Diary of a Network Geek

Here’s a weekend recap for those who’re paying attention.
Actually, I guess it’s a bit more than that, but, well, most of it happened this weekend. So, Paddy Thai closed on Friday. I was there for one last meal. I actually made it in twice in the past two weeks, but Friday night was the most significant visit. You see, this was the first restaurant I ate in when I first started coming to Houston, almost eleven years ago. My now ex-wife took me in there on my first visit. We sat in one corner and watched a gecko hunt by candle light on the far wall. We were the only people there. It was tre romantic. It became our place. We celebrated anniversaries there and birthdays. Sometimes it was where we went to make up or sooth some of the pain of the world. At least once we used it as a bit of a misplaced bribe. And, mostly, it was about happy memories. Happy memories that were tainted by how our relationship ended. So, I went back a couple times, not to erase the old memories, but to have a few new ones that might color the old. That last night it felt rather like selecting a last meal.
The people who own the building are going to pave it to make more parking for the restaurants on either side.

At the party Saturday night, my beer bread was quite a hit. In spite of, or perhaps because of, the fact that I was there mainly for my testosterone, I had fun. I knew a few of the people there, obviously, but not all. Sadly, the two red-headed ladies I met were both leaving the state this week. In fact the artificial red-head was leaving the country. Usually, it takes a much longer acquaintance with me to drive someone from the state. Still, I had a good time and was “on”. I dressed conservatively, in jeans and a soft, dark, button-down shirt. I was comfortable, which was my only real goal. Most importantly, to me, I didn’t mention my ex-wife all night long. Though, I did mention having been married. I believe in truth in advertising, after all.
Of course, I had visions of collecting phone numbers and dates, but that was not to be. Still, I was funny. The other day, Doc told me that I should think about lasik surgery to get my glasses out of the way. When I asked why, he told me it was because I had eyes that could make some women melt. Luckily, I am firmly confident in my heterosexuality or I might have gotten a little nervous. So, I did my best to make good, nice eye contact. No attempts at smoldering looks or anything so dangerous as that. I’m afraid that I’ve slipped past that magic age where such things are sexy, at least coming from me. Still, the hostess, who’s dating a friend of mine, made a point to mention to him that she thought I was funny. I must have been really on target Saturday.
At first, I was dissapointed that I was funny, instead of sexy. But, then I thought about what it is I want from life and a relationship and it occurred to me that funny is better. Sexy fades with time and age, but funny can last forever. And, after how grim my marriage got, especially at the end, I’d rather be able to make my partner laugh. What’s better than the gift of laughter? The world can be a dark, cold, nasty place and I’d rather leave laughter in my wake than a string of broken hearts. I’d rather be able to make my next wife laugh and fill her life with joy and laughter.
Yep, all things considered, I’d rather be funny.

Advice from your Uncle Jim:
"Laughter is a tranquilizer with no side effects."
   --Arnold Glasgow

Yeah, so what keeps you up at night?

I have a leak in that crazy water sculpture thing I did a couple of months ago. Apparently, in the cold, a seal popped and now there’s water everywhere. Of course, I didn’t find it until after church, so I can’t do anything about it until the morning.

I worry about my readers. I’ve got far too many good-looking, female readers for my comfort level. Do you ladies worry about that? The guys who read your blogs? See, I have a little social anxiety and that spills over to here. I’m afraid of scaring you all away with my crazy thoughts. Yet another reason to self-edit, eh? It really freaks me out to think you’re out there reading this. Geeks are safe, but, you adorable, magnificent, brilliant, beautiful ladies scare the bejeezus out of me. Really.

Who the heck is reading my blog via a Blackberry? Look, I know four people who might read this blog that also have Blackberries. One is a guy I see every day at work and he had no need to read this blog. He knows details about my life that this blog will never, ever see. One is a lady, and I mean a real lady, who could, in theory, read my blog wirelessly, but, again, has no real reason to do so. (In fact, Uncle Jim will let you pretty gals in on a secret. You want to know more about me than what’s showing up here? Ask me. You’ll be horrified at how free I am with personal information. If you ask the right questions, you’ll even get answers to things I should keep my big yap shut about, too.) The other two are my ex-wife and her meal ticket. But, since I know it burns them up to read this stuff, I don’t block their IP addresses. Let them come! So, they might be reading this on a Blackberry, but they sure don’t need to. Who are you mystery Blackberry user? Who are you!?

