucklehead. What do you like that is corn related? Fritos? Nope. Anything ending in -ito had been disqualified. Tortilla chips? Nope. Too close to -itos.

I love cornbread. Then I thought:

Good cornbread is better than dessert.

Boston Market cornbread is sweet enough to be dessert.

What can I do to have a fighting chance against JLay and RayRay?

CORNBREAD TRES LECHES!

I snapped out of my trance and hauled ass over to the produce section. There, already digging through the bin of sweet corn, were Quoz, RayRay & JLay. "You're gonna lose," I said as I filled my cart with 10 ears (for $1) and before I ran off to find the three milks.

I arrived back home 35 minutes later after a side trip to Williams-Sonoma to pick-up a cake pan. Lemme just tell you that you should never come between an Iron Chef and the WS. I nearly took at a Camry full of sight-seers putt-putting through Highland village. Really? Do they not have strip malls where in your home land? Have you never seen a bunch of dressed up stepfords (and one bachelor) hot stepping to get gourmet bakeware? Dang. You need to get out more.

I'll spare you the details - oops, too late - and use the fast forward button. Chef's chocolate milk blows up in the freshly washed car on the way home. Parked car and puts water on to boil. Cleaned up the car and threw the cornbread in the oven. Put the caramel sauce on hot. Mixed the milks. Took corn of the stove. Whipped the shit out of some heavy cream. Pulled cornbread out of the oven. Power shower. Dressed. Piled everything in the car. Streaked toward JLay & DFT's.

My friends, acquaintances and competition are some forking good chefs. Corn & crab tortellini, my favorite, ended up winning. Other standouts (for me) were the corn & crab pie and salmon & corn cakes (fritters). The most creative were the fried green tomatoes, sweet corn ice cream and corn icee. You can check out photos on The Kwon's blog.

I never knew that corn could taste so good in so many different ways.

Scoot. Rain. Scoot.

2008-07-05T22:22:00.001-05:00

Drenched on the Scooter, originally uploaded by JaseMan.

My plan for the 4th (and the rest of the weekend) was to ride my hog as much as possible since I've not really been in town. Plus, the Memorial/Washington area gets PUH-ACKED, which makes parking a PITA. Thus, I ignored K-Not's warning that a rainstorm was unloading on The Heights.

The storm was gianormous enough for me to see the clouds and rain from just outside my place. "It's moving pretty fast. I probably won't get caught in it," I thought. Wrong.

I caught up to the backside (tee hee) of the drama when I was about two-and-a-half miles from The Bolivian's and quickly switched our plan to meet at his place instead of the lunch spot.

He snapped this photo just after I'd pulled into the shelter of his parking garage. Good thing I had spare clothes in the satchel.

Hold still while I punch you in the face

2008-07-01T22:37:00.002-05:00

Everyone has to put up with stupid people at their job. It's a fact. I like to think that the stupid people I work with are extra stupid.

My client requires background investigations on all personnel working on-site. The BIs are conducted by a reputable company with details going to only to me and the client's security group.

The only steps requiring effort from my colleagues is them filling out an authorization form correctly. SSN. DOB. First name. Last name. Etc. None of these are trick questions yet some folks have not yet figured out their birth date or their name.

Failure to complete the form correctly results in names not matching SSN records and life history which results in a BI rejection which results in the client escorting you from the premises which results in you not working on the project which results you potentially losing your job with McCall, Gilchrist & Haynes.

My colleagues know this. One would think that they would figure out the correct way to complete the form. Wrong. They screw it up all the time.

Today a colleague demonstrated a higher MQ (moron quotient) than I had ever experienced.

"Hi. It's JB. I need to get your actual name."

"OK. It's [not what was written on the form]."

"Confirm your birth date, please." He had screwed up this the first time he completed the form.

"It's [blah, blah, blah, blah, blah]."

"What's the purpose of this test?"

"The client needs to verify that you're not a terrorist."

"Can't you use the BI from when I was hired by MGH?"

"No. It has to be this one."

"But I don't understand why you can't use my previous results."

"It has to be this vendor. It is a national security issue."

"But I've worked for other companies that have been able to use previous BI results."

"That's great. But, that's not the case here."

"I can't believe that I need to fill out the same forms that I just did for MGH."

"This is a Department of Homeland Security issue. You have to use this vendor."

"But, I just..."

"Listen. THEY DON'T GIVE A SHIT IF YOU JUST PASSED FIVE BACKGROUND SCREENS IN THE PAST SIX MONTHS! YOU HAVE TO COMPLETE THIS ONE!"

"O.K."

YGBFKM. I slammed the phone slightly as a I hung up and then walked a lap around the building before returning to my cube cell.

South Padre Island. Not just for Spring Break anymore

2008-06-23T23:05:00.005-05:00

Big news, kids. B. Whitley is all grownsed up. He popped the question just before the Houston contingent and I arrived at his condo for a weekend of nothing doing. We spent the weekend parked - at the Wanna Wanna or at the condo or at the beach or at the Wanna Wanna.

I'm sorry to disappoint those of you who were hoping for some wild and crazy stories, but there's really nothing interesting to share about the weekend. Here are the "highlights" of my weekend.

Ate bar-b-que at some place in Harlingen that Texas Monthly suggested was in the Top 50 BBQ Joints in Texas. I was not impressed.
Convinced The Bolivian that he and his lady friend would be sleeping on the sofa and love seat respectively
Stared unabashedly at the attractive ladies and cougars roaming the beach and deck at the Wanna Wanna
Kicked myself at least six-and-a-half times about not protesting more vehemently when folks insisted on dinner at Amberjacks. That place blows Donkey Kongs.
Channeled my inner gentleman and moved from the bedroom to the couch so that The Bolivian and his lady friend could spoon
Endured the longest trip to The Blue Marlin (grocery store) in my life, which consisted of: leaving the Wanna Wanna, shopping for $100 worth of groceries, attempting to check-out, realizing that my credit card was at Wanna Wanna, realizing that I had no cash stash in my bathing suit, driving to the Wanna Wanna and retrieving my card, returning to The Blue Marlin and attempting to check-out only to be told that they don't take AmEx, having an aneurysm at the counter, calling the condo seven times before Baby bailed me out by delivering B. Whitley and his card.
Wished Mel (the girl in the photo) was around to sing Baby Got Back

Go ahead. Make my day.

2008-06-20T09:53:00.001-05:00

I spent the night with Los Pedros last night. LP & KP made might day/week/month with the following exchange.

"KP, what's your favorite shirt?"

KP shrugged and kept coloring.

"KP, what shirt do you wear all the time?"

KP shrugged and kept coloring.

"KP, what shirt did Uncle JB get you?"

KP threw her hands up in the air and screamed, "THE WHO DAT SHIRT!"

WHO DAT!?! Uncle JB. Dat's who.

M is for Motorcycle Endorsement

2008-06-16T14:55:00.002-05:00

Training Wheels, originally uploaded by JaseMan.

