I’m a bit more introspective in my old age. Oh sure, I THOUGHT I was introspective when I was younger, but that was just ignorance. Sweet, sweet ignorance. Looking back, I find that I held on to some things for too long, and maybe others for not nearly long enough. About ten years ago I almost did a number of stupid things over what has proven to be the worst relationship in my adult life. The fact that I thought it was a good relationship at the time is proof that I was an idiot. And of course that is just one example, but I have news for you smart kids out there. You don’t know shit about life. Sorry. My feelings about the Boomers aside, it’s fair for them to say that I don’t know shit either. Because I don’t. It’s a waste really. We gather all of this wonderful knowledge and then one day, WHAM…dead. It’s like that time Lex Luthor started building a frontier house and then Dirty Harry came along and shot him because deserve ain’t got nothing to do with it. Yes, it is exactly like that.

As a people, I think we look the same now as we did ten years ago, but with more gadgets. I’m watching TV from 1995 almost every day and the clothes are the same. The people talk the same. Watching TV from 1985 back in 1995 was like watching the documentary footage of a whacked out culture on some strange planet. Like Kentucky, but further away.

I finished 2nd grade and was promoted to the 3rd when the 80’s reached a midpoint. Trucker hats and knee high socks. A lemonade stand with two customers.

Mother’s Day was this past weekend. We took my Mom out for lunch. Her name is Virginia. She probably thinks that most of these entries are proof that I am crazy. But that’s okay, because she never told me how to think. She just told me to think. And to apply myself. And I’m still working on that. My children will never know my father. And that’s sad. But they will know my mother. And if I am still here when she is gone, I will show my grandchildren her photo and say to them, “This was my mother. We didn’t always agree. She was the strongest person I’ve known in my life. She saved our family when my father died. I never deserved her, but I loved her.”

“Once again we find ourselves enmeshed in the Holiday Season, that very special time of year when we join with our loved ones in sharing centuries-old traditions such as trying to find a parking space at the mall. We traditionally do this in my family by driving around the parking lot until we see a shopper emerge from the mall, then we follow her, in very much the same spirit as the Three Wise Men, who 2,000 years ago followed a star, week after week, until it led them to a parking space.” – Dave Barry

In a few months I will be thirty years old. Looking back, I don’t recall any specific comprehension of the age I am now. I am different, but the same. I believe in people. I appreciate others more now than before. I miss old friends that I’ve lost contact with over the years. I regret some decisions that I’ve made.  I am fiercely proud of others. I’ve never been motivated by money. I have more than some, less than others. I often look slightly disheveled, a bit haggard. It’s a by-product of my sleepless lifestyle. As I’ve grown older I’ve traded Grisham and Clancy for Sagan, Dawkins and others that cause me to propose long winded hypothetical questions to Nicole.  She pretends I’m not insane. I wish they all could be California girls. I’m not religious. I think organized religion is part of the problem. But I believe there is more than this life, more than we could ever comprehend. I’ve grown more cynical with age, but maybe more loving and understanding. The most important people in my life have all been women. I owe them everything.

Next Saturday I’m going to marry the sweetest girl you could ever know. True story.

Is the wing supposed to move like that? Because I took a TWA flight back in 2001, and I could swear the wing was ready to come off. That was the last time I was on a plane. I know. But, it’s true. I don’t go anywhere I can’t drive. Arizona you say? No problem. California, Utah, whatever. I could probably fly to Hong Kong and back a few dozen times for a comparable amount of money, considering the price of petro.

The upcoming honeymoon is probably going to involve a plane. And if it doesn’t, then our honeymoon probably sucked. Yeah. The future wife thinks I should just take some kind of pill to knock me out, or hit the booze. But that doesn’t help because I’m mostly afraid of the crashing, not the flying. And I’m not aware of a pill that will stop that from happening.

