Around the bend...

The update itself doesn't really have anything to do with Christmas Eve, by the way. I just happen to have a little time on my hands today.

I guess I've been a little bummed out for the past few weeks. It doesn't usually happen to me during the holidays--I look forward to the kids getting their gifts on Christmas morning. I remember being a kid and feeling a little guilty about getting presents. One of my brothers got a bike and I remember thinking "Wow--we can't afford that!" Now, it makes me think of the movie It's a Wonderful Life, which is a great movie, but a little depressing, don't you think?

No, it isn't depression--This time of year just naturally makes me nostalgic and sentimental. The irony is that some day this is the time I'll be nostalgic for...

Some people I know are really awesome at giving great gifts. That's definitely a talent. My best gift to give this year was going to be to write a story for Ryan about the time during the summer when he hit a home run. It was really dramatic--he had struck out every time at bat the game before, and came home crying and saying that he didn't want to play baseball anymore. Then, he struck out again at his next at-bat--he was crushed, and my heart really went out to him. Finally, he was down to his last strike and struck out again, except that the coach on the other team, in a rare move, stopped the game and gave him another chance because the pitching machine malfunctioned. Ryan caught the last pitch and sent it over the heads of the opposing team, to the back fence. He easily rounded the bases for a home run! It made me so proud that he didn't give up, and kept fighting back with determination. Yeah, that would have been a great gift...if I had finished writing it.

Work has been pretty good for me over the past few months. It's taken me out of town a few times, which I enjoy for brief periods. Plane trips seem to be like short stories to me--Purposeful, dramatic, and with a beginning and end. If you keep your eyes open, you can see different characters out of their ordinary habitat--these days, flying is a stressful situation, so it's interesting to see what people do. I listened to my Ipod the other day and just felt a peace with the world for a few minutes, tuning out everyone around me. For a time, the peace just felt so wonderful.

I got a telephone call from an old friend a month or so ago--I'm not sure if I mentioned this, but I am an Eagle Scout. Protocol sort of dictates that you don't say "I was an Eagle Scout when I was a kid"--it is actually an honor that is supposed to stay with you for your whole life. I was 14, for God's sake, and it seems a lifetime ago. Well, the call was an invitation to a reunion of all the Eagle Scouts that have ever come from the same troop. I was number eight, and now there are over two hundred. The reunion is in two weeks--should be an interesting time, maybe worth writing about when I get back. I hope I don't just feel pathetic sitting there as one of the "old dudes". I didn't go to my high school reunions, so this will be a new experience for me.

At this time of year, I like to plan what I'm going to do for next year. It usually comes to me as a whole year laid out like a child's oval train track, and I can see the different seasons and just put events in their place--this is the part of the year where I'll take the kids fishing...Why don't we plan a trip out of town here...Maybe we could go to San Antonio...Can I go back to Maine in the summer? When I was in San Diego, an acquaintence invited me to go Marlin fishing in the Pacific next year--should I go? I'm a shameless over-planner, but I try to leave a cushion to live in the moment when things come up.

I can't do it this year--I'm trying as hard as I can, but I can't see past the first turn in the bend. This could create a sense of excitement, promise, opportunity. Or a sense of dread and fear of the unknown. Almost like I'm so bound to the train itself that I can't rise above it to see the big picture--the whole track and where we are ultimately headed. Or driving in fog, only seeing things develop in the immediacy of the moment. It feels out of control and nerve-wracking, and I have a sense of foreboding for the coming year--why can't I see what's coming? Could I ever really see it, or was my planning a false mask of control over an uncontrollable future which gave me a sense of security? Maybe I'm just facing reality in a more open fashion. Either way, the train rolls on.

A funny thing happened on the way to sushi...

We walked along the Gaslamp district of San Diego. It was the evening dinner rush, and our group's first choice of restaurant, a bustling sushi place, had a wait which was too long to bear.

We walked along the sidewalk in somewhat of a daze, passing sights which had become familiar over the past week. Each restaurant in this area had an old-fashioned style gas lamp on their patios, which was a shock against the damp chill we felt as we walked along.

That's the Italian restaurant with the spooky, stalker-ish manager who paid slightly too much attention to our little group when we were there the first night.

Could that be the Tequila Bar? Is it possible that I found myself there at 1:00 AM listening to Reggae music and taking shots with Mike D.? I seem to remember dim neon lights, a friendly tattooed bartender who continually consulted the recipe card as she mixed our group's drinks--and a full-sized skeleton on a shelf 30 feet in the air who was wearing a Santa hat. Mike and I were outnumbered by guests from the Czech Republic--the more tequila we had, the better I understood those guys. The next morning, I was back to not getting a damn thing they were trying to tell me.

Another funny scene from the Tequila Bar: my new friend, Nate, and I, looking at bottles of tequila.

Nate (deadpan): "I have a feeling you and I are going to fight."

These flashbacks were entertaining, but our little band was still in search of sushi. I must explain that I know nothing about sushi--I am on the lazy side of remembering what things are called, and I tend to be always dependent on the people I am around to help me order. That's okay--I guess my brain is just operating at near-maximum capacity and I just can't retain that stuff. I'm not one of those radical people who craves sushi--I reluctantly agree to go along with it if that's what the group wants. Give me a good steak any day. I guess I'm still traumatized by the low-quality fish sticks they used to give us in school.

After our first choice was deemed unacceptable, we went to a restaurant just 100 feet away. We looked inside and there was absolutely no one inside. Something was wrong. We looked at the menu and, in addition to sushi, they had random entrees like Beef Stroganoff and Baloney Sandwiches. As we stood reading the menu, the hostess came outside and begged us to come inside. One of the more cocky members of our party asked "I don't mean to be rude, but why is your restaurant completely empty?"

The hostess was taken back a little at first, then her shoulders slumped and she answered "I don't know. the food is good." Then she went back inside. We all looked at each other and wordlessly agreed to get away fast. As we got to the corner, two ladies stood pointing in the air. They were clearly alarmed.

I turned and saw two very large rats making their way along a ridge in the architecture of the building. They were not in a hurry, but they certainly seemed to know where they were going. They might have been one hundred feet away, and thirty feet in the air, but I could see whiskers on the rats as they peeked over the corner of the building. They looked friendly, like pets.

I turned and looked at the ladies again, and felt like I was in one of those cheesy Godzilla movies that I used to watch when I was in second grade. By now, a small group had gathered and watched the rats wandering along the ledge. The ladies were agape and silent and seemingly frozen in position of pointing at the rats, incredulous. I could see people through the windows right behind the rats carrying on without seeing them. Thirty feet below, along the street below the rats, unsuspecting pedestrians bustled along the sidewalk.

I remember feeling pretty good about our decision to leave the restaurant--the rats were going away from that weird restaurant, too.

We went ahead and enjoyed our sushi and had a great evening together. It's funny what comes to your attention when you keep your eyes open and maintain a sense of humor.

Some drawings from my Thank You Notes

I mentioned before that I spoke to Ryan's class. They each wrote a Thank You note and some of them felt compelled to provide drawings. Here are my favorites:

Mwop Mwop Mwop! The Penguin Returns!

I'm wearing my flesh-colored mittens and saggy-crotch unitard...

At least I'm smiling, right?

I thought this was funny, too. A quite disinterested expression...

This was pretty funny--if you can figure out what is going on, you might be a little sick...This kid may actually need some counseling.

One possible caption was "Me teaching the kids about Satan..."

What really happened was that I was using a projector to show the kids stuff, and this particular kid stuck his Star Wars action figure under the projector camera, so it projected on the wall in front of the other kids. Unfortunately, that's what that kid remembered instead of anything I talked about.

No, I didn't wear a clown suit and galoshes to school. Seems to be pretty unanimous that my haircut is a comb-over...

Remember When Things Were Fun?

All I had to do was say "Kaitlyn, stay out of the leaves!" Then it was the most fun thing on earth...I didn't notice how coordinating her clothes are--pink accents on her jeans and shoes. A little much for a 2-year-old?

Of course, I was hoping she would fling herself on the pile and roll around--I have a shot of Ryan doing the same thing a few years ago.

Fall came late to Texas this year--It was challenging to shoot this without getting the Christmas decorations in the background. Too many seasons wrapped into one picture would clash like Ghostbusters crossing the streams. Nevertheless, the last of the leaves were blown off the trees this weekend, and there I was: raking them as they fell. Is it shallow to take pride in the trees in my front yard?

Then there was controversy. New neighbors moved in next door, and while I was raking my yard I considered raking their yard, too. The fact is that all the leaves that are in their yard came from my tree, since they don't have any trees at all. On the other hand, it's a little assuming to groom someone else's yard, isn't it. You know, you sign a piece of paper one day promising your earthly possessions to pay for this house, and the next day the dude next door is walking around the place with a rake--it could be interepreted in an ugly way. However, my basic philosophy is that you should always do the nice thing if it's available. They could also be sitting in their house thinking "Oh yeah, he makes HIS yard look nice, while ours looks like the forest floor. Why should I have the pain of raking leaves if I don't have the benefit of having trees?" I know, I do this to myself...no one else thinks this way.