Hello. I'm JB el JB. I once wrecked two motorcycles in the span of a week and followed up those crashes with a near miss on a scooter two weeks later. Now you know why my mom is not digging the fact that I bought the hog.

The key thing to realize is that I'd never ridden a motorcycle prior to renting the Ducati in Australia. The short story is that a colleague, who had a bike at home, suggested that we rent bikes and ride the coast line. I rode for six plus hours without incident prior to failing to make it through a left turn and ended up hitting the side of a mountain.

Motorcycle riding is not rocket science or so I thought. "It's just like driving a stick in a car, but you shift on the handlebars." That's true, but the real issue is cornering as I demonstrated during my tenure down under.

I knew that I needed to take the Motorcycle Safety Foundation BasicRider Course, which is what happened this weekend. The class was three hours in the class room on Friday night followed by about five hours riding each day on Saturday and Sunday.

The students were a diverse mix. A mother/son team was seated at my table along with a Nigerian guy named Abe who was pretty hilarious. The 20 other students were black, white and Latin. They rode (or wanted to ride) Harleys, scooters and crotch rockets.

The class room portion was cake (I got a 100% on the written test), but the real challenge was the practical part of the class. The instructors split us into two sections of 12 students with whom we'd ride over the next two days. We progressed from idling across the parking lot to maneuvering through swerves and curves at 20 MPH.

Some folks did well; some did not. The double u-turn drill was a daunting task. So were the braking drill and the 130 degree curve. The mom from my table and a another lady seemed to be having a contest about who could drop their motorcycle more often. In the end, the other lady "won" by wrecking during the final evaluation. Fortunately, the only pain she encountered was a bruised pride and a failure in the class.

In case you are wondering, I went out for a spin after class and avoided an accident thanks to my much improved cornering skills. I didn't panic when the oncoming car stopped in the apex of the turn. Instead, I just Slowed, Looked, Pushed & Rolled...and Pushed some more. Take the class and you'll know what I'm talking about.

Be Careful. People May Read Stuff You Post on the Internets

2008-06-13T17:07:00.002-05:00

I got embarrassed at the dentist today. No, I didn’t have any gaping cavities. And, no my teeth weren’t any more bucked out then they normally are. Rather, my dentist knows what I wrote about him and, more importantly, his hygienist now knows that I think she’s hot.

I was referred to Dr. Vaughn by JLay, who went to school with him. Then, I wrote a review of Dr. Vaughn on Yelp. It starts like this:

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.

Well, JLay told Vaughn about the review. So, as he’s finishing up my 15 second, post-teef polishing exam he hits me with.

By the way, I checked out your Yelp review. Everyone in the office loves it.

I could feel my face flush to stop sign red. Everyone was standing right behind me having just had her hands stuffed in my face for the past 30 minutes. I'd almost rather have him tell me that I needed a filling.

At least it would have led me back to Julia's chair again.

It's Quittin' Time

2008-06-12T17:18:00.002-05:00

I'm looking for a new job in a major way, people. And by "major way," I mean that I have updated my resume and applied for five yobs over the past couple of weeks.

Don't ask me why or I may punch you in the face. Not really, but kinda. Have you read this blog or talked to me much? I bitch a lot about work. I know this.

I'm finally ready to through in the towel at McCall, Gilchrist & Haynes. I'm realigned with my original career coach. I've been back on the road for nearly a year, which means that I am more certain than ever that I'm sick of it - no matter how many free trips I earn. And, I just eclipsed the ten year mark with MG&H.

Guess what I get for that. Guess! Guess! I'll give you ten guesses and you probably still won't get it.

Finished? You'd better sit down. Drum roll, please.

I get a fruit basket. Yep, a fruit basket with genuine pears and oranges and stuff. Hell no I'm not disappointed. It is from Harry & David after all. I will say that I wish they would have sprung for the Jelly of the Month Club.

Assholes.

Big Trouble

2008-06-09T21:55:00.002-05:00

Big Trouble, originally uploaded by JaseMan.

I know what you're thinking.

You're joking, right? Aren't you the guy who crashed two motorcycles in a seven day span in 2002? Didn't you follow-up those fiascoes with a near wipe out on a Vespa in Rimini two weeks later?

Nope. Yep. And, uh huh.

The fact is that I have wanted a motorcycle for eons. My spectacular crash near Melbourne Australia didn't do much more than provide a slight pause in my conscience. In fact, the crash was pretty exhilirating - scary as hell - but exciting none the less. I'd also like to think that my recent $3000 a pop trips to the shop for my VW have something do with my desire for alternative transportation, but that's not true. This is more about fun, rebellion and looking cool.

I finally have my own powered two-wheel vehicle after spending lusting after a 1966 Honda Superhawk 305, a Ducati Monster or a BMW touring machine. In fact, I only ended up buying my Virtacci Edge after my latest round of stalking Superhawks on eBay.

DFT and I were perusing my eBay Watch List late one night after dinner. I was stoked about the 1976 Honda Super Sport in mint condition...and the 1978 450...and the 1984 Interceptor. Mmmm hmmm. I would look super fly riding around on a red, white and blue grand daddy of today's crotch rockets.

DFT was more excited about scooters. One scooter caught his eye more than the others. The Honda Ruckus. $1900 for 49 ccs didn't seem like the smartest decision for me given my non-pixie like dimensions, but the design was pretty sweet. The engine was housed by a minimalist frame that makes the thing look more like a kit you put together than something produced by big industry.

We surfed motorcycle and scooters sites all night until we could surf no longer. Both of us were excited to head to the local scooter shop as soon as we could. We were test riding in two days.

A lunch trip turned in a scooter testing trip. Apollo Scooters was between me and DFT and seemed like the perfect spot to talk about lunch options. If we just happened to ride a couple of sleds around the parking lot, then we were cool with that. The place was packed with customers looking to get green. Guys bigger than me that looked like they should be riding Harleys. Nerd couples looking to cut their carbon footprint and raise their cool factor.

DFT and I both thought the Edge (not the guitarist) was the most intriguing model. Its style is very similar to the Ruckus (more precisely the Big Ruckus) but with a bigger engine - 150 cc. We took it for a spin around the parking lot. Uh oh.

JB: "We'd better get out of here before one of us buys this thing."

DFT: "O.K. Let's go to Jenni's and check them out online."

Lunch at Jenni's was great. The food was solid and our Internet searching uncovered an Edge on Craigslist for about $700 less than retail if you include the dealer prep fee.

You can see where that led.

State of the Horse

2008-06-09T21:42:00.002-05:00

Sorry for being out of commission since Tax Day. I'm not sure what happened really. A stealth comet probably passed between the moon and Earth while we weren't looking and shorted out my keyboard and my Internets. Oh well.

And now back to our regular program which has been running behind the scenes...

Paganello in one shot

2008-04-15T21:02:00.003-05:00

Paganello: JB Mastermind's Destruction
Originally uploaded by lovegreg

People often ask what kind of things happen at Paganello. Check out this picture and imagine the rest.