“To me, the thing about birthday parties is that the first birthday party you have and the last birthday party you have are actually quite similar. You know, you just kinda sit there… you’re the least excited person at the party. You don’t even really realize that there is a party. You don’t know what’s goin’ on. Both birthday parties, people have to kinda help you blow out the candles, you can’t do it… you don’t even know why you’re doing it. What is this ritual? What is going on? It’s also the only two birthday parties where other people have to gather your friends together for you. Sometimes they’re not even your friends. They make the judgement. They bring ‘em in, they sit ‘em down, and they tell you – ‘these are your friends! Tell them thank you for coming to my birthday party.” – Jerry Seinfeld

Looking back on my life before I met Nicole, I’m not proud to say that I messed up most of the relationships I was involved in. I was an angry person for a long time, and I didn’t really know how to share my life with someone, and I didn’t know what it meant to be the kind of man that a woman could trust and respect.

We all change as the years pass, and I’ve grown older and hopefully a bit wiser. But mostly, I’m better because of Nicole. She is the sweetest person I’ve ever known, and I’m the best version of myself when I’m with her.

Here is to the next five years and beyond. It’s going to be a great life. Je t’aime ma chérie.

So, at what point do you determine that “the face” has failed you? After the failure has already occurred, or sometime before that, when you suspect failure is imminent? If you order a salad or an appetizer, and the time keeps ticking away towards the inevitable arrival of your entrée, and you’ve yet to catch sight of your stuffed mushrooms, when is the right time to start the nasty glances in your waiter’s direction?

And also, why do so many waiters refuse to write orders down? Do they think I’m impressed? Is it too much trouble to scribble a few notes AND make a few selections on a computer? Are those little green pads too expensive? I mean, I don’t want to throw your profit margin out of whack, but you are charging me about 1000% over cost for my glass of iced tea.

What makes it worse is that I’m living with Meg Ryan circa When Harry Met Sally, which means she’s making so many adjustments to her order that it’s pretty much a whole new entrée that you didn’t know existed. The odds are that Meg’s meal isn’t going to come out right, and even though I told her to stop being so high maintenance, she’s going to complain about it the entire meal, and then I’m going to be in a bad mood. And guess who’s in charge of your tip?

Four jobs I’ve had

1. Mucked out horse stables at a small “farm”.
2. Data entered health insurance claim forms for Prudential.
3. Managed shipping and receiving for Hastings.
4. Updated file records and ate free lunches at the Texas A&M Research Foundation.

Four movies I can watch over and over

1. The Rules of Attraction
2. Garden State
3. Spaceballs
4. Lone Star

Four Three places I’ve lived

1. Austin, Texas
2. Bryan-College Station, Texas
3. Elgin, Texas

Four TV shows I love

1. Scrubs
2. Lost
3. King of the Hill
4. Real Time with Bill Maher

Four places I’ve vacationed

1. Grand Canyon/Lake Havasu, Arizona
2. Roswell/Albuquerque, New Mexico
3. New Orleans, Louisiana
4. Galveston, Texas

Four of my favorite dishes

1. Spaghetti
2. Migas
3. Avocado Salad
4. BBQ Brisket

Four sites I visit daily

1. TexAgs
2. Pink Dome
3. The Morning News
4. The Superficial

Four places I would rather be right now

1. Bahamas
2. Somewhere with snow.
3. Somewhere with rain.
4. At the lotto office claiming my prize.

Four bloggers I’m tagging

1. Ian D. Owens
2. Stefan Von Dollen
3. Nik Outchcunis
4. Crissy McMain

I’m going to tell you a few things I don’t like about kids. Yeah, it’s more than just, “what is that sticky stuff on your hands, and why did you touch me”. Much more. A guy I work with brought in a book for first time fathers to lend to another guy who is having his first kid. I don’t think he read it, but I took it home and did a quick study. It was pretty entertaining. All the questions you always wanted to ask and plenty of stuff to scare the shit out of you.

One of the things the book tried to get across is that things rarely turn out like you expect. You might see a kid behaving badly in a department store, and think “my kid will never act like that”. And of course, he’ll probably be ten times worse. I don’t believe in spanking, but I often find myself in situations where I start thinking somebody needs to borrow my Mom’s hairbrush.

