Diary of a Network Geek

I did something very new and outside my tiny, little comfort zone last night. I went to see a movie alone. I have never, ever done this before and the mere thought of it terrified me so much I had to tell several people I was going to do it so that they’d ask later to make sure I had. I’m not sure why it was so very frightening to me, but, well, it was. But, I did it anyway.

See, it’s like this… Movies, for me, are social events. They are things I go to with people, to share in the social aspect of the whole movie theater experience. It’s an event, even if a small one. A social occasion. A safe way to interact with my not so safe fellow man, or, if I’m lucky, fellow woman. But, LK (aka Ms. NewGal) was busy burning the candle at both ends and I didn’t really want to see more of my friends than I did this weekend and, well, a guy I’ve always admired for his social poise used to go to movies by himself, so… So, I screwed up my courage and went and did it. And had a very enjoyable time.

The movie itself was quite good, even though this is the third or fourth time it’s been done. Very exciting and filled with the very best special effects. The CG work on the ship rolling over alone is worth the $8.50 admission. Then, the whole upside-down ship with explosions and fire and madness and mayhem… Well, it’s very tense and very suspenseful and I loved it. If LK had been with me, she would have squeezed my arm so hard I think she’d have broken it. (She doesn’t do quite so well with suspensefull movies, by her own admission.) I mean, it had me squirming in my seat more than once and I could more or less see how things were going to work out the whole way through.
The best thing, though, was that there was no Shelly Winters character. She was replaced with a single, South American hottie. Horay for Hollywood!

Or, why I play the lottery.

I’m not a gambler. Not really, except in the smallest ways. In fact, most of my friends will tell you that I’m all about “The Sure Thing“. Whenever possible, I line things up so that I cannot miss. But, every once in a while, I play the lottery. Why?
Well, I stopped for quite some time, especially during my divorce, because I didn’t want to share with my now, thankfully, ex-wife. I suppose that sounds bitter, but, it’s really how I felt. Then, after that was all over, I started again, because to win and get that kind of money would be the most delicious irony. Still, that’s not the reason I play.
And, yes, I know the odds are against me. In fact, the odds of winning are 47,784,352 to 1. It’s not that I really think I have a chance, a real chance, at winning. In fact, I have heard the joke that the Lottery is tax on people who don’t understand mathmatics or statistics, which is partially me. I don’t do well with math, but stats was always good for me. Besides, the jackpot is  $16 Million tonight.  That buys a lot of books and ramen noodles!  I’ve also joked that what I was doing was giving the Almighty a chance to change my life.

Ever heard the old joke about the guy praying to God about winning the lottery? He says, “God, why is it, in all your wisdom and power that you never let me win the lottery?” The clouds part and a golden light shines down on the man and a deep, booming voice says, “You’ve got to meet me halfway. You need to buy a ticket!” So, in a way, buying that ticket gives God, or Fate, or whatever you want to call it, a chance to change my life. But, that’s not why I do it either.

I buy that ticket to dream. For a dollar, I get a set of random numbers that let me dream about all the ways I’d use that money. The things I’d get for people, the good I could do, the fun I could have. For a measly dollar, I get to cast wide my net of hope and gather in just a few good thoughts and feelings about the world and the possibilities it holds. For just a few minutes, I get think about all the things that might be, if only…
I play the lottery, because, for the price of a dollar, I get to buy hope.

Ever wonder what various Google AdWords pay per click? Well the rumor over at bOingbOing has it that the breakdown goes like this:
$54.33 for “mesothelioma lawyers”
$47.79 for “what is mesothelioma”
$47.72 for “peritoneal mesothelioma”
$47.25 for “consolidate loans”
$47.16 for “refinancing mortgage”
$45.55 for “tax attorney”
$41.22 for “mesothelioma”
$38.86 for “car accident lawyer”
$38.68 for “ameriquest mortgage”

Those prices are per click, mind you. So, is it any wonder why people make entire blogs dedicated to subverting the Google Advertising system to boost ratings these key words? I’m not sure if they’re still doing it, but people used to created blogs just filled with certain keywords and redirects to their website to generate both traffic and a better click/dollar ratio. Pretty sneaky, isn’t it?