Things used to be fun, didn't they? Wish I could have just plopped down in the leaf pile with Kaitlyn...

The Scene in San Diego...

My sister, Melanie, has had a running joke that I am secretly some sort of international spy. She knows I speak a couple of languages, travel a lot, know how to shoot guns. My job is just vague enough and my travel schedule random enough that it is a little weird but explainable. Also: I went to the FBI Academy for a month when I was a kid--maybe I got brainwashed or something...

There have been times when I could have messed with her head--You know, "accidentally" dropping a comment or revealing an intriguing prop.

But I never really felt like a secret agent until last week when I was in San Diego--sometimes I laugh at myself for getting into these weird situations.

I previously mentioned that earlier this year I began to participate in a global, outdoor scavenger hunt called Geocaching. My son, Ryan, and I have found about 60 different hidden caches using a GPS receiver--it's a fun activity that we can do together outdoors, and it is a goal directed activity. I think that's one of the reasons that I can't stick to an exercise program--how do you know when you're finished? No matter how much you are working out, it just never ends. We've gotten to the point where we take one weekend here or there and go and find 5 or 6 caches hidden somewhere fun, like parks or landmarks. We've even done it as we've traveled around the country.

After a while, just finding the cache isn't fun enough, so there are little "games within the game" that exist--one of these activities is using a "travel bug" which goes from place to place--the idea is to transport it as far as possible. so we found one on a weekend trip and picked it up with the intention ofme placing it in a cache when I traveled to San Diego. I thought it might be fun for Ryan to see that I had moved something that we had found some 1100 miles across the US.

I was staying at a really nice hotel near the convention center by the docks--I looked up the address and plugged it into the map which showed all the nearby geocaches. I decided to drag this travel bug along and drop it off, so I wanted to make sure to get to it early in my trip before I started getting fatigued. I took my backpack, camera, and my GPS with the coordinates plugged in and took off along the boardwalk area which was full of tourists.

Pretty soon, I came upon the area and my GPS told me I was approaching. When it is cloudy outside, it is hard to pinpoint the exact location--the variance is somewhere between 10 and 15 feet, so I just sat down on a stone seawall and tried to look inconspicuous. I took my camera out of my bag and slung it around my neck, snapping a couple of quick shots which later turned out to be beautiful. The sun was going down and setting across the bay. To my right lay an impressive vintage aircraft carrier from WWII. Beyond that lay an even more impressive cruise ship--it dwarfed the aircraft carrier, and the booming horn blared over the whole city, the sound bouncing and echoing--it was probably of some sort of significance to the people on board or on shore.

A spiny bush lay along the wall, and my instinct from searching these things out told me that the container was wedged in this bush somewhere. The setting sun barely provided enough light, but the hard plastic of the camoflauged container glinted a little in the remaining sunlight and gave away the position. I wonder how many geoaches are inadvertantly found by maintenance workers?

While I was waiting there, wave after wave of tourists came by. One herd of people came by all dressed in some sort of conquistador costume and singing funny songs. I could hear one girl in particular chatting loudly and laughing at her own jokes. I had my camera ready, so I snapped a couple of shots of the marina and the pretty sunset which occurred as I sat there.

Behind me were photographers lined up with the actual purpose of photographing the scene. I'm not really sure what the significance of that exact location was, but there must be something to it because there were about five photographers with pretty extensive setups--tripods, multiple cameras and lenses, and assistants in tow. It put me in a relatively unfortunate position because I was actually west of them and a little in front of them, so they were in a position to observe exactly what I was doing--I didn't want to give away that I was geocaching, and in some cases people have found containers which have been raided, so I didn't want to be responsible for that.

Just when I was going to reach for it, three homeless men came right toward me. I was almost certain they were going to ask me for some money. I really hate going to the touristy areas because of panhandlers. I mean, is a dollar really going to help? How about a gift certificate for AA? Oh, yeah, it's free( isn't it)? The guy in the middle was nearly passed out, and the two others flanked him, holding him up. Their clothes were encrusted with dirt and were in tatters. They didn't speak to me.

I set my bag down on the other side of the wall and pretended to dig through it looking for something. I didn't look up to see if anyone was watching me. Then I reached down and grabbed the container which was exactly where I thought it was--I set it in my lap and unscrewed it, fishing out the log book which I quickly signed. I stuffed the travelbug from Texas in there (it traveled 1177.1 miles from Texas to this spot) and replaced the lid. I bent down and carefully put it back into the bushes, deep beyond the outer layer so it wouldn't be easily spotted, and while I was down there I placed my camera in the bag and zipped it up tight.

Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I got up and blended quietly back into the crowd, my mission complete.

If you are on our Christmas Card Mailing List...

This is the picture you will be getting...

I told Fran "Great! Everyone is going to think our kids are Russian!"

Yes--we had snow last week. Here in Texas, we get a day of snow usually once every two years, but we've gotten it for the past three years (so much for the theory of global warming).

On the second day, I went out to my car and started to clear the snow off the windshield. It had already melted from our yard, but my car was in the shade so it was intact and sticking together nicely. I made a little snowman for Kaitlyn just to see what she thought, and she was so excited about it that she forced Fran to keep it in the freezer so she could share it with Ryan when he got home from school. It was a pathetic little snowman, but she loved it so much we had to take a picture of it...

Sliding

I had the weirdest dream last light.

I hiked off in the woods to be by myself and write. I came to a tall vista and sat down on a flat spot on the ridge of a cliff and looked out across the water--it was a beautiful scene, an overlook. I was writing on a pad and paper.

As I was sitting there, I felt the ground under me give way a little, and I started to slide down the cliff. The next thing I knew, I saw that I was on a slide, and that I was sliding down the cliff, not to the rocks below, but into a dark tunnel. I put my hands out desperately and stopped myself from going into the tunnel. There was water running into it and I was afraid that I would drown.

Stopping myself on the slide, I could look around and see that I was actually on a swiftly-flowing waterslide and I could see that the track extended around and around in a huge labyrinth. But I was hesitant to let myself go into the tunnel. I didn't know what would happen--maybe the tube is clogged somewhere and I would drown with the rush of water against me. Maybe the floor would give way and I would fall through. Maybe...I was terrified of letting myself get swept inside with so much uncertainty.

It occurs to me that I might just be frustrated with my writing. While driving around for work yesterday, I thought to myself that I hadn't written anything worth reading in several months.

Things aren't going to get better unless I can allow myself to become vulnerable when I am writing. Yet, I have a hard time visualizing letting myself get swept away.

Dental Health

I sat in the very comfortable waiting room completely alone, except for the distracted receptionist. It was the swankiest dental office I've ever seen--antique golf equipment, expensively matted prints, and shiny, dark cherry furnitue were accented by dramatic, red walls and thick upholstery. It flashed through my mind that I can't trust any recommendations from this doctor--he needs to cash in on any possible procedure to pay for all of this...

As I filled out five sheets of ill-thought-out forms (which asked for several pieces of exactly the same information to be rewritten in three different places), I got even more irritated--Extra charges for missing or being late for an appointment. I glanced at the clock--I had gotten to the office 20 minutes early and it was now 8 minutes beyond my appointment time. I had a desperate urge to walk up to the receptionist and demand $20 since it was they who were late. Then I envisioned having my dentist attack me with one of those sharp, curved, picky things and changed my mind.

Just then, the phone rang. Eventually, the half which transpired within my earshot caught my attention:

"Oh, I'm glad you are being careful."

"Yes, but it will definitely pass."

"Oh, not yet, then."

(nervous chuckle) "Well, I guess you could use rubber gloves."

"Yes, it does happen sometimes."

"Oh, I am sorry to hear that."

"It certainly will."

"I suppose you can search for it if you like."

"Okay, see you tomorrow, then."

She turned to a colleague who was walking by and said, "Mrs. Watkins will be in tomorrow. One of her crowns came loose during Thanksgiving dinner and she accidentally swallowed it."

Eight Minutes

That's how long I have to write before I have to run upstairs and wake up Ryan to help him get ready for school. He's been off for a week for the Thanksgiving Holiday (we used to get 2 days when I went to school), so he's off schedule.

We spent a lot of the weekend putting up Christmas lights and our tree. I'm the painfully sentimental one in our family, but Fran is the one who loves to decorate for Christmas. My job is to take out our Christmas dishes, which we use for a month each year as a change of pace. Maybe it gives our other dishes a rest, too...We still use the same Blue Peony dishes that we got for our wedding (15 years ago)--we've only broken 2 or 3 pieces in all that time...

