Out with the Old . . .
Well, this will probably be my last post of 2003. Erica’s in the kitchen making hors d’ouvres for tomorrow, Megan is at work and Courtney is upstairs with 4 friends who are spending the night. Since sitting at the computer at all hours of the evening (something I am regularly accused of anyway) isn’t really conducive to marital bliss I doubt I’ll be blogging any more after this, at least until tomorrow anyway.
Since mi esposita and I really aren’t party animals we’ll be bringing in the new year like we always do, i.e., on the couch with a bottle of carbonated grape juice. It sounds boring but this is how we like it and have always done it in the 9 ½ years we’ve been married. I picked up 2 movies to watch until the ball drops: Seabiscuit and League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. I hear the former is really good and I expect the latter to be extraordinarily stupid. We’ll see. A friend of mine invited us over to his house tonight to bring in the new year with just him and his wife . . . and 20 of their closest friends, relatives, colleagues, neighbors and whomever else chances to show up. I graciously declined. So we’re homebodies, sue us.
Happy new year!
Wednesday, December 31, 2003
Oops!
Well, I got a call from my dad wondering where the hell we all were (we closed at 12:00 today). Apparently the whole company was originally supposed to close at noon today but the fearless leader pulled one of his famous 180's the other day and changed his mind . . . without bothering to tell anyone over here. And yes dad, you're absolutely right, this is all my fault for not reading your mind. Mea culpa.
Asshole.
Well, I got a call from my dad wondering where the hell we all were (we closed at 12:00 today). Apparently the whole company was originally supposed to close at noon today but the fearless leader pulled one of his famous 180's the other day and changed his mind . . . without bothering to tell anyone over here. And yes dad, you're absolutely right, this is all my fault for not reading your mind. Mea culpa.
Asshole.
Year End Thoughts, Part II
I just got a call from my mom telling me to keep my cell phone handy over the holiday. My brother Mark and his wife Natalie are expecting their first baby any day now. The doctors have told Natalie that she won’t last another week. They’re having a girl but have been keeping the name they've chosen to themselves until she’s born.
I told Mark that as soon as I get the call, I'll point my truck toward Dallas and head that way. I wouldn't miss this for the world!
I just got a call from my mom telling me to keep my cell phone handy over the holiday. My brother Mark and his wife Natalie are expecting their first baby any day now. The doctors have told Natalie that she won’t last another week. They’re having a girl but have been keeping the name they've chosen to themselves until she’s born.
I told Mark that as soon as I get the call, I'll point my truck toward Dallas and head that way. I wouldn't miss this for the world!
Year End Thoughts, Part I
Wow, the last day of 2003 is finally here! As I recall, last year at this very moment I was sitting here in my office wondering how I was going to get through this year. 2002 was a bad year for business and the tea leaves didn’t offer much hope for 2003, either. The stock market was still in the doldrums and, though the Taliban was overcome quickly enough in Afghanistan, the news was full of hysteria about the coming invasion of Iraq. Corporate accounting scandals were still on the front page and companies were still shedding jobs. I remember wondering when we were going to reach the bottom of this thing too. Needless to say, getting people to pry open their wallets to fix their foundations was proving rather difficult then.
And as if that weren’t enough to occupy me, a competitor had come into town and, instead of hiring and training their own people, decided to get rich quick by hiring all their people from us. They hired away my operations manager, my field superintendent, one of my best foremen and a bunch of laborers, enough to man a whole crew. Not only that, but they also took my most senior salesman. Well, they didn't so much take him as he left . . . and organized the defection of the others. The salesman leaving didn't hurt me; in fact, I welcomed it personally. He used to be the manager until I got here and, he told everyone who would listen how he wanted to be "just a salesman" (i.e., run leads, make sales, make money, not have to deal with the bullshit that a manager has to deal with) again. He apparently still wanted to make a manager’s paycheck though and when he found out that he wouldn’t be, resented the hell out of me for it. Needless to say, we never really saw eye to eye, so him leaving was best for all concerned.
But losing everyone else? That was quite a kick in the balls to have to take. Administratively, I had to practically rebuild the office and hire and train a new sales staff. They're all in place now and by and large I'm happy with what I have, but at times it was a rough road getting to where we are now. 2003 was a hard year, but ultimately I think it was a positive one. I've got a good core of salesmen now (me and Bill) and one - I'll call him John - who's knowledgeable but an underachiever. "John" started out well with me but he's been on a downhill trajectory since the summer. I've already taken him off the draw and put him on "full commission" meaning that if he doesn't make a sale in any particular week, he doesn't get a paycheck. Oh, that and he's taking this whole week off for a vacation that he swears I approved and that he notified my new operations manager about. If there’s anyone in the world who needs a week without pay less than this guy I don’t know about it and I suspect that he’s spending this "vacation" trying to find other employment. His situation will be need to be addressed early in the new year if it doesn’t resolve itself before then.
Other than that, I really don't have any other looming problems that I have to address. As I've written about before, all economic indicators are positive, leading me to think that we should be in for a good year. 2003 wasn’t kind to foundation repair contractors. This industry has had to deal with what I call a “perfect storm” over the past few years that have made being in it quite hard. I’ll write about the storm later. In a year that saw more than a few of my competitors go tits-up (including hahaha!!! the company who stole all my people last year) we stayed alive. We hustled like hell for business, cut our prices aggressively when we had to, and did all we could to cut costs. Life’s not much fun when you do that but, like I said the other day, sometime you do what you have to do. My dad has an analogy that he’s fond of; when your only choice is between eating shit sandwiches and starving to death, you learn to like shit sandwiches. Simple as that. Yeah, that’s my dad for you, always telling the truth wrapped in barbed wire.
So, in a year when it felt like there was hardly any money to go around, we bit the bullet and increased our advertising (my dad, me and my brother shot a TV commercial at his house and have been running it on cable TV since last summer). I cut a commercial and ran it on the local talk-radio station this summer and spent a huge amount of time marketing and pitching the company to realtors, inspectors, investors and the like this past year. So, despite losing a plum account like my ex-salesman's client insurance company (which we would have lost anyway as insurors in Texas are no longer covering water-related perils like foundation failure) we’re only a few points behind last year in sales. I would have liked to have beaten last year’s numbers but feel confident that we did all we could this year and have done the best we could with what we had. We ate a lot of shit sandwiches this year but I think we’re well poised to prosper in the new year.
Here's to a prosperous and happy 2004!
Wow, the last day of 2003 is finally here! As I recall, last year at this very moment I was sitting here in my office wondering how I was going to get through this year. 2002 was a bad year for business and the tea leaves didn’t offer much hope for 2003, either. The stock market was still in the doldrums and, though the Taliban was overcome quickly enough in Afghanistan, the news was full of hysteria about the coming invasion of Iraq. Corporate accounting scandals were still on the front page and companies were still shedding jobs. I remember wondering when we were going to reach the bottom of this thing too. Needless to say, getting people to pry open their wallets to fix their foundations was proving rather difficult then.
And as if that weren’t enough to occupy me, a competitor had come into town and, instead of hiring and training their own people, decided to get rich quick by hiring all their people from us. They hired away my operations manager, my field superintendent, one of my best foremen and a bunch of laborers, enough to man a whole crew. Not only that, but they also took my most senior salesman. Well, they didn't so much take him as he left . . . and organized the defection of the others. The salesman leaving didn't hurt me; in fact, I welcomed it personally. He used to be the manager until I got here and, he told everyone who would listen how he wanted to be "just a salesman" (i.e., run leads, make sales, make money, not have to deal with the bullshit that a manager has to deal with) again. He apparently still wanted to make a manager’s paycheck though and when he found out that he wouldn’t be, resented the hell out of me for it. Needless to say, we never really saw eye to eye, so him leaving was best for all concerned.
But losing everyone else? That was quite a kick in the balls to have to take. Administratively, I had to practically rebuild the office and hire and train a new sales staff. They're all in place now and by and large I'm happy with what I have, but at times it was a rough road getting to where we are now. 2003 was a hard year, but ultimately I think it was a positive one. I've got a good core of salesmen now (me and Bill) and one - I'll call him John - who's knowledgeable but an underachiever. "John" started out well with me but he's been on a downhill trajectory since the summer. I've already taken him off the draw and put him on "full commission" meaning that if he doesn't make a sale in any particular week, he doesn't get a paycheck. Oh, that and he's taking this whole week off for a vacation that he swears I approved and that he notified my new operations manager about. If there’s anyone in the world who needs a week without pay less than this guy I don’t know about it and I suspect that he’s spending this "vacation" trying to find other employment. His situation will be need to be addressed early in the new year if it doesn’t resolve itself before then.
Other than that, I really don't have any other looming problems that I have to address. As I've written about before, all economic indicators are positive, leading me to think that we should be in for a good year. 2003 wasn’t kind to foundation repair contractors. This industry has had to deal with what I call a “perfect storm” over the past few years that have made being in it quite hard. I’ll write about the storm later. In a year that saw more than a few of my competitors go tits-up (including hahaha!!! the company who stole all my people last year) we stayed alive. We hustled like hell for business, cut our prices aggressively when we had to, and did all we could to cut costs. Life’s not much fun when you do that but, like I said the other day, sometime you do what you have to do. My dad has an analogy that he’s fond of; when your only choice is between eating shit sandwiches and starving to death, you learn to like shit sandwiches. Simple as that. Yeah, that’s my dad for you, always telling the truth wrapped in barbed wire.