Oh, what kinds of situations? Glad you asked.

• Situation#1: Your kid is sitting behind me at the theater, and you’ve asked him to loudly narrate the entire movie.
• Situation#2: You’ve taken your kid to the barber shop and he kicks me three times and then stares straight ahead while making this noise: ba…ba…ba…babababa…for 15 minutes.
• Situation#3: You’ve named your kid Marisol. Seriously, what is wrong with you? Turn the hairbrush on yourself.

Interestingly, walking around stores during the holiday season reminds me how much we have in common with other people. I mean, sure, talking to a friend at work about how they also put up cat stockings means we’re both nuts, but you haven’t experienced anything until you hear another couple bickering back and forth about what gift to buy for so and so. Sometimes your eyes meet, just briefly, and one thought comes to mind: You poor sonofabitch.

The other night, after we returned from the mall, Nicole said to me, “thanks for going tonight”. Oh sure, no problem…wait, what? That seems to imply that I had options. You mean, I could have stayed home? I may have been hoodwinked. I shouldn’t be surprised. I mean, the same gender gave Adam that damn apple. And it all went to hell from there. Adam was just out in the garden running around naked, without a care in the world, and then BOOM, he’s out on his ass, no garden, no fruit, nothing. They should start letting me teach Sunday School. I’d cut the bullshit and get right down to the lesson. Women can’t be trusted. So sayeth me unto you. Amen.

The police in Austin have put the word out that they will be less forgiving during the holidays. So, use your blinker and watch that speed buddy. Uh-huh. If ever there was a time I needed to abandon the blinker and drive around like a maniac, it’s during the holidays. The blinker is overrated anyway. Like I need to give the bastard behind me notice that I’m about to move over. Yeah right. So he can speed up and cut me off? No way. If I use the blinker at all, it’s while I’m in the middle of moving over. More of a “here I come, watch out!” kind of thing.

Doesn’t Christmas music just make every store better? They should play it year round. I’m always in the mood for a little Dominic the Donkey, or that Hippo song. Maybe it’ll take my mind off how dirty your store is, and how much your teenage customer service sucks. Maybe.

With only days left until Christmas, the season is almost over. I’ll miss it when it’s gone. But a year will pass before we know it, and there we’ll both be. At the mall.

Fathers on television often have trouble accepting that their sons are going to turn out differently than they had expected. Hank on King of the Hill goes on about how Bobby “ain’t right”, especially when he embraces his feminine side, and Dan on Roseanne struggled to understand why he had more in common with his daughter Darlene than his son D.J. But to be fair, D.J. was one strange little Eddie Munster looking kid.

Does everyone have unrealistic expectations for their children? If I have a son, will he like football? If he doesn’t, will that bother me? What if he doesn’t like to read? What if he does poorly in school? What if he likes Chevy instead of Ford? What if we don’t have anything in common? Will I try to shape his political beliefs? Shouldn’t I? Who will argue with the Junior Republican my sister is going to raise? Will either of them even care?

It’s easy to say that I’ll support him in anything he does, but isn’t that just lip service? I mean, will I really support him in ANYTHING he does? Will I become an overbearing Little League dad? Probably not.

Will I give my kid too much stuff and turn him into a jackass that everybody secretly hates? If so, he’ll probably go to the university in Austin.

Will I be better able to talk to him about the important stuff than the clueless Boomers were? Aren’t we the casual generation? The Gen Y kids are certainly the hobo generation, but gigantic baggy pants won’t be as useful to the next generation as readily available, honest advice.

Will it be hard when he grows up and leaves? Will I be able to help him get started in life because I know all the things that can go wrong? Or will I have forgotten by then?

Will I just be satisfied if he’s healthy and happy? I hope so.

We spend the holidays at my grandparent’s house in Austin. My memories of Thanksgiving mostly involve eating, and talking, and eating some more, and sitting at the kiddie table. Seriously people, I’m almost 30, what do I have to do to get promoted? I’m stuck with the early 20 somethings, and that’s just cruel and unusual.

