My Letter to the CEO of HP

Hello.

I am a technical support rep and have been coming on 5 years. I have seen myriad technical problems, interacted with a lot of software and hardware, and beat my head against many a machine in efforts to get them to work. I am capable and incredibly handsome. I work mainly in the medical field, and when we need something to work, it MUST work. Lives could be on the line.

I say the above so maybe you don't take the below lightly.

I HATE YOUR SOFTWARE. It is almost entirely ad-ridden junk that slows PCs down, adds a million desktop icons and programs within the control panel, and for all of its over-sized bullcrap, half the time the insipid filth DOESN'T EVEN DO ITS JOB.

Can I ask a few rhetorical questions? Of course I can. I'm the customer. WHY does the average HP customer need software that:
1. Advertises a product they have already bought and continues to do so until the software is uninstalled
2. Tries to update already bloated software every day and uses valuable PC resources to do so
3. Takes half an hour or more to download on slower network connections (wasting EVERYONE'S time) because it is almost 50 MB for a bare-bones no-nonsense printer
4. Spreads through a PC like a virus, touching and taking control of things that it has no business doing, often making the uninstall process laborious, and in some cases impossible but for a reload of the OS
5. Has an impossibly annoying interface, that often takes over half the screen to tell you where to buy genuine HP toner/ink/supplies that you don't even need yet

Early in my career, I spent a large portion of my time diagnosing and fixing HP software issues. Be it printer drivers that refuse to work or just break after months of working, or a 'smart' fax machine refusing to be recognized via USB or the network. I've seen newly bought HP PCs and laptops with so much bloatware pre-installed (which you can only trust to be gone after an OS reload) that it crawls along when a similarly equipped non-HP laptop zips through tasks no problem. I have taken loads of customer complaints about your software noticeably slowing a system. I could get very detailed with the little hell you've provided me, but alas, letters to the CEO can only be 3500 characters long.

And what can a customer do when they don't have me to wrestle with their systems for them? They call support.

Oh, goodness help me, HP support.

When you manage to make it though the laborious and kludgy phone system, you get to speak to someone who #1 doesn't speak English and #2 cannot help you in any technical sense.

I'll save the support complaints for later. I'm sure you get those all the time. In fact, I bet you get many letters such as this, from many tech support folks.

There is a reason for this, and that reason is: YOUR SOFTWARE IS ABHORRENT AND A PLAGUE ON MANKIND.

Thank you very much for you time. Please stop making software. You don't know how.

In the immortal words of Donny Astricky, "Honey, I cain't swim, I know I cain't. So you know what I do? I stay my black ass out the pool!"

--Charles Nasworthy
--Application Support Analyst II

Gambler's Fallacy

So, as I often do, I was postulating from the throne. I'm average. Average height, average income, average intellect, average looks, average at my job, average average average.

I have a low opinion of the shambling masses that we call humanity, and probably not without reason. I was struggling to think of any qualities of mine that surpass the foaming crowds, and came up with only my ability to acquire new skills. I can, in a very short amount of time, put my mind to something completely foreign to me and quickly rise to the rank of average in that new skill. I think that this is why I thrive on change. Boasting aside, I started this I.T. career with no experience and with my usual tendencies immediately became average at it. I was well ahead of the curve. I feel like I'm still in the 'average zone' of being an I.T. guy after 3 years of doing it. I'm no longer ahead of the curve. I'm now where a normal guy would be expected to be skill-wise, and the flash of 'holy cow this guy just started and he's already like a salty dog!' is gone. Maybe its because the secret to I.T. is Google, which I found early and use regularly. But I digress.

The need to change and overcome challenge is growling and scratching and pulling at me right now. Go find a new profession, or do SOMETHING that gets you that 'I'm finally ahead of the crowd!' feeling again. I bought a motorcycle and after two weeks or so I felt like an 'average user' on it. Just running from thought to thought as I type, maybe its about being a showoff. I tend to not ascribe shallow traits like that to myself, but 'call em as you see em' I guess. I didn't get much of a relief from my burning need to defeat challenges or change from the whole motorcycle thing, however rewarding it is. (And man is it fun!) I think that it could be because it was only I who saw how easy it was to pick up something relatively difficult for normal people and pound it into submission. No one else was on the bike with me, so no one saw my skill increase. (On an aside, is that why I felt compelled to write this? Am I showing off?)

I guess I'm just an average showoff now too. However easy it was to become one.

Looking at all the pies I've got my hands in, I feel the need to further show off. Actually I sort of just want to list them all out as a way to delineate what I can do and what may be lacking. Feel free to view the following as me being a pompous and arrogant ass. Because it probably is. I can drift pretty well these days, or make a decent time around a circuit in a properly set up car. I can properly set up a car for drift or grip. (The 350z is set up great for circuit driving...and the 240sx is of course a purpose-built drift slut.) I can repair said cars when they break, and I can even teach people all of these skills pretty well. I'm pretty good at driving boats and skiing behind them. I am also proficient at snow skiing. I am a certified scuba diver. I can fish with a reel, a bully net, or even a cast net. I can run endurance races and make average times, even at ludicrous distances. I can tell you about the human body pretty extensively, or the universe around us, be it astronomy or particle physics. I can talk geology with geology majors and I can talk biology with bio majors. I have a decent understanding of archeology, and I know details on how a lot of different religions worship. I can lead a team of people toward a unified goal, be it just playing an online video game with friends, or in a real life technical emergency. I can cook well enough to get compliments every time I put my hand to it. My technical skills with electronics have been covered already, though I feel like I must mention that I have the same confidence to fix just about any electronic device as I do with mechanical systems on vehicles. Were I not self-bridled with abstinence I feel like I could date some really hot and worldly girls. I also feel like I can make and tell some very interesting stories.