I am really going to miss the tournament.

The glass is half empty

2008-04-02T12:50:00.000-05:00

Today marked birthday number thirty-five. Are you kidding me? 35! Me? What the? Who put my VHS tape of life on fast-forward?

I've just about crested the hump of life according to the Death Clock which lists my date of death as January 12, 2044. That's only 36 years away. Which means that I'm in the middle of my life. Which may be interpreted by some, and by some I mean me, to indicate that I'm middle aged.

According to the Wikipedia:

Middle age is the period of life beyond young adulthood but before the onset of old age. Various attempts have been made to define this age, which is around the third quarter of the average life span of human beings.

The US Census lists middle age as 35 to 54. AAAGGGHHH! Say it ain't so, Joe.

Fortunately, the remaining "various attempts" at defining middle age are OK. One lists the period as 40 to 60. The other lists it as 45 to 60. Woosah! Blood pressure dropping without the aid of drugs.

Wait. There is more.

In many Western societies, this is seen to be the period of life in which a person is expected to have settled down in terms of their sense of identity and place in the world, be raising a family, and have established career stability. It is also a period often associated with the potential onset of mid-life crisis.

Sense of identity? Check, I guess.

Sense of place in the world? Check.

Raising a family? Nope. But, my diaper changing skills have been requested by toddlers with dirty diapers.

Established career stability? What does my asking a colleague how much notice was required to quit indicate to you?

Potential onset of mid-life crisis? Ha! No way. I'm way past "potential" and am fully engaged in "onset."

Italy: Bring Your Own Oats

2008-03-27T22:19:00.001-05:00

Cristiano, Raffa and her family were very gracious hosts again this year for my pilgrimage to Italia. I was able to spend two nights with them in their palatial Como home. In exchange for hospitality, I needed to bake my Mom's Ultimate Cookies for Raffa's mom.

"No sweat. I got this," I thought. "I've made those cookies twice before in Italia."

That was all true buscept the part where I forgot (as did Raffa) where we got all the ingredients for the previous batches of biscotti. The most difficult ingredient to find last time was oats (aveno); this year was no exception. We scoured the grocery store and pestered her mom and friends, but Raffa and I couldn't find any aveno.

So, we did what everyone in a crisis should do. We ate a big lunch and then she went to the dentist so I went walkabout.

My GPS got me back to the car on time but Raffa wasn't back yet. Had she been back, I wouldn't have wandered away from the car and run smack dab into a health food store.

That right - A HEALTH FOOD STORE IN ITALY! That's about as ironic as "a free ride when you've already paid." We're talking about a country that is barren of veggies unless you count mozzarella and the tomatoes in your insalata caprese.

I'm sure the lady had never seen an Americano so excited to buy a kilo of oats. Clearly she didn't understand the pressure I was under to deliver the dolce vita to Raffa's house.

That lady's aveno saved the day, but securing the ingredients turned out to be the easy part since the recipe is in cups and everything - EVERYTHING - is measured in grams.

Anyone got any idea how many grams of broken up chocolate Easter egg equates to one cup of semi-sweet morsels? It's 250.

And another thing. I understood why I got weird looks when I asked the grocer where the oats were. However, there is no plausible explanation as to why Raffa and everyone in her house looked at me like I was daft when I asked for a glass of cold milk. Cold milk and chocolate chip cookies go together like Peaches & Herb, Ebony & Ivory, bacon & bacon...

First Class fare is worth it to sit down

2008-03-26T10:02:00.002-05:00

Leaving Rimini gets tougher every year. The post-Paga Blues sometimes set in before you even get to the station and definitely attack you once you validate your ticket. But it pays to buy your ticket ASAP because the trains sell out quickly due to the holidays and the Paga travellers.

I'd like to think that I didn't buy my departure ticket immediately to help fend off the Paga Blues. But that wasn't the case. I just forgot to do it in typical jackass fashion. It's been nine years, and I still haven't learned.

Sara and Luca drove me to the station on Monday to book my journey to Milano. The only reserved seat ticket I could get was for the 5 PM Inter City train instead of steady pimping on the EuroStar. I took it since standing up on a train for three plus hours sucks. It is sardine-esque. Ask me about Paris to Milan sometime.

The train was packed with holiday travelers most of which were traveling only as far as Bologna. People and luggage (bagagli) were crammed into every nook on the train car (carrozza). The hallways of the first class cars are popular spots so that folks can snipe empty seats as they became available. Thus, it was impossible to make it to my cabin with all of my loot and not knock over anyone. I ditched my big backpack in the hallway and continued on with the small one and the No Tsu Oh umbrella.

Naturally my seat was taken by someone else - a woman and her daughter. I told them to stay seated but the lady was cool and got up saying, "It's OK. This is your seat."

I felt bad about it even though I did shell out my hard-earned bread to get the seat. That ended later when I figured out that the man in the hall was her husband. He came back to our cabin after the Bologna stop to retrieve luggage - about five bags. Apparently I'd missed the part of the ride where he'd already been kicked out of the cabin by other full-fare paying ~~suckers~~ patrons.

Stay out of my way and walk in a straight line

2008-03-08T07:30:00.001-06:00

"Damn you people. Go back to your shanties!"
- Shooter McGavin

I travel a lot. A lot a lot, which means I fly at least two flights per week, sometimes more, which pretty much makes me an expert on travel crowds along my routes and airport behavior in general.

There are two types of travelers: business travelers and the "I still don't have a clue about airplanes" travelers.

These two species of humans are easily distinguished. The business travelers typically don't care about the amount they pay for a flight since it will be reimbursed by their company or client. This equates to them booking flights on carriers that serve destinations across the country and across the seas. If you're going to fly, you may as well earn a free trip to Italy, right?

The ISDHACAA folks are readily picked out of a crowd as well. These folks will usually frequent discount carriers like AirTran, Southwest and JetBlue. I don't blame them. I wouldn't want to pay much for a ticket if I wasn't on the expense account gravy train.

Apparel profiling aside, it would be difficult to discern one class of traveler from another if fare difference were the only indicator. But, that is just the tip of the ice cube. You can really separate the frequent traveler (FT) wheat from the once or twice a year flying chaff in the security line and in the check-in line. The FTs arrive with boarding passes in hand and luggage that weighs in at 49.9 pounds per bag since 50 pounds is the free limit. The infrequent folks (IT) show up with shopping bags for luggage and no idea where their driver's license is. Yes, I'm a luggage snob, but it's about the PITA of keeping up with the multiple bags not about the brand stamped on the damn thing.

And that PITA is borne in the security lines. FTs have their shit together. They didn't spend the last 40 minutes waiting to get to the metal detector talking about how cool it will be to go to the Bennigan's in Cancun to see if the Monte Cristo is served with salsa like the ITs. Nope. The FTs were putting everything metal and metal-like and that isn't a boarding pass or ID into their carry on bag. FTs shoes are already untied if there are even laces on them.