So after all that eating, I make an attempt to watch the Cowboys game but usually end up dozing in and out of consciousness for most of the first half before giving up and going home. (Note: I only doze during pro games)

My grandparents have lived in the same house since the 60’s (or maybe the 50’s). Because it’s an older home, and not terribly large, it’s about the coziest place on Earth to spend the holidays. It’s also the hottest place on Earth because my grandparents set the heater to “Blizzard” even though we live in TEXAS. Add in the heat from the oven, and it’s probably a lot like living on the surface of the Sun. But I’m just guessing.

When I was a kid, Thanksgiving was also the day that we were supposed to start making our Christmas lists. So after lunch, we’d sit around looking through catalogs for gift ideas. I would always turn to the section in the catalog where they had the remote controlled airplanes. And every year, my Mom would say something along the lines of, “We’re not getting you a remote controlled airplane.” And because I was stupid, I’d always ask, “Why not?” And her response was “Because you’ll crash it into the ground the first time you fly it”. And looking back, I’d have to say that her decision was unfair, but it probably saved lives because I would have also taken out a few windows, and a small dog before I killed all the passengers by crashing into the ocean (water trough).

But since Thanksgiving is really supposed to be about giving thanks, let me leave you with a few things I’m thankful for in 2005. In no particular order, I give thanks for…the great people in R&D at the JOB, reruns of Seinfeld and King of the Hill on FOX, Picasa, Madden ’99, Billy Gillispie, good luck, Scotts brand mulch, electric screwdrivers, Barack Obama, IBC Root Beer, dBpowerAMP, and…Nicole (the one and only).

Happy Holidays.

Two pills? That’s like eating one Dorito. It’s not very satisfying. I don’t even know how many I’m supposed to take. Is it related to body weight, or pain? Because my pain is bad. And when I say bad, I mean much worse than your pain sucka. My pain requires at least five pills, and sometimes six. I’m in a lot of pain, and I don’t play around.

All the scary stories in the news have me convinced that every sharp pain might be the last thing I ever feel. Is that a sharp pain? Was THAT a sharp pain? Am I going to have an aneurysm? Is it a tumor? Did I have to use spell check to find out how to spell aneurysm? Maybe.

If I’m having an aneurysm, are my affairs in order? What does that mean? Is that a sharp pain? Please don’t let it happen in the shower. Or…uh…some other places. My chest hurts. I might be having an infarction. Sonofa.

I heard once that they don’t really know how aspirin works. Which is fine with me, because I don’t really give a damn. I don’t need to know how things work. If I win the lottery on Saturday, I’m not going to spend much time investigating how it all worked. It did, and now I’m rich. I still won’t post more than twice a week on this site. Okay, maybe three times, but I’ll dictate the third one to my assistant.

Is it my computer monitor? I stare at it all day. That can’t be good. I stare at it when I get home too. And then I stare at the TV. And then Nicole comes home and stares at me. You know, “I can’t believe you said that” combined with a little, “you are such an ass wonderful man”. That can’t be good.

Maybe I’m thinking too hard (hahahahaha…sorry, that’s the cocaine talking). Wait until the news hits in 2020…computers cause cancer, so do pick-up trucks, Lazy-Boy recliners, and little kids with fudge ice cream smeared on their face.

And I thought the Sweet & Low was going to do me in. Is that a sharp pain?

When I was living the apartment life, I couldn’t have picked my neighbors out of a lineup. I didn’t say anything to anybody unless they said something to me. I’m only mostly anti-social.

So, fast forward, and here I am living in the valley of the damned, and now I’m supposed to wave at everybody that walks by, drives by, speed walks by, etc. And I’m also supposed to say hi to their kids. These are the rules as Nicole has explained them to me. My grandma says “BE NICE”, but I didn’t know it would involve waving. Talk about your cruel and unusual punishment.