So, in a year when it felt like there was hardly any money to go around, we bit the bullet and increased our advertising (my dad, me and my brother shot a TV commercial at his house and have been running it on cable TV since last summer). I cut a commercial and ran it on the local talk-radio station this summer and spent a huge amount of time marketing and pitching the company to realtors, inspectors, investors and the like this past year. So, despite losing a plum account like my ex-salesman's client insurance company (which we would have lost anyway as insurors in Texas are no longer covering water-related perils like foundation failure) we’re only a few points behind last year in sales. I would have liked to have beaten last year’s numbers but feel confident that we did all we could this year and have done the best we could with what we had. We ate a lot of shit sandwiches this year but I think we’re well poised to prosper in the new year.
Here's to a prosperous and happy 2004!
Tuesday, December 30, 2003
Goodbye, Durango
Well, my truck's fixed so I had to turn in my rental, a very nice Dodge Durango. It was one of the old ones, not the brand new one that looks like a cargo van on steroids. It drove like a dream too, a hell of a lot better than the old Grand Cherokee we used to have and, I must admit, it spoiled me rather badly in the 11 days I had it. Now, back to reality. Back to my dusty old GMC. Sigh.
One day I'll be able to buy a new truck and hopefully it'll be this coming year. I've liked the new Ford F-150's but what's really caught my eye lately has been the new Nissan Titan. I don't care if it's Japanese or not, that is one bad lookin' truck!
Now I just need to sell about two million worth of foundation repair in '04 to pay for it.
Well, my truck's fixed so I had to turn in my rental, a very nice Dodge Durango. It was one of the old ones, not the brand new one that looks like a cargo van on steroids. It drove like a dream too, a hell of a lot better than the old Grand Cherokee we used to have and, I must admit, it spoiled me rather badly in the 11 days I had it. Now, back to reality. Back to my dusty old GMC. Sigh.
One day I'll be able to buy a new truck and hopefully it'll be this coming year. I've liked the new Ford F-150's but what's really caught my eye lately has been the new Nissan Titan. I don't care if it's Japanese or not, that is one bad lookin' truck!
Now I just need to sell about two million worth of foundation repair in '04 to pay for it.
Creepshow
Thought I should mention that while at Wal-Mart this past Sunday, I picked up 2 DVD's out of the bargain bin (2 for $11.00, whatta deal!). Courtney was with me because she always sticks to my side when we go grocery shopping. Erica does the actual shopping while Court and I will go stir up trouble by playing catch in the aisles or doing anything else that relieves us of the boredom of glumly having to follow momma through the store. In fact, a few years ago when we still lived in Mobile, I even had her ride a bicycle thru a Target; she was about 5 years old at the time and absolutely loved it even if the store manager didn't. And don't ask why grocery shopping is a family affair with us, either, it just is.
Anyway, I picked a movie that is acknowledged as a classic from the early 80's. A movie that should be a part of any DVD collection. A movie that was so influential and so important that everybody who was alive back then saw it . . . except me, apparently. The movie is Diner starring the world's most overrated actor, Mickey Rourke. As usual, my daughter's taste was better. She picked a true classic from that period, not just one that was a favorite of teenage poseurs. Courtney, who for an 8 year-old has an insatiable appetite for horror movies, picked George Romero's Creepshow.
Now that's what I call a classic! I can't wait, after she and I watch it we'll both be going around the house yelling where's my cake?! to her mom. Daddy's girl, indeed.
Thought I should mention that while at Wal-Mart this past Sunday, I picked up 2 DVD's out of the bargain bin (2 for $11.00, whatta deal!). Courtney was with me because she always sticks to my side when we go grocery shopping. Erica does the actual shopping while Court and I will go stir up trouble by playing catch in the aisles or doing anything else that relieves us of the boredom of glumly having to follow momma through the store. In fact, a few years ago when we still lived in Mobile, I even had her ride a bicycle thru a Target; she was about 5 years old at the time and absolutely loved it even if the store manager didn't. And don't ask why grocery shopping is a family affair with us, either, it just is.
Anyway, I picked a movie that is acknowledged as a classic from the early 80's. A movie that should be a part of any DVD collection. A movie that was so influential and so important that everybody who was alive back then saw it . . . except me, apparently. The movie is Diner starring the world's most overrated actor, Mickey Rourke. As usual, my daughter's taste was better. She picked a true classic from that period, not just one that was a favorite of teenage poseurs. Courtney, who for an 8 year-old has an insatiable appetite for horror movies, picked George Romero's Creepshow.
Now that's what I call a classic! I can't wait, after she and I watch it we'll both be going around the house yelling where's my cake?! to her mom. Daddy's girl, indeed.
New Year's Hopes
I don't really have a lot to say so this will be a short one. I am beginning to rethink my decision to ignore my doctors' orders and skip physical therapy because I am getting sick and tired of my first thought upon waking up in the morning being goddamn, my shoulder hurts! The fucking thing has been killing me lately and I have to wonder if it'll be strong enough to handle weightlifting when I start my new 5 am routine (ugh) after the new year. I just hope my insurance covers a goodly portion of the cost of the PT though, because if it doesn't, the question of whether or not I'll go will be rendered quite moot.
Looks like we had another banner day in the stock market yesterday with the Dow coming up about 130 points. Job creation should follow in the market's wake so I'm hopeful of a good year for our business in 2004. One thing that I've learned over the past 3 years is that San Antonio, though large, has very much of a "poor city" mentality. I love Mexican culture (and, as demonstrated by my ever-expanding waistline, Mexican food) but I've found that the people here don't have nearly the entrepreneurial, wealth-creating mentality that you find is so common in more economically vibrant places like Houston, Dallas or Austin. People here are extremely conservative with their money and are typically reluctant to finance things like home repair costs, especially in times when they don't feel too secure about their job. I always tell people that SA is the first city in Texas to fall into a recession and the last to come out. The reasons for that are legion and maybe I'll write about it some day but not now.
I love Hispanic culture. I love the reverence people of Mexican heritage have for their families and for God (even though I'm a Southern Baptist white boy). And God knows, I love their work ethic. But there's a flip-side to every coin and one thing that I think weighs down hispanics is their view of money. I think a lot of them look at investing money as a juero (i.e., white boy) thing. Thus, what I think often happens when one comes into money (whether via a windfall or through the fruit of their own labor) and they need to do something like get their house re-roofed or have their foundation repaired is that they'll pay their brother in law or friend to do the work (typically for about 30% of what a professional like me would charge) and put the rest of their money in the mattress. These sort of tight-ass tendencies tend to be amplified about tenfold during a recession, too. Thus, my business (foundation repair) has had a rough go of things the past few years.
I just reread what I wrote above and I must confess that it sounds borderline racist. It's not. Different cultures look at the world differently, that's all. And Lord knows, I wrote the book on being a tightass, too. I drive a company owned GMC pickup that's about 6 years old and has 170,000 miles on it. And, as I type this, my mechanic is installing it's second transmission in 7 months, too. The reason I drive this thing is obvious, that I can't afford to buy a new one. My wife drives a little used Mazda that we bought last year and Megan drives a complete piece of shit Cavalier that we bought from my step-sister. That's life. In a recession, you do without the things you can do without (like new cars and nice vacations, etc.) and make do. It's not fun, but you do what you gotta do.
I have faith that good times will come again and I'm hopeful that all the good news emanating from Wall Street heralds just that.
I don't really have a lot to say so this will be a short one. I am beginning to rethink my decision to ignore my doctors' orders and skip physical therapy because I am getting sick and tired of my first thought upon waking up in the morning being goddamn, my shoulder hurts! The fucking thing has been killing me lately and I have to wonder if it'll be strong enough to handle weightlifting when I start my new 5 am routine (ugh) after the new year. I just hope my insurance covers a goodly portion of the cost of the PT though, because if it doesn't, the question of whether or not I'll go will be rendered quite moot.
Looks like we had another banner day in the stock market yesterday with the Dow coming up about 130 points. Job creation should follow in the market's wake so I'm hopeful of a good year for our business in 2004. One thing that I've learned over the past 3 years is that San Antonio, though large, has very much of a "poor city" mentality. I love Mexican culture (and, as demonstrated by my ever-expanding waistline, Mexican food) but I've found that the people here don't have nearly the entrepreneurial, wealth-creating mentality that you find is so common in more economically vibrant places like Houston, Dallas or Austin. People here are extremely conservative with their money and are typically reluctant to finance things like home repair costs, especially in times when they don't feel too secure about their job. I always tell people that SA is the first city in Texas to fall into a recession and the last to come out. The reasons for that are legion and maybe I'll write about it some day but not now.
I love Hispanic culture. I love the reverence people of Mexican heritage have for their families and for God (even though I'm a Southern Baptist white boy). And God knows, I love their work ethic. But there's a flip-side to every coin and one thing that I think weighs down hispanics is their view of money. I think a lot of them look at investing money as a juero (i.e., white boy) thing. Thus, what I think often happens when one comes into money (whether via a windfall or through the fruit of their own labor) and they need to do something like get their house re-roofed or have their foundation repaired is that they'll pay their brother in law or friend to do the work (typically for about 30% of what a professional like me would charge) and put the rest of their money in the mattress. These sort of tight-ass tendencies tend to be amplified about tenfold during a recession, too. Thus, my business (foundation repair) has had a rough go of things the past few years.
I just reread what I wrote above and I must confess that it sounds borderline racist. It's not. Different cultures look at the world differently, that's all. And Lord knows, I wrote the book on being a tightass, too. I drive a company owned GMC pickup that's about 6 years old and has 170,000 miles on it. And, as I type this, my mechanic is installing it's second transmission in 7 months, too. The reason I drive this thing is obvious, that I can't afford to buy a new one. My wife drives a little used Mazda that we bought last year and Megan drives a complete piece of shit Cavalier that we bought from my step-sister. That's life. In a recession, you do without the things you can do without (like new cars and nice vacations, etc.) and make do. It's not fun, but you do what you gotta do.
