Diary of a Network Geek

(Note: This “post” was written over the space of two long waits in airports after gliding through easy and over-hyped security.)

08/11/06

Well, there wasn’t any free wifi at the airport that I could find, even using a cool new tool I found for Linux called Wifi-Radar. Super slick little proggie that scans for available open wifi networks and automagically attaches you to the network of your choice. Pretty cool. Anyway, security was a breeze. As usual, the blood-sucking, bottom-feeders in the alarmist media totally overhyped the delays. I got Hilda checked in, stopped for gas and slipped into the Park-N-Fly by about 10:45 AM. The shuttle got me to the airport no later than 11:15AM and I was checked in and through security in less than 20 minutes. That’s with an eTicket and a driver’s license that still has my last name misspelled with an extra letter. You’d think that would raise a red flag, right? Hell, it doesn’t even raise a damn eyebrow.

Feeling extra secure yet? So, we hear all kinds of stuff about how bad security is going to be, but, as far as I could see, the only thing added to security was that they were restricting fluids on the plane. Yeah, so, no drinks through security, which, of course, means that everyone was buying drinks in the terminal. I didn’t look at how much I was gouged for my bottle of water and masked the whole cost with a couple of magazines. No Maxim, though. Just PopSci, Scientific American, Men’s Health and Real Simple. You know, I may end up getting a subscription to Real Simple instead of Dwell. It’s more my style. Not quite so avant-garde and infinitely less expensive. I was very glad to have gotten my iPod back, though. And, I even managed to sync all of Tristan und Isolde to it before I took off in the morning. Sadly, I didn’t have quite enough time to create a playlist that let me listen to the entire opera in order, but, still, I have it in there. According to iTunes, I have almost three days worth of continuous music on my Nano. Based on the silly media hype, it sounded like I’d need it, so, I was thrilled.

The one interesting thing was that I was almost on the news. No, not because I tried to sneak something dangerous on the plane. Though, God knows, I have done just that so many times it really makes me question the supposed security training they give those TSA agents. Anyway, there was some cute, Hispanic news chic there with her cameraman interviewing passengers about the virtually non-existent security delays and they saw my “Sunguard Secure, Disaster Recovery Experts” shirt. Right away the camera guy is all “So are you a disaster recovery expert?” and I start laughing at them both. I explain that, yes, I am an IT disaster recovery expert, but not the kind they were looking for. Oh, sure, I could have gone on TV and made a credible security expert, but that’s mainly because I’m well read and I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about security for IT, which includes physical security, not because I’m a real anti-terrorist expert. But, why? Why the hell would I want to have my mug all over the TV news? I hate them, the alarmist fear-mongers always whipping the mass of unwashed humanity into a damn frenzy. Idiots. They’re not journalists anymore, just talking heads. It’s all about jumping on that fear-hype bandwagon, not about reporting real information that people can actually learn something from anymore. I don’t know, maybe it’s time to get a subscription to a local paper again. Ha! “A” local paper, that’s funny, isn’t it? It’s either the Chronicle or an out of town paper, like the Chicago Tribune or the Wall Street Journal. Oh, well, it’s almost all bad news anyway….

08/14/06

Well, here I am again, killing time in an airport waiting for my flight after breezing through security. I can’t tell if it’s just the media blowing things so far out of proportion or just people stupid enough to argue with the TSA agents and trying to break the rules. Honestly, I think it’s the TV news media who have to justify their existance by whipping everyone into a frenzy about the terrorists who weren’t even on US soil. Sure, I’ll grant you, getting blown up in a plane would really ruin my travel plans, but we’ve been living with this since 9/11 and, frankly, I think it’s about time we just adjust to higher security than we used to have. I mean, really, compared to most of the world, we’ve been skating along pretty free and easy. They’ve been dealing with terrorists in Europe for years and the British were more relaxed about this last incident than we were, even though it was their countrymen that were going to be blown up! This is just going to be a fact of life from now on. We need to get past the panic and fear and make our adjustments and move on with our lives, otherwise the terrorists have already won. So, in any case, I glided through security, in spite of not shaving, having a scruffy goatee and being loaded down with electronics. I guess it helps to just blank your face and go with the flow. Not like I have a choice, after all, so I might as well just accept the process and go with it. Seems to make things a lot easier. So, crazy security concerns aside, I had a good visit with the family.

Turns out, my parents were wrong and I wasn’t going to be presenting my nephew with his Eagle award, but it really did seem to mean a lot to him that I was there. Actually, it seemed to mean a lot to everyone to see me. I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised, but I never realized how important I was to my family. Of course, I spent some time setting up my parent’s new laptop and transferring settings and files over from the old one. I first thought that I’d be able to do that via a USB thumb drive, but there was just a little too much there to get onto a single one gig drive, so I had to use the network cable and crossover adapter that I’d brought with me. Good thing I have a little bit of experience being an IT consultant on the road and thought to bring some “extra” stuff I probably wouldn’t need, just in case. Sadly, I forgot to bring the copy of Word that I had for Mom and scratched the first CD of the Works install set, so I’ll have to ship them the CD and walk Mom through the install. Oh, the funny thing about her new laptop is the wireless connection. I cranked up that laptop and found five or six networks in the area with at least two that were unsecured, so I used that to piggy-back to the Internet. I think that ease of use just about convinced her to invest in broadband at their new house when the finally move in. They already have digital phone service through their cable, so I’m pretty sure they’d get a discount on the Internet connection, too. That along with a wireless router would really have them in the modern age of computing. And, I think they’d use their laptop more. Well, at least, Mom would. Dad mainly tells her what he wants and sends her off to do it, but he thinks he’s pretty high-tech, which is kind of funny. Actually, if you ever met either of my parents, it’d amuse you think of either of them being all that high-tech.