I put together new vaccuum cleaner yesterday. I'm not sure why we've gone through about four of them in the past 5 years, but we have. As I was putting it together, Kaitlyn, my daughter who will be three years old in January, walks up behind me and says "I think you're missing a piece, Daddy..." She really cracks us up all the time.

Two weeks ago I went and taught a science class to Ryan's second grade class. First of all, I don't know how these teachers do this every day--Hyper 7-year-olds who seem to just blurt out whatever comes to mind randomly. That night, Ryan came home--according to him I received excellent reviews from his classmates--he had a stack of homemade Thank You cards which were a real hoot. Some of them had drawings of "me"--unflatteringly accurate as might be expected from 2nd graders. My favorite line: "Please come back anytime and do something different".

Eight minutes are up. I haven't taken time to write anything worthwhile for a while now, so thanks for sticking with me, here...

All No Work and No Play Makes Hiram a Dull Boy...

Fran's been checking out all these weird books from the library and reading them. She brings home a bag of 7-10 books every week or two, and reads through them quickly. I'm starting to be convinced that she's just run out of options and is scraping the bottomo of the barrel for something to read.

Currently on her nightstand: "The Shunning", complete with dramatic, swooning Amish girl on the front.

I asked her if the book ends with someone going nuts in the barn and hacking down the door with a butter churn....

The Small Stuff

Sometimes I wonder if my life is some giant psychology experiment like "The Truman Show" or something. I seem to get into funny situations which sometimes turn stressful--all from the best of intentions.

For Ryan's soccer team, I agreed to take action shots of the kids during the games--we did it last year and the kids were really happy to get dramatic, stop-action photos of themselves in the middle of playing--we handed them out at the end-of-season party.

Fran got a little irritated that I volunteered to do it again. Her issue was that it made me miss the game while I was messing around trying to get pictures. It also really got under her skin that no one really bothered to thank me after last year's party (which would have been nice, but I'm just glad that they all seemed to like them--I think most kids don't learn manners as well as we were taught them). The fact is that I really like the challenge of doing it--My original plan was to just take action shots of Ryan so I could make a poster for his room, which has a sports theme. That felt a little selfish to do. Maybe not, but this is what I mean by the best of intentions leading me astray.

Ryan and I took a trip a couple of weeks ago, and when he got back I was really swamped with catch-up work. Day after day I had the entry of "finish editing pictures and have them printed", but the task went unchecked.

Oh yeah, that's my real secret to getting good pictures--it has to start as a pretty good picture, but editing really improves them--I divide the image using the "Rule of Thirds" either horizontally, vertically, or diagonally. Then I boost brightness and contrast slightly to make the colors pop out a little more.

Anyway, that takes time, and I had over 100 photos to go through and edit down to one featuring each kid, then send them off to be printed at the photo lab. Fatigue and my busy schedule caused me to put it off, day by day, during the week leading up to the party on Saturday. Fran wanted me to just give it up, and I quickly determined not to even mention it to her again because she was so ticked at me for agreeing to do it in the first place. At this point, she started to say that it was just my idea and that nobody even wanted me to do it.

I had edited all the pictures by Friday night but hadn't burned a CD or anything so I couldn't drop them off for processing (I hate printing them out on my printer because it is expensive and not as nice as real photograph paper). So I woke up early Saturday morning and went to work--I had to crop them to the right size and send them to the Wal Mart photo lab online. As I was in the middle of the final editing stage online, Ryan started asking repeatedly if he could use the computer to play a game. Focused on the task at hand nearing completion, I tuned him out.
Then he started asking me again and again in a whiney voice, which shook me out of my focus (one of his friends always talks with a whiney voice which drives us nuts when he comes over).

So, instead of poised and mature, I slammed my hand down on my desk and bellowed harshly, "Ryan! Cut it out!" which made him bolt into his room and cry. Nice, huh? Mission accomplished. I let us both calm down for a minute, finished submitting the pictures, and then went to apologize, but it really hurt his feelings and he continued sniffling.

This brought Fran around to investigate and I told her the whole story. I guess I could have just lied since I knew that the pictures were already an irritating issue to her and I also knew that she was about to tee off on me once she found out that it had led to me losing my patience with Ryan. I wonder what most people would do--Lie and make up something? I am really terrible at lying, so I would rather just take my lumps.

Of course, by telling Fran this I got the whole story about how she never thought I should have done the pictures in the first place. I felt the insinuation that I was just being a delusional fool and just offering to do something to bring attention to myself. It seems to me that anytime anyone does something nice for someone else, this could be said...You just have to decide which view of life you are going to take. My motivation at that point was just completing something that I said I would do. I wasn't looking for thanks or recognition or anything like that. Parents had seen me on the sidelines taking pictures of their kids and had told me that they were glad I was taking pictures of the team and that they were looking forward to seeing them. It would make me look more foolish to have done that for several weeks and not have anything to show for it. The pendulumn would swing from "Nice guy" to "Wow--he really doesn't have his crap together, does he?" (not mutually exclusive concepts, by the way).

I guess Ryan eventually forgave me for yelling at him and, after days of begging barefooted in the snow, Fran eventually let me back in the house, so all seems to be well. At the party, one of the kids, who had a pretty flattering action shot since he is unusually un-coordinated, turned to his dad and told him "I would really like to learn how to take pictures!", which I took as an indirect compliment.

Sometimes the "small stuff" makes me stop and take a look at my philosophy of life compared to other people's. It's still a work in progress and contains flaws. I know in my heart that my motivations are well-directed, and I guess that's what matters.

Now, back into the cage for another experiment...

Special Delivery

When I went to get the mail last Friday, this magazine, wrapped in a clear plastic bag (to protect it from stray drooling), winked up at me, wedged amongst piles of bills and Christmas ads.

It's funny that Ryan really doesn't have a taste for candy. This Halloween, when we dug out his bag for trick-or-treating (for my non-American acquaintences, please let me know if you don't follow me here...) it was still full of candy from last year that he a) never ate and b) never missed.

Kaitlyn, however, makes up for his lack of a sweet tooth. She often wakes up saying "I want chocolate!" We have a little bag of Hershey's kisses, and we give her one when she craves chocolate. It turns out that she probably has inherited it from me, but sometimes I like to think it at least partly comes from her native Mexican ancestry--you know, the guys who stuff cocoa leaves in their cheeks. Well, maybe not.

At any rate, this magazine cover inspired my evil plan which I immediately set in motion.

I showed it to Kaitlyn, who was just waking up from her nap. She got excited and grabbed the book from my hands just so she could look at it. I told her, "Kaitlyn, maybe Mommy could make this for us!"

Off she ran.

Fran laughingly told me that Kaitlyn had come to her with the magazine asking her to make the chocolate bundt cake on the cover. She thought it was so cute that she saw it and thought to ask her Mommy to make it (wink). Ironically, she had everything, except for the raspberries, that was needed for the cake, so she was tempted to make it. That's the kind of mom that she is, and the reason it was a good idea to put my doll-like daughter up to presenting the proposal rather than doing it myself.

Sure enough, a picture-perfect replica sat on our kitchen table three hours later.

What a life!

Where Have I Been?

First of all, I love this picture of Kaitlyn.

She loves to watch the movie "The Sound of Music", and one day she was inspired to go and find props to match Maria's guitar and suitcase. Not bad creativity for a 2-year-old.

I suppose there's no good single answer to the question of where I've been, though.

Here's kind of the funny, poetic justice answer:

About two months ago when some of Ryan's friends were over playing, they kicked my wireless router over and it disconnected. I came along, in a hurry, and needed to get on the net for some reason or another...When my wireless network failed, I noticed that several of my neighbors have unsecured wireless networks, and I jumped on theirs (in case that might be illegal in some way, you could read it this way: It's possible that my computer somehow, and without my direct action or knowledge, spontaneously connected to a network that may or may not have been my wireless router--at this point I'm really not sure (hee hee) ).

After a while, I kind of forgot that we were doing that and it lasted nearly a month. Finally, I thought to myself "Why keep my service? I have 2 networks with perfect reception on either side of me..."

I'm not saying that this was nice or ethical, but, you know, it was more about seeing if that would work. So I canceled my service.

THE DAY I canceled the service, after poaching it for over a month, the guys on the right put a "For Sale" sign in their yard (no, I don't think I had anything to do with that), and they started the process of moving, which, apparently, includes unplugging the wireless network. So I was down to one network with no backup.

Two weeks ago, the guys in front of us got some kind of different internet connection and didn't put it on their wireless network.

So we were hosed--All I could do was laugh at myself for trying to get away with it.

In the meantime, Ryan and I went out of town. When I came back, we got the new FIOS internet, which is screaming fast, and it cost the same as our old DSL service. In fact, we got all new hardware, etc. so we actually came out way ahead on the deal. Total monthly expenses saved : $0.00.