I came home last Thursday and decided to mow the grass. It seemed like a good idea since I hadn’t done it in two weeks. Hey, I’ve been busy not writing posts for this site. Luckily, two guys a couple of houses down were already outside mowing, so that added to the guilt. And guilt gets things done.

The problem is, the grass had grown so thick in patches that the mower couldn’t mulch fast enough, and the engine sputtered and died. Twice. Okay, three times. But since I went to the Midvale School for the Gifted, I was able to determine that the best course of action would be to raise the cutting height. And that probably should have worked, but it didn’t.

So I had to go digging around in the garage for the bag, which I filled up and emptied into our huge plastic garbage can with a mighty THUMP. Unfortunately, since it’s been 115 degrees here, a gigantic grass cloud surrounded me like an angry swarm of killer bees and stuck to every sweaty skin surface on my body. I considered killing something, but went back to mowing the grass instead.

Every once in a while I’d steal a glance down the street, where the more experienced mowers were standing together, engaged in a little idle chit-chat. About what? Well, either the weather, or the jackass two houses down who had killed his mower three times, and was now cleverly disguised as Swamp Thing. But that’s just speculation.

Gas is too damn expensive to be driving anywhere anyway. And since I can’t find a decent alternative to the dinosaur juice, I’ve been forced to start riding a horse everywhere. Which is exactly what you guys in Delaware thought I was doing already, but Trigger didn’t come with an air conditioner and Texas only has one season. Hot.

Let me give you some free advice. When you need a relief map, a road atlas probably isn’t going to work. Not that I’m talking about anyone in particular. I have two very nice road atlases from Rand McNally. I love maps. Statistics and maps. Football, statistics, and maps. And spaghetti, but only if the noodles are cooked right. I spend a lot of time looking through my road atlases even when I’m not thinking about going anywhere. I like how everything seems to fit together, and the relationship between locations, and the layout of the highway system. Places often seem closer together on a map. Especially if you stop factoring in bathroom breaks.

I’m always looking for a better route, even when I don’t know where I’m going. Sometimes I’m looking for the scenic route, but the map only provides details like the location of every Dairy Queen in Texas.

I’ve been using Google Maps for a few months now. What do you use the satellite view for? I’ve already looked up everybody I know. Which is pretty much the same thing I did with the other satellite image sites. If I need to get somewhere and the address won’t pull up, I just put in “Austin, TX” and then I start pulling the map around. The “pulling around” feature might be my favorite part of Google Maps. Those directional buttons Yahoo has are for chumps.

The only part that bothers me is the directions. Google Maps gives out the same crappy directions that every other map site gives out. What are these directions based on? The simple route? The straightest route? It’s certainly not the logical or quick route. For instance, this is not the best way to go from Austin to Roswell. That’s at least an extra four hours in the car with the kids, or the woman, or whoever says things to you like “are you sure we’re going in the right direction?” Nicole says that to me when I pull out of the driveway.

Let me end by giving out a shout out to Kansas. Hey Kansas, why do you exist? I mean really. Other places have already done the whole “nothing” thing. And your version isn’t that good. Seriously, merge with Nebraska.

It’s not insomnia. I choose to stay awake. I’m trying to maximize my time. You know, GTD and all that efficiency crap. The lack of updates on this site notwithstanding, I’m usually working on something for myself, or somebody else. I also have a few side projects I hope to complete before I die. It’s not looking promising.

Nicole likes to come in the office, glare at me and comment, “I wish your computer would blow up”. I don’t think that kind of hostility is very healthy. She likes to remind me that my chronic lack of regular sleep leads to episodes where I’ll pass out for 16 hours straight. I think “power nap” is the appropriate term. I’ll usually lie fall face down on the couch. I prefer a position that allows for minimal oxygen, and maximum strange red marks on my face.

I look tired most of the time. Those aren’t bags, I’m just trying to build character in my face. People at work don’t ask about my haggard appearance, so they must think I’m drunk. Or that I’m a meth addict. I think Prairie City Bakery might be putting heroin in their cookies. Look into that for me.