Though, somehow, they turned out at least two of us that make our living via technology. That’s just one of many things my brother and I have in common, though… It was nice talking with him some, though, I think we both wouldn’t have minded talking more. Eleven years apart and a vast difference in life experience, but we’re still the same in so many ways. Sadly, we both have many of the same things to fight through and over come. Both shy, each in our own way. Soft-spoken, but determined and, often, very single-minded of purpose. I honestly think that my brother has a PhD. because someone told him he couldn’t do it. We’re funny that way. Sometimes, that’s an asset, but not always.
Still, we often have very similar political views and, talking with my sole niece, Rachel, I was surprised to see how well our philosophies about kids meshed. That “little” girl has grown into quite a young woman. Just barely fifteen, but almost as tall as I am and, thankfully, looking more like her mother every day. I sat with her after her brother’s Eagle Ceremony and talked with her a bit, since I realized I didn’t really know her that well these days. The boys all center on me like iron filings on a magnet and that often seems to leave little room for Rachel. The last time I was home, she spent most of the time with Allison, my former step-daughter, and I didn’t get to talk to her. In any case, I took the opportunity to chat with her about a lot of different things, including driving, boys and her future plans. She didn’t have a boyfriend right now, but she’s already had two, which, at fifteen seemed like a good, slow start. She broke up with the last one, she told me, because he’d been smoking marijuana. Smart girl. Already learned that guys who smoke enough dope lose all motivation and ambition. It’s not just a stereotype. So, she was single, but didn’t seem in a big hurry to find the next guy, which I though was a good attitude, too. When I asked her about school and ideas for a career, she told me she wanted to go into nursing. Like I said, smart girl. It’s a good field and she has the right kind of personality for nursing. Even at fifteen, she was worried about her poor, old Uncle Jim standing when everyone else was sitting at the reception. I was glad for the chance to sit and talk with her. I just wish Allison had more of an opportunity to know her former cousin. I think Rachel would have been a good influence on her. Ah, well, maybe they’ll reconnect one day. Stranger things have happened.

Her little brother, Michael, my youngest nephew, is a whole different animal. This poor kid has no small amount of adversity to overcome. As a little guy, he got repeated ear infections and is, as I recall, legally deaf. But, since he was very small, he’s worn a hearing aid in each ear and does quite well. He has a very slight speech impediment, but he seems to make up for that with enthusiasm and volume. He certainly has no trouble making himself understood when he wants to get a point across! But, he also has a fairly rare back and spine condition that will require him to wear an obviously uncomfortable back brace for most of the next three years. He’s a good kid and doesn’t complain much when his parents tell him to get his brace back on, but it can’t be something he likes to do. I don’t know if any of the kids at school give him trouble for it, but I think his mother has already given her permission to pop the little wiseasses if they do sound off. And, if I ever hear about any grief, I tell you, Mike will have a mean uncle from Texas coming up to crack a couple of skulls for him. He’s a good boy and puts up just a tiny fuss at having to deal with all his physical troubles. And, in spite of all his reasons to be unhappy, I’d say he’s the most gregarious and, well, “jolly” of all my nephews. Always smiling and laughing and joking, even when irritation occasionally creases his forehead, it sure doesn’t cloud his world for very long at all. I know quite a few adults that could learn thing or two from this young man.

Then, there was my “redneck nephew”, as I like to call him.
John Dwight is a big kid. He looks slow and ponderous and even sounds a little thick, but he’s not. He’s a smart kid who lives in a town that doesn’t put much stock into “book learnin'” and it shows. Mainly, I think he’s just not very motivated. I think he sees the futility of his situation. He can only go so far in that little town outside of Rockford, Illinois. After that, if he wants more and bigger opportunities, he’ll have to leave. Based on how his mother and father have dealt with that decision, I doubt he’ll leave. Though, he is talking about enlisting in the military. He claims he wants to be a sniper, but with less than perfect vision, I think that’s not going to quite work out for him. He likes to work on cars, though, and seems to think he can bide his time waiting for the sniper program while being a mechanic. I don’t think he understands the military enough to know that once he starts as a mechanic, he’s likely to stay a mechanic, but, at least he’ll have a skill and a way to make a good living after mustering out. It would be a good way for hime to go.
He shadowed me for most of the time I was working on my Mom’s new laptop. I think partly because he wants to get a shiny, new laptop himself, but also because he’s interested. I talked with him about what I was doing and promised to send him one of the super cheap 1 Gig USB thumb-drives I’d found at MicroCenter and was using. He seemed genuinely excited about that. I’ll send that to him after I get back along with a Knoppix CD, so he can learn a little Linux. If he learns Linux and is still interested, I might send him an old Dell laptop with Redhat or Novell’s free OpenSuSE loaded on it. That would be another direction he could go. A little military experience and a couple of professional certifications and he could really go far.