Theres a lot I left out, but I'm beginning to tire of that whole 'i'm awesome' rant. In truth, having a lot of skills that you are average at is probably not all that cool, and I'm just trying to make myself feel better. Not a single of the above listed features sticks out as "I'm better than everyone I know at this one thing." There is always someone out there that is better. The sick thing is that of the skills I'm more proud of, I probably don't even rank in the top 25% of skill-level of specialists in each field.

Average average average. Lets see what I can do to change that.

Interesting...

I saw a green meteorite on the way home from Houston tonight. It broke up before impact. Very cool.

I looked up what compounds it could have in it to burn green, it was probably copper.

Subverting the Trope "Big Dumb Heroes"

A few prefaces to this particular adventure: During High School I was in a cross country team with some really good friends. One of these friends was named Mike. He and I were a few of the ‘slightly crazy’ group of kids that I hung out with. He introduced us to street racing in Dallas, where the ultimate rush of running from the cops was tantamount to bliss. So with this in mind, I’ve been staying Mike’s house here in Kauai. We usually are reigned in by more sane friends of ours when we look like we’ve decided that fun is better than safety or good judgment. Unfettered, we decided to go for a hike.

Hanakapi’ai is supposed to be a 4 miles in, 4 miles out relatively difficult hike. Knowing this, we started at about 3:00pm on Tuesday, but in trying to find a parking spot found several neat caves that we wanted to check out before embarking on the main hike. Waves and wind had hollowed out large caves in semi-circle fashion. Some of them went several hundred feet down below sea level and had nice little stagnant pools of salt water at the bottom. After a few pictures, and 30 minutes of poking around in some holes in the ancient igneous rock faces, we head out on the main trail.

Kauai is beautiful. Pictures can’t do it justice, come out and do it yourself. With a lot of energy and a lust for adventure, Mike and I half-jogged through the trails greeting other hikers as they funneled out of the trails. Several amazing views of the ocean and some neat beaches from over 1000 feet up (which we climbed in the first half mile) were breath taking. We came upon a beach that had a protected pool behind a big sandbar and I jumped in while mike took a smoke break. We started heading toward titular falls, and checked down our responsible side. “It’s getting late yeah?” Mike remarked. “Aught we to turn about?” I quipped back, thinking that a good recourse to hiking at night. “Nah, there’s supposed to be something cool at the end of this trail, lets keep going.” Mike said with finality. I didn’t argue, as ‘something cool’ stuck out to me like a side quest in a Zelda game. We crossed the river several times, hopping about on the river rocks with ninja-like balance (mine after much training, Mike’s inherent in his asian-ness) and made good time upstream. In the distance we saw a massive cascading waterfall from the top of an impossibly high cliff. I was getting excited, further locking my responsible side away in the dark corner I usually keep it in. We saw a straggling couple and asked what time it was. 5:00. Plenty of time to make it to the falls.

Another half an hour or so and we’d arrived at (and I am not exaggerating or just using superlatives) the most beautiful spot I have ever seen or been to in real life. Water fell (uh, duh) from what must have been close to 1000 to 1500 feet off of a sheer cliff to settle into a bowl of pristine, clear, fresh rain water. It was cold, and it was refreshing. We took a lot of pictures, jumped in, and felt the falls on our head and swam around a bit.

Energized, we went to the task of getting out of the valley before dark. After deciding that going down a much less traveled trail to cut through on the right side of the stream, we found familiar markings on the trail and realized we were making great time. We stuck to our blazingly fast trail only to find ourselves blazing our own trail. The trail had terminated into nothingness. We had to keep our pace up, and finding a trail would be the best use of our quickly being scratched and bruised bodies.

We found no trail. Quickly darkness began enveloping us as we made our way toward the beach one painful foot at a time. For every time Mike fell several feet into an unseen ditch, I’d find the thorniest bush or tree and throw myself longingly at it. We soon were relying more on the moon for light than the waning sun. “Mike, I’m glad that its you and me in this situation, most people would be freaking out.” I calmly remarked. “I need a cigarette.” Mike said, for about the third time since we started churning through the dense tropical underbrush. “Lets just keep heading towards the beach, that’s where we’ll see the main trail.” I reassuringly let out. We trudged forward. Many times one of us would exclaim “It’s the trail!” only to follow it for a few meters and find we were had, once again. Never letting the adventure devolve into frustration, we kept our chins up. We could see the beach! After many cuts and bruises we’d made it back in sight of where the real trail should be. I celebrated by falling into the river and dowsing my camera and iPhone. Mike celebrated by slipping on the same stone as I and dropped his lighter. We’d thought of camping out for the night at the beach before, but fatigue had run its course on our minds, and we decided to press on. Being that the Moon was shining from the Southeast, we were completely in the dark as we went north and east up the cliff side, leaving us with no recourse but to use a Mike’s cell phone as a flash light. This is not as easy as it sounds, as after the leader gets over a particularly difficult area, he has to stop and shine the spot so the follower can get over it. When trying to make good time, this is not very conducive.

After what was another hour of night walking on a slippery high-incline trail, I’d started cramping and Mike had started dying energy wise. He wanted to stop for a bit, and I couldn’t or risk cramping up entirely. We were the perfect team. I convince Mike to keep going and we trudge up, around and back down the mountain ridge. Two hours and fifteen minutes after sundown we finally make it out of the hellish hiking trail. We walk the 10 minutes up the road to where Mike parked and settle in for the long road home, to find that more than the lighter went into the river when Mike slipped. The keys went as well. A perfect end to a perfect night.

The fear of no fear.

I'm struggling with something.  And yes my title is a conundrum and a contradiction.  

All my life I have been striving to fear nothing (and well, if I have to take accountability for myself, succeeding.)  For the first time in my life I'm asking if this is actually a good thing.  