I also worry about why I can’t seem to overcome inertia enough to get my ex-wife’s junk thrown out. Granted, there’s a lot of it and some of it I should sell, but, still… Hey, anyone want to buy a platinum wedding ring with low mileage? Hardly worn, I swear! (No joke. She hardly wore her wedding ring. And, yes, I worry why I couldn’t see that sign of impending doom.)

I lay awake at night trying to figure out safe topics for small talk. Why is it that I can talk to girls under the age of twelve and women over the age of fifty, but women between twenty-one and forty leave me speechless? Last week a woman in that age group was watching me at church. Yea, church. I was doing origami, as I often do during the sermon, and she was watching me out of the corner of her eye. I should have been able to chat her up, shouldn’t I? What should I have said?

Why is it so hard to get a cup of coffee? I mean regular coffee, not a complicated Starbucks Venti Caramel Macchiato Half-Caf with a Ristretto, Upside Down. All I want is a cup of regular, black diner coffee. Where can you get that in Houston? I mean, without getting a whole meal. I just want a simple cup of coffee. Is that so much to ask? Sure, coffee houses are nice places to meet and talk and whatever, but, uh, if I wanted that kind of complication, I can dwell on my failed marriage. Thanks, but I’d rather have something easier that doesn’t give me gas or indigestion.

Why do pretty women roam in packs like wild marauders in a dystopian, post-nuclear-holocaust science-fiction movie?

Does my dog really smile at me? And is it because she really loves me or because I feed her?

Am I ugly? Too fat? Does my goatee look weird?

Do chicks really dig “sensitive guys” who pour their emotions out in a blog?

Am I cool because I have tattoos? Or does that freak people out, too?

Is it really cool to be a computer geek again?

Does desperation really have an actual smell? What about love?

Yeah, what about love? Can you ever really love someone? Even after you’ve been betrayed? Even after you look back and see all the times that your lover/spouse has most likely been unfaithful?

Is it fair to ask someone to change when you don’t want to change yourself?

Can I die from lack of sleep? Or will I just have a psychotic break? Will I know when that happens? Or, is it really subtle like those stupid Magic Eye books that never seem to work for me anyway?

Am I too effeminate because I want someone to hold me and stroke my hair and tell me that she loves me? Or that I just want someone who trusts me enough to tell me the truth and then fall asleep with her head on my chest? And, is it weird that I want that more than actual sex?

Is it really that late? Right. I’m going to go lay down and try to sleep now. I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

That was what I woke up to this morning.
Apparently, the handle leaks on that toilet upstairs now. Yeah, everything else seems tight and non-leaky, but the water level rose to the point that it was streaming out the handle on the tank. Have I mentioned that I hate plumbing?
Oh, and the downstairs toilet has decided to act up, too. This time, though, it’s an easy to identify problem: the connection from the water to the tank. Normally, one would use a flexible hose, but not the guy who I got the house from, no sir! For him, it was ridgid pipe or nothing! So, all I have to do, in theory, is get the right size flex hose and replace that. In theory.
And, finally, I have a confession to make about why I get so much anxiety about this kind of thing when my Dad is coming to town. My family used to own a hardware store. Oh, Hoffman’s Hardware in Morgan Park (which is the South Side of Chicago, for those who are unaware) was nothing but a name on a building corner stone long before I was born, but I still feel like I should know how to do this stuff better than I do. Like somehow, magically, I should have been born with the knowlege and skills to do any home repair instantly, with no mistakes. Ignore the fact that my father almost never did these kinds of things in my presence. Usually, I was just in the way as a kid, so I made myself scarce. So, now I learn how to do it the hard way, just like everything else I’ve ever learned that was worthwhile knowing.
Eventually, I’ll post a picture of the pretty rust colored water stain on my ceiling. Damn hard Houston water.