But for a while there I could only get the internet at work so I didn't feel comfortable posting anything of substance.

It's funny, too--I go through times of feeling self-conscious about my posts and feeling that they are very self-absorbed and trivial. During those times I find it hard to make time to sit down and write. I guess I had one of those episodes too while I took time off.

And, my friend "Anonymous" (his poor mom couldn't think of anything else to name him?) is moving away, and that's depressing too.

At any rate, I'm all Blogger/Google upgraded so I think it should be easier to post pictures and other stuff, so I'll get back in the swing of things and catch up on the now-elapsed moments of brilliance and hilarity.

Hi There, Neighbor!

We are having the weirdest issue with our next-door neighbor, and I'm not sure what to do about it. For some crazy reason, they keep parking their industrial-sized truck in front of our house.

Flashing back about 12 years, to when we lived in an apartment...We had a downstairs neighbor whom we called "ape-man", because he was 6'5", weighed 360 lbs, was very hairy, and acted quite simian--I suspect he even had one of those nifty tire swings in his living room. We had an all-out feud with this guy because he would often come home late at night drunk and crank up his radio enough to make the pictures vibrate against our walls. We would knock on his door (no answer, but he would turn it down momentarily), call the apartment complex, and, after months of enduring this patiently, we just started calling the police every time. The situation would have Fran in tears, frustrated that we couldn't get along.

We were so excited to move away from our apartment and get a new house. But one set of neighbors was very odd. We started calling them "the aliens" because they had two kids and one Halloween they all dressed as space aliens--the dad was about 7 feet tall and weighed about 100 pounds--he looked like a scarecrow on stilts. But the thing that made them like aliens was their very odd behavior--they were some of the most anti-social people I've ever seen. During the process of moving in and adjusting to our new house, we would try and say "hello" but they would scarcely acknowledge us, sometimes scurrying into their home with their head down and eyes averted, flinching like a whipped dog. Fran would joke that if we spoke to them they would pass out. Their kids, who were elementary to middle school aged (old enough to know better), would not answer us or acknowledge us in any way (I know the "stranger-danger" concept, but for Pete's sake). And no, they weren't deaf or mute.

One time, the aliens' dog, who was part pit bull and very muscular, was running loose in their yard--they were in the back and I was in the front, mowing. At some point, this threatened the dog naturally, and she became very aggressive, crouching and growling in a way that was pretty alarming. She did the same thing to Fran, who was pregnant at the time, when she went to get the mail. Finally, Fran, thinking that adults could talk about something without touching off World War III, caught the wife when she was out in her driveway, and mentioned that their dog had been somewhat threatening on at least two occasions (later, we found out that it had gotten in a fight with another neighbor's dog) and asked her to asking her to have it supervised and on a leash (which is the law in our city, anyway). Our neighbor's response was to point at the animal, exclaim: "This dog???!!" and roll her eyes. Until they moved out about four years later, they barely spoke to us again, and were clearly annoyed with us.

My thinking is that, if the reverse had happened, I would certainly be defensive about it but I would let it go after, say, a week. Some people are just like that, though. They think any kind of disagreement is a grudge-match, and it's on for life. How do you diffuse that? And the thing we figured out about neighbor trouble in a house vs. and apartment is that when it's your home, these people are pretty much going to live near you indefinitely, so you had better learn some tolerance. After one week of us moving in, one neighbor put up the ugliest window covers available for purchase on the face of the earth. Did we complain? no. Another has ultra liberal political signs taunting us from across the street. I just laugh. Another has decided that aluminum foil would be a great accessory to one of their windows--It's Texas, it's hot--go for it and congratulations, Ghetto-Martha Stewart!

Lest it be thought that we can't get along, I've just listed the exceptions. When the aliens moved out (Fran says their mother ship called them in), we rejoiced. Fran made brownies for our new neighbors, and they have been delightful--we've gotten together for backyard cookouts and parties and stuff like that. We've been friendly with other neighbors around us and have very few problems...except for our neighbors on the left....

The couple seemed nice enough--the wife even went to high school with me. they are social, but on a certain level where they don't open up too much--almost as though they have something to hide. They have a daughter who is Ryan's age, and for three or four years we would invite her to Ryan's birthday party. Then we noticed that they weren't reciprocating at all--in fact, they would invite most of the neighborhood kids, boys and girls of all ages, except for Ryan, which we found very odd. Ryan was confused and felt left out, but Fran, who has that "mama bear" protectiveness about the situation, couldn't force herself to forgive the snub.

Later, we found out that the dad, who is in the movie business, had contemplated filming some sort of adult movie in their home (yes, next door to us--his wife mentioned to Fran that she had dissuaded him). So Ryan doesn't go and play over there anymore because that movie thing creeps us out. He doesn't understand this, and we can't explain it to him. He has made new friends in the neighborhood and at this age in elementary school, boys and girls don't really play well together anyway. So, there has been a little tension, although I would say that I just look at it with amused indifference and a little symathy to Ryan for not being able to hang out with some friends whom he likes.

The dad has tried our patience a little--he keeps odd hours, and goes through phases of firing up his ultra-loud Harley outside our bedroom window at 5:00 AM, running his table saw during Kaitlyn's naptime (which is understandable but still annoying), and bumping/slamming the liftgate on his bobtail truck at early/late hours of the day, right behind our house. And for the past year, he has been parking this large bobtail on our street (also against the city ordinances).

The thing that is driving Fran up the wall (and now me, because I know it stresses her out), is that for some reason this truck keeps ending up directly in front of OUR house. One of the things I like to do is sit in the front room, open the windows, and check out my trees/flowers/shrubs/birds/and the occasional snake outside my window. What I don't want is to feel like I live in a trucking terminal. What I really don't want is my wife stressing out and running out the front door with a machete' to "take care of this once and for all".

I kind of understand what is happening--their cars don't both fit in their driveway, so they have to have one parked in front of their house. And, if they don't leave room for the mailman around their box (the mailman drives through our neighborhood and won't get out of his truck if the mailbox is blocked), they won't get their mail. So the only alternative is for them to park further down the street (ie. in front of our house). But they've not taken time to make any explanations or apologies or ask for permission. And, yes, it is a public street, but it's still rude.

Now, for a pile of disclaimers: This isn't the focus of our life. It's just annoying. If this was the worst thing that ever happened to me, I would be jumping for joy. On a scale of annoyance from 1-10, this is about a 3 for me, but Fran is starting to take it very personally and uses words like "inconsiderate, 'a-hole', and (#$@( truck." I hate it when she uses words like that. Plus, I get to drive away and don't have to look at it all day like she does. Over the past year, this has happened with a frequency of about one full week each month.

So, normal humans would probably just say something, but you have to just go with me on this that, due to our clearly strained relations with this couple, they would probably freak out over being confronted on this. I consider myself to be pretty diplomatic, but this looks like a minefield to me, and just doesn't seem to be worth saying something and touching off a feud. We even tried subtle hints like waiting until the truck is gone for a little while and parking one of our cars in front of our house to block the way. That works, until we need to move the car for some reason. You would think they could take a hint, right? You would think they would ask or comment in some way when we see them, right?

One option is to call the police--they are not supposed to have this type of truck on the street in our neighborhood. I have a problem doing that, though--especially without talking to them first.

The recent event that brought this issue to a head was when one of Fran's friends mentioned to her "You know, I didn't recognize your house without that big white truck parked in front of it." This just provoked Fran into a frenzy. It was the last straw that sent her on a mission--now, she is on a mission to run a blockade in front of our home to keep the evil truck away. Maybe this will cause a discussion at some point (Fran is certain that they know we don't appreciate it and just don't care that it bugs us).

I probably won't confront them with it unless I absolutely must, but we are ready in case the subject comes up in any way--we are going to say that we don't mind their truck every once in a while but hope that it isn't going to be all the time.

Why can't we all just get along?

Fifteen Years

Yesterday was a crisp, October day just like the day we were married in 1991...The years just seem to have flown by.

There was lots of controversy back then--we were very young, so we were trying to make everyone else happy on our wedding day. We had a formal ceremony with 250 people in attendance at a church. A choir sang the chorus that the nuns sing at the beginning of "The Sound of Music"--Guess I never thought of the irony until now...

Gar was the best man--Nancy was the maid of honor. They hardly knew each other then, but eleven years later and after a series of left turns, they ended up marrying each other--weird, huh?

We went away on our honeymoon to Cancun--we went on a snorkeling trip and I saw a moray eel eyeing me from about about two feet away. The place where we were snorkeling? AKA The Island of the Sleeping Sharks. It was great--I did my first (and last) "tequila shooters" on a sailboat cruise across the lagoon--luckily, I didn't fall off the boat.

Yesterday we had a nice quiet celebration at home with the kids. I broke out our wedding pictures and tried to get them interested, but they both wandered off after about 1 minute. Ryan did manage to pause in front of one posed portrait of about ten people and ask "Are all those people dead now?" A kid's perspective of 15 years...