Yes yes, the Fear of God.  I don't consider this to be a phobia or something to 'EEEEEEEKKK!!!' at.  My relationship with God is of whole respect and love... This is where things get fuzzy.  SHOULD I be afraid of God? I recently heard a sermon by Mr. Smith that was about our 'Dangerous God.'  It was quite inspiring and thought-invoking, and it left a taste in my mouth that meant I needed to do some thinking.   The point of this post -I must point out- is not actually what Mr. Smith was talking about, but a lot of the premises were there to get the cogs churning.  

Does a certain phobia of what God can and will do to you incite further obedience? In my most recent (before all this incessant pondering) ideals this type of fear would only result in knots in necks, useless tears, and nothing more.  Do people follow God out of terror? Is God leading people solely out of their own fear in some specific and isolated cases? Is that what some people need for motivation? Should I pity them? (at this current juncture, I truly do.)  

Can one not follow God simply to be on the good side? To side with those that most perfectly fit your inner need to love, make people happy, instruct, take instruction, and emulate the hero? (Christ) Can this not be your underlying motive for following God?

All of this thinking gets a bit difficult when I try to apply it to people around me.  Why is such-and-such in the Church of God?  Why is he not?  They both know the truth.  What decisions were made about your internal moral character that made one go one way and one the other?  What about God's calling echoed differently in each persons psyche?

I have some studying to do.  And in the first time in a while its not on someone else's suggestion.

Life is good.  I can't sleep due to having this cough/sneeze/sniffle/headache.  Might as well enjoy myself.

New Poast

So I got a new car, and I'm really enjoying it.  Its a 350z, and its orange. 

I love it.  I've already determined that my old rims wont fit due to some little dingus on the disc brake. 

I'm going to Colorado to visit my Mom, step Dad, sister and brother in law -and- (most especially) my little niece and nephew for Thanksgiving.  Boy do I have a lot to be thankful for.   

Family is odd, everyone says that when you have a good family it truly is a blessing.  And I think that saying never carries enough weight.  Why, every time I see my niece do I think "I would protect her with my life without hesitation" and when I see pictures of my new nephew do I think "I need to be a better person so he looks up to his Unca Chuckie"? I believe its something God built in.  Maybe.

I love my family. 

The best part about a blog that no one reads is...

Its like a sounding board with no sound.  I can put some of my more personal and retarded thoughts on here without too much fear that the wrong people would read them.  (is that secretly what I want?)

So with this in mind,  I think I'm slowly becoming cynical.  Or emotionally unavailable, or something.  Laziness has always been a part of my life.  Not that I just sit around all the time (which is happening more often now with the advent of Wrath of the Lich King) I stay active for the most part, but things that require my attention don't get done.  Laundry is a good example, or cleaning my room, or even fixing my car. (fully.  I get it to minimal operation status and leave it be.  There are probably 5 major things that need fixing on my car, but it still drives fine.) 

Cynicism on the other hand has not been part of my life.  Really ever.  I did go through a bout of loneliness and depression in middle school when I was being picked on daily, but who couldn't say they've been through something similar?  Real cynicism, like expecting to be disappointed in everyone,  or expecting the mundane to happen even when you try your hardest to live an interesting life is what I'd say I've been getting a taste of lately.  

I've been places and done new things to keep me off balance.  I've gone away on a whim to a tropical island by myself, no plans.  I've been to a 3rd world country just because I've never been there.  I've tried to scare myself stupid once a week on average.  

More.  I need to do more.  And I can't do that in a relationship.  I can't have someone worrying about my safety while I'm climbing radio towers in a wind storm, or petrified that I'll go to jail for sneaking into a water tower that is under construction.  I would feel uncomfortable with someone I care about being vexed that I just learned that front wheel drive cars are indeed easier to do a full 360 turn in, and continue driving down the road.  I don't need the added burden of someone turning to me and telling me to take my anti-malarial like the nurse told me to.  The thought of a girl crying over me not coming home because I need to look danger in the face needlessly makes my heart constrict my throat just a bit.

I really just want to be alone, and that hurts.

Is it freedom I want? Or do I need someone who is as crazy and irresponsible as me?  *shudder* I really dont think I'd be with me were I a girl, so maybe thats not what I need.  

I think everyone wants to be a superhero.  I am struggling though, with one thing that this wish of mine betrays.  I want evil in the world, for the sole selfish purpose that I can oppose it. Why would I want that? Am I trying to show off? I don't tell anyone about half of the stupid things I do, so I'm not yet convinced of that.  (not putting that one down for an instant though)

It wouldn't be fair for me to get into a relationship with me like this. (well, another relationship) I've been in one where I showed no real interest and just kind of let her break it off.  I also went out with a girl and left it completely open ended. I just stopped calling her.  My interest level is declining more and more rapidly with every girl I involve myself with, and I can't for the life of me figure out why.  

I'd like to say that its because I broke it off with the only girl I've ever loved and was loved back, and I'm in regret.  I don't really feel that this is the case.  I had a good year and a half after I broke up with her when I feel like I could've hopped into another relationship and put the emotion and love and work into making it last.  Its only been about a year since I started feeling that its not worth it, and I think we stopped dating about 3 years ago.  Is the fact that I bring her  up an indication of anything? Or am I just bringing it up because thats been the closest thing to success with a girl I've ever had?

The introspective side of me has started to wax cool as I'm writing, and it all seems like whining.  I'm debating not publishing, but ctrl+a delete is more work than clicking 'publish post.'

I'd also like to say that this isn't the direction I was going with this post when I started.  I wanted to end with something like 'And so, in conclusion, the sign up chart for the make-out-with-you-and-never-call-back is in the kitchen, next to my sandwich maker.'

-Notsocontentbutcontentwiththat

Updates? Who'da thunk?