Now, of course, I would never do something so dirty and underhanded as all that, but, well, we all know how morally upright I am and all that. (Hey, that’s “upright”, not “uptight”!) I would also not ask anyone to click on the advertisments on my site, but only because it would violate the Google AdWords agreement and get me into trouble. Not that the advertising has helped much, to be honest. I had hoped to make enough money to pay for my monthly server fees at my webhost, but, sadly that’s not how it’s working out. Not that my webhost is expensive, because they’re not, but my click-through rate is terrible and the pay-out has been, well, hardly worth mentioning. I think we’ve become so numb to on-line advertising that we just ignore it, mostly. Even I fall into that trap, though, I do try to click on advertising on sites I like to show my support for them. I hope it makes enough of a difference that they don’t have to resort to a super-sneaky blog dedicated to that above-mentioned list of advertising words.
But, somehow, I doubt it.

Oh, the joys of home-ownership!
So, Saturday night Ms. NewGal and I get home after being out to church, dinner and my favorite bookstore to find water running from somewhere under Doc’s car. Now, I don’t mean a little trickle, but rather a fairly steady stream of water, as if the hose had been left on. And, in fact, that’s what I figured had happened. I walk over to turn off the hose, figuring that Doc had watered up front and just not quite turned the handle quite all the way closed. That’s when I saw the water shooting out of the wall. Yes, gushing right out of the brick around the pipe where it goes into the house. Keep in mind this is about 11:00PM, I’m tired and have no idea how much of this water is gushing into the space between the exterior brick and the interior wall. In short, I was not very happy.

Luckily, my girl was able to talk sense to me and remind me that there’s a reason I escrow home-owner’s insurance. So, we filled some buckets of water to use for flushing over night, just in case, and turned the water off at a handy valve that was in the line just before the leak. The next morning, I searched the Internet and she searched the Yellow Pages to find a plumber with “cheap” emergency rates who would come out on a weekend. She found Mr. Rooter, who I would have assumed was a tree-root specialist. Luckily, not only are they a full-service plumber, but they have multiple locations in Houston and don’t charge special rates for the weekend! I was absolutely shocked! I can’t remember the last time I heard about a plumber, electrician or anyone else like that who didn’t charge extra for weekend work.
The dispatcher got me on the list for that same day between 11:00am and 2:00pm, which was another miracle to me. Just before 2:00pm, Melvin, the plumbing “technician” showed up at my house to give me my estimate. Tall, thin and polite, Melvin was neatly dressed in a Mr. Rooter uniform and was quick with his slightly gap-toothed smile. He took a quick look and warned me that they didn’t replace brick, which he’d have to remove to get the work done. He did promise, however, to remove only as much brick as absolutely necessary to do the repair. His initial estimate was just under $500. I was so relieved, I almost cried. That’s less than my deductible on my home-owner’s insurance and about a third of what I was afraid it would cost to have someone out on a Sunday to get this fixed.

An hour later, Melvin was giving me an update on the status of my problem. He’d removed a single brick to get a better look at where the break had occurred. Again, luckily, it didn’t look like there was any water damage inside the house. The leak had happened inside the mortar and been forced out from that point. In fact, when I put my hand inside the small hole, it was bone dry. Someone “upstairs” was watching out for me again! (No, I don’t mean Doc, but the Big Guy.) So, at this point, Melvin had to go get some additional parts to make the connection like it was, only not leaking, which means a trip to Home Depot since the plumbing supply houses are all closed. It also meant an additional $240, which bumped my total to $700. Ouch! Still, it had to be done, so I sent him off to get what he needs. While I waited, though, Melvin bypassed the shut-off by the house to give me water so I could run the dishwasher, take a shower or just enjoy how civilized flush toilets really make me feel.