I have faith that good times will come again and I'm hopeful that all the good news emanating from Wall Street heralds just that.
Monday, December 29, 2003
Christmas Reading
With so many good books out there to choose from this holiday season, what did I buy to distract me during the long dull hours? I have at least a half dozen real-estate themed books for work that are still unread. Did I pick up any of them? Nope. I've had Fukuyama's latest, The Great Disruption staring at me unread from my bookshelf for the past three years. Did I pick it and blow the dust off it? No.
I picked Prey by Michael Crichton.
Jeez, why do I do this to myself? Picking this book is like being at Ruth's Chris and telling the waiter that you'd like a Big Mac combo meal instead of the prime rib. I devoured the book in two days and threw it across the room when I was done with it. It was complete crap of course, but it was the kind of compulsive crap that you can't stop reading once you begin. I think Crichton's a worse writer than even Dean Koontz now; he's totally predictable with all of his novels pivoting on a theme of science (tainted by capitalism of course) run amok. Uh, excuse me Mike, but unless I'm wrong, capitalism and science have proven to be a pretty good combination for you, being that you're a doctor and all and that you have made an awful lot of money by writing about science instead of doing or creating it. Not that there's anything wrong with writing, mind you, but it just seems a bit ungrateful for you to always bite the hand that feeds you, so to speak.
These damn books of his (Jurassic Park, Timeline, Prey, et al.) all read like screenplays which is of course what they really are. Thus, we should look for Prey to hit the big screen sometime in 2004 or 2005, maybe with Vin Diesel or whomever Hollywood's flavor of the month actor is by then.
Maybe I should resolve not to read any more pulp novels in 2004.
With so many good books out there to choose from this holiday season, what did I buy to distract me during the long dull hours? I have at least a half dozen real-estate themed books for work that are still unread. Did I pick up any of them? Nope. I've had Fukuyama's latest, The Great Disruption staring at me unread from my bookshelf for the past three years. Did I pick it and blow the dust off it? No.
I picked Prey by Michael Crichton.
Jeez, why do I do this to myself? Picking this book is like being at Ruth's Chris and telling the waiter that you'd like a Big Mac combo meal instead of the prime rib. I devoured the book in two days and threw it across the room when I was done with it. It was complete crap of course, but it was the kind of compulsive crap that you can't stop reading once you begin. I think Crichton's a worse writer than even Dean Koontz now; he's totally predictable with all of his novels pivoting on a theme of science (tainted by capitalism of course) run amok. Uh, excuse me Mike, but unless I'm wrong, capitalism and science have proven to be a pretty good combination for you, being that you're a doctor and all and that you have made an awful lot of money by writing about science instead of doing or creating it. Not that there's anything wrong with writing, mind you, but it just seems a bit ungrateful for you to always bite the hand that feeds you, so to speak.
These damn books of his (Jurassic Park, Timeline, Prey, et al.) all read like screenplays which is of course what they really are. Thus, we should look for Prey to hit the big screen sometime in 2004 or 2005, maybe with Vin Diesel or whomever Hollywood's flavor of the month actor is by then.
Maybe I should resolve not to read any more pulp novels in 2004.
This Morning's Classic Rock Fix
Heard a great one on the way into the office this morning, AC/DC's "Rock-n-Roll Ain't Noise Pollution." Man, I love this group and I loved this album! I remember being a high school freshman, going out with my friend Eric and getting drunk (beer was easily obtained with the drinking age being 18 back then) then coming back to his house to listen to "Back in Black." We absolutely wore the grooves of that album listening to it and to this day it remains one of my favorites.
I tell ya, to get your blood going on a cold morning when you really don't want to go back to work after such a nice long break, it just doesn't get much better than this:
I took a peek inside your bedroom door
You looked so good lying in your bed.
When I asked you if you wanted any rhythm in ya
You said you wanna rock-n-roll instead!
And to think this band almost died back then after Bon Scott bought it. Thank God for Brian Johnson! "Back in Black" was both a fitting tribute to Scott and also it took AC/DC to a level that I don't think they would have reached with him. Johnson took a very good band and made them great.
Now I've got to get to work. Duty calls . . .
Heard a great one on the way into the office this morning, AC/DC's "Rock-n-Roll Ain't Noise Pollution." Man, I love this group and I loved this album! I remember being a high school freshman, going out with my friend Eric and getting drunk (beer was easily obtained with the drinking age being 18 back then) then coming back to his house to listen to "Back in Black." We absolutely wore the grooves of that album listening to it and to this day it remains one of my favorites.
I tell ya, to get your blood going on a cold morning when you really don't want to go back to work after such a nice long break, it just doesn't get much better than this:
I took a peek inside your bedroom door
You looked so good lying in your bed.
When I asked you if you wanted any rhythm in ya
You said you wanna rock-n-roll instead!
And to think this band almost died back then after Bon Scott bought it. Thank God for Brian Johnson! "Back in Black" was both a fitting tribute to Scott and also it took AC/DC to a level that I don't think they would have reached with him. Johnson took a very good band and made them great.
Now I've got to get to work. Duty calls . . .
Sunday, December 28, 2003
Talking 'Bout My Resolutions
It's Sunday morning, about 9:30. Just found out that the in-laws are coming out today from Houston, so that'll take of dinner plans for us. Last time we went to dinner with them, I reached for a salad fork and felt an awful stab of pain in my right shoulder. That was about 3 weeks ago and, though it's not as painful now, it still really hasn't healed. I even went to the doctor last week (something I don't do casually) and he thinks I may have a torn rotator cuff. Great. And the damned thing is is that I've probably had this for 20 years or so. I remember being a kid playing touch football and flinging the ball so hard my arm would literally be numb afterward. Maybe I did it then. Oh well, it's moot when I did it. It's never been a problem until recently though. Even last year when I was working out all the time and had my bench press to almost 400 lbs. it never gave me any problems. So why would a dinner fork at some crappy Mexican restaurant do this to me? Hell if I know. Probably because I haven't dragged my fat ass into a gym in over a month and haven't been on any sort of regular workout routine in over a year.
The problem with working out is always time. To go to the gym, I would have to either sacrifice time from work (working out in the middle of the day) or from the family (if I went after dinner). Last year when I was such a fanatic about it, I went to the gym in the middle of the day because work was so slow. However, a few people at work grumbled about it and dad ended up getting really pissed off at me, saying that I was setting a bad example for the other employees by treating the job so casually. As usual, he was probably right . . . the bastard. And I don't like to go after dinner either because it takes away from family time too much. There are certain parenting chores like sitting with Courtney while she either reads or does her homework that if I miss out on now, I'll regret forever. Plus, the gym's too crowded and my energy level is just too low at 7:00 pm.
I've always told people that I could almost bench press a Volkswagen but couldn't toss a softball farther than my little girl. Well, that's doubly true now. Nevertheless, I have got to get back in the gym. I have always been a big guy but the other day in the doctors' office, I weighed 313 lbs. Granted, that was with my clothes and boots on but still, it's 30 lbs. heavier than the last time I checked my weight last year. Gotta fix that.
I quit the cigarettes this past June when I bought a term life policy and now it's time for me to peel my weight back down. So . . . the only thing for me to do is to do what Robbie recommended. He gets up and is in the gym at 5:30 in the morning. Man, I'm an early bird by nature but that . . . that's damned early even for me. Nevertheless I gotta do it.
So there it is, my new years resolution. That's probably about the fifteenth time I've made that particular resolution but hey, who's counting? Until then, I'll eat salad tonight and be careful lifting my fork.
It's Sunday morning, about 9:30. Just found out that the in-laws are coming out today from Houston, so that'll take of dinner plans for us. Last time we went to dinner with them, I reached for a salad fork and felt an awful stab of pain in my right shoulder. That was about 3 weeks ago and, though it's not as painful now, it still really hasn't healed. I even went to the doctor last week (something I don't do casually) and he thinks I may have a torn rotator cuff. Great. And the damned thing is is that I've probably had this for 20 years or so. I remember being a kid playing touch football and flinging the ball so hard my arm would literally be numb afterward. Maybe I did it then. Oh well, it's moot when I did it. It's never been a problem until recently though. Even last year when I was working out all the time and had my bench press to almost 400 lbs. it never gave me any problems. So why would a dinner fork at some crappy Mexican restaurant do this to me? Hell if I know. Probably because I haven't dragged my fat ass into a gym in over a month and haven't been on any sort of regular workout routine in over a year.
The problem with working out is always time. To go to the gym, I would have to either sacrifice time from work (working out in the middle of the day) or from the family (if I went after dinner). Last year when I was such a fanatic about it, I went to the gym in the middle of the day because work was so slow. However, a few people at work grumbled about it and dad ended up getting really pissed off at me, saying that I was setting a bad example for the other employees by treating the job so casually. As usual, he was probably right . . . the bastard. And I don't like to go after dinner either because it takes away from family time too much. There are certain parenting chores like sitting with Courtney while she either reads or does her homework that if I miss out on now, I'll regret forever. Plus, the gym's too crowded and my energy level is just too low at 7:00 pm.
I've always told people that I could almost bench press a Volkswagen but couldn't toss a softball farther than my little girl. Well, that's doubly true now. Nevertheless, I have got to get back in the gym. I have always been a big guy but the other day in the doctors' office, I weighed 313 lbs. Granted, that was with my clothes and boots on but still, it's 30 lbs. heavier than the last time I checked my weight last year. Gotta fix that.