I've spent many a precious minute - the very few that you have between you arriving at the gate and the boarding door shutting in your face - trapped behind knuckleheads who were too busy talking about the new rims they put on their 1986 Civic. By the time they get to the TSA security lady they've lost their boarding pass inside their XXXXXL hoodie.

There should be a global "You Fly a Shit Ton" security line that you can only access if your flight total is above a threshold for the year. All the other rich folk paying high dollar for First Class should be relegated to the No Class line since they don't have a clue about security either. They are just spilling much more expensive loot into the bag check machine.

And no matter your station in life, ITs can not seem to walk in a straight line. They are also masters at walking in small circles while talking on the cell phone in the middle of the central artery of the airport.

Thank you. That is all.

Houstonist Wins HAM History Road Rally

2008-03-02T22:47:00.002-06:00

Houston Police Headquarters
Originally uploaded by JaseMan

Team Houstonist won the Houston Arts & Media History Road Rally. 11 teams of five set off on a digital scavenger hunt around Houston this afternoon. Each team had a list of the same 15 clues and only two hours to decipher the answers, reach the locations, snap digital pictures and return to the rally point.

Rob Hays and I were in the car haul-assing around town with SMS support from Jim Parsons and Torie Ludwin.

Anyone got a Ferrari that I can borrow for the Cannonball Run? I've already got the priest outfit.

You're Never Too Old to Stay Up til 4 AM

2008-03-02T12:49:00.004-06:00

Looks like I picked the wrong day to quit partying all weekend. First there was the minor partying excursion to the HLSR with Thomamas, but you already read about that. And, this morning I got home at 4 AM after what was supposed to be my low key evening of the weekend. In between was Friday night and the Houstonist Light Rail Pub Crawl Dos.

The LRPC is near and dear to my heart. What's not to love about inviting a bunch of folks you don't know to come out and cocktail it up with you? Nothing. The best part is that you don't have to drive anywhere all night - unless you're a moron like one of my friends who'll remain nameless.

Overall the crawl went well - nearly as well as last year. We started with about 45 folks at The Flying Saucer and then lost people along the way. Last year, we started small and grew to epic proportions by the time we reached the fifth and final bar. 2008 saw us down to a lean dirty dozen or so folks by the time we reached Warren's. I didn't care. I was wiped out and ready to hit the sack so it was just as well. Saturday needed to be mild on the party scale. "I'm getting too old for this shit." (Quick name that movie.)

I met my old roommate Nell Dog, his wife Murph and their friends at Max's Wine Dive for dinner. Things went downhill from there.

We followed up Max's with a trip to Cahill's a few blocks away. The night was filled with various conversations - the election, useless BS and glory stories. I was still succeeding in my battle against the party having cut myself off after only two VSs.

The party broke up, and most of the crew was loading up in the parking lot when I noticed a missing lady. Jess was still inside so TK and I went back to check on her.

[JB el JB] Hey, lady. You coming with us.

[Jess] No, I'm closing my tab and will walk home after finishing my drink. (Jess lives three blocks away.)

[JB el JB] I can give you a ride?

[Jess] It's OK. I walk up here all the time. Don't worry about it.

[TK] You want to get one last round and wait with her?

[JB el JB] One round?

[TK] One round.

[Jess] Yeah, let's have another round and then we'll go.

Everything was going according to plan when a big dude at the end of the bar said to TK, "Tell your redheaded friend that I think she's good looking." "OK," she replied. Then the big guy, Daigle, said to his buddy, "Sahn Dee Ahgo." "A whale's vagina," I answered.

"Get that man a shot," ordered Daigle to the bartender. That's when the wheels fell off.

Three-and-a-half hours later, Jess, TK and I were at an after hours party at Daigle's with him and his crew. Two hours after that I headed home.

Surreal Night at Houston Rodeo

2008-02-29T10:36:00.000-06:00

Dirty Hands
Originally uploaded by CJ Sorg

Thomamas invited me to the Chili Cookoff yesterday afternoon when I was on my pilgrimage to DFW.

I'm not sure that I can make it. This week sucked. And, I'm tired.

You need to be here. There's talent and free drinks.

Well, I'm not one to leave a brother in need of a wingman. Hear that, Bolivian?

Parking was bitch so Thomamas picked me up and we parked at his reserved spot at Shoney's. That's how we roll.

The vodka sodas were flowing, but all the food was gone by the time I got to the party. We headed out into the ruckus to check out the other parties and maybe track down some food.

We were busy gawking at the Crown Royal babes when a lady in a Matrix style leather trenchcoat walked up with a box of BBQ sandwiches offering each of us one. Savor that moment will you. A Trinity-like babe with BBQ. Mmmm, delicious.

T and I were still talking about our free sandwiches like teenage girls talking about JT. I think I peed my pants a little.

I was just about to unwrap my sandwich when I felt a slap on my butt and a girl circled around my right side. A strange exchange followed.

[Girl] Y'all go to Massachusetts last weekend?

[Thomamas] What?

[JB el JB] Huh?

[Girl] Y'all go to Massachusetts last weekend? You know 'cuz they offer gay marriage?

[Thomamas] What the hell?

[JB el JB] Shhhh. That's our dirty little secret.

[Girl] You gonna ride the ferris wheel? It's romantic.

[JB el JB] Nope.

[Thomamas] We'll need two people to ride it with us.

[Girl] So y'all wanna buy some carnival tickets. I'm having trouble selling them.

[JB el JB] Uh...no.

[Thomamas] We're not buying any tickets.

[Girl] Y'all aren't any fun.

...

[Thomamas] Damn carnie. (Censored content)

[JB el JB] She smelled like cabbage.

[Thomamas] And had small hands.

BBQ Trinity made it all better by bringing Thomamas another sandwich.

Ten long days are in the books

2008-02-19T22:43:00.001-06:00

My ten day journey down The Master Cleanser path came to an end today. Words seem to fail me as I describe my level of excitement. As hard as that is to believe, here's an excerpt from an email I wrote earlier tonight.

The recovery starts tomorrow and lemme just tell you that I'm FUCKING EXCITED (sorry for that display of my limited lexicon) that the salt water purges are finito.

Perhaps my body excreted my vocabulary along with toxins?

Here's a quick run down of FAQ from my experience.

What was the hardest thing to give up during The MC?
The worst part of the cleanse was abstaining from the social aspects of dining. It creeps out some folks to have a non-eater sitting at the table watching folks eat. The experience was a bit weird for me, too.

What happens next?
There is a three day recovery period during which I reintroduce my body to something besides lemonade. Day 1 is OJ Day; basically OJ is substituted for the lemonade. Day 2 is the more of the same with veggie broth/soup in the evening. Day 3 is OJ for the morning, soup during mid day and real, chewable vegetables for dinner. Day 4 is chicken fried steak. :)

What is the first thing you're going to eat once the recovery period is over?
The jury is still out on this, but I'll likely stop in for some soup at Jenni's Noodle House or some pho (real) at some place where no one speaks English.

