The thrill is going, going, gone ...

I feel like I've reached my limit on reading and listening about the Mike Leach firing by the Raiders of Red. And I've been pretty much listening and reading about it since noon. Yesterday.

Anyway, as I'm bored with the arguments as to why he got canned, I've been thinking about why I'll miss the guy. Dale Hanson, channel 8 sports personality/quasi-journalist, opined during the evening news about the numerous Tech fans who were throwing up their hands and saying they would never have anything to do with the program ever again. Never ever.

Hanson rightly called this a bunch of B.S., saying the fans will still be there, especially if Texas Tech can keep winning, keep getting better. And he's right. I even spent part the day thinking about who the next head coach would be and who would be a good choice. Time keeps moving forward.

But Hanson also misses something pretty obvious. Anytime you get rid of a personality within the organization, the organization changes.

And there were a lot of reasons I loved having Mike Leach within the organization:

• His overall craziness combined with success brought more attention to Tech than ever before.
• He had a great image: Combative, eccentric, intelligent, innovative, tenacious. That image reflected on Tech.
• His style of offense and aggressive play just made the game fun to watch.
  
• He said what he thought, and was frequently hilarious while doing so.
• He seemed to get A&M's goat for no other reason than he could do so. That was fun.
  

All that goes away with Leach, no matter who replaces him. Some personalities are irreplaceable, and the Texas Tech administration just threw that away, bringing the end to a great time to be a Red Raider fan.

That's the biggest disappointment for me in this dang deal.

Basic thoughts on basic training

So, after having a week to recover, and now going through a week to build myself back up, here's what's in my head after all of two-and-a-half weeks of Army training.

• Easily the most ignorant and stupid thing I've said in the last decade, and I've said a lot of ignorant and stupid things: "All right! I train in the winter! It won't be hot!"
• I guess I've lived through to many north Texas winters to consider that fact that a 9-degree windchill is not a fun thing to stand in formation. Unlike heat, you can't really get away from the cold. It permeates everything, all the time, and it's a living thing with the sole purpose of making me sick.
• Beyond that, training is very doable. Even for a 39 year old, so long as the 39 year old isn't sick. Damn cold.
  
• Half of basic training is sitting in a big classroom, listening to a lecture, struggling to stay awake. They don't show that in the movies.
• Drill Sergeants act the way that you've always seen them portrayed. The main difference is that the anger and the yelling isn't personal. It's really motivated by professionalism. They have to train you to act like a professional under fire, and they have all of nine weeks to do it. It's not an easy thing to do.
  
• Food: Generally not really good. Very monotonous. But not without its high points.
• The level of misery brought on simply by not being able to see your family: Orange. The crap thing is that, after the Christmas break, I'll have a little less than a week before shipping off again. Sucks. But it's the deal you volunteer for. And I get a lot of satisfaction out of finally adding a paycheck to the family kitty.
  
• Six hours of sleep a night. Uhhngghh.
• The fun stuff -- shooting, camping, obstacle course -- begins when I go back. Looking forward to that. So long as I don't get sick. Damn cold.
  
• Why Texas Tech? Why?
  

Favorite new toy

Me and Meredith felt kinda bad this Christmas, not having a video camera. The boy's talking a storm and running around all over the place, and we haven't really captured that.

So, thanks to me finally having a job and us finally getting some financial breathing space, we went out today and spent a wad of cash on a video recorder, camera bag, and DVD burner. We had to have a lesson in how to do it. The last time either of us were recording videos, we had to shoot on those huge cameras that recorded directly to the VHS tape. We were in kind of a culture shock.

So, here's the first thing we got. Sam enjoys appearing on-screen.

A longer lookback at 'Stripes'

From Stripes:

"Have you seen the people enlisting in the Army? They're just like us!"

"Yeah, except they aren't as OLD as us."

***

Meredith's parents came to watch Sam last night, giving us a chance to go on a date. We had expensive Thai food, walked around downtown for a bit, stopped by the Barnes and Noble, and had expensive deserts on the roof of a downtown restaurant. Then we came home and watched Stripes. Great times. I hope this becomes a pre-assignment tradition, even though I stayed up way past my bedtime.

***

Netflix sent us an extended version of Stripes, which I did not know existed. Most of the extended scenes are boring -- exposition explaining why what happened next happened. But you already know what happened, and you don't really care about the logic behind it.

There is one cut scene, however, that is just bizarre beyond belief. I imagine they came up with it when they were first writing the movie as it was originally envisioned: Cheech and Chong Join the Army. I'm not kidding. Worth checking out if you're a fan.

***

I don't begrudge Fort Worth getting all dressed up for TCU's big moment in the sun today. Sky scrapers are lit up with purple lights, the local media is exhorting people to go to the ESPN Gameday show because "it's important," etc. Good for them. They've got a good team this year and it still gravels them that they aren't in the Big 12.

Still, maybe because it's a private school, maybe because Fort Worth is part of a metroplex that usually finds better things to do, but a lot of the enthusiasm seems faked to me. Just saying.

***

Hmmm ... Chili sounds really good right now.

Mmmmm ... donut explosion

"You got a lot to learn yet, Millie. I don't want it on my conscience that I was the one taught you."

-- From Elmer Kelton's Llano River

***

I stopped by Shipley's Do-nuts this morning, part of farewell tour of unhealthy food I'm taking before shipping out. Meredith and me are going on a date Friday, and I've been debating what and where we would eat. I'm tempted by chicken fried steak, but I'll save that for after training. Chicken fried steak is for coming home to, not leaving.

***

Ever notice how all the old, semi-successful donut chain shops were all built in the '60s and '70s? Otherwise, why all the faded browns and oranges and fiberglass? This had me wondering this morning. What happened in the 60s and 70s to cause such a large amount of donut shop construction? Was there a donut explosion of demand? Some kind of new technology? And why did it end, more or less?

***

My to-do list is shorter, but still intimidating.

***

A lot of that music on the boy's kiddie CDs is starting to sound good.

Ever-So-Much-More-So

I was thinking my eyes would be popping open at 4:30 a.m. by now. I was wrong.

***

Life, before you leave to start on something new, takes on a condensed, ultra-concentrated kind of feel. It reminds me of a story I randomly read back in elementary, called "Ever So Much More So."

It's funny what stays with you. I trolled for information on the story this morning ... and, aha ... The Wikipedia entry for the Homer Price* stories:

"Flim-flam merchants and larger-than-life paraphernalia appear in several stories. One features a snake-oil salesman — Professor Atmos P. H. Ear — offloading an odorless, colorless, tasteless chemical called 'Ever-So-Much-More-So' that when sprinkled on things, supposedly enhances everything; a soft bed would become softer, a fast car becomes faster, and so on."

In elementary, it seemed that every year we watched a film about a donut machine that wouldn't stop making donuts, and all hell breaks loose after a woman claims her diamond bracelet fell into the batter. The stories are from the same root. That's something I'll have to check out when I get back. Sam's getting to an age where I'll be able to read any children's story to him with impunity.

***

I bought a book yesterday, a time-killing tool for the traveling and registration period before training actually begins. (This normally takes about four days, but I've been told that it can take weeks.)

So I went to Half-Price books and moseyed over to the fiction section. I didn't really know what I wanted, only what I didn't want:

• No westerns. (I'm reading one right now.)
• No war novels, any time period. (I don't need to read about guts and glory -- things will go much better if I stay focused on the practical.)
• No fantasy or sci-fi. (See above.)

Considering how the above list constitutes 95 percent of my normal reading material, picking out a book was not easy. I eventually ambled over into history, where I had to deal with the fact that everyone in my platoon (squad, whatever) will know what I'm reading, and God knows what cultural background baggage they're bringing with them. So, no books on tribal Africa, stay away from Samurai histories and don't even look at the Middle East section.