I got Fran some Cadbury chocolates, sapphire earrings, a blank recipe book (she loves to cook and make up gourmet recipes, which are almost always incredible). I got her some other stuff, too. The significant thing is the really nice card that I got her. After I gave it to her, I had to comment "Sorry the front of your card looks like a scene from 'The Mothman Prophecies!' "

She replied, "You think everything looks like the Moth man! I swear, that movie freaked you out!"

You know what? I think she's right--I never realized how much that movie traumatized me.

We were supposed to go to Hawaii--we would have been there last week when the earthquake hit, so I guess that's some kind of weird good luck, from a slightly twisted perspective.

We've had lots of laughs and a lot of good things happen. I hope others can have the same happiness that we've had.

What's past is prologue. 

The Messiest Office I Have Ever Seen...

Surreptitiously snapped as I slinked by the open door...

Judge not, that Ye be Not Judged...

North Texas experienced a pretty traumatic case of a missing boy recently. The 2-year-old was playing in the front yard and just disappeared. Authorities searched the area thoroughly for two days, and were about to declare that it was likely that he was kidnapped, when a helicopter spotted him from the air. He was leaning over to drink out of a cattle pond. He had been wandering around for three days through the countryside, spending the night alone--he was in good condition besides being a little dehydrated.

Naturally, since we also have an adventurous two-year-old, we were very annoyed with this story. It outraged us that these parents, even in the country where they weren't worried about child abduction, would just let their two-year-old run wild and unsupervised long enough to get away like that. We try to keep a constant eye on our Kaitlyn, who always seems to surprise us.

She always seems to be testing her boundaries, which is a very common thing for this age. I laughingly call it "testing the tensile strength of the earth", because it is commonly destructive.

In no particular order:

1) Scooting an oak chair across the kitchen floor so she can climb up and "pet the fish" (Ryan's pet, Marlin, who is still alive and well and has so far avoided any unwanted contact).

2) Dumping an entire freshly-made pitcher of sweetened ice tea on the newly-mopped kitchen floor

3) Getting her head stuck for about a minute inside our entertainment center while we frantically and gently tried to retrieve her. Direct quote: "It was dark and scary inside that cave!"

4) Playing "Will it break?" by dropping certain toys off the second floor onto the tile below.

5) Assaulting poor Ryan at every chance by walking up nonchalantly and clobbering him.

6) When I tell her I'm going to read her a story, she grabs 7 or 8 books and screams if I stop before reading them all...

7) Total number of Fran's headband-thingy's that she's broken: 40

In other words, little miss Kaitlyn takes every opportunity to have an effect upon her world.

Last week, after they found the missing boy, Fran was making French toast for breakfast. She always makes a double-batch and freezes some of it so Ryan can have French toast for breakfast during the school week, which is a nice treat.

Fran was busy cooking and had turned on a cartoon for Kaitlyn to watch. Ryan was in the living room building something with legos. I was upstairs at my desk reading. Apparently, Fran asked Ryan to step outside and get the newspaper, and Kaitlyn said "I can do it!", which seems to be her trademark slogan these days. Fran told her "No, honey, we'll have to go get it in a minute." and went back to cooking.

A few minutes later, something caught her eye outside.

It was our daughter, wandering out in the middle of our neighborhood street in her pajamas and bare feet!

Fran screamed, threw down her spatula, and ran through the open front door. Kaitlyn was startled, and, likely sensing that she had done something wrong from the horrified look on her mother's face, reported "I'm getting the mail!"

Fran fran straight into the street and scoped her up, then realized that there was a garage sale being hosted across the street. About a dozen people were now curiously watcher her raving in the middle of the street in her pajamas. Of course, she was scolding Kaitlyn and was very agitated, but grateful that nothing had happened, especially in light of the fact that there were cars coming and going for the garage sale, and that she might not have been spotted if Fran hadn't randomly used her "mom radar". It really made us shutter.

Later that day, we got heavy duty chains for all of the doors so we can be certain that she doesn't get out again, but I'm curious as to what will be next...

Highlights from the Week

1) Being 100 calls and Emails behind for four days due to last week's craziness. Everywhere I went, I was late. Everything I did, I was behind. Everyone I was trying to help was mad at me for taking so long to get to them. Still not caught up.

2) Working with another guy in very tight quarters yesterday for a couple of hours. After a period of listening to him sniffling, etc. I asked him "Are your allergies bothering you?" He answered "Nope. I'm sick as a dog. I'm sorry, but you're going to get it, too. Look on the bright side, you would have gotten it from your kids if you didn't get it from me!" Nice.

3) I plugged in my new cell phone to synch it to my computer--turns out it actually went and got all of my contact information. This was quite unfortunate. Now, my phone has 3,000 numbers stored in it including people who are dead and mis-entered stuff that I could never delete from my database. Now I can't delete them from my phone...

4) Two nights ago I was putting the kids to bed, and, while we were saying our prayers, we heard and felt a big "BAM!" against the side of our house. I finished putting them to bed and then headed downstairs, where I saw Fran headed around the corner outside carrying a baseball bat. Part of me wanted to see her use that if she caught someone...

Well, other neighbors were coming out of their house because they heard and felt something slam against their house, too. We finally determined that someone, somewhere, hit something big. Funniest explanation: One of our neighbors said "I just figured that my air conditioning has been running so much this summer that it finally just exploded."

Yesterday morning I could see that someone nailed a retaining wall about 1/4 mile away--there was a huge pile of stones. I guess that was it.

5) I was getting help from an online chat support line from a certain large, Austin-based computer company which will remain unnamed. The support guy was from India. During the support session, during a time while something was downloading, he asked "Do you mind if I look at the photos on your computer?" Creepy, huh?

I did fix Fran's computer, finally, and had to reload a bunch of software. I'm using it right now. The funny thing is that her keyboard is laid out differently, and there must be a key whose function is "highlight one or two lines you've just typed and delete it irretrievably". The problem is that I'm going too fast and can't figure out what I'm doing to cause that--but it's happened five different times during this post.

6) Frequent readers might have caught a brief, mean-spirited rant against the novel "A Room with a View", which I posted in a moment of weakness and took off less than 24 hours later because I felt guilty. Well, I finished it this week and it ended up being great. The first 100 pages, like so many books I've liked, were so slow I could hardly stand it. but it ended up being great. Next stop? Not sure...

Men with Guns

The sun was just starting to come up as I shifted in my position against the small tree. I felt the smooth, wood stock of my shotgun--the barrel was still cool. I could smell gun oil, and I anticipated the bitter smoke from the gunpowder that would float in the air once the gun had been fired a few times. Under my feet was the powder-dry, foot deep, rich, brown dirt which had been recently turned over in the field. Discarded ears of maize were scattered among the rows--I wondered what it would be like to go out into the field and pick up an ear--what would the grains feel like? Could I peel them off the cob?

The shotgun started to feel heavy in my arms. It was loaded, and it was unsafe to set it down, but eventually I balanced it across my lap. My fingers absently moved the safety switch back and forth as I waited in the dark for the sun to come up. Incredibly, one of the guys had already popped open a beer.

For some reason, I had a little time getting "into" the hunt this year. I just felt detached and distracted. I even sat still, watching the sun come up, and questioned, for the first time in years of hunting, whether I was perhaps doing something unethical. I decided to put those people who would say so in the same category as those who object to shopping at Wal Mart--unless you don't eat meat and have a full understanding of migratory patterns and carrying capacity of ecosystems...well, you know what I'm getting at. I guess I never resolved if it was indulgent to shoot animals for sport.

My goal for the trip wasn't to effect maximum slaughter--I wanted to catch a cup of coffee in the cool air--just so happens that in Texas in early September, you can only feel cool air at about 5:30 AM. And if you pay attention, you can sit and watch the transition of a starry sky to an orange sunrise. You've got a couple of hours to be alone with your thoughts as you spread out from other guys--you can see them lined along the field, but you aren't close enough to carry on a conversation.

My luck was wonderful--I had lined up in a natural break in the field, and the majority of the doves that flew across the field went to my little corner in a predictable pattern. I have an unexplainable gift for seeing that area on a field, and I always have from the first time I went hunting when I was younger. By midmorning, I had the most birds by far and I started to slow down and take only spectacular, show-off, high-percentage shots in front of amazed onlookers who were starting to hate me because I left nothing for them to shoot. I finally stopped shooting and went over to stand with friends as they continued hunting. Little did I know that things would slow down and this would be the only productive time of the hunt.

I touched spirits, briefly, with my inner Hemingway and recharged myself a little in the outdoors. Is that so dangerous that it requires firearms?