Finally, my oldest nephew and godson, Bill…
As I write this, he’s on his way to his first year of college. He’ll be a Physics Major at Purdue University. Kid’s going to be a genius PhD, like his father. He has a girlfriend, Jenny, who’s nice enough, but tries a little too hard to be liked. When she forgets to work at it and relaxs, though, she’s a nice kid. Bill and I had a little talk on Friday night when his family came over for dinner. (Mom made “creole chicken”, a soulfood recipie that my grandmother picked up on the Southside of Chicago.) He’s so much like his father that it’s almost scary. I was touched Saturday when I figured out that he really just wanted me at the ceremony because he missed his Uncle Jim. I made sure to give him my cell number and told him he could call for anything but bail money. I hope he takes me up on the offer. I gave him the best advice I could for a Freshman going into that big, wide world of college. “Never go into a weekend without twenty bucks and a condom.” I explained that to him, but those stories will have to wait for another time on the blog. My plane is boarding, so I’m shutting down the laptop. Next stop, Houston!

Update:
Made it home safe and sound. Got my poor Hilda from the vet today. Apparently she barely ate, hid from the “keepers” and generally trusted no one. On the upside, she did learn to use the “doggie door” really well! That’s where she ran to get away from the people who were supposed to pamper her. *sigh* She wouldn’t even eat her home-made treats. Apparently, she just didn’t trust the kenel staff enough to take even the yummiest of muffins from them. (In fact, they said they smelled so good they almost ate some themselves!) She was so excited to see me, I could barely get her car harness on her. She wolfed food when we got home. And treats. And attacked a new rawhide chewie bone I’d gotten her. Well, she’s like her old dad, doesn’t trust anyone new and is loyal to a fault. She’s my dog, sure enough.
Glad to be home. And, finally, after all this time and all this trouble, this is home.

Advice from your Uncle Jim:
"Why not go out on a limb? Isn't that where the fruit is?"
   --Frank Scully

Yes, I freely admit that I spoil my dog.

I’m going out of town for a couple of days, starting Thursday this week, and instead of asking a friend to watch my dog for me, I’m boarding her at my vet. I’m doing this for a couple of reasons. First, although my friend I usually ask to watch her would be happy to do that for me, I don’t want to put him out that much or for that long. I’ll only be gone four days, but two of those days, he’d have to drive all the way across town to let her out and check her food and water. Frankly, that just seems like more hassle than is right for me to ask of him. Secondly, if I ever have to travel for an extended period of time for work, I’ll want to know that I have a good, long-term arrangement that my poor, spoiled dog will survive. Thirdly, my vet, the Jersey Village Animal Hospital, has about the newest, nicest facility I’ve seen. Honestly, it will be like sending her to a four day doggie spa.

Hilda will have her own private room with its own door to a private, fenced yard. She’s never had a doggie door before, so I’m interested to see how she does with that. If it works well for her, I may just install one at home. But, in addition to having that free access, she’ll be walked twice a day to get her exercise. She’ll also get a bath before I pick her up Monday morning.
I’ve been told that I can bring her favorite pillows and toys, but I don’t think I can get her couch into the back of my car. What? Doesn’t every dog have their own, full-sized couch? Well, I guess we’ll just have to settle for a couple of throw pillows off the couch. And, I’ll bring a couple of her favorite bones, too, so she’ll have something to worry on when I’m not there. (Don’t tell her, but I have a giant rawhide bone for her when she gets back!) Still, I’m worried that she won’t eat while I’m gone. She gets like that sometimes. When I had to go overnight to our office in Louisiana not too long ago, she didn’t touch her food while I was away. So, just to make sure she had something I knew she’d eat, I made her muffins last night.
Yes, I baked my dog apple-cinnamon muffins from a recipe in Cooking the Three Dog Bakery Way. It’s not as good as what she’d have gotten from the Pink Poodle Gourmet, but, since I’m not dating the nice lady who runs that business anymore, it didn’t seem quite “proper” to beg dog cookies from her. Oh, I’m sure she would have been happy to give me enough for the four days and then some, because she’s sweet like that, but I’d feel wrong asking. So, I baked my own instead. Actually, they’re quite tasty. Hilda and I enjoyed a couple last night, while they were still warm.

Now, not everyone may understand the fuss I make over my dog. But, let me tell you, she’s more loyal to me than any single person I know. And, as I’m sure my regular readers are tired of hearing, she was the only reason I came home from work almost two years ago, when I was deep, dark depression and contemplating suicide. It amazes me to think, at one point, I thought I’d lost her because I was willing to listen to a lie. Hilda is my little miracle dog, though, who came back to me from far away to give me that little extra bit of life that I needed to keep me going. So, now, I happily bake her treats to snack on while she’s relaxing at her spa.