So I shuffled back into fiction and eventually picked out a novel by the same guy who wrote Watership Down, one of the better books I've read in the last five years. The story is called Plague Dogs and has a picture of two canines on the cover. That'll do.

Gold Bond, for all your naughty bits

Funny how I only thought of Gold Bond Powder as a product for the feet, when I thought about it at all. I've just learned that it's also good for your nether regions. The Army is going to give me a hell of an education.

***

Favorite line from the Elmer Kelton novel Barbed Wire:

"But nothing ever graveled Monahan quite so much as to have someone sitting around idly on his fat haunches, watching him work."

Yep. "Graveled" as a verb. Awesome.

***

I imagine that those of you who are interested in this sort of thing have already seen it, but just in case you haven't: The Denver Post had a photographer follow a soldier around, from high school graduation, to his basic training, to his deployment, to his return home. It's a pretty amazing body of work, and they don't shy from some of the rougher aspects of this guy's journey. I suppose it's a good example of what I'm in for, only without the Jerry Springer aspects of a personal life.

It'd be great to have an 18-year-old's body, but not at the cost of 19 more years of experience.

***

I'm happy that I'm no longer treading water in a journalism career. Still, some things are disconcerting -- like the Abilene Reporter-News web site. It used to have personality -- tons of local art and a notable presence of the local staff members. Now it looks like one of those web sites you land on after making a typo in the address bar. (Eh... After taking a second look at it maybe I'm being a little harsh, they do have local art. Still, the overall look is pretty sterile.)

***

It's better to run three to four miles every day than six miles every other day, I've decided. It's also better to keep to your rule about no more nachos.

***

And yes, I am looking forward to the next episode of "V."

There's some weird stuff on the radio at 5 a.m., Saturday

Reading the coverage this morning of my high school's loss to city rival Lubbock Coronado (21-20, another game in which placekicking was paramount), I was reminded of this conversation with my Army recruiter when he set up my military account.

Recruiter: OK, it's going to ask a series of security questions ... What was your high school mascot?

Me: The Plainsmen.

Recruiter: ... The What?

Me: The Plainsmen. Men of the plains?

Recruiter: Were the Plainsmen especially tough people or something?

Me: If you'd been to Lubbock, it'd make sense.

Recruiter: ... OK, let's go with another question.

***

Come to think of it, our mascot was always dressed in a blue buckskin, which didn't make a lot of sense. Every fur trapper all over the West wore buckskin. You'd be better off going with the pioneer outfit of a flat-brimmed hat, white shirt and suspenders. Those were the people who stayed.

***

The Springtown mascot is the porcupine.

***

Yep, Tech doesn't have a game this Saturday and I'm definitely jonesing. Ah well, I can get stuff done, I guess.

***

Getting up early is good, but the time does fly in the morning. My alarm went off at 4:30. All I did was stop by the bathroom and then go outside to fetch the newspaper. That somehow burned 25 minutes. And it's 6:02 a.m. before I'm done here. Sheesh. Need to get to work.

Shooting at Fort Hood

Fort Hood is my top pick for a post spot once I'm done with all my preliminary training. I'd get to raise my kid in Texas, and in one of my favorite parts of Texas. The small country road in front of our farm in Hico goes in a straight line to Hood's north gate.

I don't confuse myself (yet) with someone who actually is a soldier. I spent yesterday sending prayers to the victims and families, and feeling anger at the shooter. There was a new feeling -- worry about how my wife would take it, worry that my family could become potential targets -- even though I know it's not reasonable.

Last night, I spent some time in a couple of online chats for new recruits, and the incident was barely mentioned in either. That's the point, I guess -- things just keep going.

SyFy is a dumb spelling for network that caters to geeks

When I boot up the computer every morning, it'll fool me for a bit by working quickly. I know better.

***

A few more thoughts on V.

I've read a few articles that talk about how "V" is taking aim at the Obama administration. The aliens offer "health care." People give them slavish devotion without knowing their goals. The people opposing them are debunked as weird people on the fringe.

Meh. In the end it's a show about lizards in spaceships that want to eat us. To the lengths that a popular TV show will pick up on the zeitgeist and incorporate it is all to the good, so long as it doesn't come across as preaching.

I didn't even think about it until I read later how Battlestar Gallactica used the first part of season three to argue that suicide bombers have a point. And after I knew, I didn't care. It's entertainment. The viewer gets to decide what lessons he takes from the experience, not the creators.

***

To go in the opposite direction (and yet, not really), I chose Elmer Kelton's two novel compilation, Brush Country, as the last book to read before going to basic training. Kelton lived in San Angelo and wrote about the area and history he knew. And he usually comes up with something historically interesting, even if his stories tend to be straightforward.

For example, in the novel "Barbed Wire," you learn that the fencing of the prairie was actually a good thing. I remember all these romanticized tales about how the fencing of the prairie was a tragedy and a loss of freedom. Actually, more of the opposite.

Anyway, I just wanted a reminder of the people I grew up with before heading out.

***

I have dreams about my Grandma's old house in Oak Cliff at least once a month. Always comforting and kind of sad at the same time.

Put blog post title here

No Facebook, I don't want to nag my friend about his lack of a profile picture. Nor do I want to jump all over another buddy for only having 12 friends -- she lives in England for Pete's sakes.

Mind your own %$#@!@#$%^&*-damn business.

***

The thing about going to bed early and getting up early is that it's easier to get up early than to get to bed early, in the long run.

Last night, the lights were out at 10 p.m., thirty minutes later than they should have been and only because I shrugged off some chores that needed doing. It was still the earliest I'd managed to get to bed. I collapsed in a three-hour nap yesterday because I was tired of being brain dead. At one point I tried to put milk into the pantry.

***

Some thoughts on "V."

• Fun, but ...
• They couldn't update the whole lizards-in-human-clothing thing?
• Alan Tudyk! (Plano native who played Hoban on "Firefly", though he's probably better known as the guy who talked like a pirate in "Dodgeball.")
• All the main characters are handsome, 30-something cardboard cutouts. After watching, all I can tell you about is FBI-agent woman, Priest, surly teen, concerned African-American, etc. After watching Battlestar Gallactica once, I would tell you about Freakin' Commander Adama.
• Morena Baccarin! (Why is it that the two Firefly cast members are playing lizards?)
• "Devotion" is the greatest weapon of all? Oh, come on. It might be Love, or a planet explodin' laser beam, but it ain't "devotion."
  

***

So. After keeping this blog inactive for months, I finally checked out the visitor counter yesterday. Discovered that last Thursday, before I started this thing up again, I had one of my biggest traffic days ever -- 60 people.

The weird thing -- 40 of those people picked that day to search the phrase "famous internet stuff." They weren't all from one location and I hadn't noticed anything in the news, but there they were, checking out a random post I did about two years ago, before I could even embed videos.

I hardly remember anything on that post, except for the "My Hands Are Bananas" video. What's a little stranger is Meredith telling me yesterday (before I told her about the visiting spike) that she couldn't stop humming "beware the milky pirate."

Hmmmmmm ...



It's one of those things that isn't funny, just random to the point that it seems funny.

Aggie coach visits antique store, rents sense of humor

I wonder if my nose is doing something weird or if the oatmeal does actually taste funny. But what can go wrong with oatmeal?

***

In the Star-Telegram today, A&M coach Mike Sherman enjoys poking a fresh wound:

... When asked about the impact of playing at altitude this week in Boulder, Colo., ... Sherman suggested it would not be that different from playing in Lubbock (elevation 3,256 feet).

“Lubbock’s a pretty good altitude up there,” Sherman said. “There’s a lot of hot air up there, too. We had to deal with that.”

Well, now. Gather up the torches and pitchforks and clang the dinner bell extra loud.