Ok, so an immense amount of craziness and coolness and WoWness has happened over the last few months.  Namely, Ret Paladins were GODS for a week and subsequently nerfed to the ground, I went to the UK and Kenya, my job rocks, and life is looking up. (Not that life doesn't look up normally, it just seemed the thing to say)

Wrath of the Lich King is out and I'm enjoying my play again.  I am having a lot of fun running around and seeing the new area.  Consequently, I have yet to step foot in a new instance.  All in good time I suppose.  My tier 5 and 6 equivalent gear doesn't look to be replaceable any time soon, and there are so many cool quests to see and people to kill.  

Thus far, my favorites have been around the Nexus instance, there is something about a great dragon battle that entices me.  

I have heard that there is a mod out there that has an arrow on your screen for where to go for your quest, and pathing for the most efficient ways to all the quests.  I feel that would take all the fun out of the game, maybe even replace that 'new game smell' with something a little gayer.

My little Ret Pally is still quite adept at killing things, with the advent of Divine Storm and some tweeks to the crit system (some of the crit damage has been moved into a DoT for some of our abilities) we come out better than 2 months ago, just not as amazing as we were a few weeks back.

ARUBA BABY!!11!

insert----I have been meaning to post this for a while, I just never remember to when I have ye 'ole laptop on.  Well, heres Aruba.

Yes, the last of the ‘ABC’ islands for me to visit.  I find it kind of ironic that I saved the most well known of them for last.  ABC = Aruba, Bonaire, Curacao, all part of the Dutch Antilles. 

 

BEST TRIP EVAR?

 

Well, being that I went with Karl, Marshall and Zach (Marshall’s buddy) I couldn’t help but have had a great time, not even mentioning that Aruba is amazing.  This has been the most fun I’ve had in ages.  To start with, the 2^nd day on the island, we booked a something called ABC Jeep safari.  If anyone reading this goes to Aruba DO THIS.  It was 80 bucks for 8-9 hours of solid fun.  I think my favorite part is that I got to drive one of the Jeeps (actually a tank of a land rover defender) in some pretty amazing off-roading conditions.  We started out by stopping by the northern most point on the island (by the way, Aruba is only 9x19 miles) at a ‘California Style’ lighthouse.  Very splendid view as we were really high up.  Afterwards we drove through a really nice housing area, to show off some of the bigger houses on the island.  One of the houses had a ‘pool house’ that was its own plot and address.

We dropped by a quaint church that was nearly 300 years old or something, which I really could care less about except that we had to go off-roading to get there.  From there we rambled down the dirt roads to a ‘fort’ which was actually a gold refinery built like a fort so that pirates would think twice before coming near it.  It was really cool, built right into the side of a huge rock formation.

After we had our fun throwing rocks, we went to something called the ‘natural pool.’  That was far from the most interesting thing, except for the fact that we had to climb over a mountain with the truck to get there.  These land rovers are big, heavy, turbo diesels that have as much torque as a medium sized semi-truck (it feels at least) And an extremely heavy frame, lowering the center of gravity substantially.  I’m even sure as of this recounting that driving that thing over huge rocks and dizzying heights was my favorite part of the whole tour. 

We got to the natural pool, me right behind the lead car with the tour guide in it, and our third truck way back still climbing down the side of the mountain.  There were about 20 trucks all lined up outside of the pool, and naturally even more people in this pool with snorkels.  I was less than impressed with it, though my feelings toward it would probably have been much more positive had there been enough room to swim in it without someone kicking you in the face.  I did find a cool eel though.  We climbed up some even steeper rocks on the way back out of the place, putting a huge smile on my already smiling face.

We ate lunch at an ostrich farm.  Yeah, weird…I know. After avoiding the pork ribs and chowing down on some chicken legs, we got to feed some ostriches out of our hands. The guide that walked us through the farm told us all about how good they are to eat or something, even if their meat is supremely expensive.  I’m not sure if ostrich is clean.  Anyhow that was pretty fun and interesting.  Did you know that an ostrich can sustain 45 miles an hour for an hour? Also, their feet reminded me of a velociraptor.

Caves have always been very fascinating to me, and what awesome do-everything-in-the-world tour wouldn’t be complete without going into a cave?  Got some shots of bats flying and such, and saw some 1000 year old cave paintings.  Very neat.

We went from there to the Natural Bridge, which actually fell in 2005, but they had a smaller ‘spare’ off to the side that was an equally impressive bit of geology.  Sadly, the whole area was full of human trash piled about.  Kinda makes me mad that anyone would come to such a beautiful place only to throw their corndog wrapper in the sea. 

The last stop of the day was someplace called Baby Beach. It was a small protected cove with lots of people swimming and sunning.  They had some good hamburgers and beers there too.  What a day!

 

At night out on the beach we saw the aftermath of something I have wanted to see in person for a very long while.  A leatherback hatching!  Baby leatherbacks climbed out of the sand, and flap flapped their way to the ocean and we were about 3 minutes late. Luckily, one straggler was just emerging when I arrived and I got to watch him flap flap all the way down the beach. I know I’m not going to sound too manly saying this but….SO CUTE.  Ok, now that that is over with….

 

Zach and I were both already certified divers, and we couldn’t bully Karl or Marshall to get certified while they were down here.  This led to it being only me and Zach having one of the coolest dives ever! I had thought that you had to be in the ‘advanced’ certified category to dive wrecks, but I guess they don’t care much in Aruba.  We went to go see the ship called the Jane Sea.  It was a freighter that was used by drug smugglers to haul their shipments around the Caribbean, and was subsequently caught and seized.  They sank it out in 65’ to 100’ waters (it was on an incline, and the ship itself was 200’ long)

I have to say that I felt more like a little boy floating there, 90 feet under water looking at this huge vessel in all its sunken glory than I have in 10 years.  My eyes were wide with surprise and awe as we swam through a common area, a kitchen, and bunking quarters.  There was just something about being there, underwater, watching the whole ship alive with coral and fish swimming all about (and me there personally able to interact with it!) that was hugely amazing to me.  It was probably only my 5^th dive ever, but I have a feeling that I’ll remember this one as my favorite for a long, long time.