Now, I just have to convince one of the cute, young girls who works there to pay a little special attention to my Hilda. Maybe, if I play up the whole “separation anxiety” thing we’ll both get a little special attention…

If you pick up a starving dog and make him prosperous, he will not bite you. This is the principal difference between a dog and a man.
-Mark Twain

Advice from your Uncle Jim:
"Aw, damnit, I left my spontaneous quips in my other pants."

I’ve been cleaning up my house.

No, that’s not a metaphor for a damn thing. I’ve literally been cleaning up my house one room, one closet, at a time. A couple of weeks ago, I got down on my hands and knees and cleaned my bathroom floor right to the baseboards, getting every stray hair, human or dog. My fingers were pruney with bleach-based cleaner and my tile floor was white again.
I also cleaned my kitchen, but not quite with the same intensity as the bathroom. I still need to do the floor, but I did tackle the counters and refridgerator and pantry. It’s amazing to me that I’m still finding food left over from when I was married. Yes, that’s not a joke or an exageration. I lost count of the mystery items that I’ve thrown out of the freezer. And, the other day, I pitched some Slimfast and UltraSlimfast shake mixes. I know these weren’t mine, because, well, because they’re just not the sort of thing that I would think to buy for myself without a little “help”. They were chocolate and chocolate malt flavors and I was tempted to try them to see if they’d help me lose weight.
They smelled okay and were mostly still powdery, but the humidity had obviously not been good for them. I let them sit on the counter for a good three days before I made myself check the date on them. They stopped being “good” in 2003. I still let them sit on the counter for another couple of days before I threw them out. The whole time I was debating what to do with them, I could hear my mother and grandmother admonishing me not to waste food. I mean, they still smelled okay, right? And, Slimfast has got to be mostly chemicals anyway, so would they really go “bad”?

It was a game that finally got me to see the insanity of what I was doing and throw the cans out. As I opened one again to smell check it, and confirm the expired freshness date, my inner-eye flashed to a role-playing game I used to love called Gamma World. It’s a post-apocalyptic science-fantasy game filled with rogue robots and marauding mutants. There are countless dangers waiting to kill off unsuspecting and careless player-characters, not least of which was canned food. Yeah, old food from the time of Ancients, before the great wars that destroyed the Earth and made plants into deadly perils to be approached warily. Cans with no labels or unreadable freshness dates that could be a village’s salvation, or deadly poison that would kill everyone who ate it. Only a lucky roll of the dice would tell us for sure. But, intelligent characters stopped taking the risk.

I still have the original rules for that game upstairs on a shelf, but I threw out the Slimfast. Just in case.

Advice from your Uncle Jim:
"A desk is a dangerous place from which to view the world."
   --John le Carre

I suppose I should explain the new poll a bit more.

I like getting things in the mail.  Well, specifically, things that aren’t bills.  I’ve been a Wired magazine subscriber for more years than I care to count.  But, at the moment, that’s the only regular subscription I have going.  I think I’d like to add at least one more, but I have very eclectic taste when it comes to reading material.  So, I’m looking for a little advice.  I’ve got several magazines in mind, which I listed in that poll, but, in case you’re not familiar with them, I’ll give a quick sketch of them here.

Dwell– Dwell is a home design magazine that I stumbled across, somehow, right when it first came out.  It’s a little edgy, but pretty modern and fairly hip.  It has some interesting ideas, some of which I might actually be willing to try in my own house.  It’s arty and would look good on my coffee table.

Men’s Vogue– Okay, first of all, I am not making this up.  Check the link, it actually does exist.  I got a free issue in the mail, probably because I subscribe to Wired or something.  It’s not bad, but, well, it says “Vogue” right on the cover and seems a little, um, er, queer.  Not that it’s bad, but I have enough trouble, seeming a little too feminine probably is not the best way to go for me.  Still, I’m thinking that having a magazine that has Vogue in the title is bound to score some kind of points with someone.
Men’s Health– Okay, my thought here was “Get off your lazy ass and get back into shape!”  No, seriously, that was mainly what I was thinking.  But, of course, Men’s Health also has a lot of articles on food, entertainment, women, sex, and style, besides just working out and exercise types of things.  Also, would look good on my coffee table.

Scientific American–  Hey, I like science and I’m American, so…  Okay, seriously, I do enjoy keeping up on some of the latest scientific developments and Popular Science is written like USA Today, for the least common denominator.  I need something that doesn’t talk down to me.  My concern is, though, that they’ll cover some of the same ground that Wired will.  Also, there might not be something that catches my attention in every single issue.

Locus–  A trade mag for science-fiction and fantasy writers.  It shows who’s writing what and when it will come out.  Sometimes is even has who was paid what kinds of advances for their novels and such.  Any big shake-ups in the industry show up here.  And, they have decent reviews as well as regular “Top Ten” bestseller lists.  It is a bit pricey though, so even if you all vote for that one, I’ll have to really think about it.  My thought here is that if I want to publish in this field, then I should know the field, you know?