It's like Mike Leach has been schooled by the old guy at work who last attempted a joke during the Ford administration. A player did a better job of it:

Tackle Micheal Shumard joined the Leach-bashing chorus when asked about Sherman’s decision to take a knee in the final minute of last week’s 35-10 victory over Iowa State.

“That shows class,” Shumard said. “I would hate to be a player for a team that would try and score with … 20 seconds left in the game. That would call time out to try and score.”

I think Leach did that at A&M after the refs took a touchdown away from one of his players, and besides, he takes as good as he gives, but, meh.

This is all and all a good thing: It fires Tech up during their off week, and gives them bulletin board material for next year, so they can remember to show up and play.

***

Buddy of mine recently told me how he's basically gotten too old to enjoy "blaring guitars" in his music anymore. I'm further gone -- I have a hard time listening to anything nowadays that's less than 50 years old. Give me old jazz, give me baroque or classical guitar and I'm happy.

That being said, "Poker Face" has been rattling around in my head for the last few days, after Cartman did it on South Park.



I even got Sam to go around yelling "Ma ma ma ma poker face," at which point Meredith told me it meant something dirty. Ah well, if I didn't get that, I doubt Sam did.

Hmmmm ... This English tea ...

Seems a little stronger than the American type. I still wonder if I'll regret not drinking coffee. By the way, Starbuck's Via Instant Coffee is pretty dang good. Especially so, if you're stumbling around at 4:30 a.m. and don't have the coordination needed to work a coffee machine. Just boil water and go, big guy.

***

It's not regular coffee? You lied to me!



The Star-Telegram reminded me of this today. Watching it for the 1,000th time, I noticed that the fictional location of the shoot was "Shreveport, Louisiana."

***

A) I like my teams to win.
B) I like to see my teams develop.

I don't really get being so angry with a team you're a fan of that you'd just switch off the season. I don't get publicly trashing a player (so long as the player is trying) when he doesn't come through. Maybe it's because I grew up around coaches and athletes. There's too much of the human side I'm aware of.

But mainly, things change. Dudes practice, learn from mistakes. I get tired of reading the fan boards and seeing people who have declared this player or that team beyond redemption.

A) It doesn't make sense.
B) Get over your jilted-lover crush. I'm amazed after reading this stuff that football players aren't the nation's highest per capita victims of stalking.

***

It seemed fun to teach the boy how to say, "Sam de la Barrio!" ... until we were in the middle of Rosa's Cafe and Tortilla Factory.

Ah, who am I kidding? It was still fun.

Going and gone

I've been easing into this look since college.



No matter how much weight you've lost, shaving your head makes you realize you could stand to lose some more.

Random brain happenings at 4:30 a.m.

Man. When you have to start waking up at 4:30 a.m. to prepare yourself for training, "fall back" is the most special daylight savings time of them all. Still. Man.

***

Meredith is shaving my head today. Pictures to follow. I stopped giving myself buzz cuts a long time ago, mainly because the scalp zit is the king of zit-related pain. But I've been told that shaving your own head makes the transition to basic training a little less traumatic, so buzz away. I just hope I don't scare the hell out of the kid.

***

Does anyone watch The Simpsons anymore? And if you do, is it because you think it's still funny?

***

I've decided to cut down the list of "Things I Must Do Before Shipping Out." Some of the reason why is practical, as I just don't have the time to spend a day walking along Mustang Island humming my favorite Texas music tunes. But mainly, I just need to prepare myself on the job at hand, and it's tough to do anything if everything suddenly takes on a sentimental tinge. "Gee honey, I'd like to run to the WalMart to pick up some lettuce and bananas, but it'll be the last time before I go and just too emotionally overwhelming. (Sob)."

***

I think I'll be far better off with the whole military career thing if I keep in my mind that, all things considered, it's a job. There's no need for me to think about George Washington looking over my shoulder every time I go to the bathroom. Just. Do. The. Job.

***

Seriously, The Simpsons? This struck me when I was taking a run in Hico a coupla weeks back. I haven't watched an entire new episode since 2005. The last show I attempted to watch started with Bart seeing the nerd kid driving a combine. Obvious storyline: Bart gets into an agricultural program and to his horror discovers where meat comes from. I watched something else for a bit, but when I switched it back at the end of the half-hour, there Bart was, trying to rescue a scared-looking pig. Why watch if you can predict what's going to happen beforehand?

***

I can understand watching out of a sentimental attachment to a show that's been around for, good Lord, the majority of my life. I watched all of the Bob Hope specials long after he'd lost his edge. But, even in his dotage, Hope managed to project a sense of his greatness. The Simpsons just cheapen themselves further each season -- Marge in frickin' Playboy? They'd be better off if they cut out the tired jokes and the tired plot and just put Lisa up there for 22 minutes, lecturing us on the progressive way of life. It's what they want to do anyway.

***

Ah, Hope:



Sorry to break the "No politics, ever" rule. But it's harmless. And it's probably my last time to do that before ... (sob).

A life with no sauce

It’s 4 a.m., raining, and not easy to sleep. I’ve maintained radio silence here long enough that it’s doubtful anyone comes here regularly anymore.

So how ‘bout some self-indulgent navel gazing?

A week ago, I was eating dinner with Sam, listening to one of his CDs play through a song about Dad Fish and Son Fish going up to the surface of the ocean to check things out. My meal consisted of brown rice, tuna and peas. Sam was going through his macaroni, marinara sauce and chicken, cheese and some kind vegetables. I couldn’t help but notice that he probably was getting more calories than me, and it tasted better to boot.

I figured that my meal – plain, healthy, boring as hell – was a pretty good metaphor for my life for the time being.

My daily schedule:

1. Drag myself out of bed by 10.
2. Eat cereal.
3. Talk myself into my five-mile run.
4. Run, if talk was successful, or eat lunch if not.
5. Run, if unsuccessful the first time.
6. Dinner preparation, household chores.
7. Dinner.
8. Dishes.
9. Put Sam to bed.
10. Should I sleep or do treadmill work? Hmmmmm ...
    

Throw in there: Three or four sets (if I’m being good) of push-ups, sit-ups and planks; reading-on-demand for Sam; talking to Meredith about frustrations with work/school. Try to throw in: Something to prepare for the massive life-change we’ll be making next month.

The result -- of the monotonous schedule and the focus on the Army -- is that life has become very dull, very tense. Or maybe that’s just the state of mind I’m stuck in. I don’t like myself much lately. I’m too snappish with my wife. My son has fully entered the terrible twos stage, and that’s been an adventure. “Adventure” as in something that’ll be funny about 16 years from now.

I’ve banned myself from making comments on Facebook because I just tend to pop up and rain on everyone’s parade. I.E.:

Some Person 1: Wow, is it still Monday? Why can’t it be Friday!!

Some other person: ROFLMAO!!! U R hillareous!!!

Me: I realize I only knew one of you briefly at Evans Junior High, but let me invite both of you to kill yourselves.

(Besides it’s unfair. If people don’t have a right to complain about Mondays on Facebook, I don’t have a right to spend an hour talking about the weather in Hico every time I see my Dad.)

If I had an 18-year-old body and no responsibilities, I’d be able to blow off steam in the typical juvenile ways until my shipping date. But I have responsibilities, and my diet has cut out alcohol to the point where the smell of beer gives me a second-hand buzz.

Basic training is a big unknown. You kind of know what you’ll be doing – running, getting yelled at, tear gas training, waking up really early – but you have no idea how that’ll translate into a day-to-day existence for nine weeks. I’m stuck wanting to get it over with and wanting to take more time to be in better shape for it.

Every now and then I’ll go to the Army web site, look at some videos and see the guns that I’ll be shooting. That gets me psyched up. Still, the whole thing still seems unreal to me and Meredith.