800 lb. Gorilla

I promised it would be an awful week--one worth running away from...and it didn't disappoint. Seriously, I could write a book about this week. For the record, this blog contains fictionalized accounts of events interspersed with reality and my filtered insight mixed with hyperbole to help make a point. Now that I've made that clear, I would like to further state that my blog should never be referred to as "Exhibit A" in a court case...

There are about four different groups of people thinking that I am referring to them, or thinking that they know what I am referring to--in the words of the ape-faced Carly Simon "I bet you think this Entry's about you, Don't you? Don't you?"

Now, I'm going to ignore the 800 lb. gorilla which this week represents and move on to something that happened today....

Ryan has been playing soccer again this year, and he has really developed into a fun player to watch. It's a little frustrating that his best friend is the star of the team, and I end up sitting next to his parents at every game while their kid manages to weasel goals every game. Last week, Ryan's team was down 1-0 and Ryan came on fire, scoring two goals to bring the score to 2-1. He disrupted the other team's efforts, assisted on goals with beautiful passes, and played very aggressively. Somehow, his friend still managed to score three goals in the final quarter, surpassing Ryan on his best game ever and taking the wind out of his sails and a little bit of swagger out of his celebration (it didn't necessarily have to be that way, but this kid is that way...).

I took Ryan to the park today to practice, and started teaching him some techniques--then it flashed back to me. I remembered my dad teaching me the same exact technique thirty years ago.

I must have been in second grade, and I decided that I wanted to play soccer because the kids at recess played soccer every day. We had rusty poles in the schoolyard and the field was filled with weeds that were barely mowed. Half of the soccer field was so filled with tall weeds that it was too scary to play on--we just played some sort of half-court soccer of our own devising. It was during one of those games that I somehow caught the ball in the air.

Now, I think our group didn't know too many of the rules in soccer, but everyone knew that you couldn't grab the ball with your hands, so they all pointed at me and shouted "Hands!" I was mortified and ashamed for breaking a cardinal rule. So naturally I immediately wanted to join a team...okay, I don't know how that works, but I did.

Here I was, a proud member of the Devils. I still have a team picture somewhere...And I didn't know anything about soccer. Neither did my dad--I'm not sure how he managed not to know, but whatever--he still let me join.

We also got the crappiest, non-regulation excuse for a soccer ball available at the local K-mart for $3.99. It was a continuous, rubber ball and just had the black and white parts painted on--it was kind of embarrassing to take my ghetto-ball to practice. And I had very crummy, stiff cleats which I loved so much that I would wear them everywhere. I had to walk to practice, so they would wear down on the sidewalk. I would wear them to school if I could get away with it, and I ended up scraping the cleat part down to a smooth surface until I would just slide around on the grass, worse than if I was just wearing regular tennis shoes.

My dad is an engineer, and a really nice thing about engineers is that they think that they can just read the User's Guide and figure anything out, so off goes my dad to the library to check out books on playing soccer. Here were the steps to kicking the ball, laid out like the steps to the cha-cha. My dad studied them as though he was taking the bar exam.

We went to the schoolyard, which was across the street from our house. The idea was that we were going to kick the ball against the wall, wait for it to bounce back, and then continue kicking it so I could practice controlling the ball. My dad was ready to try out his new "Kick the ball like Pele'" technique, and he really dragged it out forever like he does lots of things. We must have stood staring at the pages of the book for half an hour while the ball sat on the weedy schoolyard. It was like Christmas morning--I was so excited to learn how to play soccer.

It was then that my ever-pessimistic Dad turned to me and said "I'm not sure exactly what is going to happen here. This ball could go sailing on top of the roof for all I know, and then we won't have a ball to play with anymore!" I remember being very worried about that prospect, and scared that I would lose my ball. It also had a seductive pull, kind of macho and destructive, like blowing up a model plane with fireworks or putting pennies on a train track. I had to watch.

As suspected, a person that had to check out a library book on how to kick a soccer ball didn't exactly have the capacity to drill the ball over a thirty foot wall, but he did pretty well. And I learned the technique and practiced and practiced against that wall, which was composed of small, loose stones embedded in concrete. It was possible, with the right angle and the right amount of force, to slam the ball hard against the wall and dislodge stones--another destructive macho thing which I geniunely loved to do.

In fact, one day about a year later I did send the ball sailing over that thirty foot wall (our school janitor, Mr. Brumble, retrieved it for me the next week--Incidentally, he was the source of my first cigarette when I was in kindergarten). And I ended up having the most powerful kick on every team I played for until I was in middle school. I never scored a goal in my years of playing, because I was parked in the backfield defending the goal and advancing the ball up the field (In frustration at never making a goal, I did make a great shot from midfield one time that the goalie barely saved)--I was a fantastic defender and our team ended up in first place several years.

More importantly, learning how to kick a soccer ball is a happy memory of my Dad that I can call up in my mind any time I like. This was a time when things felt normal, before the storm began--for some reason which I can not figure out, over the next couple of years our home seemed to deteriorate into an unhappy and unsafe place to live, and all of us kids have had to deal with those memories in different ways. A very frustrating thing these days is my parents' stance that they were the most wonderful parents in the world. They weren't. Sometimes, just to counterbalance this absurdity, I feel like I'm making them out to be the worst people in the world. They weren't that, either. But they did some pretty heartbreaking things which I took (and still take) pretty personally.

But a new chapter of my life started when I started looking at things a little more objectively and stopped taking those things so personally, and started doing my best to move on from those painful times. Reading over my own entry here, it is poignant to me that this happy memory is still ringed with a little cruelty and fear, but I can call it a happy memory if I want to.

Today at the park, I taught Ryan the "secret soccer kick" that my dad taught me from that book thirty years ago. He was grinning from ear to ear as I dove around trying to stop his rocket-powered goals. He was excited, just like I was, and it nearly brought tears to my eyes to realize how much I love him. I could put myself in a seven-year old body and feel the lonely despair I had begun to feel at that age--I hope Ryan feels joy and happiness without that twinge of fear that colors most of my childhood memories.

I picked up the phone to tell my Dad about teaching Ryan "the kick" I'm sure he would remember teaching me--I think we could count the times he checked books out of the library on one hand, and this was one of them. I wanted to tell him that I had recalled a happy memory--maybe it would make him feel good about those old times. Maybe he could cling to that. Maybe it is something to build on.

Running Away...

Sometimes I get overwhelmed by all the things in front of me--this is going to be one of those weeks.

Yesterday I was trying not to think of all of these things that I have to do--I was trying to just enjoy the day at the zoo with Fran and the kids. The weather is finally starting to turn autumn-like, which is one of my favorite times of the year. But yesterday I was fighting the urge to make mental lists of all of the things I really should be doing or will be doing.

I tend to load myself up with so many responsibilities that it is impossible to accomplish my list. I'm always hurrying from one place to another, and feel like I'm always running late. I know people who just refuse to be bogged down with more tasks than they can complete, and in fact for good measure they leave themself 10-15% of their time unscheduled for good measure. I always thought of those people as lazy.

Then I listened to this CD by Stephen Covey called "First Things First"--I'm sure it's based on one of his books, but it sounded like an excerpt from a lecture series. I've referred to this before, because it seems that every time I listen to it it changes my perspective a little--very powerful. But one thing he says about people who schedule every moment of their time is that some people get addicted to the urgency, the rush, of running around frantically and being busy. I don't think this applies to me exactly, because I do take time away, but sometimes I wonder if it's enough.

Several times, I've wondered if I could get away with just turning the car north and driving. When I was in fourth grade, I read about a bus driver who entered a "fugue state", during which he just zoned out, forgot his responsibilities, left everything and just drove off. I have a car--gas isn't the limiting factor, I could pack some snacks...Maybe it wouldn't be too bad to fake a fugue episode and just take off...I'm sure I would be forgiven a couple of days.

I wonder if I'm thinking this way because a person I know just died...the grandfather of a girl I knew in High School--I saw his obituary in the paper this weekend (I remember reading somewhere that you know you are getting older when you stop looking for your friends in the "Engaged and Married" section of the paper and start looking for them in the Obituaries). I remember that this grandfather was a very quiet man. He would go to McDonalds every morning to have coffee with a group of friends--we called them "The Breakfast Club". One time he won $20,000 in one of those promotional games they have where you peel stickers off the side of your hash browns or whatever. One of the things I remember about this man is that he would sometimes just announce to his family that he was taking a break, and drive off in his van for several days. Sometimes a week.

Where would I go? I'd probably get lonely before I got fifty miles away. And then, once I got out of range of my favorite radio station I would start to get depressed. I would just start munching down my snacks. Things would be so quiet, because I would have to pause on the bridge over the lake as I leave town and gleefully, vengefully fling my ever-squealing cell phone into the murky depths. It wouldn't be a break unless I did that...