I’m not convinced that my 21 hours on, 3 hours off schedule is making me more productive. Sure, I make a lot of progress on the little things, and it does allow plenty of time to not read new entries on Kartooner (just kidding Erik!). But I might be doing the same amount of stuff, just spread out over a longer period of time. I’m generally more productive at work, but that’s just because I’ve set the bar so low. The productivity application I wrote came crashing down yesterday because I decided reports should be spelled “reorts”. Caffeine interferes with my pinky finger.

I should mention that during the break Nicole hit the quarter century mark on planet Earth, and that was certainly cause for celebration.

Living half the country away from your family isn’t easy, and I should probably tell her more often how much I appreciate the sacrifice. Truthfully of course, I think moving from California to Texas is just about the smartest thing any sane person could do. Except for the teasips, rednecks, bible beaters, and conservatives, it’s a pretty (purtty) great place to live.

In other birthday news, it was also my niece’s 5th and Sebastian the cat’s 2nd birthday. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to attend either of those parties, but I sent a can of tuna to both.

We’ve been in the house for a few weeks now, and while we’ve been trying to get everything settled, we’re also learning how to spy on the neighbors and complain about people who don’t coil their water hose. We’re soon to have some tile work done, and I still need to take final photos so that I can conclude The House Files.

In the meantime, here are a few things that have been on my mind over the past 30 days or so…

• Tom and Katie (but mostly Tom) make me ill, and it’s not because I hate to see people happy. It’s because celebrities generally don’t have a clue what love is all about. Hint: It’s not about jumping on couches and repeating “my man” on Letterman.
• Is Karl Rove the evil Deep Throat? Stay tuned because “knowingly” might become the buzz word of 2005. While you’re waiting, check out the cowboy hat Rove wears toward the end of Journeys with George. Completely ridiculous.
• Wordpress 1.5 is awesome. I upgraded back in February, but I installed version 1.5.1.3 this week without a single issue. That’s my kind of upgrade.
• What is Jeff Rivers doing? Who is winning the dead pool?
• Royale is the only XP theme I’ve ever liked. Or used. Before last month, I’d always used the old school interface, and been pretty happy about it.
• Paul Newman makes a pretty tasty spaghetti sauce.
• You can purchase Nantucket Nectars online by the case!
• At any one time, my body is 67.3% iced tea. I’ve been told tea causes kidney stones. Please let that be a vicious lie.
• And finally, why am I enjoying Dancing with the Stars? What’s wrong with me?

The regular schedule of irregular posting will resume shortly. Thanks for reading.

I’ve lived my entire life in Texas, but have only managed to pick up a slight twang, and maybe a couple of mispronunciations that I may, or may not be aware of. Others who’ve lived in the same area may sound like they came out of a bad movie about Texas. And speaking of that, John Travolta owes the state an apology for his work in Urban Cowboy. Oh, the horror. Also, why do British actors think that the one American accent they can pull off is the Southern? I can’t even think of an American actor that can pull it off without sounding like someone doing a bad impersonation of a Southern accent. That means you Robert De Niro.

After taking this test a few weeks ago, I can report that I speak 75% General American English, 20% Dixie, 5% Yankee, 0% Midwestern, and 0% Upper Midwestern. I’d be interested to find out how I managed that 5% Yankee. Not a proud moment for my family. I’m sorry Mom, I tried. Maybe I didn’t apply myself. The relatively low Dixie percentage is due to years of hard work. It’s not easy to start calling it an “arm” when you’ve been saying “orm” your whole life.

I’ve always been partial to Texas Women, but I’ve spent a couple of years living in sin with a Southern Californian who thinks “crayon” is supposed to sound like “crown”. And what she thinks taco is supposed to sound like isn’t a word in my language. I’m proud to report that while I haven’t picked up any of her bad habits, she has incorporated “ya’ll” and “fixing to” into her daily speech. Score two for the heathens! Hollywood ain’t never gonna take her back. Yee-haw.