I guess it’ll be real enough, very soon.

How 'bout a nice tall glass of lemonade? And other thoughts

The ingredients: water, sugar, lemon juice.
The most complicated part of the process: boiling water.

I've cooked some fairly complicated things before with dozens of ingredients.


And this is probably the best tasting thing I've ever made. Like refreshing rays of frosted coated sunshine, poured down your throat by a squirrel perched between the antler's of a 16-point buck. Anyway ...

Bring the pain on softly
Few things concentrate the mind like knowing that, in a couple of months, your physical fitness level will figure greatly in the amount of yelling and abuse thrown in your direction. Hence my running, while not at the level it needs to be, has become serviceable. (Even though I still feel rage when I see the younger folks jogging around, hoarding all the cartilage.) And my abdominal muscles are coming out from my blubber, much like an emaciated bear comes out of the snow at the end of hibernation.

But my upper body strength is gone, gone. I kind of knew this from the difficulty I've had with push-ups, but I really discovered this yesterday, when I finally installed my chin-up bar. My maximum number of reps? Zero. As in can't do any.

So I've been going a little crazy since with the push-ups, and today I did a chin-up rep of one-and-a-half. This'll be an interesting time.

Yard
I was right, a month ago, when I said the edge installation in the front yard would take about a week. It's just that I haven't put in a week yet. I'm closer to day five, overall.

On the tele
So, Meredith has at last agreed that it's time to get a new tv, and it is my task to find it. I'm not too picky, but it needs to be cheap and work with an antenna. Any suggestions would be welcome.

Paper sergeant? Good morning.

When I took my oath a few weeks ago, I had planned on announcing it here straightaway, with the usual attempts at comedy. But I held back for a few reasons that at the time were unclear to me.

First off, this is serious, life-changing business for me, my wife, my kid, and both our families. Kicking it off with a few jokes was inappropriate.

Second, after telling a few people, it was apparent I’d have to get used to the bug-eyed reactions of people suddenly forced to manually drive their thought processes forward.

“He’s joining the Army? But he’s 37? ... 37 is old ... Isn’t there some kind of restriction or law or ... he’s 37? ... Fat?”

And when you get enough reactions from people telling you how various parts of their anatomy – mouth, seat, etc. – have hit the floor, you feel almost guilty for getting that kind of rise out of them.

(With apologies to friends who told me something on their person had hit the floor, which would be pretty much all of you. It’s a normal reaction. And thanks to Charokee, Alicia and John for the letters.)

Still, over time, not talking about it becomes worse than talking about it, so here it is:

Around May, when my attempt to join the educational workforce of the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex was crashing into a brick wall, I started to really look into exactly what my options were:

• I could spend a school year twiddling my thumbs, hoping that next year something might open up and I’d be able to win out over the same pool of experienced, better-trained teachers who were unable to find work this year.
• I could go back to college and spend three-four years earning another degree. Although this would force my wife to hold off on her plans of getting another degree.
• I could try something that I always wanted to do: the Army. I’ll say the pay’s good, and sometimes really good. The benefits are outstanding. And after getting through training, I’ll be in the best shape of my life and have more opportunity to advance than I’ve had in a long, long time.

As to the why -- I've always been a God and Country kind of person. I don't talk about it much, but I've always had a tremendous amount of respect for what the Army does. Part of me has always wanted to be involved.

I’ve included a list of most of the questions I’ve been getting.


You’ll be doing what?
I’ve joined as an officer candidate. I’ll be a second lieutenant at the end of training. I don’t plan on being a combat specialist, just on supplying the fighting regiments or telling them where to shoot.

You’re too old and fat.
(No one’s said that, but I know what they’re thinking.) The Army recently raised its enlistment age maximum to 40. My profile picture on Facebook was 30 pounds ago. I keep that doughboy’s face up there for motivation. Fitness-wise, I’ve got a long way to go, but I’m getting there.

How have people reacted?
Generally there’s shock. Some come back after a bit to tell me congratulations or good luck, some don’t.

When?
I ship to basic in mid-November. I’ll be done with that in February, and will have a few weeks off before Officer Candidate School starts in March. That’ll be done in May, followed by another school that’ll teach me how to operate in whatever branch of the Army I will serve in. That’ll take a few more months. So, around this time next year, your tax money will finally start paying me to work in a job as opposed to teaching me how to work in that job.


How’s the wife?
Up days and down days. She sees the logic of the decision, does her best to support me as I get ready. Worries about running the house all by herself, worries about losing me for a year, and worries about me getting shot. I told her when I made the decision that this was going to be a lot harder on her than it ever is on me. I’m still sure that I’m right about that.

We're both really thankful for our parents, who have volunteered to help with the daycare duties until I'm done with training. That's a HUGE help.

Won’t the boy miss you?
I guess. I don’t know -- the boy isn’t two yet -- and the whole time I’m gone, he’ll be surrounded by family. The real question is “Won’t you miss the boy?” I’ve been a stay-at-home dad now for 20 months. I like the kid. I can only guess at what kind of emotional panic I’ll be experiencing when it’s time to leave.

Do you REALLY want to do this?
Yeah. What? You never did?

And Now for a Bit of Two Journalists Bitching About the State of the Industry ...

Setting: A couple -- young, strapping but wizened – are sitting in a kitchen in a post-breakfast daze.

Man: I saw where B.J. posted a story on Facebook about a newspaper that started making money again just by charging for their online content. People returned to buying the actual paper.

Woman (sarcastically): Wow. Imagine that. It’s never worked for anyone, like the Wall Street Journal. Let’s just keep giving it away for free and see what happens.

Man: Yeah. (Dropping into dumb big shot voice.) I’m a newspaper consultant from the Northeast, and I think visibility equals profit. Duh. You’ve been giving away your stuff for free so long that people now resent the idea of paying for information. Duh. Free on-line is the future!

Woman: Idiots.

Man: Morons.

End scene.

Blog status: More inactiver

Just writing to let y'all know that I won't be posting much for a while. Sorry I can't give you a definite time frame, but experience has shown that I can't predict how long these absences last, or how complete the lack of postings will be. This is my favorite place to post Sam and Hico, pictures, after all.

As to why -- I've got some major things I need to do with my life right now (I.E. getting over my paralyzing fear of clowns, once and for all). And those things are taking up all the space in my head usually reserved for the things that end up here.

I came up with a premise on Saturday, "Baby Indian Names for Parents." You know, "Man-who-Stretches-Elastic-of-Boxer-Shorts" and whatnot, and couldn't really come up with anything satisfactory after two days.

I think it's time to walk away for a bit, and I don't want the regular visitors to get peeved without telling them whatsup, as the young people say.

I'll post a link on Facebook when I get back. Later.

Happy Monday

Some short observations. Because I can't think of what to update my Facebook status with ...

-- I like bacon. But I've noticed lately that pronouncing your fondness for it has become a macho badge for people too old to wear pants that don't cover their rear ends. Bacon's a good, non-PC kind of meat, but it doesn't turn you into the Marlboro man. Even if you smoke it. (ha ... ha.)

-- Speaking of Facebook. I figured out why I keep going back, despite my continual annoyance with it. It's like a cable channel of me. I go there, I don't participate much, but I get to check in on the folks. It's fun to see what clever/stupid thing Opie has written, and to see everyone else calling him a moron. I enjoy BJ's commentary on hip hop society, which I know absolutely nothing about. And it's interesting to see your high school class operating under pretty much the same social structure as it did umpteen years ago -- and to not really care that much.

It's a custom-made, continual update into various tiny bits of my memory. Kinda vain and useless, but better than most of what's on actual cable TV.

-- Never put tomato sauce into anything that's supposed to taste Mexican. It sounds instinctive, but some recipes would have you think otherwise.