I quit the cigarettes this past June when I bought a term life policy and now it's time for me to peel my weight back down. So . . . the only thing for me to do is to do what Robbie recommended. He gets up and is in the gym at 5:30 in the morning. Man, I'm an early bird by nature but that . . . that's damned early even for me. Nevertheless I gotta do it.
So there it is, my new years resolution. That's probably about the fifteenth time I've made that particular resolution but hey, who's counting? Until then, I'll eat salad tonight and be careful lifting my fork.
Saturday, December 27, 2003
When Ya Comin' Back, Red Ryder?
One of the gifts I got my wife for Christmas is a DVD compilation of Gun N Roses music videos. It’s called “Welcome to the Videos,” and has all their clips from Appetite for Destruction and the Use Your Illusion CD’s. We watched it on Christmas morning and it was totally fucking awesome.
My wife and I are really conservative but we fell in love to the music of GNR. Our first date was to a GNR/Soundgarden concert back in 1991. Erica even wanted to play the orchestral arrangement from “November Rain” at our wedding. That’s how big a fans we were. And though I am no groupie, I have been known to get really fucking pissed when I hear anyone call GNR a “hair band.” As if you could lump Axl and Slash in with poseurs like Poison or Cinderella. Not that I have anything against hair metal, either. I still like Bon Jovi and I used to really be into Whitesnake back in the day. But neither of them were ever in GNR’s league. No way.
So I’m hopeful that this release means that Axl is finally getting off his ass and is about to release the long-awaited new CD, reportedly called Chinese Democracy. Yes, I’m pissed he fired Slash. Yes, I think Axl’s an asshole. I think he’s an arrogant, thin-skinned pompous-ass jerk. He’s waited WAY too long to get this album out there and in the process proven that he takes his fans totally for granted. I wouldn’t want to live next door to him and I certainly wouldn’t want either of my girls to end up with anyone like him. Hell, I probably wouldn’t even enjoy meeting him. But the day Chinese Democracy comes out, I’ll be the first in line to buy it. That’s how much I like his music.
One of the gifts I got my wife for Christmas is a DVD compilation of Gun N Roses music videos. It’s called “Welcome to the Videos,” and has all their clips from Appetite for Destruction and the Use Your Illusion CD’s. We watched it on Christmas morning and it was totally fucking awesome.
My wife and I are really conservative but we fell in love to the music of GNR. Our first date was to a GNR/Soundgarden concert back in 1991. Erica even wanted to play the orchestral arrangement from “November Rain” at our wedding. That’s how big a fans we were. And though I am no groupie, I have been known to get really fucking pissed when I hear anyone call GNR a “hair band.” As if you could lump Axl and Slash in with poseurs like Poison or Cinderella. Not that I have anything against hair metal, either. I still like Bon Jovi and I used to really be into Whitesnake back in the day. But neither of them were ever in GNR’s league. No way.
So I’m hopeful that this release means that Axl is finally getting off his ass and is about to release the long-awaited new CD, reportedly called Chinese Democracy. Yes, I’m pissed he fired Slash. Yes, I think Axl’s an asshole. I think he’s an arrogant, thin-skinned pompous-ass jerk. He’s waited WAY too long to get this album out there and in the process proven that he takes his fans totally for granted. I wouldn’t want to live next door to him and I certainly wouldn’t want either of my girls to end up with anyone like him. Hell, I probably wouldn’t even enjoy meeting him. But the day Chinese Democracy comes out, I’ll be the first in line to buy it. That’s how much I like his music.
Obligatory Lord of the Rings Comments:
It's early Saturday morning and Erica and the girls are still in bed. I love moments like these when I have a quiet house to myself to either read or write without interruptions.
Well, Courtney spent the night at a friend's house last night (due, in no small measure, to me "suggesting" the idea to her friend while she was over here) so Erica and I finally got a chance to go see Return of the King. In a word: wow. I'm not going to try to review it because I'm not nearly a good enough writer to give it justice. Plus, it's been reviewed (sometimes well, too) by almost every schmoe out there with a computer and a blog so I don't think I have that much to add. I will only say this.
In a very real sense, this is a golden age for movie making because of the maturization of CGI technology over the past five years. I was channel-surfing the other day and came across the new Battlestar Gallactica on the Sci-Fi Network. They had CGI special effects that would taken my breath away just five years ago had I seen them on the big screen. Of course, Sci-Fi's production budget for BG is probably less than the catering expense of the LOTR movies and the fact that even they can afford good production values nowadays raises the bar pretty high for Peter Jackson and co. And to be fair, all the money spent on this effort is up there on the screen. To get this out of the way and be done with it, the special effects are amazing. Words fail to describe the feeling one gets from wincing in the chair because a dragon - a fucking dragon! - zooms down toward the screen with outstretched talons. The vistas, whether real features of New Zealand or computer animated, are breathtaking. The acting is first rate, testament I think to (a) Peter Jackson's skill and (b) the actors' obvious love and reverence of the story itself. In fact, it's obvious that everyone involved in this production feels a sense of awe for Tolkien's story, from the actors to the makeup artists. Everything feels so . . . inspired. Put that kind of effort and money together, and weld them to an epic like Lord of the Rings and you almost can't help but come up with a masterpiece. So, kudos and laurels all round.
However, to the larger point. As I think History will remember this time as a golden age for special effects I also believe that we will look back on this time as a nadir for writing and storytelling. From what I know, Tolkien began sketching out the backstory of Lord of the Rings while on convalescence from wounds he sustained on the front in World War I. That's almost 100 years ago.
I don't want to go into a old-fogey rant here. I'm too young to do it, it's too easy of a trope to fall back on and it's not my point. And of course there is some good storytelling out there. I'm a huge fan of the Harry Potter books and movies and I think J.K. Rowling is a genius, almost up there with Tolkien and C.S. Lewis. But as entertaining as Harry Potter is, as true as it is on an allegorical level, it still doesn't nearly approach LOTR in its epic scope. Tolkien didn't have television or movies to entertain him. He had books like the Iliad and Odyssey to fuel his imagination. He had the shattering experience of serving in the trenches and witnessing the carnage of the Great War to motivate him to write an allegory of good overcoming evil. And he had his awe-inspiring mind to create and breathe life into so many characters to bring his story to life.
So I have to wonder, could we create a real epic today, like LOTR, or have we been overstimulated with TV, movies and the internet so long that the fire to create on this scale has been snuffed in us? Where's our Tolkien?
It's early Saturday morning and Erica and the girls are still in bed. I love moments like these when I have a quiet house to myself to either read or write without interruptions.
Well, Courtney spent the night at a friend's house last night (due, in no small measure, to me "suggesting" the idea to her friend while she was over here) so Erica and I finally got a chance to go see Return of the King. In a word: wow. I'm not going to try to review it because I'm not nearly a good enough writer to give it justice. Plus, it's been reviewed (sometimes well, too) by almost every schmoe out there with a computer and a blog so I don't think I have that much to add. I will only say this.
In a very real sense, this is a golden age for movie making because of the maturization of CGI technology over the past five years. I was channel-surfing the other day and came across the new Battlestar Gallactica on the Sci-Fi Network. They had CGI special effects that would taken my breath away just five years ago had I seen them on the big screen. Of course, Sci-Fi's production budget for BG is probably less than the catering expense of the LOTR movies and the fact that even they can afford good production values nowadays raises the bar pretty high for Peter Jackson and co. And to be fair, all the money spent on this effort is up there on the screen. To get this out of the way and be done with it, the special effects are amazing. Words fail to describe the feeling one gets from wincing in the chair because a dragon - a fucking dragon! - zooms down toward the screen with outstretched talons. The vistas, whether real features of New Zealand or computer animated, are breathtaking. The acting is first rate, testament I think to (a) Peter Jackson's skill and (b) the actors' obvious love and reverence of the story itself. In fact, it's obvious that everyone involved in this production feels a sense of awe for Tolkien's story, from the actors to the makeup artists. Everything feels so . . . inspired. Put that kind of effort and money together, and weld them to an epic like Lord of the Rings and you almost can't help but come up with a masterpiece. So, kudos and laurels all round.
However, to the larger point. As I think History will remember this time as a golden age for special effects I also believe that we will look back on this time as a nadir for writing and storytelling. From what I know, Tolkien began sketching out the backstory of Lord of the Rings while on convalescence from wounds he sustained on the front in World War I. That's almost 100 years ago.
I don't want to go into a old-fogey rant here. I'm too young to do it, it's too easy of a trope to fall back on and it's not my point. And of course there is some good storytelling out there. I'm a huge fan of the Harry Potter books and movies and I think J.K. Rowling is a genius, almost up there with Tolkien and C.S. Lewis. But as entertaining as Harry Potter is, as true as it is on an allegorical level, it still doesn't nearly approach LOTR in its epic scope. Tolkien didn't have television or movies to entertain him. He had books like the Iliad and Odyssey to fuel his imagination. He had the shattering experience of serving in the trenches and witnessing the carnage of the Great War to motivate him to write an allegory of good overcoming evil. And he had his awe-inspiring mind to create and breathe life into so many characters to bring his story to life.
So I have to wonder, could we create a real epic today, like LOTR, or have we been overstimulated with TV, movies and the internet so long that the fire to create on this scale has been snuffed in us? Where's our Tolkien?
Friday, December 26, 2003
Why I Love Lazy Days, Part I
Didn't get a chance to see the movie but Courtney and I did get to waste a couple of hours at "Borders Books" at the Quarry. I sat on a leather sofa and read an entire Punisher graphic novel and sipped free coffee while Court picked out what she wanted to spend her gift certificate on. It was wonderful.