Did you lose any weight?
Yep, 15 pounds, but I expect that some of that will return once I start chewing again.

Are you going to become a vegetarian now?
I've strongly considered it for health reasons, but there are too many dishes that I dig that involve meat or meat related items. Of course, April is vegetarian month, a.k.a. sushi month, so I'll be a vegetarian then. I'm going to work towards making smarter choices regardless of my meat-a-tarian / vegetarian slant.

This MC ain't got nothing on me

2008-02-14T12:36:00.003-06:00

It is after Noon on Day 5, which means that there are officially a fewer number of hours left in my Master Cleanser journey than the amount that I have already invested. Kick. Ass.

In short, Day 3 sucked. Apparently on of the side effects of the MC is that you may get a cold or some cold like symptoms due to you body taking its revenge on you for drinking way too much and eating way too much red meat. I'm sure I had a fever, but didn't get probed to make it official. I was ready to conk out. But I sucked it up. I'm not getting beat by too many glasses of lemonade.

I'll spare you the gory details, but my evening of "sleep" on Day 3 resembled the depictions of a junkie going through heroin withdrawals. I could not get warm no matter how many blankets I used or how much I peed on myself. KIDDING. I also couldn't stop hacking up junk from my lungs. Nyquil would be my standard answer for this type of misery, but no dice due to the MC.

Is passing out from delirium the wrong way to fall asleep?

Waking up at 4:30 AM sucks

2008-02-12T11:57:00.000-06:00

Day 2 on the MC was a tough one for the kid. First, I have to fly to Ft. Worth on Monday mornings so I was up at 4:30 AM to insure that my quart of salt water had fully processed prior to getting stuck on a plane. The salt water nearly made my puke even after I adjusted it from 2 tablespoons to 2 teaspoons. I think my stomach knew what was coming and wanted to stage a revolt.

I arrived at my client site with enough lemons and syrup to make my lemonade for the day. But, there really isn’t a convenient place to make it. And by convenient I mean a place where folks can’t see what you’re doing. I didn’t want to have answer a bunch of questions about what was going on. I ended up sitting on a picnic table outside the break room to do my mixing.

Day 2 passed without any severe hunger pangs or urgent calls from Mother Nature. I did duck out of a meeting early to go drink some lemonade when I began to feel faint.

My early waking time started to catch up with my around 7:30 when I left the office. I seemed to be stuck on slow; I’d like to have had an Airborne to fight off the cold that I felt creeping up on me. No dice.

I returned to my ho-tel after a run to Central Mark-up to fetch more syrup and lemons and a lemon juicer. Three dozen lemons, a pint of syrup and the juicer set me back $32.99. I need to open a grocery store.

It may have cost ten bucks, but the juicer is so choice. If you have the means... Don’t underestimate the utility of a lemon juicer when you need to squeeze a dozen per day.

T-Minus 10 Days to Fajitas

2008-02-10T21:53:00.001-06:00

Sunday Shopping Trip
Originally uploaded by JaseMan

Today was my first day on The Master Cleanse cleansing regimen. The MC is basically one approach to ridding your system of contaminants that one may have ingested over the course of years spent living in a non-healthy way. Yep, it's still me JB over here. Don't leave.

I've been wanting to attempt some sort of a system cleanse for a few years now. I was close once before; I bought about $40 of herbs for a tea treatment, but was not patient enough with the complex mechinations involved. The herbs are still in my fridge. They can be yours for 20 bucks.

The Master Cleanse doesn't use fancy herbs or "gimmicks" if you don't count the MC as a gimmick itself. The regimen is basically fasting for 10 days save for drinking a funky lemonade consisting of lemons, maple syrup and cayenne pepper. You'll spend lots of time with your porcelain friend throughout the course of the diet, but that's kind of the point. Crap out the bad. Syonara toxins!

So, today was Day 1. Each day starts with a quart of water with some sea salt mixed in to facilitate your purging. Drinking a quart of salt water was tough. TOUGH. Tough as in, "I'm trying not to puke in the trash can tough." Perhaps I should have read the instructions a bit more closely. The MC calls for two teaspoons of sea salt. I read it as two tablespoons. Oops.

Thank God I called Stew tonight to talk about my first day experiences. [Note: yes, that Stew; he and Angela did this before and survived.] He mentioned that a friend of his also did the MC, but mistakenly used 2 TBS instead of 2 tsp.

"Yeah, you know, Dave, right? He used a tablespoon to measure the salt instead of a teaspoon. He said he could barely finish the quart of water because he kept throwing up."

"But, Stew, it calls for two tablespoons of sea salt.

"Huh. I thought it was 2 teaspoons. You should probably check just to be safe."

HOLY SHI'ITE! It is two teaspoons! My colon is probably trying to take out a hit on me right now.

No wonder I felt like I'd nearly drown in the Gulf.

I really have felt fine all day except for the miserable quart of salt water. I haven't been hungry. I haven't felt tired. I hope it stays this way. Should that occur, I may try to stretch out the MC as long as I can.

My biggest concern right now is making it through my flight to DFW tomorrow without having to answer any calls from nature while on the plane or out of reach of The President's Club.

Crazy About Chronology

2008-02-10T21:17:00.000-06:00

I can hear what you're thinking.

"Where have you been?"

"I guess he's given up on this whole blogging thing."

"He's finally realized that we don't really care what you're doing. We just read your blog while we're: a) waiting for our pedicure; b) stuck in the bathroom; c) waiting for the latest posting from Dooce."

Well, you're wrong. Yep. I've been right here. Living. Obsessing. Working. Partying. Things have been going along as planned, or not so planned, but life has been happening, and I've been trying to hold on to my wits as the adventure continues.

A series of events lead to me not keeping up with my blogging effort. The holidays came and went. Events came and went. And, work started heating up. The point is that I didn't make the time to keep up with my chronicle of events. And, I have an issue.

Truth be told, I have issues, but only one is central to my current ramble and that is my mild level of OCD - Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Jack Nicholson's character had to wash his hands all the time in As Good As It Gets. I am compelled to blog in chronological order.

Blogs, like any journal, are essentially a collection of your thoughts in the form of posts that are inspired by happenings in your life. You wouldn't write a biography with flashbacks, would you? I wouldn't think so because of the reactions and interpretations of future events are built on and influenced by the context of previous events and experiences. Well, the same goes for my blog.

Some folks feel the need to arrange all of the labels on the canned goods so that they face the exact same direction when you look in the pantry. Others are driven to journal in chronological order. I have to do both.

Unfortunately I am not always inspired to write a blog entry for Event A before I'm inspired to write a post for Event B. So I wait. And, I wait some more. The inspiration to write about Event A is trapped at the back of an airport security line filled with old men and young mothers traveling with quintuplets and five laptops. Meanwhile life has progressed to Event L, but nothing makes it out on to the tubes.