I hate plumbing.
No, really, as much of it as I’ve done in this house and as good as I think I’m getting at it, I still hate it. So, last night, I “fixed” my leaking toilet, right? Wrong. About 9:30PM, or so, as I’m getting ready to fold laundry, I notice a big, dark spot on the ceiling right under the upstairs bathroom. OH CRAP! I go running upstairs, tripping over the dog who thought I was getting ready to play with her, to find that, yeah, the “little drip” had become a “steady flow” and my bathroom floor was completely soaked. Nothing to do about it last night, but turn off the water to the tank and flush out the water already there. Then I threw down more towels to soak up what hadn’t soaked through to the ceiling downstairs.
Tonight, after some last minute grocery shopping, I’ll have the joy of taking that tank all apart, again, and tightening one, tiny nut that is most likely the problem. Or adjusting the one rubber gasket. There’s really only two or three things it can be, so I’ll check them all. And pray. The worst part is, I know Dad will be checking my work on this and offering “suggestions” for what I should have done, or could have done, or should do next time, to prevent all this.
After, hopefully, dealing with this for good tonight, I will have that Scotch I didn’t have the other night! Macallan, take me away!

Oh, and your Advice from your Uncle Jim today? “Double check your work, even when you’re sure that you did everything right the first time.” Damn plumbing.

Advice from your Uncle Jim:
"We have nothing to fear but fear itself."
   --Franklin Delano Roosevelt

I don’t normally post twice in one day, but…
But, well, this has been an odd week and I had to cancell my therapist appointment last night, so you’ll have to do, eh? As you regular readers know, I was so sick Monday that I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Alas, I lived through my brush with whatever that particular plague was and had to finally go into work Wednesday. Wednesday, I also found out that I had a quickly approaching deadline to get my house refinanced before we had to start the entire process again. Thursday seemed fine. Until lunch.
Normally, I take my lunch in the backyard and eat while the dog runs and plays. After lunch, I read under my covered porch and let Hilda get some squirrel/bird chase time in. (Relax, tree-huggers! She’s only come close once that I’ve seen and, besides, she’s just doing what dogs do. It’s her nature and a force of evolution. What’s unnatural is the way she loves to eat off my plate!) So, Thursday, I’m sitting there finishing I Heard You Paint Houses and the dog starts to get all strange. I look up from my book just in time to see this giant, bird-shaped shadow sliding over the lawn as the biggest damn bird I’ve ever seen in person starts to make a landing by my ponds! Without any exageration at all this bird must have had a wingspan as large as my outstreched arms! (That’s over five feet, for those of you who haven’t met my manly physique in person.) Of course, I exclaim loudly, which startles this monstrosity into landing on my garage instead. I could hardly believe I was seeing this thing. I mean, I’ve seen big birds before, but, as a rule, even in Texas one does not expect to see a giant, black turkey vulture swooping into one’s backyard.
Now, what got really unnerving about this is that the thing just sat there looking at me. Not scared, really. At least, not of me. Frankly, the dog looked at me as if to ask, “Uh, Dad, care to fill me in on just what the hell is going on here?”, so I doubt the feathery beast was all that intimidated by the dog, either. Anyway, I decided I didn’t like the way this thing was eyeing the pond, or either of us, and I sort of shouted at it to try and scare it away.
It blinked at me.
So, I waved my arms and shouted.
The damn thing just glided up to perch on my chimney and blink at me. It just sat there, this huge ebony carrion-eater with wings, and blinked at me as if to say,”Yeah, and, your point would be, what, exactly?” Then, being bored with me, it looked down the chimney. So, I start looking for small rocks to throw at this thing to scare it off. The first two shots encouraged it to move to the far side of the chimney and, yes, blink at me. Then, I noticed the second one. Oh, great, a mated damn pair of enormous black harbringers of death in my backyard. Looking for a new home, no doubt. I bend down to find more stones to throw and I hear a loud thump. I check and, sure enough, that one on the chimney is looking down inside. At this point, I’m sure I let loose with a string of expletives that would have made a sailor blush because I’m convinced that the damn thing as dropped a dead animal down the chimney. I start looking for more suitable rocks to throw, but when I find them and go to assault the dirty birds, they’ve gone. Just as quietly as they arrived.
Well, at this point Hilda and I look at each other to confirm that the other has seen what we thought we did. (Yes, I know she’s a dog and has limited communication skills, but it’s the best either of us could do on short notice.) Then I start laughing, put her inside, and head back to the office. Once back to the office, I call a friend of mine who happens to work in the Houston Zoo in the bird department to check on what I’ve just seen. He confirms the guess of turkey vultures, expresses a little surprise at the proximity to “civilization” for that kind of encounter, and then he says “Impressive birds, aren’t they?” Um, yeah, sure, “impressive”. Just the word I would have used. Not freaky. Not menacing. Not down right frightening. Nope, impressive fits the bill just right. And then, the day turned ugly.
That’s about when I got the call from our Bellechasse office that they were having problems with the network. After a minute or two of troubleshooting, I can’t see an issue, so, since I’m dealing with a Windows 2000 server, I figure a reboot is in order. Now, see, this is where that black omen comes in. The reboot ends in a Blue Screen Of Death. Hmm, well, that would be a problem, wouldn’t it? So, we kill the power and try again. No joy. I try Last Known Good Configuration with the same results. I try doing the automated recovery, but again, end up with a BSOD. Mind, at this point it’s 4:55pm so I end up calling to cancel my therapy appointment, much to my chagrin, since I had some things to talk about this week. Finally, after all that, I get into the Recovery Console, run chkdsk and repair the error and get back to the original problem. Yeah, I spent 3 hours dealing with a secondary issue only to come back to the original problem. Again, after waiting for someone to come back to that office after making his appointment, which was for a HAIRCUT, and some more troubleshooting, I finally determine that the hub has gone out. The damn hub had died. No moving parts to fail and no power-spike, but the damn hub had failed. And, finally, I drag my sorry butt home at 8:00pm.
This morning, they get some new switches in place, which is no small feat in Katrina-damaged New Orleans area, and, like Network Geek Magic™, they’re up and running.