Didn't get a chance to see the movie but Courtney and I did get to waste a couple of hours at "Borders Books" at the Quarry. I sat on a leather sofa and read an entire Punisher graphic novel and sipped free coffee while Court picked out what she wanted to spend her gift certificate on. It was wonderful.
The Day After
Well, it’s 9:00 am on the morning of The Day After. The girls are still in bed and Erica left for work about an hour ago. I have the day off and she has to work today. Hmm, this is weird, her leaving for work and me staying home with the girls. Anyway, Christmas was nice. All the company I was expecting came to San Antonio and we all had a nice time here at my house. For some reason, though, I was extremely short-fused yesterday with Erica and the girls. I was like that pretty much all day too and everyone kept calling me the Grinch for it.
My mood started when I woke up yesterday morning and found that Mikey wasn’t here. Mike (my youngest brother, who’s 25 yrs. old) had come into town with Mom and Joe. M&J had a reservation at a motel nearby and Mikey was going to stay with us in our spare bedroom. I thought it would be a treat for Megan and Courtney to have their uncle Mike here on Christmas morning this year. We thought it would be good for him too as he just broke up with his longtime girlfriend (and, as of a few months ago, his fiancee) Tiffany this past week and was probably a bit depressed about it. Well, Enrique called and invited Mike out for a few beers just as we were all about to go to bed over here. Enrique is married to my cousin Jennifer and they have 2 little girls, Clara and Carmen. They are our only family in San Antonio, and moved here from Oregon about 2 years after we came here. Anyway, long story short, Mikey ended up crashing on J&E’s couch and so he wasn’t here for Christmas morning with us.
Oh well, he’s my brother, not my son so I really don‘t have a right to bitch. And since I wasn’t really offering him the opportunity, I can’t blame him for wanting to go out and get drunk considering what he’s going through, even if it was on Christmas Eve. Still, I have to wonder, why did Enrique feel the need to go out drinking on that night? What the fuck’s up with that?
After all our company left, Erica, the girls and I went to the river to see the lights and have dinner. We decided that this was going to be a new Christmas tradition for our family, to go to the River Walk on Christmas night. Like I said, I was a little grumpy and wasn’t too enthusiastic about it but I bit my tongue and went along.
I’m glad I did. The river was beautiful. Standing on the crosswalk bridge, looking at all the lighted trees and seeing their reflection on the rippled surface of the water immediately put me in a better mood. It was crowded of course, but I didn’t mind. As usual, most people there were probably tourists (being that most native San Antonians don‘t typically wear cameras or speak Chinese) but everyone seemed to be in a good mood and still in the Christmas spirit. Afterward, we walked to the Alamo to see the huge Christmas tree in Alamo Square. It looks to be over 20 feet tall and was decorated with ornaments the size of beach balls. We then walked to the monument itself where I pointed out that the dimples in the stone façade were probably from the Mexicans’ musket fire from the battle back in 1835. The city keeps the Alamo lit up like the super bowl at night. It was quiet and whether because of the season or because of the fact that so many men died there all those years ago, I got a very real sense of awe at being there. Courtney and I walked around the square reading the plaques together and we all just took it in in quiet wonder. Megan wondered how some people could be so stupid and selfish to defile the monument by scratching their initials in the stone (as was obvious near the front door). I tell you, Megan is so pretty - and so charming - that the boys at her school swarm to her like bees to a flower. That, and she’s as conservative as Rush Limbaugh. Damn, what a good kid!
Well, Erica left me a list of chores to do so I think I’ll go start a load of laundry and maybe wake Courtney up. I’ll probably take her to Borders Books a little bit later so she can spend her gift certificate and we may even go see Cheaper by the Dozen (the new Steve Martin movie) this afternoon.
Well, it’s 9:00 am on the morning of The Day After. The girls are still in bed and Erica left for work about an hour ago. I have the day off and she has to work today. Hmm, this is weird, her leaving for work and me staying home with the girls. Anyway, Christmas was nice. All the company I was expecting came to San Antonio and we all had a nice time here at my house. For some reason, though, I was extremely short-fused yesterday with Erica and the girls. I was like that pretty much all day too and everyone kept calling me the Grinch for it.
My mood started when I woke up yesterday morning and found that Mikey wasn’t here. Mike (my youngest brother, who’s 25 yrs. old) had come into town with Mom and Joe. M&J had a reservation at a motel nearby and Mikey was going to stay with us in our spare bedroom. I thought it would be a treat for Megan and Courtney to have their uncle Mike here on Christmas morning this year. We thought it would be good for him too as he just broke up with his longtime girlfriend (and, as of a few months ago, his fiancee) Tiffany this past week and was probably a bit depressed about it. Well, Enrique called and invited Mike out for a few beers just as we were all about to go to bed over here. Enrique is married to my cousin Jennifer and they have 2 little girls, Clara and Carmen. They are our only family in San Antonio, and moved here from Oregon about 2 years after we came here. Anyway, long story short, Mikey ended up crashing on J&E’s couch and so he wasn’t here for Christmas morning with us.
Oh well, he’s my brother, not my son so I really don‘t have a right to bitch. And since I wasn’t really offering him the opportunity, I can’t blame him for wanting to go out and get drunk considering what he’s going through, even if it was on Christmas Eve. Still, I have to wonder, why did Enrique feel the need to go out drinking on that night? What the fuck’s up with that?
After all our company left, Erica, the girls and I went to the river to see the lights and have dinner. We decided that this was going to be a new Christmas tradition for our family, to go to the River Walk on Christmas night. Like I said, I was a little grumpy and wasn’t too enthusiastic about it but I bit my tongue and went along.
I’m glad I did. The river was beautiful. Standing on the crosswalk bridge, looking at all the lighted trees and seeing their reflection on the rippled surface of the water immediately put me in a better mood. It was crowded of course, but I didn’t mind. As usual, most people there were probably tourists (being that most native San Antonians don‘t typically wear cameras or speak Chinese) but everyone seemed to be in a good mood and still in the Christmas spirit. Afterward, we walked to the Alamo to see the huge Christmas tree in Alamo Square. It looks to be over 20 feet tall and was decorated with ornaments the size of beach balls. We then walked to the monument itself where I pointed out that the dimples in the stone façade were probably from the Mexicans’ musket fire from the battle back in 1835. The city keeps the Alamo lit up like the super bowl at night. It was quiet and whether because of the season or because of the fact that so many men died there all those years ago, I got a very real sense of awe at being there. Courtney and I walked around the square reading the plaques together and we all just took it in in quiet wonder. Megan wondered how some people could be so stupid and selfish to defile the monument by scratching their initials in the stone (as was obvious near the front door). I tell you, Megan is so pretty - and so charming - that the boys at her school swarm to her like bees to a flower. That, and she’s as conservative as Rush Limbaugh. Damn, what a good kid!
Well, Erica left me a list of chores to do so I think I’ll go start a load of laundry and maybe wake Courtney up. I’ll probably take her to Borders Books a little bit later so she can spend her gift certificate and we may even go see Cheaper by the Dozen (the new Steve Martin movie) this afternoon.
Wednesday, December 24, 2003
Classic Rock & the Spirit of the Season
Cruising to work this morning, I heard a great old song on the radio, “Cowboy Song” by Thin Lizzy. In my opinion, TL is kinda like bourbon in that their music is an acquired taste. I didn’t grow up liking TL when I was a kid, even though “The Boys Are Back in Town” was practically part of the aural wallpaper of the time. Oh well, I didn’t grow up liking Jack Daniels, either, but I do now. It hasn’t been until the last few years that Thin Lizzy has really begun to grow on me. I guess the program director of the local “classic rock” station is a TL admirer and keeps them in semiregular rotation.
What I like about Thin Lizzy’s sound is its aggressiveness. It's "fuck with me and I'll push your nose in" music. It's rock & roll for punks. But I don't mean punk as in “punk rock,” though. Fuck no, I hated that shit back then and I still do. I’d sooner drink gasoline then have the Dead Kennedys or Sex Pistols inflicted on me. I don’t care if Johnny Rotten’s fashionable again or not. Their music (I hesitate to even call it that) sucked then and it still does. No, I mean “punk” in the sense of the kid who drinks a few beers on a Friday night then looks to either pick up a girl or start a fight. You know, “punk” in the sense of gritty fingernails, snarling, low-slung guitar early Steven Tyler “punk in the street” kinda punk. The kind of music that makes you wish you were rumbling along in an old muscle car instead of an old-before-its-time GMC pickup.
Thin Lizzie was American in their sound. Their music strutted and swaggered and listening to them makes me want to too. To me, that’s what makes for great rock & roll. I remember looking them up on rollingstone.com a few months ago expecting to read that they were from somewhere like Jackson, Mississippi or Birmingham, Alabama. Needless to say, I was pretty surprised when I found that they were actually from Dublin, Ireland.
Fucking Dublin, Ireland. Oh well from what little I know, Ireland is like the UK's deep south anyway so I guess that's why their music strikes a chord with me. I guess Thin Lizzy was the UK's Lynyrd Skynyrd. They weren't from here but they were American in spirit.
What does all this have to do with Christmas? Hell if I know; probably nothing. I just wanted to write about it.
We’ve got a lot of family coming in tonight (Mom & Joe, Mikey, Aunt Gay, Jennifer & her family) so I probably won’t post at all tomorrow. I will as always though raise a glass to my friends and family and try to be grateful for of the blessings God has given me, like my beautiful wife and girls and happy home. I don’t deserve what I have but I am thankful for it in this blessed season (and all others).