This posting order concern may seem insignificant, but I am mildly convinced that my lack of posting (a.k.a. journaling) has lead to a backlog of stress in my very cramped noggin. The solution to this quandary hit me in the shower from whence most of my decent ideas come.

I'll write the posts whenever I feel like it. But, the posting date will match the chronology of the actual occurrence. Big deal you say. Yep. You're right. It is to me, and I'm the boss. The crazy boss.

In any case, you may notice that the front page of my blog may not change for long periods. That may indicate that I've fallen off the face of a mountain or that may indicate that I am writing about events that pre-date the front page contents.

Fret not. The events probably that weren't interesting or I would have written about them before now. Alternatively, you fretters can subscribe to the RSS feed which will alert you to new conent no matter what the official posting date is, unless it was in 1991 because that pre-dates Al Gore's Internets.

Now you know I'm nuts, but it was worth it so that you could keep up with my mental flossings.

Ciao ciao.

Christmas Brings Flamingos

2007-12-25T23:07:00.002-06:00

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

2007-12-20T23:05:00.000-06:00

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

2007-12-13T22:00:00.000-06:00

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

2007-12-09T15:21:00.000-06:00

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

2007-12-08T14:56:00.000-06:00

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

2007-12-07T15:55:00.000-06:00

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

2007-12-04T11:53:00.000-06:00

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

Buffalo Ranch Birthday Party

2007-12-03T15:54:00.000-06:00

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.

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.

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.

All 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.

It 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.

Unfortunately 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

2007-11-28T15:53:00.000-06:00

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 are no longer out of their element.

TX in NYC

2007-11-20T10:53:00.000-06:00

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?

Nope.

It rocks.

I gotta hose. Just order me what you get.

OK.

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.

2007-11-18T09:47:00.000-06:00

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.

Just in case you were wondering what fun looks like

2007-11-15T12:12:00.000-06:00

Check out Hank's video of the bicycle pub crawl.

It's Not Easy Being Green

2007-11-14T17:05:00.000-06:00

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

2007-11-13T22:03:00.000-06:00

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).

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

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

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

2007-11-10T20:09:00.000-06:00

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."

Beat.

"We could go test drive cars..."

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

"Done."

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?"

"Yep."

"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."

"Really?"

"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

2007-11-07T22:34:00.001-06:00

Ten
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

2007-11-05T16:36:00.000-06:00

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.

Stop #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.

Stop #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.

Stop #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.

Stop #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

2007-11-03T08:00:00.001-05:00

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

2007-10-31T06:56:00.000-05:00

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.

Nah.

I should just pay someone to do that, too.

I Love Halloween Parties

2007-10-29T19:21:00.000-05:00

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

2007-10-26T19:45:00.000-05:00

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?

WHAT THE FUCK?

Sunday with Stella

2007-10-22T13:59:00.000-05:00

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

2007-10-13T23:47:00.000-05:00

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

2007-09-24T00:12:00.000-05:00

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

2007-09-20T23:01:00.000-05:00

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.

EEK.

Bag Man I Am

2007-09-17T23:35:00.000-05:00

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

2007-09-09T20:55:00.000-05:00

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

2007-09-03T18:59:00.000-05:00

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

2007-09-02T23:22:00.000-05:00

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

2007-08-30T19:57:00.000-05:00

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

2007-08-26T21:41:00.000-05:00

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.

JB

+++++

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.

BT

I changed a poo-poo diaper and lived

2007-08-22T22:49:00.000-05:00

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

2007-08-20T22:26:00.000-05:00

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

2007-08-17T12:00:00.000-05:00

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."

"Nope."

"She was too drunk."

"Yep."

"You were too sober."

"Yep."

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

"Yep."

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

Smoke in the Box

2007-08-11T12:06:00.000-05:00

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!

2007-08-10T23:48:00.000-05:00

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

2007-08-07T11:53:00.000-05:00

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.

Apparently, 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.

I 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

2007-08-01T13:39:00.000-05:00

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

2007-07-30T22:32:00.001-05:00

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

2007-07-27T15:12:00.000-05:00

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

2007-07-26T18:04:00.000-05:00

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.

LANCE
They should be fuckin' killed.
No trial, no jury, straight to execution.

VINCENT
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?

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

Recent survey shows politicians are as full of shit as ever

2007-07-23T22:54:00.000-05:00

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

2007-07-18T16:44:00.000-05:00

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..."

And people from Chicago say we Southerners are backwards

2007-07-16T21:25:00.000-05:00

A Boy, His Balloon & His Mullet, originally uploaded by JaseMan.

Adios, Los Pedros!

2007-07-11T07:21:00.000-05:00

What happens when your default setting is no longer an option? I do not know. I am about to learn.

Los Pedros migrated their family unit to Dallas on Saturday. I have not been home since.

OK. That reads more dramatically than it should. I haven't been home because of work not because I hate my house or the hood.

That's not to say that the neighborhood hasn't lost a lot of luster since you know who did you know what. But, I am not planning to move anywhere in the near future. Part of the rationale for buying a house was to not move for a few years. Of course, those plans could change should I meet a candidate for the missus. Whole lotta candidates up here in Toronto. The EJBA has been howling constantly.

I still can't believe they won't live next door to me when I get back to town. Their stuff will be neatly staged around the house awaiting a buyer to choose their crib like a teenager choosing a puppy at the pound. My mental image conjures up memories of the life sized Tomorrow Land dioramas at DisneyWorld.

Let me explain what I mean by default lest you get the wrong idea. Default does not mean that hanging out with Los Pedros was a fall back plan only to be exercised in the event that all other options were duds or involved microfiber Midtown duds. Default, in this context, meant that spending time next door was my first choice. Don't believe me? Ask The Bolivian.

Our exchanges about going out used to go like this:

"Yo, JB, we're going to [fill in the blank with a cheesy "Midtown" bar]. You in?"

"Nope."

The "nope" was usually because eating dinner, drinking White Russians and playing with KP are laid back no fuss options that I really enjoyed even if I did get my ass kicked at Monopoly last week. Thanks for increasing my therapy bill, LP.

Now the exchanges will probably go something like this:

"Yo, JB, we're going to [fill in the blank with a cheesy "Midtown" bar]. You in?"

"I guess so," sighed an exasperated JB into the phone as he realized that he would have to endure crowds of posing $30,000 millionaires.

Yo, Pedros, is it too late to reconsider your move to Dallas? I'll mow your grass for six months!

Just paid for my great great grandchild's baby rattle

2007-07-10T17:07:00.000-05:00

Sorry. What I meant to say was that I just pre-ordered the Harry Potter box set. All seven novels in hardback in some fancy box. Of course I don't plan on opening it when it comes so that it'll be worth tens of dollars 80 years from now. It'll just collect dust on the shelf next to my comic book collection which is slated to pay for the future mini-me's first trip to El Rey.