-- Haha






These were posted on The Corner over the weekend. It was fun to laugh at them even though I had mostly no idea what they were talking about. I realized that all I actually know about philosophy is essentially what I've picked up through jokes about it.

Little League and sports haikus

My nephew, who plays for the all-star team of the same Lubbock Little League I played in growing up, was in Fort Worth over the weekend for a state tournament.

Will plays multiple positions for the Southwest All-Stars, and my brother is one of the team coaches. (Added note: This team is coached by the sons of and includes two grandsons of two former Texas Tech baseball coaches, my Dad and Larry Hays. Kinda neat.)

Will at the bat.

It’s been too long since I went to a Little League game. I had a great time. The teams playing at this level – even if they are 9 and 10 year olds -- are playing some good quality ball. Plus, you get a great seat and things move slowly enough that you can keep track of things. I like going to Rangers games, but the cost is stupid and the distance I have to sit away from the action means I spend most of my time making estimates as to what just happened.

Sam and Dad calculate batting averages and time to diaper change.

Good ole Southwest finished second, which is nothing to sniff at; but there was some serious disappointment when they lost their final game. Still, it was fun to see the family and watch my nephew play. And with some luck and work, there’s always next year.

I remember that time in my life – when there was always next year. Sigh.

Sports related haikus
(At this point, a few words more than suffice.)

The Cowboys
Romo? Whatever.
The old boss is the same boss,
bad Botox or not.

The state of the NFL
Now Michael Vick can
stop torturing his doggies
and start hurting fans.

The BCS
The stadiums fill.
Excitement runs high, and then
Everybody whines.

The Rangers
I am sorry, but
my belief circuitry has
been fried to a crisp.

On Tech’s chances
I’m sure we’ll do good.
But it won’t be as awesome.
Success breeds boredom.

On the University of Texas
Mack
Brown
Dumb.

Swimming?

It's kinda hard to take pictures of your kid's swimming lesson, when you have to deal with a body conscious Mama and the problems of shooting on a cloudy day across a pool.

Also, Sam hasn't quite learned how to always look for the camera and smile yet. (Let's hope he never does.)

Anyway, the boy is taking lessons at the nearby YMCA. It's not like they teach toddlers how to do the butterfly. It's more learning about how to be in water and get used to it. I have my doubts about the overall usefulness of said course. It's not like the boy is going to tell us how much he learned. On the other hand, it's special together time with at least one parent, and you hope he gets a chance to get used to being around other kids. If not the water.


Sam and Meredith enter the YMCA, Sam decked out in his hat, swim shirt, swim trunks and Croc shoes. Did I mention it was a cloudy day? Meredith applied sunscreen once we got poolside.

Me and my wife have had several conversations about Sam's "red" crocs. As they seem to be more mauve. My wife insists she bought them out of the boys' section. It was Todd who pointed out that it's not the color, so much as the fact that he's a boy, and he's wearing Crocs.

Ah well, for a 22-month-old, practicality overrules all.

The swim lessons are fairly basic and unstructured. The kids get in the pool, splash with their legs, splash with their feet, and then work through various aspects of being in water -- jumping in, going under, etc.

The lesson begins.


And we work on the floating on the back.

There is generally one moment of the lesson where the kids are brought along further than they were the day before. On Thursday, this was the instant the children were all dunked -- very quickly -- under water and brought back up. It was as if eight crying and screaming spigots were all turned on at once.

Still, Sam obviously enjoyed himself, splashing all over the place and making his noises. I guess I'm a normal enough parent as I just enjoyed the chance to watch.

Geek update: Game of Thrones

Weird how I note something one day and there's news on the subject the next day. On second thought, it's not weird. It just shows how far behind I am.

Anyway, Sean Bean, has been cast to play the "lead" in Game of Thrones, the upcoming HBO series based on A Song of Ice and Fire, the book series I was talking about two posts back.

The books revolve around a battle among seven kingdoms and between two ruling families for control of the Iron Throne, the possession that ensures survival through a 40-year winter to come.

Bean will play Lord Eddard "Ned" Stark, known for his sense of honor and justice, who becomes closest adviser to King Robert (Addy).

Ummm, not exactly, but I won't spoil it for you.

Bean played Boromir in Lord of the Rings, and has otherwise made a career of playing determined men with antique weapons and impractical uniforms. Naturally, I'm a fan.

Cat-hat

I take it as a good thing that Sam has been so enthusiastic about getting a book read to him. A couple of weeks back, Meredith checked out a catalog of Dr. Seuss classics from the library, and the boy became even more enthusiastic about reading.

Brutally enthusiastic. Sam now lets us know it's storytime by bringing us a book and chanting "read! read! read!" -- while punching us in the face with said book to make sure we get the idea.

I can't say why he likes Seuss. The stories are far more complicated than the books he already has, and I can't really believe Sam understands what's going on. I guess the pictures and the rhyming and the expressions are easy for him to enjoy.

For me, it's a trip through some stories I'd almost forgot. Before this month, I couldn't have told you what happened in The Cat in the Hat, except what I vaguely remembered from the movie. Now I could tell you that the story seems to be an exploration of a child's conflicting need to behave and to act independently.

I was curious enough after reading it for the 50th time to see if I could locate the original film on YouTube. All I found was a clip. It's easy to see why the cartoon hasn't stayed with us. A Charlie Brown Christmas has a timeless message with iconic music. The Cat in the Hat comes off like a cheap variety show.

Memories from a place I've never seen; notes

It must be getting late into the travel season, if the Star-Telegram is running travel stories on small-town apple orchards near Idalou, Texas.

Still the Apple Country Hi Plains Orchards seems to be a place with plenty of charm:

“Many customers use the backdrop of the low-hanging, red, green or slightly pink apple-covered trees as a photo opportunity for their children. Giggles and laughter are heard through the rows of trees as pickers compare and contrast their harvests with others, some sampling their take along the way and providing on-the-spot reviews, all good reports.”

I grew up in Lubbock, went on dozens of road trips that took through Idalou, and up until I read the story, I had no idea that this place existed.

Still I remembered times when I was small, when my Mom would put me in the station wagon and we’d drive out to nearby farm, where the owners allowed you to pick your own share of the crop. Mom would get a basket of green beans, take them home, pick off the ends and can them. At the time, I thought it was maybe the most boring process in the world.

For a couple of anniversary gifts, my Dad bought Mom fruit trees for the backyard. I recall the apples and pears always being too small and too picked over by birds, squirrels and insects to be of much use.

In time I’ve come to realize how ignorant I am of the basics of gardening. It seems there used to be a cultural expectation that you’d be able to plant a rudimentary green space and be able to talk about the health of your tomatoes.

We get further and further away from the agricultural roots we all used to have. Now, gardening seems primarily about mowing and edging the lawn. I notice some people get way into it, acquiring a huge amount of information and putting together yards the way Star Trek geeks learn Klingon.

But the general, practical knowledge that every adult used to have – I think that’s left us.


Arguing with the movie-rental rack
It’s probably a bad idea to try to pick out a comedy from Blockbuster when you’re in a bad mood. Last night, scanning the new releases, it occurred to me that 99 percent of what the entertainment industry offers is mind-dissolving garbage.

Yes, I already knew this and generally, I don’t care, but for some reason it became aggravating how these people -- screaming or looking surprised and hot – on the DVD box covers so often get off telling you how you should live your life.

Do we allow the members of any other occupational group get away with that? “Hi, I’m underworked, overpaid, and the proud owner of a disastrous social life that would destroy anyone making under $250,000 a year. Also, my work consists of either fluff or toxic fluff. So be like me.”

Actors should be the most humble group of people on earth. Anyway, we rented “Tropic Thunder,” which, being a vicious and hilarious satire on Hollywood, lightened my mood nicely.


Surrounded by haters

Meredith: Dan Fogelberg? Really?