Why all the effort not to travel? Because, Monday I have to get a certified file copy of the warranty deed from the Harris County Clerk’s office so I can refinance my house on Wednesday. All so I can save $150 per month. If I stay in Houston past next year. Can anyone, given that turkey vultures landed on my house, the likliness of another hurricane striking Houston, and the not always so great economic outlook for IT guys here in Houston, give all that, can anyone give me three good reasons to stay?
Damn bad-luck black birds.

I went to the Mucky Duck last night.
Seems like this place is one of the best kept, but well known, secrets of Houston. Now, I’ve never heard of ’em, but, then, I’m from Chicago and I was married to a reculse who never wanted to go out and do anything. Funny thing is, I mentioned that I was going to two very different people and they both knew the Mucky Duck quite well. In fact, the nice girl from church started telling me all about their Sunday Supper deal. I was quite surprised.
I was also pleasantly surprised by the performance. Last night, it was Radney Foster. He was already playing by the time we got there, since I was a bit late getting away from church. He was alone on stage with his amped acoustic guitar. Kind of a bluesy/country sound, that’s pretty well Americana folk these days. Sort of reminded me of Bonnie Raitt, actually. Same kind of sound. Every song was a story. We had a good table, just a two-seater near the bar, but it had a good angle on the stage and we weren’t jammed in on top of someone else’s table. But, there were plenty of folks around. Heck, I even got to give one pretty lady at the bar a smile and a wink on her way out, which got good eye contact and a grin in return. (Hey, it’s not digits, but it’s somethin’!)
Of course, since we were a few minutes late, it was hell getting the wait-staff to recognize us. I finally got a nice gal named Victoria, or Vicky, not sure now which it was. She was all apologies and said we weren’t in her section, so she didn’t know we weren’t being taken care of right. All I wanted was a slice of apple pie and a cappuccino. Alas, all I could get was black coffee, since the cappuccino machine was broken, but both the pie and coffee were good, so it was all right. Poor Vicky kept apologizing for neglecting us, but I told her I was used to women ignoring me after dinner, hell, I’ve been married! (And, I tipped her more than my little piece of pie and coffee cost for being a good sport about it. ‘Sides, she was cute!)
Anyway, this is definately a place I’ll be going back to, often, if I can manage it. Preferably, with a date. Maybe that nice girl from church is free…