Cruising to work this morning, I heard a great old song on the radio, “Cowboy Song” by Thin Lizzy. In my opinion, TL is kinda like bourbon in that their music is an acquired taste. I didn’t grow up liking TL when I was a kid, even though “The Boys Are Back in Town” was practically part of the aural wallpaper of the time. Oh well, I didn’t grow up liking Jack Daniels, either, but I do now. It hasn’t been until the last few years that Thin Lizzy has really begun to grow on me. I guess the program director of the local “classic rock” station is a TL admirer and keeps them in semiregular rotation.
What I like about Thin Lizzy’s sound is its aggressiveness. It's "fuck with me and I'll push your nose in" music. It's rock & roll for punks. But I don't mean punk as in “punk rock,” though. Fuck no, I hated that shit back then and I still do. I’d sooner drink gasoline then have the Dead Kennedys or Sex Pistols inflicted on me. I don’t care if Johnny Rotten’s fashionable again or not. Their music (I hesitate to even call it that) sucked then and it still does. No, I mean “punk” in the sense of the kid who drinks a few beers on a Friday night then looks to either pick up a girl or start a fight. You know, “punk” in the sense of gritty fingernails, snarling, low-slung guitar early Steven Tyler “punk in the street” kinda punk. The kind of music that makes you wish you were rumbling along in an old muscle car instead of an old-before-its-time GMC pickup.
Thin Lizzie was American in their sound. Their music strutted and swaggered and listening to them makes me want to too. To me, that’s what makes for great rock & roll. I remember looking them up on rollingstone.com a few months ago expecting to read that they were from somewhere like Jackson, Mississippi or Birmingham, Alabama. Needless to say, I was pretty surprised when I found that they were actually from Dublin, Ireland.
Fucking Dublin, Ireland. Oh well from what little I know, Ireland is like the UK's deep south anyway so I guess that's why their music strikes a chord with me. I guess Thin Lizzy was the UK's Lynyrd Skynyrd. They weren't from here but they were American in spirit.
What does all this have to do with Christmas? Hell if I know; probably nothing. I just wanted to write about it.
We’ve got a lot of family coming in tonight (Mom & Joe, Mikey, Aunt Gay, Jennifer & her family) so I probably won’t post at all tomorrow. I will as always though raise a glass to my friends and family and try to be grateful for of the blessings God has given me, like my beautiful wife and girls and happy home. I don’t deserve what I have but I am thankful for it in this blessed season (and all others).
Tuesday, December 23, 2003
My Biggest Little Brother
Well, just finished dinner and decided to try to compose my thoughts about today before I have to go and fold the clothes that Erica has fluffing in the dryer.
My brother Robbie came into town for a client meeting the other day and called me up to meet him for a beer afterwards. We met at a bar in the Quarry where he had 2 gin & tonics and I had a beer. Monday’s just not a good drinking night for me, I guess. Afterwards, I insisted that he follow me home so I could give him his Christmas present. I wouldn’t let him leave town without it. Bit of background, Robbie and his family all celebrated their Christmas Sunday night as Monday they were packing up and driving to Arkansas to be with Rebekah’s family for the big day. Thus, I wasn’t going to see him again before Christmas. Anyway, I got him a mini-helmet. It’s something that I found on Ebay and I thought of him when I saw it. It’s not just any mini-helmet, either, it’s a Houston Gamblers helmet. When we were kids, Robbie and I must have gone to at least a dozen of their games to watch Jim Kelly back in the dawn of his pro career. Most people are hard-pressed to even remember it but I miss the old USFL. The tickets were cheap and, playing in the Spring, the weather was usually nice (yeah, like that mattered in the Astrodome). Anyway, he liked it.
We usually don’t buy for each other for Christmas. Our implicit agreement since we both got married and had families was that we would only buy for each others’ kids. As such, Erica and I were quite surprised - and not entirely pleasantly, either - when Robbie & Rebekah handed us a wrapped present at our annual Christmas Party at our mom’s house last year. “Here, “ Rebekah told us. “Robbie and I just wanted to give y’all something for your new house and to show how much we appreciated you watching Christian and Emily for us last summer.”
If you think our reaction was something along the lines of “oh, how thoughtful,“ you’d be wrong. Instead, our reaction was oh shit, we didn’t get them anything! In retrospect, that was obviously the reaction R&R were depending on.
Bastard. I fixed him with my best “dammit, brother, you’re breaking our agreement here” stare while Erica unwrapped the gift. I broke my gaze when Erica shrieked and bent over laughing. I asked her what it was and she just handed me the gift, her other hand covering her mouth. The “Christmas gift” was a framed photograph of my dear brother sitting in front of his fireplace, . . . in his underwear. He was holding a glass of wine and the come-hither expression on his face could only be described as “extremely gay.” Needless to say, he caught me totally flat-footed on that one.
I wracked my brain all year to think of a way to get him back this year. But, I knew that he'd be expecting something in the same vein as his “gift” to me, so that even if I gave him something outrageous like a portrait of my ass cheeks painted to look like the grand canyon, it wouldn’t work because it wouldn’t have the element of surprise. So, I decided to go for the smile instead of the gasp. I still surprised him though and there’ll be plenty of opportunities in the future for me to give him that picture of my ass . . .
Well, now to attend to the clothes and then wrap my wife’s Christmas gifts.
Well, just finished dinner and decided to try to compose my thoughts about today before I have to go and fold the clothes that Erica has fluffing in the dryer.
My brother Robbie came into town for a client meeting the other day and called me up to meet him for a beer afterwards. We met at a bar in the Quarry where he had 2 gin & tonics and I had a beer. Monday’s just not a good drinking night for me, I guess. Afterwards, I insisted that he follow me home so I could give him his Christmas present. I wouldn’t let him leave town without it. Bit of background, Robbie and his family all celebrated their Christmas Sunday night as Monday they were packing up and driving to Arkansas to be with Rebekah’s family for the big day. Thus, I wasn’t going to see him again before Christmas. Anyway, I got him a mini-helmet. It’s something that I found on Ebay and I thought of him when I saw it. It’s not just any mini-helmet, either, it’s a Houston Gamblers helmet. When we were kids, Robbie and I must have gone to at least a dozen of their games to watch Jim Kelly back in the dawn of his pro career. Most people are hard-pressed to even remember it but I miss the old USFL. The tickets were cheap and, playing in the Spring, the weather was usually nice (yeah, like that mattered in the Astrodome). Anyway, he liked it.
We usually don’t buy for each other for Christmas. Our implicit agreement since we both got married and had families was that we would only buy for each others’ kids. As such, Erica and I were quite surprised - and not entirely pleasantly, either - when Robbie & Rebekah handed us a wrapped present at our annual Christmas Party at our mom’s house last year. “Here, “ Rebekah told us. “Robbie and I just wanted to give y’all something for your new house and to show how much we appreciated you watching Christian and Emily for us last summer.”
If you think our reaction was something along the lines of “oh, how thoughtful,“ you’d be wrong. Instead, our reaction was oh shit, we didn’t get them anything! In retrospect, that was obviously the reaction R&R were depending on.
Bastard. I fixed him with my best “dammit, brother, you’re breaking our agreement here” stare while Erica unwrapped the gift. I broke my gaze when Erica shrieked and bent over laughing. I asked her what it was and she just handed me the gift, her other hand covering her mouth. The “Christmas gift” was a framed photograph of my dear brother sitting in front of his fireplace, . . . in his underwear. He was holding a glass of wine and the come-hither expression on his face could only be described as “extremely gay.” Needless to say, he caught me totally flat-footed on that one.
I wracked my brain all year to think of a way to get him back this year. But, I knew that he'd be expecting something in the same vein as his “gift” to me, so that even if I gave him something outrageous like a portrait of my ass cheeks painted to look like the grand canyon, it wouldn’t work because it wouldn’t have the element of surprise. So, I decided to go for the smile instead of the gasp. I still surprised him though and there’ll be plenty of opportunities in the future for me to give him that picture of my ass . . .
Well, now to attend to the clothes and then wrap my wife’s Christmas gifts.
Courage & Pop Cultural Minutae
Not that anyone’ll ever read this, but I wanted to record my thoughts about something for posterity. A lot of news I’m reading now is about how Washington is on edge about a possibly imminent terrorist attack. Apparently, the tea leaves or goat entrails or internet “chatter” or whatever the hell it is they do to snoop on the bad guys has been yielding some signals that suggest something very bad is in the works.
Fuck ‘em.
I promised myself when I started this blog that I wouldn’t try to write like Austin Bay, Ralph Peters or Victor Davis Hansen. I love those guys and read them all voraciously but if I tried to ape them (a) no one would read it, and (b) the result would be laughable. So all I’ll say is this: I’m not afraid. No one saw 9/11 coming and no one will see the next one either until it’s too late. I hope to not get my ass blown off by some wild-eyed fanatic with a truck bomb or commandeered airplane but if it happens, I hope I’ve lived a good enough life to smile on my family from heaven. I refuse to live my life in fear and I’m trying to teach my kids that lesson, too. Like it or not, we can never control all aspects of our existence. Some degree of uncertainly, even the uncertainty of getting killed by terrorists, is inherently part of life. The illusion that we can eliminate all risk from our lives was foisted on us by Democrats and ambulance chasers and is nothing but that, an illusion. Life is risk.
So, to Mr. Bin Laden, whether you’re a decomposing paste on the wall of some forlorn Afghan cave or whether you’re alive and even now plotting my demise, I say this: fuck you. I’m going to live my life, love the people who love me and try to make the best of the opportunities that God has given me. I refuse – REFUSE – to live in fear of you or any man. Take your best shot, motherfucker. History has already passed its verdict on you and your stupid fantasy ideology and hell holds a special place for you, assuming you’re not already there enjoying it.