Sandy: Yeah. "The leader of the band is tired. His eyes are growing old." You have a problem with that?

Meredith: Fogelberg? He’s just, you know, limp.

Sheesh, I have a problem picking the non-mockable side of the argument lately.


Waiting for a geek moment
Last night, after enjoying my Fogelberg moment (suckas), I plowed through the last three chapters of A Feast for Crows, by George R.R. Martin. It’s his fourth book in his Fire and Ice series, which I think is the greatest work in fantasy* since Lord of the Rings. (With a thanks to Tom for his recommendation.)

The end of the book features a chapter from the next in the series, and advertises a 2006 publishing date. So I go to the library web site to order a copy of A Dance With Dragons, and discover nada.

Figuring the book might be published under a different name, I head to Wikipedia, and discover that – dang it all – three years later, Martin is still writing the book.

Part of me is angry that he can’t get his act together and that he’s obviously been distracted by all the attention the series has generated and an attempt to get a TV show going on HBO.

On the other hand, I think back to the Lord of the Rings movies, and how Return of the King became a disorganized, overlong mess that missed the mark more often than not** because Peter Jackson obviously felt too much pressure to finish on time.

Martin has written his fans that the book will be published when they’re good and ready. So fine.

The thing is, he still has three novels to go, he’s over 60, and he doesn’t look like he’s in the greatest of shape. I can only hope he doesn’t pull a Robert Jordan on us.

*I highly recommend the books, but you should be warned that Martin often writes like a 12 year old with a disturbingly large collection of Soldier of Fortune and nudie mags.

**For example, they took that “We all bow to you” thing straight out of Mulan -- Mulan! – for God’s sakes.

Rock on. Softly

So what does it mean if it's 2 a.m. on Saturday night, you can't sleep, and you find yourself digging up Dan Fogelberg hits on YouTube?



It means you have awesome taste in music, yo.

I loves me some BCS

Update: As this post led to a spirited discussion on Facebook, I'm adding my final argument there to the bottom of this in an attempt to clarify my point.

I don't want to sit through another season of teeth-gnashing and urgent moral outrage, but I realize I have to, after reading this first shot in the annual mock battle. I think the primary reason we keep arguing about this is because sports columnists often can't come up with an original idea before deadline:

On top of today's Star-Telegram sports section:

Designations are at heart of what's wrong with the BCS
The current BCS system is flawed because it shapes the prejudices against non-automatic qualifiers

(No words scream "read me" like "designations" and "non-automatic qualifiers.")

So, as everyone prepares to dig out and dust off the "BCS UNFAIR!!!" talisman from their complaint box in the storage shed, I'd like to post my yearly "SO FREAKIN' WHAT!!!" statement and get it over and done with.

I spent three days trying to write this, and then realized I was far too bored with the subject to even gather up the motivation for a full-on essay. Here are the points I wanted to make, in a much shorter fashion:

• College football's bowl system manages to pull off what no other sport does -- massive amounts of interest in the regular season and massive amounts of interest in the postseason. I hear people talking all the time about how great the NHL playoffs are. Yeah, only in contrast to the regular NHL season, which no one even bothers paying attention to.
  
• Because every game in the college football season is critical, you end up with great stories like Appalachian State beating Michigan, which give great people like Jerry Moore a couple of weeks of celebrity that they otherwise wouldn't get. In a college playoff system, that game gets swept under the rug and people only talk about how Michigan's seeding will be affected.
• The quality of any playoff system would be infinitely corruptible. I point to the current state of Texas high school football. We now have two tiers of playoffs -- for big schools and small schools -- at the six-man level. We're talking about schools that have 10 people in their senior class being put in a higher tier than schools with eight people in their senior class. We've opened up the playoffs so much that schools that go 2-8 get into the postseason all the time. It makes no freakin' sense, other than giving people the ability to say they made it to the playoffs.
• People know that controversy is good for the game. I'll end with a bit from the Wall Street Journal, quoting the man who created the AP college football poll:

The point is that rankings were never about fairness or producing a clear-cut winner. They were about creating what fans need most: something to argue about. Before he died, the AP sports editor who created its famous poll, Alan Gould, explained it this way: "It was a case of thinking up ideas to develop interest and controversy between football Saturdays. . . . That's all I had in mind, something to keep the pot boiling. Sports then was living off controversy, opinion, whatever. This was just another exercise in hoopla."

From Facebook:

Here's the deal: Right now, we have a system that provides for a great, intense regular season and gives us plenty of post-season drama and great traditional bowl games. However, the argument is this system has to be destroyed because of this sense that we MUST have an undisputed national champion, and the ONLY WAY to do so is to have a playoff.

That makes the perfect the enemy of the good. First off, you suck away the interest from the regular season (I.E. basketball.) Second, it puts too much faith in the playoff process. Does the best overall team always win in a playoff? Of course not. It has far more to do with who's matched up with who -- basically, luck.

I think the system will eventually recognize a Utah, given time and continued success. And yeah, if I'm a guy from Tulane, I'm probably going to spend the rest of my life going on about "we could of been champs." But that's a lot better to say than, "Oh yeah, remember how Florida stomped us in the first round?" Which would be the final result, 99 out of 100 times.

Hamburger fight

This was on the Today Show last week, and included the proprietor of my favorite restaurant on earth, Tom Perini of Perini Ranch Steakhouse.

The funny bit is that the first two cooks try to do something really exotic with their burgers, whereas Perini's idea of exotic is to add green chilis.

(Kind of like how he makes hominy, with chilis and cheese and bacon bits ... hgggghhgh slobber.)

Anyway, I'd eat any of the burgers, and it's a decent bit that moves quickly. And of course, Bruno pops up at the end.

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

I've never had a Perini burger. I don't know if I could bring myself to drive two hours, 30 minutes and then order a burger.

Funny restaurant names, ha ha.

Here's a link to a site called Oddee that I'd never heard of but that seems to exist to post lists. I can't vouch for the overall quality, but this one on eateries was pretty good. I should warn the very easily offended that the majority of these names comes from Asian restaurants whose owners were probably unaware of the puns they were posting in neon. Also, No. 1 is a letdown.


So go ahead and click, if you have the velleity.

Old dog poem

Last fall, I took a creative writing class at Tarrant County College -- I suppose because I wanted to have more challenges than just writing the reacting-to-reality stuff that I post here, and because in the back of my mind I'm never giving up on getting a graduate degree in English, regardless of the number of decades it'll take.

Our teacher recommended I turn in a few bits I wrote to the TCC literary mag. This included a couple of poems and a short story. Since the short story was much more important to me, it was, of course, not published.

Meanwhile, both of poems made it in, which is funny to me, considering the amount of scorn I place on modern popular poetry. (I.E., I don't get how any medium so dead can attract that much pretentiousness.)

Anyway, I didn't try to do anything fancy with what I wrote, just do something I feel strongly about and keep things in a concrete world.

Hence, in one poem I wrote about a dog and Hico. I feel slightly bashful about posting it here, but not bashful enough to not make a little movie out of it. Click on it if you wish.

A new, one-scene play entitled, "Stupid freakin' bookstore"

Me: Plop 1,200-page precalculus tome on counter. Look expectantly at clerk.

Clerk: Looks at book. Scans bar code. "Hmmm ..."

Me: Monologue to audience. "@?&%&!$&!!"

Clerk: Scans bar code again. Looks at computer again. "They're coming out with a new edition in the fall. I can't buy this back."

Me: "So I get nothing on a book I had to pay full price* for. Y'all weren't selling used versions six weeks ago."

Clerk: "I'm sorry."

Me: Monologue to heaven. "But it's precalculus! Exactly what do they have to update? They haven't come up with anything new since the 1800s! I lose everything because they want to put in more pictures of Yoda? Why!"