When he got back, I asked him what he thought caused the leak. He showed me the short piece of galvanized pipe he’d had to cut out and pointed out the crack in the threads. It was his opinion that something had to hit that pipe pretty hard to have made the crack. So, I’m not sure when it happened, but, most likely, someone tagged that valve earlier in the week and it just got worse over time until it finally popped out through the mortar. Sadly, at this point, there’s not really any way to know for sure who did it, so, I just have to eat the cost of all this.
Now, here’s where Melvin got to try out his salesmanship on me. He offered me a deal. I could take the $240 hit for the extra parts, or I could get the Mr. Rooter “Membership”, which gives me 15% off all work they do and annual sewer drain inspections and annual hot water heater drainage for the next five years. In exchange, he would apply the extra fees for the plumbing fixtures to the price of the membership, which was a wash. So, in essence, I got a five year 15% discount on plumbing work, which was already reasonable, and annual service and inspection for nothing. Not a bad deal, was it?
Melvin was done by about 5:00pm and getting my Amex number. He wore little booties into the house, so as not to track imaginary brick dust on my filthy, dog-hair-covered carpet. But, what amazed me was that his uniform hardly had a spot on it. Not even much dust on his navy work pants. The guy was good. Pretty damn fast, too, all things considered.

So, in short, I’ve never been happier to pay $700 I didn’t have to do a plumbing repair. After all, I could have had an entire wall come down or part of the ceiling or any of a number of terrible things. A guy I talked to later said that he had a plumbing problem in his attic once that had he and his wife out of the house for three months while they gutted it. So, yeah, it could have been a whole lot worse.
Oh, and I patched the brick myself. That was about another $20, or so, to get the trowel and the mortar patch from Home Depot. Not the most professional job, but quite sturdy this morning when I left for work. You wouldn’t know it to look at me, or read this blog, but I’ve actually done some of that kind of work before at my parent’s house. Oddly, this was something I learned from my father who repaired a front porch step. But, at the time, he’d never done it before. We figured it out together, he and I. And, I never thought it’d be a favorite childhood memory, but, well, as I was working that trowel last night, I thought of him and that day and smiled. I actually finished the job on the phone with him and my mother.
I’m pretty sure that was pride I heard in his voice when I reminded him of that day and told him that I’d learned enough to do this repair myself. And, that I’d had this potentially giant problem and had handled it without calling for help, or advice, or money.
I guess I’m growing up.

Advice from your Uncle Jim:
"The only difference between saints and sinners is that every saint has a past and every sinner has a future."
   --Oscar Wilde