The second dive was a ‘lazy man’s dive’ i.e. a drift dive.  You go with the current.  We got to see all shapes, sizes and manners of fish, coral, and everything in between.  I was hoping that the small cut I received from maneuvering through the tight quarters of the Jane Sea would attract a shark or two, but no such luck.  I saw a cool yellow spotted moray eel, and Zach found a confusingly bright cobalt colored shrimp hanging out on the top of a coral outcropping.  Parrot fish, sergeant majors, grouper, and barracuda all about.  It was a great day, made all the better that it was a personal, cheap, fun guy that took us and only one other couple.

 

A few days on the beach, hanging out with some girls that Zach met filled some of the week as well, we actually came to be good friends with Jen, Katie and Sara.  They were from Connecticut or something.  They were kinda our ‘Aruba Buddies’ for the trip.  We went out to a big dinner with them one night, and then on to the famous senior frog’s in downtown.  We had a lot of fun cooking for them and them for us. 

 

Friday, we tried our foot at wind surfing!  I can now wind surf on a cursory level.  Learning the basics was actually easier than I anticipated, (I was thinking this would be like learning to snowboard, something that I did not have an easy time with)  and maybe that’s why I was probably the one who liked it most. (Gotta set those sights low!) Right after wind surfing, we went to something called Jolly Pirates.  It was a cruise on a Brazilian two-masted schooner with an open bar for two hours.  Definitely recommended.  This was a ton of fun.  We motored out of the port and then put the sails out and went up the coast.  Sailing has always been one of my interests, but I’ve never really acted on it.  I think this trip will put a bit of a fire under me to go out and learn to sail on a personal level.  The best part of the whole thing was the rope swing.  You get to jump from the prow of the ship out into the crystal cleat Arubian waters.  We did that for about 30-45 minutes, then put the sails out and sailed back to the harbor.  We watched most of the amazing sunset that day from the trapeze on the prow of the ship.

 

That’s most of the high points of the trip, and I give a big thumbs up to Aruba.  Take at least a week.

It's funny when the person administering the test is a retard

Hi, Charlie.

Thank you for taking the Instant IQ Test.

You scored: 145

Your IQ Range is Above 140 and you are EXTREMELY INTELLIGENT.

Congratulations on completing our IQ test! Based on your answers to the test questions, your IQ is above 140. IQ scores are based on a scale where a score of 100 is the average score. By scoring higher than 100, you have shown that you have a higher than average intelligence level. Your score range of above 140 is the highest category and indicates that you are extremely intelligent, so again, congratulations are in order! Your intelligence level can say a lot about how you approach life. By having a high score, you are someone who can face their challenges and often overcome them easily. You look at the world and are able to make sense of it by fitting together the pieces of the puzzle.

Thank you for taking our fun IQ test!

I climbed it.

Whats something silly that you've done this week?

THIS IS ARRRRUUUUUBBBBAAAAAA!!!!!111!!!!!!ELEVEN!one!!!

The third island of the Dutch Antilles, Aruba. The one of the three 'ABC' islands I havent been to.

That is all.

Caribbean Island life

I’ve had it. That will be enough. I am getting older, I can now say I’m in my “mid twenties.” No more boredom. No more idle sitting waiting for the world to come to me. I’m wasting my prime sitting in front of the television and computer. I want to get out. Go exploring, go to the world, go see everything. I have the means, and I have no wife and kids to keep me from being completely irresponsible with my time and actions. Dont try to stop me.

From hence forth, I will be documenting my travels, adventures and general insanity on my camera (thanks Vally!!) and sharing it with whoever cares enough to get on ringo (or wherever free image hosting will be) and here to check it out.

History, geology, economy, people, language, and beer. I will evaluate all these things wherever I go.

For my first act: Curacao. Many people would pronounce it “cur-a-ko” like we call the drink in the states, but its “Cure-a-sow.” The first thing to know about Curacao is that it is in the Dutch Antilles, located just north of Venezuela (Basically the south Caribbean, next to Aruba and Bonaire.) The residents consist of Dutch, African, and South American descendants.

History. This place has got some. In WWII, Curacao housed the largest oil refinery in the entire Caribbean. This refinery led to the US putting a few installations in protecting the harbor that it was in. Two in the front of the bay, one at the entrance and one further back. These have all since been decommissioned and are now generally used as restaurants or lookouts. The Dutch took the island in the 1500s from the resident Indians, and have held it nearly since then. In the 1800s, the Brits sailed into the harbor and took the island on New Year’s Eve. The governor of the island was too inebriated to even order the military to fire on the invading British. 4 years from then, the Brits gave the island back to the Dutch as a peace offering.

The geology of the island was quite interesting. Coral forms most of the island, but to get it up and out of the sea (and in the process making a few large and abrupt “hills”) it had a bit of volcanic help. It would spring up through volcanic activity, then the coral would form around it, and just as the coral got close to the surface, the magma would rise once again, forcing the coral up and out of the sea. This happened several times, giving the island an interesting layered lay out. No real minerals of interest could be mined from the coral. There was one funny side note to the rocks of the island. Millions of years ago, only the “hills” of the island were visible above the water, and thousands of generations of birds nested on it. This led to an eventual build of several tons of bird dookie that lined an entire ridge. This has since hardened into stone and is now excavated for building material (such as mortar mix) and nutrient additives to food and drink (yum.)

I got to know some of the people who shaped the economy of the island while I was there. The currency that is used was called “guilders” and one American dollar was about 1.8 guilders. It made for some decently cheap drinks. They took American dollars at any establishment, but gave back guilders. Mr. Steve Boom (pronounced Boam, due to the Dutch heritage) was involved in much of the major city’s development. We strolled through the streets of Curacao as he recounted how a lot of the inner city buildings were commissioned by him. I also got to know the man who exports Curacao Blue, (of which many imitations have been found) as well as many other different liquors.