I feel like the Andy in 40 Year Old Virgin, but I'm not either. Excuse me while I go box up my Aquaman action figure and wait for Catherine Keener to come home.

Top Ten Things You Need to Know Right Now

2007-07-10T13:24:00.001-05:00

10. I'm not paying attention in training class right now.
9. This will bite me in the ass on my next project.
8. My ass is still purple from getting beat down by the Bulls.
7. Preliminary word on the skreet is that a Pamplona paper will be
running a story on San Fermin Nueva Orleans.
6. YouTube is a blessing and a curse.
5. My NOLA weekend lag is worse than my Toronto jet lag.
4. You will experience turbulence if you sit behind me on the airplane
with your three singing toddlers and let them kick the back of my
seat.
3. I will push you down if you walk out of a door and stop two feet
outside of the threshhold.
2. Toronto chicks are hot.
1. My desire to take pictures that I can blow up to wallpaper size and
my desire to be a cheap bastard are tearing me apart right now.

150+ Evade Bulls in The French Quarter

2007-07-08T23:57:00.000-05:00

A wisp of an idea on Mardi Gras day was realized on Saturday. San Fermin en Nueva Orleans sprang to life in the French Quarter at the crack of dawn as 150+ participants huffed and puffed their way along a half-mile route between bars.

The story goes something like this. The Mic ran into acquaintance on Mardi Gras who'd dressed up like a bull runner. The two had a chat during which The Mic commented that San Fermin should be recreated in NOLA. Mix in a hot bride, a TDO, a Kurt & a Tracey and it was a done deal.

Plans were made. People were contacted. Outfits were designed. Locations were secured.

Runners, or participants as they are more accurately called as few resembled runners, started to gather at The Three Legged Dog on Conti at 7 AM on July 7, 2007. The Mic, Bef & I got there just after 6 AM so that they could iron out last minute logistics there and at the end point, Sidebar. Anxiety began to set in after only a few folks had trickled in by 7 AM and most were folks we knew. We were all going to feel pretty silly if only a dozen folks were being chased by a dozen "bulls" portrayed by Big Easy Roller Girls.

Then it happened; a non-familiar face dressed from head to toe in white accented with red sashes pushed open the saloon doors - then another and another. The trickle of participants turned into a deluge. The three bartenders were having difficulty keeping up with the throng of Sangria-craving customers inside. Los Pastores were having trouble containing the crowd outside.

A second batch of sangria was mixed on the fly as the first five gallons waned. The second five gallons were nearly depleted as the 8 AM start time grew closer. The barker yelped instructions through a megaphone inside the Dog before delivering an invocation to the kneeling participants outside the bar.

And then they were off.

Ten minutes later most participants had reached the finish and were ordering their next sangrias. The party rolled on into the afternoon, but what happens in New Orleans stays in New Orleans. You'll just have to make the next one.

YGBFKM: Gmail turns 502

2007-06-28T16:56:00.000-05:00

Hurry up, please. Daddy needs his junk.

Psychological opinions required

2007-06-28T08:07:00.000-05:00

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

2007-06-25T15:41:00.000-05:00

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.

2007-06-22T16:48:00.000-05:00

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

2007-06-21T14:06:00.000-05:00

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

Looks great on paper

2007-06-21T11:00:00.000-05:00

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
Bus Boy, The Pilot House Restaurant & Marina
Drive-thru Monkey, McDonald's
Utility Burgerman, McDonald's
Scooper & Cake Maker, Baskin-Robbins
Prep Cook, Fudpucker's
Dishwasher, The Back Porch
Painter, Rubicon
Engineering Intern, Sunland Fabricator's
Welder's Assistant, Sunland Fabricator's
Office Assistant, LSU Vice Chancellor's Office
Bartender, Lion's Club Bingo Hall
Orientation Leader, LSU
Carpenter, NSU Theatre Department
Research Assistant - Ornithology, LSU Museum of Natural Science
Resident Assistant, LSU
Assistant Director of Orientation, LSU Dean of Student's Office
Chief Announcer, klsu
Graduate Assistant, LSU Public Administration Institute
Tutor, LSU ISDS Department
Internal Audit Intern, Vulcan Materials
Instructor, LSU ISDS Department
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

2007-06-19T21:02:00.000-05:00

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

2007-06-15T16:48:00.000-05:00

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.

2007-06-12T18:48:00.001-05:00

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

2007-06-10T14:22:00.000-05:00

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

2007-06-04T00:02:00.001-05:00

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

2007-06-01T18:19:00.001-05:00

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

Walking in circles and mumbling will get me to come to your house

2007-05-28T22:20:00.001-05:00

Two Hookers
Originally uploaded by JaseMan

HookerFest struggled to take place this year. First, there was our traditional January window of dates. Folks were committed; travel was purchased; hook-ups were arranged. The trip was canceled faster than you can scream, "SHIT!" J.T. mentioned something about safety concerns based on inclement weather. Alas, we truly are in the midst of becoming grown-ups.

Fortunately most folks, including moi, were able to accommodate the replacement date - a shift to the May 18th weekend. In fact, I built around this date. HF 7.0 was to be the anchor Ieg of the Great Texas Road Trip. I'd just bought a new tent and sleeping bag for this trip. Then work happened like it usually does. I had to be in Omaha on Monday morning, May 21st.

A quick scan of flight options, driving options and combinations thereof resulted in hope checking in online for its flight and taking a cab to the airport. I reluctantly realized what I must do - besides try to find an in-town gig. I had to tell the Hookers.

I scrolled through my contacts and hit the green button on El Spike. Three seconds of dialogue resulted in broken hearts in Alpine.

"Reverend!"

"Are you sitting down?"

"Oh, no!"

I had braced myself for disappointment on the other end of the phone but wasn't close to prepared for what ensued. JT sounded like I'd just backed over his dog and totaled his Jetta after telling him that I was no longer interested in car racing, camping, Ultimate or The Big Lebowski. Dazed, he handed the phone to his bride.

"You broke him, JB. He's walking around in circles in the living room muttering 'Omaha,'" said AmandaHug&Kiss. "I know what he's doing. I've seen this type of behavior before. He's trying to figure out the drive time from Alpine to Omaha."

I felt like shit.

I was in a daze of my own. The implications of not making it to HF were finally sinking in. I was ready to quit work so that I could make the trip. But, I didn't. I'm not supposed to quit until next Easter so that I can go to the final NTO get down at Paga 2008.

A flurry of "it's OK's," "it won't be the same without you," and "we'll do our own search for transportation options" followed.

That was Wednesday.

As I was driving to Daily Grind on Friday morning I read an email from JT that arrived on Thursday night. I called him at 9:30. By 9:45, I was booked on the Noon flight from Hobby to Midland.

Typical.

My people have a body chop

2007-05-26T10:48:00.001-05:00

My people have a body chop
Originally uploaded by JaseMan

After the Bolivian and I nearly drowned rescuing B. Whitley & Carie from HRL, we found the best Mexican restaurant in town per the Southwest lady, who by the way kept trying to whisk me away to Vega$. The body shop was next door to the restaurant. I wonder if they'll gimme a yob.