Surprise!
I’m sure many of you are fully expecting me to say that my alleged date on Saturday was, in fact, a very elaborate April Fool’s Day joke. It was not. It was, in fact, not only quite real, but quite good.
Saturday afternoon, I got a haircut and the $100 detailing done on the car, which took longer than I’d thought it would, so I just barely had time to scoot home, wash up and change before going to church. I opted for a high level of casual in relaxed-fit Gap khakis with a white DKNY, long-sleeved shirt, lightly starched. After some debate and a check with Matt for spiritual guidance on my choice of shoes, I opted for black cowboy boots instead of the Cole Haans. My date is an inch, or so, taller than I am, so I figured the extra height couldn’t hurt. I cleansed my car of all heavy metal and replaced it with Sting, Bonnie Rait and some other mellow favorites. No Sade or Nina Simone, though, per the helpful suggestions or my gentle readers.
So, at church everyone was asking about my plans. In fact, I had a veritable legion of folks who seemed to know what I was up to that night. Matt checked me over to make sure I’d done okay, as did J.’s new girl L. The general consensus of opinion was a thumbs-up. I have no idea what went on during the service because, honestly, I was beside myself with nerves. First date in over ten years makes a guy a little nervous, you know?
So, with Sting’s Brand New Day in the CD player, I raced over to her place as soon as church was over. She lives over by Minute Maid Park, so there was a bit of traffic, due to the Astro’s exhibition game, but it wasn’t too bad. What was bad, however, were the directions that I got via Yahoo!Maps. They were fine right up to that one, illegal, left-turn onto Franklin. Thankfully, I’ve driven all over Chicago during construction season, so circling wide and around to get where I actually wanted to be was not a big stretch for me. Also, I called her to get pointed back in the right direction. I parked in a loading dock at her building, per her instructions, and met her out front as she was walking her dogs. The first thing that caught my attention was how blonde she was. I spotted that two blocks away. The other thing was how tall five-foot eleven was when you got up close. Yeah, she’s an inch taller than I am,when I stand up straight. Still, she was at least as good looking in person as she was in her pictures, so, all was well. (She said more or less the same about me, later, so, don’t think I was the only one worried about that!)
We took her dogs up to her apartment and I got the nickel tour. She runs her business out of her home, so she had an industrial oven, a bunch of baking racks, and assorted high-end cooking gear all over. Naturally, she had an enormous kitchen. She actually lives in a loft in a building that, except for the nice, wide halls, reminded me of places I’d been in Chicago. In fact, that was one of the reasons she like this building, because she used to live in Chicago and it sort of reminded her of there. So, yes, she lived in Chicago for nine years, working in catering, mainly, and she knew the edges of my old stomping grounds. In fact, she said that would be the only part of the country that she’d consider moving to again. Oh, did I mention that she took me by surprise with a kiss when I met her?
Anyway, after that it was off to La Vista, a little Italian place that she knew. It’s quaint and used to have a strictly BYOB policy, and they maintain that even though you can get wine there now. Apparently, it was run by a friend of hers from high school and was more wildly successful than he’d ever imagined it being. Who knew? But, here is where it got interesting. At this restaurant I noticed the difference between this one and everyone I’ve ever gone out with before. We ordered our dinners and I ordered a glass of iced tea. Well, our salads came, but my tea didn’t. I was willing to quietly ignore that, as long as it didn’t end up on the bill, but she caught our waiter and told him to get it for me. Honest to God, no one has ever been that attentive to me before, ever, much less on a first date. I thanked her, of course, then told her that I’d been willing to let it slide. And how thoughtful it was of her to catch that for me. Dinner was, of course, wonderful. Sadly, if we’d had dessert we’d be too late to catch a movie, so we skipped that and were off to the giant Edwards MarqE to catch a late show.
We got tickets to the 10:30PM showing of Ice Age: Meltdown, but we were cutting it close. The lines were too long at the candy stand, so, while she ran into the ladies room, I hit the quarter vending machines to feed her self-confessed sweet tooth. Generic Sweet Tarts and plain M&Ms for a buck’s not a bad deal at the theater, so I carefully filled my hand and waited for her by the door to the ladies room, feeling rather like a pervert. She came out and saw what I had in my hand and started giggling like a little girl. She grabbed my free hand and gobbled a couple of the candies while dragging me into the theater. She hesitantly lets me choose where to sit in the darkened movie house and I quickly point to two seats in the middle of the row in front of the main aisle. When she sighed with relief and called me a man after her own heart, I knew I’d done good. She hates climbing up to the higher reaches of seats as much as I do. Cool. I automatically lifted the middle arm between the two seats, because, well, just because. That, too, met with her instant approval. We dropped into our seats just as the last preview was ending and the main feature was starting. Perfect timing!
I won’t review the movie, but Ice Age Meltdown was hilarious. We laughed the whole way through. Great first date movie.
After that, it was back to her place for some mellow music, more talking and, well, stuff. It was at this point in the evening that I found out she was a published poet and a very accomplished photographer. Her black and white photos of Paris looked like they could have been hung in a gallery. I also got to know her geriatric basset hound and her two miniature Dachshunds. When I finally left, she sent me out into the world laden with her gourmet dog biscuits as a peace offering to my own dog. Also, she figured a bribe might get me back into the house.

She’s braving my house for pizza and a movie Tuesday night before heading out of town for a trade show. Next week, the Saturday before Easter, she’s going to come to Mercy Street with me. Apparently, she wants to meet the man who gave me spiritual advice about my shoes.
In short, I think I’ve got a winner. Now, if I can just get used to being fawned over for a change, and learn to take her compliments without a skeptical side-long glance, everything will work out just fine.

Today is Fannie Farmer‘s birthday.
Name doesn’t ring a bell? Yeah, when I got the e-mail from Writer’s Almanac, I didn’t know who she was either. She’s the first cookbook writer. Ever.
I wonder if she knew she was spawning a multi-billion dollar publishing trend when she did that? I wonder what one of us is going to do that’s interesting and innovative that will change the world, too. So, what do you have planned for today?