The people of Curacao. My goodness, they were all so friendly that I couldn’t help but make several friends while I was there. I even now can go back at any time and stay and my new friends Egan (pronounced E-HAUCK-an) and Marianna’s house. (son and daughter in law of Mr. Boom.) I also made a friend of Rewault, Mr. Boom’s other son. Egan took me out on his boat while I was there. What a fun bunch of people out there! We met up with several of their friends while tied off at a beach, and I made friends with a Canadian IT guy Scott and his family. I also went to something called “Mambo Beach” where a ton of the Dutch youth get together and speak one or more of the many languages they all have at their disposal. I even was taken to a club, where they attempted to hook me up with several cute Dutch girls, however apposed I was to their “sleep first ask questions later” attitude. I got a few numbers that I never called.

Language(s). I really was taken aback. Everyone, and I mean everyone, was fluent in at the very least 3 languages. Most knew more. Popiamento-a was the general language of the island, and it’s a mix of Portuguese, Spanish, Italian, and Dutch. Being that mostly latin languages were in its make up I could pick up about 25% of words, and sometimes get the general meaning of sentences. Dutch was spoken mostly in front of me when it was not English, and Dutch is what I took the most interest in. I know very little German, but I really would like to learn both German and now Dutch someday. I could pick up on some of the syntax with my German experience but no where near enough to be dangerous or speak anything other than normal greetings and thank-you’s. Spanish was spoken by some people, and I have enough experience with that to converse on a very light subject. Overall, I was very impressed with the ease that the inhabitants of the island took to other languages. Mr. Boom knows Dutch, English, Popiamento-a, and Portugese fluently while also being able to converse in Spanish, Italian, French and German.

Ah, beer. Yes, I have always enjoyed tasting the different styles of alcohol that are around the world, but beer is the closest to me. Unfortunately there aren’t many good Dutch beers on tap. Being on the beach I asked Egan if they served Corona, or anything similar to it at the bar. I was pointed to something called Amstel Bright. To my surprise, it was an exact clone of Corona extra, but cheaper. A very good beer. After a few of those I asked around what beer is the favorite among the Dutch people, and was pointed to Polar. It was a nice lager with a decent amount of bite to it, I found myself ordering that from then on. I wanted to experiment a bit but there really was not that wide a selection wherever I went. It seemed it was either Guiness or something much much lighter. Overall, I’d rate the Polar in the top 10 lagers I’ve had.

I suppose I will end up writing the whole sequential story of my time on the island (and a little bit of fun back at the Miami airport on the return trip) but I’ll save that for later.

The fun part of travel

It started as a normal Thursday, except that I knew I had taken Friday and the following Monday off.

Backing up a bit, lets start with the fiasco. Or…All of it. Thursday I get off of work about 30 minutes early to go see my Dad (as he promised me B-Day dinner) and tell him of my 4 day weekend. Now, I had initially taken Friday and Monday off due to two factors: the California non-denominational church youth get-together, and the Formula One race in Monaco. I was torn between which one I wanted to go to more until I decided to go to Monaco and witness F1 in all its glory first hand. That was, until I found that tickets (even standing room only) STARTED at about 300 bucks. Not to mention that a night in Monaco costs nearly a full 1000 dollars.

After mentally backing out of the WEekend in California, I decided to go someplace else. Japan! I planned out what little I could do in Japan in such a short stint (made even shorter by the super long flight there and back) and brought the plan to my father. After looking at flights, he prosed going to Curacao, he had a business partner there that would pull some strings and possibly get me a bungalow there for free. The only way to Curacao was from Miami airport, and no flights looked open to Miami at all. He took a look at sending me to Orlando, then flying to Miami, then off to the Caribbean from there. Going to Orlando was easy, but getting to Miami via plane was still horrendous. So, I was to fly to Orlando and rent a car for a quick 50 bucks and drive down. The catch: The flight to Orlando was leaving 2 hours from now, I had not packed, and I was 1 hour from my house in traffic.

I raced home, an amazing feat of 45 minutes in that dallas traffic, and started throwing everything I needed into my suitcase. I was stinky but had no time for a shower. Let me remind you, the flight LEFT in 1:15 hrs. I double checked everything and stole Karl’s flip flops just for good measure. The plane was now to leave in 55 minutes. I raced to where I was to meet my Dad and got there with about 20 minutes until the flight left. It was Grapevine mills mall, so it almost seemed do-able. We went to the terminal as fast as the jeep could go without flying apart, and made it to the drop point. Still 12 minutes till the plane took off. My father had “checked me in” electronically an hour before (yes!) and I got to the self-check in machine. It told me I was signing in too late. A quick call to the Father and we checked in at the counter. We were good to go. By this time I was sweaty, hungry, tired from work, and wired from the whirlwind of running all about DFW. I was liable to make a mistake or two. I forgot that my temp license was the only way to validate my now “out of date” license, and had left the temp license at home (not intentionally mind you) So the nice man at the counter asked for my passport instead of putting me through the “search every cavity” line. I quickly handed it over and said thanks in a breeze. Then I forgot my belt was on. BEEP. Crap. Then I forgot my phone may have some metal in it. BEEP--CRAP! Two beeps means you get to go to the “yeah that cavity” line and wait as the precious minutes ticked by. All this effort, all this scrambling, and the last flight to Orlando was leaving in 5 minutes, and I was 3 minutes into a 5 minute pat-down. With seconds left to spare I arrived at the gate, them ready to close the door. Seeing the yellow mark on my boarding pass, the gate agent saw I was “a security risk” and took my first class ticket she had in hand and printed out a ticket next to the engine. Well, whatever. I MADE IT.