Finally, of course, if there’s a really good suggestion you think I’ve overlooked, fill in your own answer!  Thanks for playing.

When I get a little money I buy books; and if any is left, I buy food and clothes.
– Desiderius Erasmus

So, I tried the Bookstore Method again last night, against the recommendation of at least one of my readers. Honestly, it’s not working well for me, in spite of what my therapist tells me about how well it works for his other client, who, in fact, originated the process. I’m not sure if it’s that I’m too picky, or just too cowardly, but the pickings always seem slim. Here’s how it went…

I glide into the store as casually as a desperately lonely man can, trying to look as completely uninterested in anything in particular. I glance at the sale books in the entrance way and pick up a departure for me, Dirty Little Secrets, which looks like a freakish combination of a chick book with an action thriller. Way, way outside my normal reading and perfect to get me into the nonconventional mindset I’ll need to survive the night. Then, I browse through the first tables of new books and see The Ethical Assassin : A Novel, which established a grim, little theme for my chances. So, now I have two books about murder and mayhem in unusual settings, right? Must be time for the magazine section! Yea!
And, as I prowled over to the glossy rags, I remembered I was there to find a date, not spend money I don’t have on books I won’t read for months. So, as I pickup the latest Writer’s Digest, I start watching for likely ladies out of the corner of my eye. (See, I’m being all sly-like, so I can sneak up on them and pounce when even I don’t suspect it!) Sadly, there were only men around the row I was in, so I loop around and see Plaza Magazine, which caught me with the headline “Japan Issue: Capsule Living With Kurokawa”. I mean, with my total fascination regarding all things Japanese, how could I resist? But, still, no groovy chicks, so it was on the next row for Blender, because I need to update my musical taste if I’m going to date. After all, I’m told the hottest of the hotties are into music. Personally, I wouldn’t know. Thelonious Monk aside, I don’t know squat about music or what’s musically cool right now, so, for all I know, I’m hip as all get out. I doubt it, but, still, you never know. I’m hoping that if I hold on long enough, I’ll swing around and be retro again. That was when I saw her, grabbing that Blender. She was dressed down in running gear, casually flipping through a magazine and leaned up against the end of the row where the movie magazines are. But, she seemed a little tense, so I watched her out of the corner of my eye while pretending to scan the movie rags. Forgetting my purpose for a moment, I spotted one of my obscure favorites, Asian Cult Cinema. The current issue was Thai Cinema, so I leaned over to get it, startling the poor, nervous cutie reading her magazine. Then, I saw why she seemed tense. She was looking at the latest Sports Illustrated. You know, the Swimsuit Edition? Yeah, so, either she’s really cool and just checking it out for, uh, actually, I have no idea why she’d be cool and checking it out. She’s a chick. If I understood chicks, I wouldn’t be blogging this, I’d be cooking her breakfast. My bet was she was a lesbian. Why? Because, that’d be just my luck. Anyone want to take that bet? Yeah, me neither.
So, then it was a quick tour through philosophy, where I saw On Bullshit by Harry G. Frankfurt. It’s a short one, so I picked it up to read while I had my beverage of the evening. After that, I popped upstairs to the language section. I wanted to grab a Vietnamese Dictionary & Phrasebook because I’d “Wink”ed at a Vietnamese girl on Match.com and I thought learning a few words of her language would be cool. Especially because I love language and she could totally correct my mispronunciation of the complicated, tonal language. (Sadly, she opted out on me, but, at least I have the book.) So, then it was over to the writing section to see what they had to help me with my pitiful plots. I found The 3 A.M. Epiphany: Uncommon Writing Exercises That Transform Your Fiction, which appealed to me because that was about when I got the idea for the best story I almost sold o many years ago. And, just because it was funny, Plots Unlimited caught my attention. Of course, it’s a total gimmick book, but I bought it anyway, again, because it was funny. And, as long as I was indulging in a little retail therapy at this point, I decided to check out some music by way of the martial arts section. I love martial arts philosophy because it’s so practical, so when I saw Be Like Water: Practical Wisdom from the Martial Arts, I knew I had one of my minimum four spirituality books for the year. And, about that time, I noticed The Best of Dave Lowry, who is one of the world’s best writers on the Japanese martial arts. This book collects the best of his Black Belt magazine articles in one place. Very cool. So, then it was music, I was in a funky mood, so I went looking for something with an edge. What I found was Past, Present & Future [with Bonus DVD] by Rob Zombie. Hey, I don’t have a kid who’s too into Goth music in my house right now, so, I can indulge in some heavy metal. What do you want from me? It’s actually great music to do aerobic workouts to. Honest. Besides, while finding Zombie, Gimme Fiction by Spoon caught my eye. I know nothing about it, but I have a vague memory that someone, somewhere thought it was good, so I figured I’d take the risk.
So, now, totally weighed down with books and magazines, I head over to Smarmy Lad in the Hell of Mediocre Coffee. He, of course, goads me with his hypercaffinated, but artificial, cheeriness, trying to rush me so he can do two orders at once. But, as I mentioned, I’m in a mood, so I give him a hearty “Yeah, I’ll get back to you in a second on that”, which, I’m pleased to say, threw him off his game. Ha! Take that slacker boy! And, I got to stand there with a giant pile of heavy books showing off my muscle while pretending that holding forty pounds of books in one outstretched hand is no big deal. And, finally, just before my arm completely failed, he came back and took my order. Instead of my usual Italian Fascist Blend, I had a kinder, gentler iced mocha chai. While I was paying, I had to endure his lengthy sales pitch for Border’s new marketing, er, “discount” program.
“I’m not sure if you’re going to get all those books tonight, but you’ll get a…”
“Yeah, okay, fine. I’ll take it.”
“Great! You know you’ll really save! And, you’ll start getting the better coupons!”
“Uh-huh.”
“Why, you’ll even get coupons for the Cafe here!”
“Yeah. Great.” So, pretty much at this point the easy sell has really upset his little apple cart and he has no idea that he can stop babbling. I decide to stop listening instead. Easier and less likely to make me want to lobotomize myself with a knitting needle. But, I survive the process and sip my frozen mocha chai while I read On Bullshit, both of which were surprisingly good. And, then, it’s getting late and I’ve pretty well given up on actually meeting someone, so, I head down to the cashier with my books. When I check out, I get the book that actually brought me out to the bookstore, No Plot? No Problem! and beat a hasty retreat home, while listening to Rob Zombie.
And, what did I learn last night? Well, I learned that, while this might be a proven method for one guy, it’s not working for me very well. I learned that following through even when I’m not in a good mood does not produce the best results. But, most importantly, I learned something about myself. Something best summarized by a quote from On Bullshit:
“Our natures are, indeed, elusively insubstantial – notoriously less stable and less inherent than the natures of other things. And insofar as this is the case, sincerity itself is bullshit.”
And, that, kids, just about sums up my day yesterday. Today has got to be better. Right?