Only the strong survive in my yard.
No, really, the entire past year has not been neglect at all, but an experiment in Darwinian garden theory. Well, okay, maybe not, but, it is true that only the strong plants make it through in my yard. The past week or so I’ve spent a lot of time in the yard doing all sorts of things.
In the front yard, I’ve been growing grass. The neighbors seem to think that I was devaluing their property by letting my front yard take nature’s course. They didn’t seem to appreciate the entire back to native plants motif that was developing there, mainly because the trees were killing the grass. They did not buy the story that I was “growing” dirt. Nope, not one bit. Seriously, I was chatting with one of the neighbors about they way my divorce turned out a couple of months ago and she asked if that meant I’d be growing grass again. And the other neighbor, who sold his house and moved a couple of streets over, just gave me a serious look and shook his head in agreement. So, I paid my lawn guys to trim the front trees and I’ve been growing grass. It’s really been coming up this week, too. I’m quite encouraged. And the neighbors wave at me again, so it’s all good.
In the back yard, I took out three mostly dead azalea bushes yesterday. Did you know that azaleas have giant, but shallow, root systems? Neither did I. Until yesterday. I did leave the one azalea that was actually flowering, though, when it’s done, I’ll be trimming it back, too. I also hacked out some reedy-looking palms that I previously tore out of my pond’s old waterfall. As well as chopping out some volunteer live oaks. Man, those running tap roots were HUGE! I must have lopped off a good eight feet worth of three-inch diameter roots just to make way for my new plantings! So, in case you’ve been keeping track, I basically removed anything that wasn’t actively flowering in one bed. Only the strong, flowering, plants survive!
I planted a peach tree where the crappy plants came out. It’s small, but it was only $13, so if it dies, I’ll go back and get something else. Maybe an orange tree or something. It doesn’t quite fit with my plan of a semi-tropical wonderland for my backyard, but it is a fruiting tree and I hope will be different enough to be interesting. Also, my ex-wife is allergic to peaches, so I had great fun choosing that particular tree to plant in a bed that we both hated but that she’d never let me change. I suggested to one of my friends that I might smear peach juice over my door way, much like the blood of a lamb, to make the Shadow of the Harpy pass over my house. I think he wet himself a little because he was laughing so hard at that image.
I have some crappy hedges to remove from the pond area next weekend or the weekend after that. I’ll replace them with bamboo, in pots and metal drums to keep them from spreading. Bamboo makes a wonderful screen, does wonderfully well in our climate and has a lot of decorative and crafty uses around the house. I’ve wanted to grow bamboo in my yard, one way or another, ever since I’ve been in this house. This is my year. Also, I think I’m going to trash one of the two cheap palms by the back of the house next to the patio. It’s a junky, little Chinese palm that never really took or got to look better. And, I may take the other volunteer palm of indeterminate variety out, as well. That one, though, I may just pot and keep small and portable. I thought I’d plant another fruit tree in their place. Maybe a mango tree. I love mangoes and have missed them since Paddi Thai closed down. Mangoes and sweet rice and vanilla ice cream are about the most wonderful thing in the world to me. I’d love to be able to have that fresh for entertaining friends and family. So, if I can find a mango tree, I think that’s what I’ll do.
Oh, and I’ve been dealing with pond issues, too. Once again, my fountain structure popped a seal and almost drained the pond over night. Luckily, it stopped before any fish died. Then, I spent most of a day filling it again and rerouting pumps and water flow to keep it going while I get the problem corrected. Luckily, the fountain with its plants and multiple layers acts as a bio filter, so, in creating this structure, even while bypassing the section that has the popped seal, I created a redundant system. Pretty cool, hunh? So, anyway, I got some heavy-duty, flexible, marine sealant to fix the external leak and now have to wait seven days for it to seal totally before testing it. So, next week Saturday, I should know for sure. In the mean time, everything is working just fine and I didn’t even lose any fish! Yea!