The flight was two hours long, and I thought about the two hours leading up to getting in the plane. The prior felt like it went by in 15 minutes, the current left me feeling like I was in a showing of all three Lord of the Rings movies back-to-back.

On the plane I pulled out the ole’ trusty laptop to see that in my rush out of the house I had hit the shut off button, then slapped it shut. Well vista sees that I shut the lid and puts it in sleep mode instead of just continuing the shutdown. I wake it up to watch it shut down seconds later. And now the battery is at 35%. A few chess games with the computer mercilessly killing me and the battery was at critical. So I found my thoughts filling the remaining hour and a half flight.

Wait a minute. My license. Not current. No temp license? Didn’t I have to rent a car? SIGH. I mustered up as much machismo was left in me and strutted to the Alamo rental counter. And put my credit card in the self-check in. Better to avoid human contact as much as possible. So I walked out to pick up the car and showed the man my printed out paperwork. He said choose one and go. Really? I thought. This was way too easy! A huge smile cracked on my face as I strolled to my chevy cobalt and started her up. Wow! Haha! Oh, they check you out when you leave the garage. I explained my situation (heres where all the built up machismo and confidence came in. Actually, instead of machismo leaking out after time, if you don’t vent it, it just continues to build.) about how I left my temp license at home, and if you would just punch my license number in to the machine you’ll see its current (well, I wanted them to have a machine like that at least) She said go to her manager to get approval, and I confidently backed the car out and went back to the first gentlemen. Psyching myself up, I walked in with an arrogance that you could almost see pouring off of me. I explained again with a slight crook tugging up on one side of my lips. I wish I had recorded it. There was no way to say no to me at that moment in time. The man called me sir reverently (not like the cheesy “yes sir have a good trip (er whatever)” More like he wanted to call me “sire.” I got his signature and walked out with a real smile. I drove right by and flashed my sig at the lady out back and drove off. THANK YOU LORD.

I had 10 hours till the flight to Curacao and I was only about 225 miles from Miami. I drove leisurely down the Florida Turnpike and stopped to get some coffee for good measure. Of all the things to do, I threw the keys in the trunk and shut it. I was dumbfounded. I just watched myself do it. Well, at least the car was open, and theres got to be a way into the trunk, right? Wrong. the seats did not fold down. Luckily, it looks like they were designed to fold down but just no release was set in place so I went about pulling on the top of the seat and shoving my arm painfully inside. I moved my bag aside and felt about for a few minutes before I started to use Karl's flipflop as a tool to find the keys. Success! I found them and dragged them to me.

Once that was over, I decided that I’d kill time by stopping by Miami beach on the way to the airport. I was too wired from the night’s happenings to sleep anyhow. I went in the direction of the beach when I crossed the Miami line, and found a good spot to leave the car. I took my camera and started walking down the beach. Some of the most beautiful architecture is done with these beach-side condo high rises. The beach was a nice as I remember, and the moon was bright, adding a romantic element to it all. I trudged up the beach for a few miles and decided I’d wait for the sun to rise, take some nice pictures and revel in the view. I turned back toward the car when the first light broke and watched. I found a chair and sat down, took in the beauty of it all. I took some pictures…..and fell asleep in the chair. I awoke groggy as all get-out about 15 minutes later when someone started yelling that they found some chairs to watch the sun rise in. So I gained what was left of my energy and trudged back towards the car. I was asleep while walking and still had a few miles to go. I had to think of something to keep me up, so I started running. I returned to the car no more awake then when I had wiped the drool from my face on the chair. Now I had about 3 hours to find the Miami airport, check in, and go to the Caribbean. No problem. Right? Being tired really didn’t help my directional skills, and REALLY didn’t help when I followed signs that pointed toward the airport then suddenly ended giving no more direction right before a 4 way stop. I never picked the right one. 2.5 hours till my flight left I found it. I found the airport. I was stinky, dressed in running clothes, and needed to find a way to clean up. I drove through the airport (which was having a considerable amount of construction done) and tried to find the rental return. I couldn’t find it, and ended up on a highway out of the airport. My tired self decided to take the first exit and turn right back around and go into the airport that way. No such luck. I was mere 50 yards from the airport with no way into it for about 30 minutes. Driving in now morning rush hour traffic desperately trying to find the stinkin’ entrance. Getting more and more enraged at the ridiculous system of roads they had in Miami I drove madly out and around the whole city trying to find ANY major road that would lead in the right direction. I went from Ghetto to downtown and still no real roads. I stopped in a gas station and changed into my nice shirt and slacks, dodging puddles of urine and stench too foul to recall. Phew, I stink. I finally found a major highway and followed that right to the airport. Here came the frustrating part: The rental return (for which there were signs ALL over the place for) took me in a circle. A circle that is endless unless you decide to not believe one of the signs and take a chance on where to go. After circling the airport 3 times I made my calculated move. I ended right back up in the loop. I stopped the car in a rage and called the rental idiots who had put all those confusing signs up at obvious locations (like where there were no turns, it would say “continue on this road for RENTAL RETURN” ) and no signs where you were given 14 choices of where to go. They apologized and told me how to get there (which, after all that, wasn’t even in the airport) and I returned the car.

45 minutes till the flight left. Miami airport sucked. LINES AND LINES AND LINES. I finally was able to shake some of the groggs off with a stem of machismo. I stalked up to a counter and forcefully used a self check in that some one was leaning on. I was “checking in too late” again. I asked the lady at the counter with a sly look on my face what she could do for me. She immediately handed me a boarding pass for first class and said “you’d better get movin’ hun” I ran and ran to the security check point and ran some more through it. Semi short lines were my saving grace. I got to the check in counter about 10 minutes before the flight left and there was a HUGE line in front of the counter. After waiting for about 3 minutes I figured out that that was the line to Haiti. Ok, here we go tired Charlie, this way. I boarded the plane and fell into my huge chair. I was on the way to Curacao finally.