I know this is my fourth post today but since it’s close to Christmas, I really don’t have that much else to do right now. Plus, I’m having fun with this. As far as the mundane stuff goes, I went to three stores and finally found the movies I was looking for (Chocolat for Megan and The Lizzie McGuire Movie for Courtney) at Target, of all places. To say the stores are busy is an understatement. Parking is impossible unless you’re ready to accept a quarter mile hike from your car and Circuit City was so busy that I practically had to hack my way back out with a machete. It wouldn’t have been so bad had they at least had the fucking movies I was looking for!
To even more mundane stuff, I finally got around to watching Jackass: The Movie last weekend. This movie has gone through my family like a week-old burrito over the past year and a half. My brothers (true vulgarians like myself) have all endorsed it, rather enthusiastically too. My dad even offered to buy it for me. My DAD!!! But no, I sniffed at it and refused. Yes, I have been bravely resisting it lo these past few years but I finally gave in this past Saturday night. As for my thoughts about it, well . . . Let’s just say I’ll stipulate that the cliché about how great movies can teach you something about yourself is true if I could be allowed to add my own wrinkle: that bad movies can teach you even more.
Jackass is unquestionably a bad movie but boy did it ever teach me things about myself that I didn’t particularly want to know. In particular, I’ve always known that I have a lowbrow sense of humor but I never knew that it was THIS low. It’s one thing to laugh at Jeff Daniels getting his tongue stuck to a pole in Dumb & Dumber; it’s quite another to almost lose bladder control as Steve-o launches a bottle rocket out of his ass. Or to almost need resuscitation after seeing a hardware store manager become apoplectic at Dave England taking a shit in one of his display toilets. I laughed at people puking, I laughed at people shitting. I laughed at people inflicting paper cuts on themselves. I laughed until I had a headache. I laughed so hard that I had giggling aftershocks for two days after seeing it. Hell, I’m even laughing as I type this. God almighty, and I thought I my buddy Eric and I were bad back in high school . . .
And, in another first, Erica and I watched “Newlyweds: Nick & Jessica” for the first time last night. Now, I am no fan of reality television, believing as I do that it is another mile marker on our culture’s long slow road to hell. And though I love Ozzy Osbourne for his music, especially his awesome comeback album “No More Tears,” I think he should be shot for his TV show. However, I couldn’t resist taking a look at “N&J” ever since I saw Justin Timberlake’s hilarious impression of Jessica on Saturday Night Live a few weeks ago. If the damn thing’s penetrating the popular culture that much, I thought, maybe it’s worth a look.
And so what can be said about it? Reality shows almost defy parody (in spite of SNL’s sendup) and really, it seems like piling on to even mention how awful it is. One doesn’t want to be a bad sport after all, even in a diary. What I will say is that the show produces some responses, but probably not the ones the producers expect. The main one I have is pity. Not for Jessica, but for Nick. Jessica’s a beautiful and talented girl, albeit something of an airhead, and is probably assured of having a nice life no matter what. Life rather unfairly blesses beautiful girls like her and, so long as she doesn’t do anything really really stupid like get herself addicted to crack, it’s hard to see how she could end up badly. Nick is obviously the smarter one of the two, but only by comparison. However, he does seem to be smart enough to sense that his career is on the wane, unlike his wife who is still being feted by her label. The expression on Nick’s face after watching the finished product of his new music video – especially after witnessing a high budget production for Jessica’s new video – is absolutely priceless. His label (which I assume is the same one as Jessica’s) spent less than a third of the production money on his video as they did Jessica’s. As a result, it came out looking like something by Frankie Goes To Hollywood, circa 1985. One can almost read the conflict on Nick’s face too as he watches it and struggles to keep reality at bay. Memo to you, Mr. Lachey. This is meant as a kindness but you should realize that this isn’t 1997 any more. The boy-band thing is now irretreivably OVER. There’s a reason why Justin Timberlake is flying high right now (like his amazing talent) and people like you and the rest of the N’Sync, Backstreet, O-Town and your fellow 98 Degrees dancing boys can’t even get arrested. You had your time, but it’s over. And it doesn't matter how toned you keep your abs and biceps or how many cool new tattoos you get, little girls just aren't in to that kind of thing any more. I should know, I have two of them.
I think he knows that. I think he knows that the fair Jessica will probably end up as arm candy for someone like Donald Trump and he probably also knows that, after the public inevitably tires of him, he’ll end up selling life insurance in Omaha. He’ll end up as a regular schmo, just like me.
Come on in, Nick. The water’s fine.
Not that anyone’ll ever read this, but I wanted to record my thoughts about something for posterity. A lot of news I’m reading now is about how Washington is on edge about a possibly imminent terrorist attack. Apparently, the tea leaves or goat entrails or internet “chatter” or whatever the hell it is they do to snoop on the bad guys has been yielding some signals that suggest something very bad is in the works.
Fuck ‘em.
I promised myself when I started this blog that I wouldn’t try to write like Austin Bay, Ralph Peters or Victor Davis Hansen. I love those guys and read them all voraciously but if I tried to ape them (a) no one would read it, and (b) the result would be laughable. So all I’ll say is this: I’m not afraid. No one saw 9/11 coming and no one will see the next one either until it’s too late. I hope to not get my ass blown off by some wild-eyed fanatic with a truck bomb or commandeered airplane but if it happens, I hope I’ve lived a good enough life to smile on my family from heaven. I refuse to live my life in fear and I’m trying to teach my kids that lesson, too. Like it or not, we can never control all aspects of our existence. Some degree of uncertainly, even the uncertainty of getting killed by terrorists, is inherently part of life. The illusion that we can eliminate all risk from our lives was foisted on us by Democrats and ambulance chasers and is nothing but that, an illusion. Life is risk.
So, to Mr. Bin Laden, whether you’re a decomposing paste on the wall of some forlorn Afghan cave or whether you’re alive and even now plotting my demise, I say this: fuck you. I’m going to live my life, love the people who love me and try to make the best of the opportunities that God has given me. I refuse – REFUSE – to live in fear of you or any man. Take your best shot, motherfucker. History has already passed its verdict on you and your stupid fantasy ideology and hell holds a special place for you, assuming you’re not already there enjoying it.
I know this is my fourth post today but since it’s close to Christmas, I really don’t have that much else to do right now. Plus, I’m having fun with this. As far as the mundane stuff goes, I went to three stores and finally found the movies I was looking for (Chocolat for Megan and The Lizzie McGuire Movie for Courtney) at Target, of all places. To say the stores are busy is an understatement. Parking is impossible unless you’re ready to accept a quarter mile hike from your car and Circuit City was so busy that I practically had to hack my way back out with a machete. It wouldn’t have been so bad had they at least had the fucking movies I was looking for!
To even more mundane stuff, I finally got around to watching Jackass: The Movie last weekend. This movie has gone through my family like a week-old burrito over the past year and a half. My brothers (true vulgarians like myself) have all endorsed it, rather enthusiastically too. My dad even offered to buy it for me. My DAD!!! But no, I sniffed at it and refused. Yes, I have been bravely resisting it lo these past few years but I finally gave in this past Saturday night. As for my thoughts about it, well . . . Let’s just say I’ll stipulate that the cliché about how great movies can teach you something about yourself is true if I could be allowed to add my own wrinkle: that bad movies can teach you even more.
Jackass is unquestionably a bad movie but boy did it ever teach me things about myself that I didn’t particularly want to know. In particular, I’ve always known that I have a lowbrow sense of humor but I never knew that it was THIS low. It’s one thing to laugh at Jeff Daniels getting his tongue stuck to a pole in Dumb & Dumber; it’s quite another to almost lose bladder control as Steve-o launches a bottle rocket out of his ass. Or to almost need resuscitation after seeing a hardware store manager become apoplectic at Dave England taking a shit in one of his display toilets. I laughed at people puking, I laughed at people shitting. I laughed at people inflicting paper cuts on themselves. I laughed until I had a headache. I laughed so hard that I had giggling aftershocks for two days after seeing it. Hell, I’m even laughing as I type this. God almighty, and I thought I my buddy Eric and I were bad back in high school . . .
And, in another first, Erica and I watched “Newlyweds: Nick & Jessica” for the first time last night. Now, I am no fan of reality television, believing as I do that it is another mile marker on our culture’s long slow road to hell. And though I love Ozzy Osbourne for his music, especially his awesome comeback album “No More Tears,” I think he should be shot for his TV show. However, I couldn’t resist taking a look at “N&J” ever since I saw Justin Timberlake’s hilarious impression of Jessica on Saturday Night Live a few weeks ago. If the damn thing’s penetrating the popular culture that much, I thought, maybe it’s worth a look.