All of this would be just fine, since I make it a policy not to judge others (yeah right), but like other fanatics, he insists on spreading his way of life to those around him. It’s not enough that he’s figured out a system that works for him, but he has to tell you how you’re living wrong and how he can lead you down the path to wealth.

I don’t think it ever occurred to our visitor (or people like him) that other people might not want to live like he does. It’s not a lack of knowledge, or poor planning, but simply a matter of choice. Maybe some of us are okay spending the money required to eat out several times a week, because we enjoy eating out. Maybe we don’t care if we pay $3.89 a pound for ground beef, if the grocery store is convenient and we want to get home in time to watch Scrubs. Maybe we are choosing happiness over the type of wealth only maintained by an excruciating routine that saps all the joy out of life.

Money doesn’t have much intrinsic value. It’s made to be spent. If everyone in the world dropped dead except me, those two tens in my pocket wouldn’t be good for much. I agree that saving money is the responsible thing to do, but everything in moderation. If it all ends tomorrow, at least be able to say that you lived a little. Don’t spend those long hours at work and then tuck it ALL away for some point in the future that might never come. The world isn’t all ant vs. grasshopper. Like everything else, it’s mostly the grey area in between.

Galveston was the location of the worst natural disaster in United States history. In September of 1900, a massive hurricane struck with little warning, obliterating almost every structure in town, and killing around 6,000 Galveston residents. In the aftermath, a 17 foot tall, 7 mile wide seawall was constructed, and the entire town was elevated out of flood range.

The island is also well known for its hundreds of historic homes and other structures, built in the Victorian style of the late 19th century. The Strand district is reminiscent of Bourbon Street in New Orleans, but without the filth or overall sleaziness. Galveston is most often compared to Charleston and Wilmington of the Carolinas, although it retains the traditional laid back character of most Texas cities.

During the 1940’s and 50’s, Galveston was considered THE major sin city on the U.S. Gulf coast. The author was surprised to learn that his own grandparents spent their honeymoon on the island in 1949. Curiously, they have offered few details about their activities during that period. While the area has undergone many changes since then, it has retained many of the qualities that made the city so alive and inviting. The community of 60,000 supports several restaurants rated among the best in the country, a variety of shops, and annual festivals (including Mardi Gras) that are second to none.

If you’re in the neighborhood, and you want to escape the urban nightmare of Houston, take the causeway out to Galveston.

So, getting back to the sweetener problem, we ate a late lunch out at Hill’s Cafe in South Austin this past weekend. I ordered my usual iced tea, and then reached for the pink packet, but it wasn’t there. I stood up and frantically searched the nearest tables, but they were also empty. The waitress came over to get our food order, and I inquired with just the right amount of incredulousness in my voice, “Do you guys have any Sweet & Low”? And after making that face people sometimes make while saying they are sorry, but silently not giving a damn, she replied, “No we don’t have that stuff anymore, we switched it with Splenda”. My saccharine deficient brain struggled to process this new information. Splenda? Splenda doesn’t contain saccharine. You want me to drink my tea without using a sweetener that has been determined to cause cancer in laboratory animals? Are you kidding me? I’ll kill everyone in this place, I swear to God. Why does Nicole keep telling me to calm down? Are other people looking at our table? How dare they judge me.

Well, after that episode, I was forced to resort to a couple of Equals. Yeah, I could have tried Splenda, as suggested, but Nicole informed me that Splenda is disgusting. It’s my controversial opinion (in Texas at least) that putting regular sugar in iced tea is also disgusting. I’m not looking for sweetened tea. Who the hell needs that? I’m looking for tea with the taste of saccharine, and saccharine doesn’t taste like sugar. No ma’am.

If at this point, you’ve started to wonder about the point of all this, I’ve got bad news for you. There isn’t one. You waited over a week for this post, and it’s just a rant about artificial sweetener. It might be time to delete that link to my site. But I’ll tell you one thing. I’m going to start carrying a couple of emergency Sweet & Low’s in my wallet. Otherwise, it could get pretty ugly.