No, I would probably have to take my little buddy--Ryan, my son, and let him fugue-out with me. He'd be cool with it as long as I let him bring the GameBoy and a stack of games. We'd go out to the Grand Canyon and check that out--maybe do some fly fishing in Colorado. Drive up into the mountains, then to the ocean in California--he's never seen the ocean. See? I couldn't just do something overtly selfish--I would have to do it under the guise of a goal-driven trip for the benefit of my son. I couldn't just wander aimlessly. I'd make a terrible homeless person--I need goals, dammit!

Well, I'll face my responsibilities for today...and this week...and I guess the rest of my life. I'll let you know if I decide otherwise....

Sizing up the Competition

I had an opportunity to go to a software training class this week, and I went--but under false pretenses. Not too much was covered in the meeting that I didn't already know. The truth is that the only reason I went to the meeting was to get a read on a group of guys--and now I know I'm in trouble.

It's really just a minor dispute over some accounts within our little group--I've got prime real estate in the market, so it makes sense that some people are coming after it and trying to steal my customers. It actually happens all the time--competition within the company. This group, though has been pesky and has resorted to a little bit of deceit and trickery, which has been annoying me.

His strategy has been to go way over my head to people located in our corporate office, then put pressure on them to let him have several of my major accounts. Then I was called into the office to justify every move I was making with each of these customers. My sense of their strategy is that they really want to shake loose one of the major customers, but their multi-pronged attack is a setup for the real negotiation that will happen down the road. Smart negotiators have a little patience, like a skilled chess player. One of my accounts in particular is very high profile and valuable, and so I think they will come back in a few months and just focus on that one. But, wisely, Bryan starting out arguing for multiple accounts, they will look like they are asking for a compromise when they drop their request to just one of my accounts. My counter-strategy is to let their initial attack lose steam, and then call their next move out publicly, which will take some of the effect away. Also, I have to make sure that I am diligently taking good care of those customers, which, of course, I am.

The last straw was the point where they complained that I wasn't working hard enough at the accounts that they wanted: They claimed to have inside sources who say that I don't come around and help enough--and that I missed out on a deal that was worth a lot of money. The straw on top of the last straw was when they held an open house party and invited all of my customers to come (but not me!). Did I mention that these people actually work for the same company as me?

I tried to dress very professionally for the meeting, wearing a conservative, well-starched white dress shirt with no tie, and I arrived early to pick a good seat. I had no trouble spotting the group as they walked in. The represent a faction within the company who is lobbying for more control, to include, as I mentioned, part of the territory I cover--they would love to move me out. Bryan and Ricky are their names. Bryan is the oily, well-spoken boss and Ricky looks a little like a sixty-ish caricature with a mop of sandy hair and coke-bottle thick glasses and slightly buck teeth. I quickly figured out that, while Ricky is on board for the ride, Bryan is the real problem.

Before the meeting, Bryan was very assuming and smug--actually, very charming. He quickly took control of the room and was introducing visitors to each other and dominating the group, some of whom were somewhat experienced men. No wonder I'm having problems with this guy. These personality traits seem to serve some people, the people who can put it to good use, well. I'm more of the stand back and observe type. I can't remember who told me that "Intelligence and money are a lot alike. The less you speak about them, the more people think you have." My personality is actually quite shy, which people who know me always laugh about. Once I become comfortable I can speak relatively well, but I would rather be cautious and know exactly what I'm talking about before jumping in.

Bryan had positioned himself verbally to be our resident professional, and he often assumed the posture of leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, waiting to be satisfied with the outcome of the current discussion. Even his introduction of himself was delivered perfectly: He transformed into a soft-spoken voice, false humility, and looking down as he delivered his credentials, which were actually impressive. Also impressive was his haircut, a little too long and perfect and vain for his age--it was well-gelled. It was obvious to me that this is a very proud and arrogant man. A couple of comments that he made signified that he considered himself to be the voice of experience and wisdom in the marketplace, and he grew bolder and bolder in the meeting, challenging assumptions, smugly giving "pointers" and anecdotes, and passing judgement on ideas that he thought wouldn't work--and I don't mean in a constructive way--I mean in an extremely cocky way. Additionally, his whole demeanor showed that he is a little on the selfish, inconsiderate side. Alternatively, Ricky looked a little more like an Asian tourist--his thick glasses made his eyes look smaller, and he had a camera draped around his neck with a thick strap--(during our class, which was quite bizarre).

Just to clarify, the meeting lasted all day and Bryan's interjections were only about 2% of the total time--he wasn't obnoxious or overbearing. As I mentioned, he was actually a very sociable and charming person--in the same way that your typical Frat guy is, albeit arrogant and a little blind to himself. This is one of the things that worries me, though. He seems to really believe himself to be better than others, and that he is doing the earth a favor with his blessings of wisdom.

That's not to say that Bryan was the most annoying person at the meeting. That award went to the guy sitting next to me, whom I nicknamed the Grinch who Stole Christmas. I'm pretty good at geometry, and I calculated that Grinch stole 17 1/2 square feet of the table space where we were working, leaving me approximatley 1 square foot with the corners of my computer hanging off the edges. He looked like a pallid white version of the Grinch, and had a face that came together in a wedge-shaped line, and was frozen in a constant frown. Later, I learned that he had a lot to frown about--when we installed some things, he couldn't figure out how to drag something into a folder. He glanced at me as I learned the secret he was trying to keep--He didn't know ANYTHING about computers, except possibly how to turn it on. So, I figured that he felt very out of place, and helped him a little. I even asked a very dumb question during the class for his benefit, because I knew that he wasn't following.

When it was all over, I felt like I had a little insight into Bryan and his group, although I'm not sure what I'm going to do to counter their subversive efforts. Maybe just hide his hair gel so he can't leave the house.

But at least now I know what I'm up against. A fight against an oblivous foe who feels that he's right. A somewhat daunting task.

From a 7-year-old's perspective...

Narrator: "Sometimes reaching the size of automobile hubcaps, the black eyes of the giant squid are the largest eyes on this planet."

My son, gasping "That must mean that there arelarger eyes on another planet!"

...And now, Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury...

By this time, all nervousness by this time had vanished. I looked across the aisle at the thin, hawk-nosed attorney opposing me. I thought about his grey suit, which flowed loosely as he moved around the worn table in the dimly lit room. I felt a little underdressed in my slacks and starched white button-down with no tie. I wondered if it would have an effect on the decision either way. Am I trying to convince someone to take my word, or can I just trust justice to be served without bias?

I was as prepared as I needed to be--I had a printed out copy of my blog entry about red lights--mostly because I forget which is which when trying to make a point about Type I and Type II errors, and it really loses its punch when you fumble around with confusing the two. That was kind of the point I needed to make so I didn't want to screw it up. I also kind of liked bringing in defamatory comments about the backward hicks of the city--it felt naughty.

Additionally, I had a copy of a recent article in the newspaper that exposed the city of Denton for having extremely short light cycle times, which were found to be faulty and were scheduled to be lengthened. Lastly, I had a fuzzy printout from a videocamera which, at least in my mind, pretty clearly shows my car in the intersection before the light turns red. I showed it to several other people and they agreed with me, so I felt pretty good about things. My strategy was to try to detect if the argument was at all winnable. I hadn't gotten my hopes up, though.

Alas, we will never know--the only place where the scene described above will be played out is in my mind....

My original page of notes somehow became misplaced, and I asked Fran to call the company to "confirm" my hearing time (ie. figure out what time it was actually scheduled for on Tuesday). When she called, the girl informed her that the fine was "paid".

Fran called me and asked "Are you sure you haven't paid this?" Yes I'm sure. "Well, that's what the girl said--It's paid, and you don't have to show up tomorrow at 9:00 as you had scheduled." I have to say that I was really dreading the drive to the courthouse, because it is about forty miles from my home, and it is flanked by low-speed zones. Getting there in the middle of rush hour traffic, and then parking, etc. was going to be terrible.

On the other hand, I didn't want to miss my appointment because of something stupid like a clerk making a typo on the computer, so I called back. Then the truth came out.

It turns out that the city police had decided to dismiss any challenged fines from the intersection where my alleged offense occured. It had actually been "dismissed", not "paid." Maybe I'm being a little overanalytical, but in my mind there's a difference. Also,in this case, it was only dismissed if contested.

I have to tell you that, last week after I got my complaints about this nonsense out of my system, I really wanted to just send my money in to take care of it without having to go to court. I wasn't in the mood to get embarrassed publicly by losing or being humiliated in some way, and I just didn't trust things to work out as they should. I remember a friend of mine, an attorney, who told me of this phenomenon--this is why so many people settle out of court. They fear being judged, and would rather take the certainty of a settlement.

In fact, I have had the opportunity to spend some time in courthouses and in the preparation of legal documents (in my former life as the VP of a small company). Maybe this is where I honed my sharp distrust of the legal system.