I’m tired.
I’m tired in that special way that brings mild hallucinations and, eventually, psychosis. Normally, when I get tired like this, I see small, dark shapes that the edge of my vision and get all jumpy and twitchy. Oddly enough, though, I never saw the shadows at the edge of my vision until I got to Houston. I think it’s a latent fear of giant cockroaches, which, incidentally, exist against the laws of God and nature, that leaks out when I get very tired. At least, I have a good reason for it this time around. Not staying up late to watch Adult Swim on Cartoon Network or almost anything on the SciFi Channel.
Starting last week, I’ve been trying to not allow myself to drift off back into a light nap before working out in the morning. I’ve also been trying to get to bed before 11:00pm, but that’s been less successful. Of course, my schedule hasn’t helped much. Thursday, I was at therapy and didn’t get home until almost 8:00pm, so, by the time I ate, checked e-mail and played with the poor, neglected puppy, it was suddenly late. Friday, I went to a men’s support group and met with someone afterward for coffee. Again, it was after 10:30pm when I finally got home and later after checking e-mail and playing with the dog. Then, it was up early on Saturday to go to another support group in the morning and home again to, uh, try and clean my house. And, to try and find all the things that my ex-wife wants me to ship to her. (I’m still trying to find the christening gown and cap. I know I’ve seen it in the house sometime and somewhere, but I can’t seem to find the damn thing!) Then, at about 4:00pm, it was off to the prayer meeting before church. Home again about 7:30pm, fully charged spiritually, and, after watching appropriate levels of cartoons, off to bed by 11:30pm, or so. Sunday, it was “Work In The Yard Day”. I cleaned the pond filters and did a minor repair on the slightly damaged roof of the carport. I also washed the car for the first time in weeks and worked for several hours on someone’s computer for them. So many folks had problems after Rita came and went with no effect to us that I can only imagine what it would have been like had she hit. Anyway, I didn’t manage to completely fix their problem, but I got them into better shape than they were. Now, it’s up to RoadRunner to replace the cable modem that I think is bad. After that, it was home again for a quick bite, and play with the dog, then off to another men’s group. That got me back home around 9:30pm, or so, and, somehow I got into bed around 11:00pm. I must have read a lot. Oh, and there was some ironing in there somewhere.
Monday, was a full day at the office and phone call after phone call after I got home. Again, it was almost 10:30pm before my time became my own again. Last night, it was a prayer group meeting after work, and a quick stop at the store, which got me home at about 9:45pm. So, check e-mail and play with dog and suddenly it’s 11:30pm again! But, the meeting was good, so it was worth it.
I do believe now, that I am a member of the Super Secret Inner Circle of the Prayer Team. I know the secret handshake, the password and have been through the Grand Ceremony, which I can only tell you involved a delicious artichoke dip followed by a very tasty shrimp casserole. There are benefits of membership! The upshot, however, of all this activity is that I’m exhausted and a bit edgy. And, now, I’m thinking I should add a category for the prayer team or Mercy Street at least…
Also, I noticed a pattern with that e-mail habit and playing with the dog. Hmm, I wonder if I could get an au pair girl to help with the dog? Maybe a nice girl from Denmark or Switzerland….
Sorry, I digressed a bit. So, all this means that I’m tired, in a kind of spiritually satisfying way, and I’ve managed to do my entire workout of pushups, situps and hand weights every morning this week, so far. Unfortunately, it also means that those of you who were waiting for pictures of me and my rakish goatee will have to wait. I’m off to bed early tonight and tomorrow is therapy and … Well, and then the cycle repeats itself with some minor variations. Aw, what the heck, as Warren Zevon sang, there’ll be time enough to sleep when I’m dead.