In the spirit of the holiday season, I thought I’d offer a few words of thanks for the people that have made the past year so special.

I am thankful for my friends and family, and how they have influenced my life. I’m especially thankful for my mother, who taught me how to be a good person, but forgives me because I didn’t listen.

I’m grateful for the opportunities that I have at work to grow and learn, and for the co-workers that help make each day more interesting than it should be.

I’d like to thank the Fightin’ Texas Aggie football team for making me hoarse every Saturday, and for showing a great deal of heart this season. And to Coach Fran, who reminded us that you play for the name on the front. Gig’em!

I’d also like to thank the friends that I’ve made in the blogosphere. The discussions and exchange of ideas that I’ve been a part of are an infinite source of knowledge and entertainment. I’ve never known a more talented or generous group of people. A special thanks to everyone that visits and/or links to this site. I’m not always sure what keeps you coming back, but I am eternally grateful for your support.

And finally, I’d like to thank Nicole, my best friend and partner. She knows the real me, but loves me anyway. I can’t imagine my life without her big smile and dorky laugh.

Have a safe and wonderful holiday weekend.

Don’t get too excited by our ultra hip lifestyle, but we spent Halloween over at my grandparent’s house in North Austin handing out candy to the same three kids who made a loop around the block every five minutes. I attempted to explain to my grandparents that the Packers triumph over the Redskins earlier in the day didn’t bode well for their boy Bush, but they weren’t interested. My mother and sister stopped by to let my sister’s daughter hit the neighborhood and entertain the old people. I attempted to throw my sister a bone by referring to Bush as an “idiot” rather than the more accurate “dumbass”, but I don’t think my restraint was truly appreciated.

Nicole used her previously mentioned Sharpie skills to create a Halloween design template for her annual Jack-o-Lantern (above). Remind me to add “Annual Jack-o-Lantern” to the list of reasons that I love Nicole. The great pumpkin will not last, but the memories will. And if they don’t, I have the photos.

Also, file this under sad news that most people reading this site don’t give a crap about, but Texas A&M lost to Baylor this weekend. Yeah, that Baylor. The same Baylor that has only won about four conference games since joining the Big 12 in 1996. Oddly, that is the same number of conference games the Aggies have won THIS YEAR alone. Let it be said that college football is a game of emotion and momentum. It’s all too easy to come in playing flat and lose to a team who simply wants it more. I take my hat off to Baylor and their fans. They rarely have much to cheer about, but they played an exceptional game. Sic ‘em Bears.

Well that said, we had a great time. We ate stuff on a stick, walked a few miles, road a few rides, fed the animals, and watched The Flying Housecats. Big Tex was pretty impressive too.

I’ve posted the photos from our trip in the photo section. They aren’t exactly Blurbomat quality, and I can’t be accused of staging great shots, but they get the job done. Oh, and I’m too tired to write any captions, but you probably weren’t going to read them anyway.

Enjoy!

The brain has trouble comprehending limitations of time during the early morning foggy state. Perhaps it would be more effective if Nicole screamed, “THE HOUSE IS ON FIRE YOU JACKASS”. That might get my attention. Maybe.

After I stagger into the shower, Nicole usually has time to make her own lunch, and throw a couple of items into a paper bag for me. I usually only eat things that can be completely thrown away afterwards, but I’ll save that story for the therapist. At some point during this process, Nicole takes a Sharpie and draws a daily doodle on the front of my lunch bag. You have to understand that Nicole is an unnaturally happy person, the kind of weirdo who looks for the good in others, and is easily excited when good things happen, or when someone comes up with a fun idea. The notion of crazy bag doodles might sound a little silly to you, and believe me, I’m well aware of my age, but I find that it’s the one thing I most look forward to each morning.

I thought I’d share a few of the bags in the photo section of this site. They are individual works of art, and I treasure them. They say more about Nicole than I ever could, but she is very special.