The best part about this weekend and all the work in the yard is that, just like my house, every change I make takes back more of that space for me. With every decision, I make this property more my own. Every passing week, I bring my house and my yard closer to my vision of how I want everything to be. Slowly, but steadily, I’m creating the haven that I need and that I want to welcome other people into. I really love my life, though I don’t always love everything going on in it at any given moment. All in all, things are looking up.

And, The Choice by Og Mandino, actually.

Not too long ago, I finished Year Zero by Jeff Long. I got this book, mainly, because I’d read one of his other books, The Descent, based on a reccomendation from a website some time back. Year Zero is about a plague that gets released into the world from a sealed reliquary, purported to contain the blood and bones of Jesus. It’s never determined if they are, or not, but a terrible disease is loosed upon the world as a result of the search. A disease for which we no longer have any immunity or defense.
Certainly, this is not an old theme. It’s been a favorite of science-fiction and horror writers for a long time. (As in The Stand, by Stephen King, among others.) This one does blend in a little early Christianity and spirituality to the mix by basing it on a search for the physical body of Christ. It’s interesting to me to see how Long handles both the beauty and cynicism that I associate with organized religion. I think he does it quite well, showing both the good and not so good aspects of religion and science. For instance, not all the scientists in the story are heros trying to stop the deadly plague. Some are quite amoral and rather brutal in the pursuit of an Answer to the question of the hour. It’s actually quite a fine line sometimes and this book handles it well.
I won’t reveal too much of the plot, but, things do work out, in a way, at the end. And, of course, hope is reborn.
I do reccomend this book to anyone looking to break out of a reading rut, like I have been. Any one who’s a fan of the softer science-fiction will like this just fine. And, of course, anyone looking for an interesting, but not too taxing read, would be fin with Year Zero, too.

Immediately after finishing Year Zero, I started in on The Choice by Og Mandino. I have to warn you, this was reccomended to me by my psychologist, so it was almost a reading assignment. Almost. This was an “inspirational” book, both by design and, for me, because of the subject matter. In short, it’s a story about a man who bails out of the “rat race” of insurance sales to become a writer. Gee, can anyone figure why my shrink would suggest this book for me? At first, I wasn’t quite sure, but at the end of the second or third chapter, when he writes, in response to a question from his former boss about what his big plans were that made him leave, “I’m going to be a writer!”
In spite of this, I have to admit, I was a bit skeptical of this book. I mean, I am somewhat cynical, so overly sappy inspirational books just aren’t my style. This short book was different, though. I have to admit, it really caught me. Also, it was short and I read it, while doing laundry and my regular weekend chores, in just two short days. It’s actually his second book and I sort of wished I’d read them in order, but I do have his first, A Better Way to Live, waiting for me. The Choice is, basically, a somewhat ficionalized account of how the first book came to be written. I say somewhat because Mandino uses a different name for the “main character” of the story. It was a little off-putting, to be honest, but, after I managed to just set that incongruity aside, it wasn’t a bad story at all. And, yes, it did, in fact, get me all emotional. If you’ve ever dreamed about changing your life for a dream, this is just the right kind of inspirational book for you.

Now, though, I’m reading some trashy “chick-lit”, titled Dirty Little Secrets by Julie Leto, though, it’s hardly “literature”. It was on the sale rack and looked like fun, light reading. Besides, it was totally different than anything I would normally pick and on sale for $3.95, so I figured I didn’t have much to lose. And, I have to admit, it does give me inspiration that I can break into print. After all, if this trash can get published, so can mine!