Free Advice: Deciphering the Friend Zone

2007-05-24T23:05:00.000-05:00

While we were in Talladega, The Mic discussed the concept of wandering around in a t-shirt that said "Free Advice" as a way to meet folks and start conversations. Recently a FriendGirl asked me via IM to decipher the Friend Zone. I decided to share the transcript in hopes that it spurns folks, yours truly included, into action so that they're "expressing with their full capabilities."

FG: do you subscribe to the notion that if a guy hangs around a girl but doesn't ask her out, he's really not into her? this is on behalf of a friend. seriously.
JB: yes, or he is:
1. scared to F up any relationship
2. intimidated
because
some folks aren't mature enough to get asked out, say no and put it behind them
FG: that is true.
JB: i've done it (been the asker and askee)
FG: but then giving in and fooling around and then NOT dating/saying wants to be single is SURE to screw up the friendship
JB: twice with success
and many with discomfort
FG: Yeah.
I hear you.
JB: yeah. i agree. if you're going to do it, then you need to go in with 'this isn't a one nighter' mentality
unless both parties agree, which is rare, but that's happened to me too
yippee
i feel like Dr. Phil.
get your friend to listen to Thin Line by J5
FG: I appreciate it. : )
But the "intimidated" word - I HATE that.
JB: yeah. you should just ask the guy out
FG: What?!
But we are not talking about me.
Dude.
JB: sorry
friend
FG: Actually, I really was talking about a friend on the hookup part.
But I have been faced with similar situs.
Non-hooking up situs.
JB: 10-4.
it's common, i think.
and natural
FG: I am such a girl though, I can't hook up without getting all attached.
JB: who doesn't want to get involved with a friend
as in you're not going to date someone you don't like/can't relate to/can't be friends with
FG: Well, I hope not - you would be surprised however by the number of my guy friends who don't seem to be overly concerned about that.
If she's hot LOL.
JB: did we already talk about "Coffee Shop Analysis"?
FG: Eh
no
JB: KO. I really need to draw this up in power point.
it's currently on a xerox of a napkin
short story: debbie (close friend girl) and I were in CS (union square) and had a big discussion about attraction after i commented that the waitress was hot
this waitress was not one of the wannabe supermodel waif types
was a real girl from TN trying to be an actress
FG: oh man
JB: it's pretty interesting
FG: i am sure
i hate the friend zone.
JB: basically a sliding scale of about 8-10 qualities
friend zone sucks
but it's tough to escape
FG: i know. once you are in it's like death to get out
JB: i've only pulled the trigger on asking about a friend twice
once worked out well and turned into a decent relationship
then failed
but we're still close
FG: that is good!
JB: and it's not awkward
FG: that's awesome.
JB: the other time
crashed and burned
But, we're still friends
FG: ouffff
JB: i chickened out the thousand other times
FG: Yeah, I know.
At the end, you just think, well, it's always good to have good friends.
JB: yeah. i agree.
FG: Why is it so hard?!?
JB: but, i also don't want to be the next Tony Randall
FG: Heh heh.
You are telling me - all the guys who do actually ask me out are like 12.
JB: it's tough because when you have the guts, you're (aka I) am typically slightly tipsy
and when you ask some out or make some overture at that point, then the girl usually thinks
FG: Oh, he's drunk
JB: "he just wants to get in my jeans"
FG: Exactly.
JB: when he (I) am thinking, "wow. she's smart, funny & good looking. And, we get along well. I should ask her out."
"I'll ask her when we're tipsy so that I can 'joke' it away if it bombs"
FG: sometimes things only happen when both are drunk.
JB: i really need to make a shirt that says "Free Advice"
FG: But whenever I've done that, it very rarely turns into actual "dating"
Yes. : )
JB: i think the key is to DTR up front
FG: DTR?
JB: but sometimes an early DTR can scare the shit out of all parties
define the relationship
FG: OH!
I so hear you on that.
JB: for example,
FG: It's like, how do you say to someone, hey, I could actually really consider you being a serious contender in the whole long term thing, to show them you are serious.
JB: just a sec
i met a girl just after i moved to austin
SUPER COOL
we hung out a lot
had a great time
met for a happy hour or two
FG: ?
and
JB: she then told me she had a boyfriend
after we went on more of a date
i was pissed, but she was cool
so we were friends
then about six months later
FG: Oh no!
JB: they broek up
and then we hooked up during a drunk moment
at the same also discussed that we'd like be better as friends
then hooked up one more time just to be sure
FG: that's pretty funny
well, you have to make sure
JB: then have been friends ever since
FG: wow. jason i think you are WAY more mature than me.
JB: so that's the way the drunk thing happens
and works out
i put on a good front
FG: I guess. I also think you are much better than I am at not letting your ego get the best of you.
I take everything very personally.
Not my best feature.
JB: yeah. i do, too. but i suck it up
and step back
and have some bourbon
and then try to be objective
and realize that you can't force anything with relationships
because if you do, there will likely be bigger issues if the whole thing doesn't just fall apart
FG: No, it's true.
JB: FYI,
this may become a blog entry
FG: oh god
JB: no names mentioned
don't worry
i can keep a secret better than a dead guy
FG: hee hee
JB: the moral of the story is:
FG: Yes?
JB: ask me out already, cuz i think you're stellar
and your butt looks great in those jeans

YGBFKM: Work interferes with another road trip

2007-05-16T09:59:00.001-05:00

Great TX Road Trip
Originally uploaded by JaseMan.

The Great Texas Road Trip has been canceled due to a work trip to Omaha. What the? How does this happen? I had reserved next week for vacation! I saw it entered in the system. Apparently it's good at taking reservations, but it's operators are not that good at holding the reservation.

This is not the first time that work has gotten in the way of my road trip aspirations. Remember the Great Western US road trip circa Fall 2003? No? That's cuz it got killed before it was launched by work. Remember the rescheduled Great Western US road trip circa Summer 2005? No? That's cuz it got killed before it was launched by work.

Here lies the Great Texas Road Trip. Dead: May 14, 2007. Born: May 18, 2007. R.I.P.

The request line is open. Call now.

2007-05-16T09:06:00.000-05:00

My old cell phone started dying a slow death about 6 weeks ago after I dropped it in a puddle. What the? What happened to quality engineering? I guess that went the way of starting pitchers being expected to heave the ball for more than five innings.

As the phone goes so do to the caller ID pictures and custom ring tones. All were lost when the replacement phone arrived. The Caller ID 2.0 pictures were relatively easy to reload since the cost is minimal. The ring tones are a different story. They actual cost. I'm a cheap bastard unless we're talking about vacations.

It's better to invest the $1.50 ring tone cost into long necks and valet parking. But if you request something good, I might just pony up the cashish.

I'm still laughing about JLe's request. And, uh, yeah, it's on the phone.