Sigh.

Walking off, mumbling. "This "A" was dearly bought."

*$189

How the West was writ'

Imagine the odd dramatic license and melodrama of Ivanhoe, combine it with the overwrought emotional focus of The Scarlet Letter, and set the whole thing in late 19th century Utah. Actually, just imagine an old silent movie that takes itself very, very seriously.

I just finished reading Riders of the Purple Sage, by Zane Grey. To say that it was a "hoot" would probably be all the description just about anyone needs, because no one is ever going to read it.

But I've been curious about Grey. Zane Grey wrote westerns between 1910 and 1930, and during that time was one of the most popular and richest authors in America. If you don't read westerns, then you probably haven't heard of him. But he's considered one of the two founders of the genre.

So when I stumbled upon Sage -- considered his most important work -- at the library, I checked it out, read it, and spent a lot of time trying not to snigger.

Some of the book's more amusing touches:

• Chapter 6 begins with, perhaps for the first time in history, "Meantime, at the ranch, ..."
• Poor attempts at writing dialects, such as "I been nicked, but I'm some wet an' the hoss's has been throwin' lather, so all this ain't blood."
• Of course, it's better that the bad English is answered with dialogue like: "Oh, you fierce-blooded, savage youth! Can't I teach you forbearance, mercy?"
• A woman is able to pass for a man simply by wearing a Lone Ranger mask.
• The story has an odd streak of anti-Mormonism. They're treated like some kind of exotic tribe out of New Guinea.

Still, after I put the book down I had to admit it was a pretty good story -- fun characters, good villains, not completely far-fetched.

Everything has to be translated a bit through the filter of its time, and Grey wrote sexist melodrama that belied a simple pride in being able to read and write when so many people of the time could not.

I often think that people who look back at our time will be laughing at us -- the most spoiled and pampered generation ever -- and the gritty grit-like grittiness that permeates most of our creative work.

Capitalism is awesome (burp)

The Star-Telegram bidness section had a story today on the town's Rahr Brewery, which is selling its beer faster than it can be made. They are literally taking beer directly from the production line to the trucks to ship out -- with no time in storage.

It's a good thing. I first heard about Rahr when the company opened. The staff consisted of the owner and a group of volunteers who liked beer. I remember the first golden lager I had. It was the first time I've done a double take with a beer, as in:

Drink.

Look at beer.

"My, that's tasty."

Drink.

Since then I've been recommending the beer to friends, and spreading the word along with six packs on the few occasions when I drink beer, which happens rarely if ever nowadays.

They just added more brewing capacity, and if you're in Texas, you'll probably be able to get some soon. That reminds me that I need to tour their brewery sometime.

Anyway, their success reminds me of this documentary Reason put out a few months back on the history of American brewing and the development of microbreweries. Don't worry, it's not political.

GuMo

(Guadalupe Mountains National Park)


I think that I've figured out the golden rule for backpacking, at least for me:

Overambitious and out of shape does not make for a happy camper.

I kept it in mind while planning and hiking last weekend, and things went about as well or better on a trip as they ever have for me. That doesn't give me a lot of stories to tell (I.E., no near heat stroke, no hiding in a bathroom to avoid the cold), but I can say it went well and we did what we set out to do. That's a rare enough thing.

Plus, Todd took some good pictures of the experience, so here's what happened, in brief.


What happened:
After grousing here that I was getting restless to take a trip, college buddy Todd, who sends me stuff to link about all the time, said he'd be willing to try this hiking thing.

Two weeks later -- last Friday -- we set off for Van Horn. It's a nice little town in Far West Texas. Apparently John Madden stops there often for the Mexican food. We got our hotel room and settled in.

About 10 p.m., we heard people banging on the roof of the building. I went outside to find out that the noise was actually from a fireworks display. It went on for 45 minutes. I still have no idea what people were celebrating.

The next morning, after a bacon-free "hot" breakfast at the hotel, we drove the remaining hour to Guadalupe Mountains National Park.

I've taken three trips there before. It's a great place to get yourself beat up, badly, by nature. It's basically a mountain range surrounded by desert. It's also home to the highest peak in Texas, which is not saying much, but still.


The peak stands at the end of a four-mile trail. Easy eh? Neh. The trail isn't four straight miles. It's four miles of up. You climb up one hill by going in switchbacks up its face. Once on top, you begin climbing another hill, with more switchbacks.

This is a lot of up.

I should add that there are a lot of rocks.

And to explain the next few pictures: We climbed a bit, checked out the scenery, rested a lot, and otherwise wore out various parts of our feet. Todd had a GPS that gave us our altitude along the way. I'm not a fan of tech-stuff on the trail, but it was kinda cool to hear that, after the last bit, we had climbed another 50 feet up.

It took us longer than we thought. At one point, sunset was about 45 minutes away and we still had half a mile to go. Finally ...

To those who are curious, the marker on top is a memorial to those brave people who deliver your mail by plane.

We signed the log the Park Service keeps up there, and Todd recorded the moment with his GPS. (The altitude was off a bit, by the way. Needed to be re-zeroed or something.)

Standing on Guadalupe Peak at sunset.

We made it down before it got dark. I tried out my new backpacking shower. Mainly, it didn't get me wet enough, and then it didn't rinse off the soap. I was also attempting to wash in a mountain breeze. I'm still glad I did, though. Climbing all day will give you an unholy stink.

The weather was perfect. The wind didn't blow much, and it never got hot. Resting in my sleeping bag, I looked up and saw around 20 shooting stars and a few satellites drifting by. And had only one skunk visit that I know of.

The peak, next morning, before we took off.

People think the desert is ugly. Feel free to leave more of it for me.

At the Fort Worth ISD job fair

Standing in the lobby at the Will Rogers Center in the Fort Worth Stockyards, I killed a few minutes by counting the listed jobs and the number of people applying for them.

Number of Math teaching positions: About 30
Number of applicants in the lobby: About 500, give or take a couple hundred

I realized that with no experience and with so many other people applying, I'd have to transform into the Sham Wow guy to make any sort of impression. And I don't do the Sham Wow guy.

(Actually, I have never seen the Sham Wow commercial, but I can make a fairly strong guess as to what it's like.)

Ah well, nothing to do now but wait and hope. And maybe expand the area of prospective job locations. Maybe they have spots in Kansas. I get the feeling I'd like Kansas. At least the non-Kansas City parts.


Speaking of commercials
The digital change has come and gone, leaving us in the lurch. We have no cable, satellite, and we didn't bother buying a box.

Why? We love the Netflix, but just don't care about TV enough to keep up with it. Also, laziness.

The only thing the house TV is getting now is a broadcast of extremely earnest man telling us not to worry, it'll be OK. We can get this box thing and get our TMZ back, plus we'll have all these new channels.

Does anyone doubt the new channels will put the "r" on the end of "lame?"


Lights on, lights off
It's been an exhausting few days.

The electricity went off. Then on. Then off. Then on. Then off. Then I screamed and demanded to leave the house. (About an hour after which, it came on and stayed.)

We blew through way too much money for eating out, transportation and ice. On the other hand, we have a really nice new cooler, and that should come in handy.


Tooth brush
This picture was harder to set up than I thought, and I'm still not happy with it. What's with the giant door knob?

Still, good enough for a Monday after a disaster.

A post in honor of Oncor energy providers

You people -- bite me.
The lights and A/C are out?
Let's visit in-laws.

This haiku inspired by Todd. Who has lower back pain.

My lower back hurts
been this way for three days now
hoping it stops soon.

Hico trip observations/RomCom notes

I’m posting this late or I won’t get around to posting it at all.

I spent a day in Hico over the weekend – did some farmwork, slept in a screened-in porch, and took the dog for a midnight walk under a full moon. I would have had to parachute in beer to make it better.