I used to volunteer for H.O.P.E.
But, foolishly, I thought I’d have more time, not less, after the divorce was over, so I stopped making it a habit. The end result is that I haven’t been there to help out in months. I’m an official, paid member and everything, but, I had really intended to actually help out at the adoption center. Well, I’ve always been good at compartmentalizing guilt, so I did that very thing and forgot about it. So, yesterday, I’m running errands and swing by PetSmart, where H.O.P.E. does their adoptions from, off 290, to pickup some food for my Hilda. Hilda was a rescue dog that we got at H.O.P.E.. In fact, that was why I started volunteering there, because, at the time I’d lost Hilda, I was keeping an eye out for a replacement pup. Now, I come into contact with these folks for the first time in months.
Okay, here’s the thing… Back when “I” was “we” and “we” got Hilda, there was another dog I connected with named Sage. He was a good dog, though at the time, he had sort of a bad reputation, being, essentially, a Pit-mix. But, click that link and you’ll see that he’s a beautiful dog. And, at least to me, friendly as all get out. In fact, as memory serves, he did better with the women-folk than guys, but he and I got along really well. Unfortunately, he had issues. For one, he liked cats. Apparently, the thought they were quite tasty. Sadly, we had two cats at the time and picked up a third. Besides that little hiccup, my ex-wife was terrified of him. She’d been bitten by a dog, according to her, as a kid and had physical and mental scars. In fact, it was a fight to get my submissive, sweet-tempered Hilda! (I’m not sure how much of her story was true, though, since she apparently lied on a regular basis to get her way. If only I’d realized that sooner… Ah, well.)
Anyway, when I went in yesterday, Sage, was still there, three years later, looking for a permanent home. So, here I am, the ex is long gone, so that obstacle is removed. I got Hilda back because she allegedly killed one of the poor, sickly, geriatric cats that my ex dragged with her out to Phoenix. Personally, I think it was something else, because the story I got doesn’t mesh with how a dog would kill a cat, and, frankly, I don’t trust those two to ever do anything but lie. Still, the upshot is, I won’t take the risk of having cats with her, so that removes another “obstacle” to adopting Sage. Now, the question becomes, how would my darling, spoiled, little girl take to having another dog in the house? She seems to enjoy other dogs, after she gets to know them. But, I worry about how well she’d take it. And, I’m going to have to do some travelling for work here shortly, so I’m not entriely sure I want to add a dog to my house until after that time. Lots of variables to consider, but, well, I can’t help it. I’m seriously thinking about adopting a brother for Hilda.
Thoughts?

A little self-medication goes a long way.
My regular readers will be pleased to know that the Scotch Cure worked wonders the other night and I feel right as rain again.
Which is good, because I found out yesterday that reading scripture Christmas Eve is a little more invovled than I first thought. Normally, whoever reads the scripture just stands up in the middle of the congregation with a microphone and reads it. Well, for Christmas Eve, they want us up on the dias with the minister and what not. Yikes! I haven’t done that since I was a kid. In spite of the impressions I’ve given some readers here by allegedly “baring” my “soul”, I’m a fairly shy person. Oh, I over-compensate a lot, but, I think most people can see that I’m a little uncomfortable being out-going. It’s one of the reasons I’m not in sales. I can turn it up and be on, but it’s so draining on me some days that I just couldn’t see making a career out of it. More power to those of you who can.
Anyway, I’m going to be up there in front of God and everybody, if you’ll pardon the expression. Normally, we’re really casual at Mercy Street, but, now, I think I need to dress up a bit. Black jeans at least. Maybe even a dark sports coat. Possibly a tie. Whoa! Did I just think that? A tie? Yeah, maybe not.
Yes, I both love and hate performing, even at this level, and it’s something I haven’t done in years.