So, I suppose I "won". Thanks for the encouragement not to cave in, which was still a temptation even yesterday. I never really had the satisfaction of making my point to someone about the irresponsibility of not properly reviewing things before inconveniencing me, the fact that this was attested to by some illegibly-signatured officer, and how this whole setup is a slippery slope of inconvenience and ambiguity. The trick was going to be explaining it while on the defensive for my own alleged transgression, and I wasn't sure I could walk that line without my blood pressure getting raised. I would have been pretty annoyed at making the trip to the courthouse just to learn that it had been dismissed. I think it was pretty sorry of them to not notify me of the decision beforehand.

Is it a victory that I was quieted, saved the expense of the fine, but never got to express my disgust or make my point? I think I should just be happy and shut up.

Life in The Red Light District

It started out bad and got worse. Then, it became a dilemma. An epic struggle between convenience and morality, if you will.

I practically live in my car--I have driven OVER 200,000 miles in the past five years. The law of averages catches up with you after a while--earlier this year, I had a bouncing piece of metal nearly kill me in a construction zone. It didn't kill me, but it did put a hole in my car and make me go "whew!". I get tons of parking tickets, which I promptly pay so I don't get hauled off to jail. But I give myself leave to shoot the finger at parking attendants (when they aren't looking) any time I feel like it--it feels therapeutic.

I guess driving alone so much makes me quirky. I naturally gravitate toward certain routes around town, and it drives Fran nuts to think that we are driving .02 miles out of our way and will perhaps arrive three seconds later to some destination. Ironically, she disagrees with my philosophy of leaving ten minutes earlier to things so we get there with plenty of time to spare, but that's another story.

The other thing that drives her completely crazy is when I let the gas level run low in the car. When you drive lots and lots of miles, you sometimes feel like your life is a big connect-the-dots between gas stations. It's not uncommon to have to fill up twice in a day. So, knowing my car, I am careful not to run out of gas but I feel pretty free to let the gauge get down in "the red", often leaving just a gallon or so in the tank--sometimes less.

About a month ago, on a Sunday afternoon, we were headed to Fran's mother's house about 45 minutes away on the highway. Even though we were in Fran's car, we were, as usual, running low on fuel, and it was getting late in the day. I passed several gas stations which would have caused us to have to loop around highway exits because I knew one station that was right on the way and would save time. The yellow low-fuel warning light came on in the car, which sends Fran into panic mode and caused her to unleash an extremely enlightening and helpful lecture on the benefits of fueling your car promptly. It made me completely change my perspective and vow to myself to do a better job in the future. Yeah, right.

Wouldn't you know it? When I pulled up to fill my car up, the attendant informed me that their credit card machine wasn't working, and that I had to use cash. I had about ten or fifteen bucks in my pocket, and for some reason it really pissed me off to have to give it to this gas station. Now all my cash was gone, just because this thing wasn't working. It was unsettling to be driving so far with no reserve, but I felt like I had no choice at this point since there wasn't a station very close and I had Frannie the Fuelminder riding along in the passenger seat, my two small children in the back, and it was about 108 degrees outside--not a good time to risk breaking down.

Back in the car, I was now on the agitated side of things and we zipped along to my mother-in-law's house, where I fixed her TV and we ate dinner. The End.

...or was it?

A week later, we received a "Courtesy Notice" in the mail with a picture of our car running a red light on this same Sunday afternoon. The notice was signed by a police officer and requested that we kindly send $75 to their office.

So, embarrassing faux pas I made here: I took the paper to Fran and demanded an explanation of why she was running red lights. She pointed out to me that it was a day that I was driving her car. Whoops #1. Sometimes it seems like I'm just asking for it, doesn't it?

Then I started looking into this situation. They actually had videotaped my car going through the intersection, and they made the videotape available online. I played through it and sheepishly admitted that it looked pretty damning. Then I played through it frame by frame, and my car clearly enters the intersection before the light turns red. The camera is at a funny angle, actually the perfect angle for photographing license plates, but a pretty bad angle for seeing the intersection and making a judgement about a car going past the line after the light turns red.

That's another misconception that I think is being preyed upon: As it has been explained to me, if your vehicle "breaks the plane" of the intersection before the light turns red, you are legally passing through the intersection. Granted, I don't believe in living life on the wild side and trying to time things out this way, but, you know, right is right and wrong is wrong. I stopped the video showing my car in the intersection with the light still yellow, and showed the frame to Fran. She was actually more outraged than I was, and said "You've got to fight that one!"

Now emboldened by communicable outrage, I Looked into the matter further, and it seems like a big scam to generate income for a backwardl, hick town.

It turns out that the City of Denton, Texas has hired a company to write a bunch of these tickets. It amounts to a citizen's arrest and not an actual traffic citation, because a traffic citation apparently can't hold up in court if it wasn't witnessed in person by a police officer. This company installs camera equipment at local red lights, records cars going through, and then sends out Courtesy Notices (calling a ticket that just makes me want to punch somebody in the teeth) that are signed by a "witnessing officer" who is stating that they looked at the videotape and that a violation has occurred. The ticket doesn't go on your traffic record if you pay it, but is a legal obligation because of the way it is filed.

By making the "fine" $75, it is just low enough that it is appealing to just pay it rather than fight it, and if you do protest it, be prepared to reserve half a day and travel to the podunk municipal courts building on the other side of the world. Oh, yeah, and if you do protest it and lose, you have to pay $100.

So, now I'm stuck. I actually protested this an set a court date. I was hoping that they were just after "low hanging fruit"--you know, the people who just pay the fine and make it go away. Logically, this is exactly what I should do. If someone asked me for advice on this, cynical Mike would tell them to do just that--I believe that this is an unwinnable case. I actually feel guilty of "cutting it too close", although technically I know that I didn't commit the offense I am being accused of. And $75 isn't going to break the bank at our house--there are lots and lots of ways I would rather spend it than give it to these tobacco-chewing bumpkins who are probably sitting around laughing at how much money they are raking in from all the sheep-like citizens of the community while clicking their tongues and shaking their heads in disgust at the video monitor and making new entries in their coffee-stained ledger. No, I'm not bitter.

I imagine that, when I show up at the courthouse, I will be opposed by an attorney representing this company. In fact, I called the company and they set up the court date at their convenience, which probably means that they have multiple cases in a row so they can just have the attorney on hand for all of them. A very wise friend of mine once told me that, if you show up for a civil case and the other side has an attorney and you are representing yourself, you lose. Period. He said to ask for a continuance and then decide if it's worth pursing. If it is, pay for an expert legal representative. I'm drawing the conclusion that me, average Joe, can't receive justice against an attorney without paying for it. It's like playing board games against someone who is hoarding the box top with the rules printed on it...

If they get the right attorney on a mission, maybe I'll find myself on trial for attempted vehicular assault and end up behind bars...

Here's the slippery slope of reasoning that wakes me up thinking about this...

1) Some dude who says he is a sworn police officer signed this form saying he witnessed an offense. That actually means something to me, and it is disturbing that it's pretty clearly a lie. I think this system is set up to take advantage of an actual problem, which is that lots of people get into accidents running red lights and such. Nobody can argue with that, and I'm not trying to defend that issue--it's just that I think this is a group who is maliciously capitalizing on this issue.

2) I think that, in a scenario where a civil ticket is given out, that there should be an overwhelming burden on the entity issuing the "fine". Otherwise, couldn't I just print out a bunch of these and send them out to the world, telling them they owe me some money and just to send it in?

3) I think that, along with this burden, is the expectation of a type II vs. a type I error. A type I error is a false positive. That's what has happened in my case--it is actually a very dangerous situation, where you say "I want to catch every single violation--therefore, we will actually accuse innocent people, too". Type II error is false negative, as in "yes, we may let some guilty people go, but we want to be sure that innocent people aren't punished."

4) It turns out that this light is right on the road which leads from the trailer park to the local Piggly Wiggly. I am sure that a lot of people are busted on this deal that can't afford the $75. Maybe if I had my say in front of this company's representative, it would make someone be more careful about their accusations. If you would like to be outraged by the following, feel free--it is a pandering, gross, exaggeration, but makes the point:

When the Nazis came for the communists,I remained silent;I was not a communist.When they locked up the social democrats,I remained silent;I was not a social democrat.When they came for the trade unionists,I did not speak out;I was not a trade unionist.When they came for me,there was no one left to speak out.

Martin Niemöller

See? I just envisioned myself as Perry Mason, using this poem stoically as my closing argument while staring off into the distance...Exhibits A and B, maps and photos, are flanking me on either side, mounted on Easels.

In other words, if I don't say anything now, maybe this will get out of hand. Like I said, it's a slippery slope.

Obviously, I have delusions of having watched too many episodes of Law and Order and fantasize about having my unhindered say in front of a thoughtful judge. Something tells me this isn't going to happen.

I think I've just spoken my mind, and I feel released from my burden. Maybe I'll just send my $75 in now...