I just got back from a little drive with Hilda.
Some friends called eariler, looking for help with a downed fence. They’ve got dogs and wanted to make it safe for them to be out in the back yard. They offered to trade some barbeque for a couple minutes work, so I grabbed my hammer and nails, loaded Hilda into the car and headed over. I stayed on the feeder road down 290, even though traffic was moving quite well, so I could see the damage. By the time I got to Tidwell, there were large sections of the city that had no power. I took side streets to their house and, again, mostly there was no power, but occasionally there would be neighborhoods that still had traffic lights running. A lot of cars stopped out there, obviously out of gas.
I got there and socialized a bit, as did Hilda. She’s a little hyper for a dog that’s almost three years old, but she’s pretty happy, too. Everyone loves her. Then, I mooched my meal (which was delicious!) and got to work on the fence. I had the worst of it done in about fifteen minutes and then we nailed some plywood from their windows over the other part. It’s a temporary fix, but good enough to let the dogs out to stretch. And, tonight, I imagine it’ll actually be cooler outside than inside, if it’s not raining.
Then I headed home. Again, I stuck to side streets and the feeder. Every filling station I passed on the way to 290 had no gas, but dozens of cars lined up and parked outside, just waiting for gas. Thankfully, when I got home, my gauge was still on F. I got really lucky getting gas on Wednesday at lunch-time when I did. Heading West on the feeder road, I saw a convoy over a mile long of emergency vehicles coming into Houston from out of town to help. It was an amazing and beautiful sight. Police cars, fire trucks, and ambulences, all with their lights going, three lanes across for more than a mile. And, in among them, I saw at least three tanker trucks coming in already with gas. I have to admit, I got a little choked up about that. We had very few problems here in Houston, especially compared to what happened with Katrina, but, still there were extra folks coming to help out the people who had been working 30+ hours without a break. Those professionals are just amazing.
God bless them.

Well, we made it just fine.
I lost my Internet connection last night about 6:00pm during a power flicker. The power did another little dance again right about 8:45pm and I shut down all my computers, just in case we had any problems. I still had cable, so I watched Battlestar Galactica and fell asleep watching Stargate Atlantis about 11:30pm. I woke up about 1:30am or 1:45am when the power went out and stayed out. So, I brushed my teeth and went to bed. The wind was blowing hard, but it really wasn’t too bad yet and there was hardly any rain at all. By then, I’d heard that we were going to get the soft side of this one and I wasn’t really worried at all.
I woke up this morning about 7:00am and still had no power. I got power back around 8:15am and, after it stayed on for a few minutes, I made a pot of coffee, flipped on the TV and started checking on folks. Pretty much the worst thing was everyone losing power. There was virtually no damage and only a little water. As far as I know, there was no flooding in Houston or Jersey Village at all. My own backyard was pretty dry. I had no standing water, except on my driveway, which gets more water from a thunderstorm. The only damage I’ve seen so far has been to my car port. The heavy sheets of plastic that make up the roof were peeled back. They’re still attached, but I’ll have to figure out how to re-secure them. But, I’m going to wait until after the winds die down.
After I check the neighborhood for signs of drama and damage, I’ll post the list of things I’ve been thinking about buying for the next time something like this happens. We dodged a bullet this time, but next time, I want to be really prepared.

Making busy work now.
The laundry is in the dryer now. I’ve filled the tub with water for the dog to drink and for flushing. The sinks upstairs are filled, too. Tonight, I’ll fill at least one of the kitchen sinks and, probably, the bathroom sink, too. The dishwasher is ready to go. I’ll start that when I take the dog out for a walk in a few minutes. I thought I’d wander down towards 290 one last time to see what that looks like today.
I checked in one last time with a couple of friends here in Houston. One tried to talk me into going to the dog park with him, but I don’t want to use the gas until I know how things are going to look next week. I hope we won’t lose power, but I expect we will. No power means that there’s no way to pump gass. They might have it, but all the pumps use electricity, so there wouldn’t be a way to pump it. My other friend was freaking out last night to the point of trying to head to Brenham and Austin, but hit a wall of traffic and decided to come back. I’m a little frightened that I’m calmer than he is. I do believe that it is a sign of the End Times when your Uncle Jim becomes the voice of calm and reason, gentle readers.

If I have time, and power and Internet connection enough, I may post the mental list I’ve been making of survival gear that I would like to have bought for this. And, that I plan on buying after this is all over. Top of the list, a shotgun!
Well, the wind is starting to pick up some, so I better walk the dog if I’m going to do that. More later, if I can!