When I was in college, I learned a lot of unexpected things.
For instance, we had this pond on campus that was stocked with all kinds of fish by the Federal Game and Wildlife Administration. I mean, this little pond had some of the best looking rainbow trout that you’d ever want to see and the campus let you fish there, assuming you had the proper state license and all. Well, I used to walk around this pond, which was out the back door of my dorm, any time I needed to clear my head, or mull things over, or just get away from my roommate for a few minutes. A lot of the time, there were people fishing there, but very few ever pulled anything out. Then, one night, right at dusk, I see a guy pulling fish out almost as fast as he can bait his hook and drop his line. It was incredible! In the space of fifteen minutes, I watched this guy pull at least five fish out of that pond! At least half of them were keepers, too. So, my curiosity getting the better of me, I finally introduced myself and asked how he did it. He looked around to make sure no one else could see and then reached into his tackle box. When he stood up, he had a little can of Green Giant Sweet Corn Nibblets. And, as he explained that the fish came from hatcheries where they were corn fed, he poured some of the sweet juice into the water by the bridge we were standing on, then baited his hook with a few kernels of corn. Sure enough, by the time he was dropping his line in, there were already fish coming up to the surface to look for corn. So, it just goes to show you, if you want nibbles, all you have to do is use the right bait.
So, toward that end, I’m trying to “improve” myself. I’ve been working on my spiritual side for the past year, at least. (Whoa, that sounds so hippy and new-agey!) I’m working on my wardrobe, too. My plan is to buy a few new shirts, or pants, or whatever, each month until I have a new, updated wardrobe. Not too big a departure, of course, but newer, hopefully higher quality, and, for a change, some clothes that fit right. You may notice the survey to the right, about new jeans. Please, feel free to vote on what you’d like to see me get. I rely on my now mostly female readership to keep me stylish. It’s a big job, so, I can’t expect one poor soul to be saddled with that thankless task. I’ll have more of these surveys as time goes on. Please, feel free to participate, but don’t feel any pressure. I’m also working on getting back into shape. (Yes, I was in pretty damn good shape once!) After I get the Room From Hell cleaned up and emptied out, I’ll make it into a workout space. I’m especially looking forward to hitting my heavy bag again. Nothing takes the weight off faster, or makes me leaner, than the old boxing workout. It’s also good practice for a very valuable life skill! I’m also going to take up walking, at least, if not try running. I’m not sure my knees are up to it, honestly, as I have bad genes for a distance runner. Good genes for a sprinter, ironically, but bad genes for distance. In any case, towards that end, last night, I bought $94 running shoes for $31.27. Thanks REI! A closeout shoe, combined with a 20% off coupon, combined with an unexpected dividend because I’ve been a member of the “Collective” since 1994, or so, made me a very happy man. Sometimes, God does smile on me!
Now, what’s that all got to do with bait? Well, I’m trying to date again, so, you figure it out!

Sort of like a “lease light”.
So, I’m all freaked out about having a roommate, right? I mean, at one point after college, I said that I’d never have another roommate unless she was sleeping with me. I’d gotten tired of the whole sharesy-waresy thing. Of course, that was from living in a ten-foot by fifteen-foot cell in a college dorm with some of the strangest people on Earth. And, yes, I’m sure they said the same thing about me. So, anyway, I fell back to the comfort zone of any good Republican-turned-Libertarian and started Googling for roommate agreements. Mostly I got things from college campuses, which did little to ease my tension. These, for the most part, were nice, little “contracts” that said everyone would play nice and work things out without killing each other. Sure, in college, probably a very helpfull thing, but for me, not so much. But, finally, I found a legal site that had the whole deal.
An interactive form to customize an agreement tailored to meet specific needs. It had standard clauses loaded with lovely, conservative legalese. There were places to customize clauses and even add in custom “house rules”. Things about pets, quiet hours, parties and even over-night guests. Well, I filled out my little form in all its anal retentive glory, carefully considering each and every question. I finally get to the end and it displays on a new page, but, wait, only the first few sections. Then, it demands $12.50 for the entire document, with changes for up to a week. What!?! So, after doing some more searching, my need for boundries won out and I paid the $12.50. I got my document, which I edited with some helpful suggestions from friends, and we reached our agreement.
But, then I got thinking. Now, regular readers of this blog know what happens when I start thinking: TROUBLE. So, I got more and more irritated with having had to shell out $12.50 for this, basically, boiler-plate document. Finally, what I decided to do was run it again, but with all the possible options, and save it to my harddrive as a template. Now, if I ever do this again, I can just pick and choose my clauses and be all set. But, that wasn’t good enough, so I’ve made it even more generic, but removing my actual address and both our actual names, and saved it in three formats: Word, Rich Text and Open Office. And, now, I bring it to you, faithful readers, for your use. Enjoy!
Roommate Agreement Template