Oh, and I called my favorite Thai restraunt, Paddy Thai, and I confirmed that they are closing. The last day they’re open will be December 30th and, if I understood correctly, they’re donating the proceeds and left over food that day to a women’s shelter. See? These are the kind of people they are and why I’ll miss them.

My favorite Thai restaurant is closing.
At least, according to rumors I’ve heard from a reliable source, the family that has run Paddy Thai since before I came to Houston is retiring and going back to Thailand. Sadly, though understandably, they have chosen not to sell the business to someone they neither know nor trust and are just shutting down. At the end of the year! Yikes! So, you have roughly two-and-a-half weeks to get to Paddy Thai and get the best Thai food this side of the International Dateline.
Now, please, understand, I am not exaggerating at all when I write that this is the best Thai food ever. I’ve had Thai all over this city and the entire US, but nothing compares to this. The restaurant itself is small and rather unassuming. A quaint, candle-lit Thai-style house, shrouded by palm trees and tucked in-between two larger buildings, this little gem is one of the best-kept culinary secrets in Houston. Sadly, there won’t be enough good weather to eat outside on the front porch, enjoying the cool breezes of an early Houston Spring, but, if that were the only place to sit and get their Mus-Man Beef, it would be worth it. All their beef dishes melt in your mouth and if super-spicy Mus-Man isn’t your thing, then they have several curries that are worthy of a last meal.
I usually start with their chicken satay, which is so tender that it glides off the skewers, and peanut sauce. Often, I order spring rolls, too, just so I can soak up the rest of the unique peanut sauce left over from the satay. Then, if I’m feeling brave, I’ll order the white-hot “Tiger Cries”, which is a beef dish that, would indeed, make a tiger cry. If I’m not able to drink copious amounts of Singha to drown that burn, I’ll get their Chicken in Peanut Sauce (just for that sauce!) or their Beef Ginger. If I’m feeling like seafood, I might get the sweeter Garlic Shrimp or the more interesting Shrimp Basil, which I can’t remember seeing on anyone else’s menu. I’ve also enjoyed their unique “Steamed Mussels in Clay Pot”, which is actually served in a fired clay pot. Then, dessert….
Oh, dessert at Paddy Thai is worth the trip all by itself. In season, the mangoes with sweet rice are just the thing to end a perfect meal. The ladies always laugh when I ask them to tell me how they cut those mangoes so well and evenly! I’ve almost lost fingers at home trying to duplicate their best dessert! And, no matter how many places I have sweet rice and Thai egg custard, it’s never been better than here. Add a Thai coffee to that, so you can stay up into the wee hours talking with whomever you thought was special enough to share this hidden treasure and you have my idea of a near perfect evening.

I’ve never had a bad meal at Paddy Thai and I’ve never heard anyone ever complain, either. When I lived inside the 610 Loop, I found any excuse I could to jet over there for dinner. For the longest time, the sisters who ran the restaurant knew me on sight and could probably predict what I would order, too! These two tiny women are so full of life and energy that you can’t help but smile at them as they make recommendations. They’re never wrong, though, sometimes, they underestimate just how much a Westerner can pack away at one sitting. Thankfully, their entrees are better after they’ve sat in the fridge for a day or two. Oh, and then, you get to relive the culinary ecstasy!
Yes, I definitely need to get back there before the end of the month.
But, now, I think I need a cigarette.

You know what I really miss about being married?