Some things I noticed on the trip:

• The mosquitos this year are big, proud and aggressive. Seriously, these mosquitos deserve to be a little league team’s mascot. They looked like trophies, flattened against my windshield as they were.
• The closest a civilian can get to driving a tank is driving a tractor. You get to plow over rough terrain and knock over just about anything you want. (Or mow over it, whatever.) I realize that some will disagree, saying that the monster truck is also similar. But the thing about driving the monster truck, as opposed to the tractor or tank, is that monster truck driving requires a certain amount of stupidity. Oh, I’m sure it’s fun, but you can’t get away from the celebration of the "Yee-haw Yee-haw (banjo interlude) h-yuck" that is monster truck society. Tank and tractor driving – that’s all practicality. Good old American practicality.
• The wildflowers this year are better than ever. We have entire fields covered in yellows, reds, whites and purples. And I couldn’t help but think that we created this environmental wonderland by poisoning hundreds of mesquite trees, with gallons of kerosene per tree, to clear the aforementioned fields.
  

Male driven romance
Thanks to some movie selections recently made by my wife, we just watched "Forgetting Sarah Marshall" and the not-nearly-as-good "Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist."

I was thinking about how both plots followed the formula of

• Girlfriend dumps boyfriend for new guy.
• Ex-boyfriend finds another, more awesome, girl.
• Old girlfriend goes freakin’ nuts and tries to win back ex-boyfriend.
• After some hemming and hawing, boy gives old girlfriend back of hand.
• Ecstatic happiness.

This is the only subgenre of the RomCom that I think is aimed at men. God knows how many of us have had this fantasy while we were licking our wounds after our most recent dumping, listening to Pearl Jam’s Black over and over and over.

But it’s a fantasy. I know so because it’s never happened to me nor any other guy that I know. And I know like 10 or 15 guys.

Really, the closest I ever came to living this was getting drunken phone calls at 3 a.m. from ex-girlfriends who wanted to tell me about how I was always so sweet ... and not like their new guy ... who was totally flirting with that ho Cindy at the club but that doesn’t matter because he's probably gay.

Obligatory Sam shots

We realized recently that, while Sam has enough toys to bury himself in, he doesn't have any furniture outside of the crib. We discussed buying him a chair.

Meredith got on the case, and we just got a collection of four cushions and a denim cover for only $137. Hooray.

(Mainly, I kept thinking, "What happened to the blowup furniture I grew up with? How bad a choking hazard was it?)

Sam on his new perch ...

Which also makes a pretty good place for Lego storage.

Death for salesmen and other notes

Recently the door-to-door sales dudes in our neighborhood have all been using a distinctive knock: Tap tap-tap-tap, Tap.

Yes, I know that’s useless. (But fun to write.) It should be familiar to anyone who remembers the "Shave and a Haircut" bit from Who Framed Roger Rabbit?

Gotta say, I love the fact that the salesmen are knocking this way. First off, I know right away that under no circumstances am I going to bother opening the door to talk to a complete stranger about home security or my electric service provider. It’s like they’re telling me it’s OK to not acknowledge their existence. Beautiful.

Second, one day I will go to the door, throw it open and yell, "It’s two bits, jackass!" and slam it in the face of whatever sweaty guy happens to be there. Serves ‘em right. Door to door salesmen are becoming the new telemarketers. We get visited once a day, on average. I’m supposed to listen to an uninvited pitch for two minutes while the cold air leaks out and the bugs fly in? No, I say.

No.


The collect phone call of the wild
I realized this week that I haven’t been backpacking in more than a year, and a general feeling of antsyness is beginning to creep over me. I’d figure out something, but most of my camping buddies are pregnant, dealing with newborns or too busy.

It’s bad when your start going through your camping equipment, putting aside time to clean it. It’s really bad when you put on your backpack and look in the mirror to remember how it felt. I dunno. I’ve considered taking a solo trip before. It might be time.

　
Job search...
Is still going nowhere. Would like to update y’all with something, but I’ve received no word on anything from anybody. I’d say it was frustrating, but we passed frustrating a few weeks back, when the swine flu closed down my last chance to attend a major job fair.

I started a pre-calculus course at Tarrant County College last week, and I’m enjoying it. But at this point it feels like window dressing on a no-trafficked street. Things aren’t all that bad – I have a couple of years to find a job, and I could use the upcoming school year to take some more classes and get closer to qualifying for grad school.

On the other hand, things are bad enough that I now consider any school district within a two-hour drive to be a prospect. Maybe they have spots in Ardmore ...


Not a bad late thing
I’ve watched a few parts of a few episodes of Late Night with Jimmy Fallon. I don’t know if I’m in the minority here, but I like the guy. He’s just different, in an enthusiastic and positive way. Everyone else basically does snark all the time. I don’t think Jimmy Kimmel has said anything non-ironic since he left Ben Stein.

Reasons why I'm officially bored with Facebook

It started as a great way to check in on people I hadn't heard from in years and a more convenient way to keep up with the people I've always kept up with. These are still the primary reasons why I'm not closing my account.

The problem is that the task of finding the info I'm looking for requires me to wade through an ever-expanding mound of sludge that shouldn't exist even in e-space. Specifically, I'm talking about:

• The people who think that the status update is for chronicling any variation of their mood, no matter how inconsequential, i.e., "Charles Krauthammer It's Tuesday, and I still have a case of the Moandays!!! :()" Gee, thanks, that's great to know.
• The people who leave meaningless clues as to what they are doing in an attempt to be clever, i.e., "David Broder is catching the gravy wave."
• How it's high school all over again. You can share that you've been promoted to vice president following your spectacular contribution in the fight against cancer, only to be met with a profound silence from 281 "friends" who have nothing to say. Meanwhile, the hot, rich girl from the dorm gets 87 comments after letting the world know about her dislike of "Moandays."
• Friends who give NASCAR updates. "Jonah Goldberg has finished his second bag of pork rinds in celebration of Junior Earnhardt's awesome left turn."
• The fact that 90 percent of my page this morning has been taken over by other people's quiz results.
• The fact that 90 percent of those quizzes are of the "How well do you know ______?" variety, featuring people I've never heard of.
• How it encourages joining of the meaningless kind. I recall seeing about 50 different "Make Facebook go back to the old design" groups start up after Facebook came out with a new design. The problem was that the new design was better. People just didn't want to spend the five minutes necessary to get used to it. It was easier to complain.
• Which leads to my problem about the predominance of the group "We will not pay for Facebook, eveh." This kind of attitude is the reason newspapers are dying. Honestly, I'd be happy to fork over $1 a month if it meant Facebook could come up with some kind of kick-ass program that could block people from posting quiz results. But we know the attitude of the Internet. As soon as they charge a fee -- no matter how reasonable -- everyone will flee to the latest cheap version of Facebook. Or, God forbid, go back to MySpace.
• It's become cliche. Every newspaper and blog out there has put together some kind of wacky piece featuring a theoretical group of world leaders gossiping on Facebook. These invariably feature Kim Jong-Il -- a man who's starved thousands of his people and now has the bomb -- posting on his dislike of "Moandays! :p"

The pink boxer shorts dude

The Star-Telegram features him, Army Spc. Zachery Boyd, today. Some cool things about him, at least from my point of view:

• He went to a high school in my residential district.


• The shirt he's wearing is from Wooley's Frozen Custard, a shop within walking distance from our house. We're about to head there for our Memorial Day treat.


• He was planning on going to Texas Tech ROTC but decided to enlist first.

Let's hope he continues on to Texas Tech. God knows he'd fit right in.

At rest

You know, it used to make sense when my son was about 20 inches long and chose to sleep against the headboard -- he wanted to feel like he was sleeping against something. Now I'm beginning to wonder if he's ever going to try sleeping straight.