And so what can be said about it? Reality shows almost defy parody (in spite of SNL’s sendup) and really, it seems like piling on to even mention how awful it is. One doesn’t want to be a bad sport after all, even in a diary. What I will say is that the show produces some responses, but probably not the ones the producers expect. The main one I have is pity. Not for Jessica, but for Nick. Jessica’s a beautiful and talented girl, albeit something of an airhead, and is probably assured of having a nice life no matter what. Life rather unfairly blesses beautiful girls like her and, so long as she doesn’t do anything really really stupid like get herself addicted to crack, it’s hard to see how she could end up badly. Nick is obviously the smarter one of the two, but only by comparison. However, he does seem to be smart enough to sense that his career is on the wane, unlike his wife who is still being feted by her label. The expression on Nick’s face after watching the finished product of his new music video – especially after witnessing a high budget production for Jessica’s new video – is absolutely priceless. His label (which I assume is the same one as Jessica’s) spent less than a third of the production money on his video as they did Jessica’s. As a result, it came out looking like something by Frankie Goes To Hollywood, circa 1985. One can almost read the conflict on Nick’s face too as he watches it and struggles to keep reality at bay. Memo to you, Mr. Lachey. This is meant as a kindness but you should realize that this isn’t 1997 any more. The boy-band thing is now irretreivably OVER. There’s a reason why Justin Timberlake is flying high right now (like his amazing talent) and people like you and the rest of the N’Sync, Backstreet, O-Town and your fellow 98 Degrees dancing boys can’t even get arrested. You had your time, but it’s over. And it doesn't matter how toned you keep your abs and biceps or how many cool new tattoos you get, little girls just aren't in to that kind of thing any more. I should know, I have two of them.
I think he knows that. I think he knows that the fair Jessica will probably end up as arm candy for someone like Donald Trump and he probably also knows that, after the public inevitably tires of him, he’ll end up selling life insurance in Omaha. He’ll end up as a regular schmo, just like me.
Come on in, Nick. The water’s fine.
Hot Damn!
I just checked Forbes.com and saw that the Dow is up by 16 so far this morning (as of 10:45 am). Damn, for a year that started amidst so much fear and uncertainty over the looming invasion of Iraq, 2003 sure looks to be going out strong. The Dow's over 10,300 and all indicators are looking good.
Excellent! Here's to a robust and prosperous 2004 and a safe reelection for George W. Bush. Now I'm off to the mall!
I just checked Forbes.com and saw that the Dow is up by 16 so far this morning (as of 10:45 am). Damn, for a year that started amidst so much fear and uncertainty over the looming invasion of Iraq, 2003 sure looks to be going out strong. The Dow's over 10,300 and all indicators are looking good.
Excellent! Here's to a robust and prosperous 2004 and a safe reelection for George W. Bush. Now I'm off to the mall!
Why Blog?
Well, it took me a few minutes to figure out how to get back into blogger but I think I've got it down now. Man, this is too fucking cool, and easy too!
About the name of this blog . . . people think about a lot of things when they think of 70's rock-n-roll but to me, before disco at least, that time was a golden age for rock. I'm not really old enough to have appreciated it as such (growing up as I did in the pastel early 80's) but in my mind at least, music from then - especially by Joe Walsh - was quintessentially American. It was funny, optimistic in its way, and it had a sort of cocky teenager-with-two-beers-in-him swagger about it. That music was American in the sense that only muscle cars, blue skies and open roads are. American like I am.
I'll go into more detail about why I want to write this and what I want it to do for me in later posts. The short of it is this: although I have a good life I do have a tendency to fall into the bog from time to time. This despite the fact that my life probably looks pretty damned good from the outside. I have a nice home in suburban San Antonio, I have a good marraige and two great kids. I can't complain about my career too much either (though rest assured I will) but sometimes I just feel the darkness swallow me. I am absolutely crushed by self-doubt and depression from time to time. Maybe this is because I'm getting older or maybe it's just all the stress that comes with living and trying to raise a family in post-Clinton hangover, post-9/11 America. But still . . . even though I can only see the world through a glass darkly at times, I know that it's only just me. In other words, I know that there's opportunity in the world even if for whatever reason I happen to be "feeling" hopeless at that particular time. Needless to say, this can lead to a lot of cognitive dissonance and stress. I've thought a lot about it and have decided that I don't want to go see a therapist, either. I have a friend who swears by her shrink but personally, I think he's got her too dependent on drugs (addicted emotionally to them, if not physically) and I just don't want to live that way.
I note that when I do get to feeling down that whenever I write about it, in either an email to a friend or in my journal, that I feel better. Problems or emotions that can obsess me to the point of distraction will look quite managable if not downright trivial once they're written down. It's like once I commit what I have to say to paper (or electrons) the clouds lift. So there you have it, blogging will be my therapy. Damn! How modern is that?!
As for the mundane details of what's going on now, Erica (my wife) just emailed me a last minute Christmas shopping list of DVD's to get the girls. They're going to be "from" her sister Eloiza who called and confessed that she didn't have the money to get them anything. Life's been treating her roughly too these past few years. She's divorced, working two jobs and raising three teenagers by herself. It was Erica's idea to get the movies and put Eloiza's name on them. I agreed totally.
Well, it took me a few minutes to figure out how to get back into blogger but I think I've got it down now. Man, this is too fucking cool, and easy too!
About the name of this blog . . . people think about a lot of things when they think of 70's rock-n-roll but to me, before disco at least, that time was a golden age for rock. I'm not really old enough to have appreciated it as such (growing up as I did in the pastel early 80's) but in my mind at least, music from then - especially by Joe Walsh - was quintessentially American. It was funny, optimistic in its way, and it had a sort of cocky teenager-with-two-beers-in-him swagger about it. That music was American in the sense that only muscle cars, blue skies and open roads are. American like I am.
I'll go into more detail about why I want to write this and what I want it to do for me in later posts. The short of it is this: although I have a good life I do have a tendency to fall into the bog from time to time. This despite the fact that my life probably looks pretty damned good from the outside. I have a nice home in suburban San Antonio, I have a good marraige and two great kids. I can't complain about my career too much either (though rest assured I will) but sometimes I just feel the darkness swallow me. I am absolutely crushed by self-doubt and depression from time to time. Maybe this is because I'm getting older or maybe it's just all the stress that comes with living and trying to raise a family in post-Clinton hangover, post-9/11 America. But still . . . even though I can only see the world through a glass darkly at times, I know that it's only just me. In other words, I know that there's opportunity in the world even if for whatever reason I happen to be "feeling" hopeless at that particular time. Needless to say, this can lead to a lot of cognitive dissonance and stress. I've thought a lot about it and have decided that I don't want to go see a therapist, either. I have a friend who swears by her shrink but personally, I think he's got her too dependent on drugs (addicted emotionally to them, if not physically) and I just don't want to live that way.
I note that when I do get to feeling down that whenever I write about it, in either an email to a friend or in my journal, that I feel better. Problems or emotions that can obsess me to the point of distraction will look quite managable if not downright trivial once they're written down. It's like once I commit what I have to say to paper (or electrons) the clouds lift. So there you have it, blogging will be my therapy. Damn! How modern is that?!
As for the mundane details of what's going on now, Erica (my wife) just emailed me a last minute Christmas shopping list of DVD's to get the girls. They're going to be "from" her sister Eloiza who called and confessed that she didn't have the money to get them anything. Life's been treating her roughly too these past few years. She's divorced, working two jobs and raising three teenagers by herself. It was Erica's idea to get the movies and put Eloiza's name on them. I agreed totally.
First Entry
Okay, well, here I go. My very own blog! How cool! I'm doing this because it's easier and more convenient than having a journal on my computer at home and it's certainly easier than having a handwritten diary. As for why I want to do this . . . well, I want to understand my life better and I think that by being a better diarist that I can do that. I'm doing this as a way to break out of my own head and to keep better perspective on where life is taking me. I should have done this a long time ago and I don't know why I haven't. I LOVE history and I love writing. I even love reading other blogs, albeit their the usually conservative political ones like Andrew Sullivan and Glenn Reynolds. However, as much as those two are my ideological comrades in arms, this won't be like those. Lord knows, the political commentary fields are being well enough plowed by those two--and hundreds more like them--without me getting my boots dirty trying to elbow my way in.
All I'm going to comment on here is what interests me and what occupies my mind at the moment. I'll try to post every day but I can't make any promises that I'll always be successful doing so. This weblog will be for me and me only so I will not go trolling around the internet putting the url out there trying to get traffic. Readers are welcome but I won't go out of my way to find them. I will not post graphics (I don't know how) nor will I put up anything prurient about my life. All I'll say is that I'll write honestly and that if any web travellers happen to land here by either design or chance, I hope you enjoy what you read.
I'll finish my first blog entry by saying that I chose the name "James Gang" because (a) James is my first name, (b) I LOVE Joe Walsh, (c) I live for my wife and 2 daughters (James' gang, get it?) and finally, because blogspot had it available. More later, I promise.
Okay, well, here I go. My very own blog! How cool! I'm doing this because it's easier and more convenient than having a journal on my computer at home and it's certainly easier than having a handwritten diary. As for why I want to do this . . . well, I want to understand my life better and I think that by being a better diarist that I can do that. I'm doing this as a way to break out of my own head and to keep better perspective on where life is taking me. I should have done this a long time ago and I don't know why I haven't. I LOVE history and I love writing. I even love reading other blogs, albeit their the usually conservative political ones like Andrew Sullivan and Glenn Reynolds. However, as much as those two are my ideological comrades in arms, this won't be like those. Lord knows, the political commentary fields are being well enough plowed by those two--and hundreds more like them--without me getting my boots dirty trying to elbow my way in.
All I'm going to comment on here is what interests me and what occupies my mind at the moment. I'll try to post every day but I can't make any promises that I'll always be successful doing so. This weblog will be for me and me only so I will not go trolling around the internet putting the url out there trying to get traffic. Readers are welcome but I won't go out of my way to find them. I will not post graphics (I don't know how) nor will I put up anything prurient about my life. All I'll say is that I'll write honestly and that if any web travellers happen to land here by either design or chance, I hope you enjoy what you read.
I'll finish my first blog entry by saying that I chose the name "James Gang" because (a) James is my first name, (b) I LOVE Joe Walsh, (c) I live for my wife and 2 daughters (James' gang, get it?) and finally, because blogspot had it available. More later, I promise.
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