No, it’s not the sex. Though, I have to admit, a little nookie now and then sure takes the edge off. Funny thing about that, though… See, all the sex advice therapist type folks, like Dr. Ruth and Dr. Drew and so on, they all say that sex is supposed to get better the longer you’re in a relationship, right? You get to know each other’s moods and needs and wants. The communication is supposed to be better, so getting to the “good stuff” is supposed to get easier, right? Yeah, funny thing about that, in my marriage, not so much. In fact, the harder I worked at that, the worse the sex got. Hmm, have to sort that one out in therapy. So, anyway, it’s not the regular, two-person sex that I miss.
Nor is it her cooking. Oh, don’t get me wrong, my ex-wife is a great cook, when she wants to be. Might not be very imaginative or creative, and maybe she sticks a little closer to the recipe than I do, but what she did turn out was always, without fail delicious. And filling. In fact, at the end, I’ve seen e-mail wherein she told her new paramour that she was trying to a) keep me happy by feeding me well (didn’t quite work, though the meals were to die for!) and b) kill me with high-cholesterol meals (obviously, since I’ve lost 8 pounds in the past three weeks, that didn’t quite work either). Besides, I’m really enjoying my own cooking. My Near Eastern Spicy Chicken L’Orange fairly melts in your mouth. Trust me! And the beer bread I made for Thanksgiving keeps getting me invited back, year after year. Though, honestly, most folks like my sourdough best. And, I’ve started another sourdough starter just this week. So, it’s not the super delicious food, either.
No, what I miss is something I used to call “Snuggle Time”.
See, my ex could never stand sleeping with someone touching her, which I always wanted. I tried to get her to fall asleep resting her head on my chest, listening to my love drum hammer out its steady beat, but she’d never go for it. Instead, what we settled on was Snuggle Time. After I’d finally put down my book, turn out the light and slide under the covers, I’d slip over to her side of the king-size bed we shared and try to melt into her. She’d grab my hand like a little girl holding her teddybear, tucking our little combined fist under her chin while we “spooned”. And, for five or ten or, if I was lucky, fifteen minutes, I’d get to feel close to that tender, soft, curvy mystery that is woman. It was the best part of the day. For a few minutes, I’d know that ten-hour days, late shifts, missed meals, extra hours on the weekend, being on-call 24/7, skipped books, or software and computers that I decided I could live without were all worth it, because for five or ten or, if God loved me extra that day, fifteen minutes, I could feel truly worthwhile and content and in love. It was better than sex and more important than food, those few minutes of Snuggle Time. I’d forego either, or both, for a few extra minutes of Snuggle Time.

So, you see, the mean, old bear of a tattooed, crusty computer geek has a soft side.
Makes you feel all mushy inside, don’t it?

I love that movie.
I actually don’t care much for Rob Lowe or Demi Moore, but that movie, set in Chicago, always reminds me of what I’d hoped life would be like in my late twenties. Ah, well, maybe in my next life.

Anyway, dinner last night went well. My friend Steve’s timing was perfect and he got here just as I was sautéing the onions to go with my Chicken Masala. Here’s how the food preparation went, and notice that I don’t feel guilty at all for the cheating involved. First, I cut up the chicken and the onions and put them in separate bowls. Next, I set up the rice in the rice cooker, but didn’t start it. Per the instructions on the jar of India Chef brand biryani masala sauce, I sautéed the chicken in a little vegetable oil, then added the whole jar of sauce and put the lid on the pan. While that was cooking, I started the rice and chopped the cilantro. Then, I set the table with my every-day, white dishes and flatware, but the better, clear glasses. As a jokey flourish, I folded the white paper-towel “napkins” into squares and put them into the glasses. After a quick check on the chicken, which had already started to smell delicious, I made a pitcher of instant, peach-flavored ice tea and set up the music. (The music, incidentally, was, in play order, Level 42, Level Best, then a mix CD that Steve himself had made and given me the year before, followed by Roy Orbison, Super Hits, and finally ending with The Very Best of the Doors, because that’s about the best way to end anything, I think.) By this time, the chicken was done, so I put it into a casserole dish with the rice, again, per the instructions, and added some other spices and a few onions. That popped into the oven and I started the broccoli. After that, I started the onions with a little extra vegetable oil, some garam masala spices and a pat of butter. While that got going, I lit the candles on the mantle and the kitchen table, including all my Saint Jude santos candles, and started the music. Shortly into the second song on Level Best, Steve arrived with a blueberry pie. Yum!
I knew I’d done well when Steve’s first comment on entering the house was “Oh, what smells so good!?” After I’d reminded him I was doing Indian, and he made appropriate “yummy” sounds, he saw the table. Now, in all modesty, I didn’t really do much there, but when a gay guy tells you how nice your presentation at the table is, you know it’s been done just right. So, while I finished up the onions and took the chicken out of the oven, Steve checked some voice-mail he’d gotten on the way over. By the time he was done, I had all the food on the table and was ready to go. As I mentioned, perfect timing!

So, we had a lovely dinner, scintillating conversation, and a grand time spoiling Hilda. You see, Steve is not only a “dog-person”, but also a keeper in the bird section of the Houston Zoo. He’s eicked smart and knows more about animals than anyone I’ve ever known. Oh, the stories he tells about things that happen at the zoo! “When miniature ducks attack!” I made a pot of coffee to go with the pie, which was also breakfast this morning, and we talked all the way into the first CD of The Very Best of the Doors. It was a very good time.

Today, after cleaning up what was left from last night and starting laundry, I set up a chunk of catfish for tonight’s dinner and prepped the last of the uncooked chicken to do up at the same time. Then, I can microwave that later in the week for a quick dinner. The catfish was already spiced, but I added a slice of fresh orange to cut the “fishy” taste. The chicken got liberally dosed with nearly random spices and the rest of the orange. Actually, that’s often how I cook. No recipie at all, but simply spices that smell good together on meat, sometimes mixed with something fruity, like apple, or orange or other citrus. My ex-wife was always afraid that it wouldn’t turn out well, but I’ve never had anyone be dissapointed in what I made. So, that, with some of the left-over rice and veges will make a lovely dinner several times this week.
Hey, you know, I like this part of being single again! I love cooking like this. Sass, you’re right, I did win in the end!