Am I in shape or really really out of shape?

So I went to this "body age assessment" that my gym had and here's what I found out:

Body fat % (skin fold test) 17% Optimal (way up over last time I checked)

VO2: 44.4 ml/kg min, Below Average (what the crap? I'm supposed to be a runner!?)

Bicep Strength: Great 103lbs (one pound from being in the highest "excellent" category)

Flexibility: Average

Body age: 19 (I guess thats good?)


So anyhow I was asking my trainer about the VO2 and how I could run better than most people I know with such a sucky VO2 level. He was wondering that too (he had asked before hand what my workout schedule looked like) and told me about AT (aerobic threshold) this is where your body stops using fat for energy and starts using glucose and carbs. You get more energy for longer when you stay below your AT. This is usually a number; your beats per minute when you cross that threshold. Someone in shape will have an AT of anywhere between 160 and 175 is what he said, and told me that his AT is at 178BPM.

I was curious and asked how to get my AT. He said that we could strap a heart monitor on me and hit the treadmill. At first he just kept me at a brisk walking pace and raised the incline every few minutes, he said that was enough to get most people's AT. After about 15 minutes of walking straight up and carrying on a conversation about being a personal trainer with the guy he gave up and started running me. My heart was beating pretty quickly when I was finally at a perceived point of aerobic threshold: 198BPM.

He went on to explain as he shut the treadmill down that I was one of the highest AT's he's ever seen or tested on a person. "one of the most aerobically in shape people I've met, have fun with that" He called as I was heading for the weights.

So.... uh.... I guess I'm in OK shape overall, the really high stats balance the really not so good stats.

Feelings From the Past

I got back from Tahoe and a lot of fun skiing. (I'll save that for another post) Maybe thats what I needed but I am actually feeling pretty good right about now. My guild respects me as one of their top damage dealers in raids (yes, I am a massive WoW playing dork, and yes, Ret Paladins are most certainly raid-viable), I have joined Lifetime Fitness, and things are looking up. I feel...I feel again. I can almost let my heart get caught up in things again.

My friend Mike is back in town and I'm pretty stoked. He's been gone for nearly 3 years in Hawaii. Truth be told, I missed having him around, we think alike on a lot of stuff. He's gotten himself a 93 RX7, and thats promised to be a lot of fun to work on if I get the chance.

I hung out with the old crew last night, we went out for some drinks, caught up a bit, got harassed by the bike mounted popo, the usual stuff.

Lifetime Fitness is great, but I would never dream of paying their exorbitant fees were it not for my Dad helping out on the fee. Me, Irene, and Dad have started training for an upcoming triathlon, which is why hes helping with the fitness fees. Its just a sprint (.5 mile swim, 20k or so bike and 5k run at the end) but it should prove to be a blast. The only thing thats really got me biting my fingernails is the swim. I am a good runner, and by extension I cant be a bad biker. I am not familiar (at all) with long distance swimming. I am actually a very good swimmer, I just never have done any kind of distance swimming, and getting my movements in the water fine tuned is something that I've been working on. Swimming is HARD. 45 minutes of stop and go swimming (doing sprints in the pool, just figuring out what my pace should be for the .5 mile) Got me more tired than a 1.5 hour run. I feel that I'm being very wasteful with my movements and I'm contemplating talking with someone who knows a lot about competitive swimming and asking for some pointers. Getting in shape feels good too, I've been disgusted looking in the mirror as of late, WoW and beer have caught up with me. I'm eating (for the most part) much healthier as well. In joining Lifetime I got a free "body age assessment" and one hour with a personal trainer. Expect the results of that to be posted soon. I get to find out my VO2, body fat %, and go through a gamut of strength and flexibility tests. I'm actually kind of excited.

All this good stuff. Oh, and my car is the biggest piece of crap I've ever seen or driven. Right now I think my water pump is bad, and is leaking a large amount of water as I drive (and while it sits, to a lesser degree) the best part is what leaks out. Its like sludge. I think that somewhere along the line my sister may have mixed the orange and green coolants. Its like sludge-rust coming out and its staining the concrete where I drive and where I park. Also, the hood doesnt pop correctly due to Kalie rear-ending someone and me (instead of taking it to some professionals) bent the hood back down and latched it on with a come-along. The latch sucks to take off every time I need to add water. I'm starting to think that going to Tahoe wasn't the brightest idea, maybe I should have picked up that 240sx with a CA18 I was looking at.

Oh well. You're only young once, and I am going back to college next semester, making me much less likely to afford any ski trips. (or anything but ramen, really)

I get to pay taxes, rent and bills, then I go into super-save mode. My goal is to have a nice, well running 240sx by the time I go back to college. Maybe I can work out with Alex some way to work part-time while I go to school...we'll see how that all pans out, but I really want to have some decent suspension under it before college as well.

I got a facebook. Meh.

Read your bibles.

Life? what life?

Epic problems bounce off me like bullets off Superman.

Since mid-Friday, I've been working on a seemingly simple issue for work (of course not on the sabbath) the details of which are too drab and boring to get into here. I guess my question to the internet is this; Do normal people let stuff like this get them down? I've known some people who put a lot of themselves into their work and identify themselves through it. I can't say that I'll ever do the same. With problems like these cropping up every week, and my only action in them is to say "I don't have a clue as to what you are talking about" (making me feel utterly useless by the way) I would be a madman if I identified myself by simply being the medium which true tech support goes through. While the simple problems no longer give me too much issue, I still cannot diagnose and solve any real problem. So in the end, I really don't let it get me down.
Is that a good thing? It certainly doesn't make me feel good to hardly know what I'm doing on a day to day basis, and though I'm learning, I get no satisfaction out of it either. It seems that for the past months working this IT job I have just stopped fully feeling anything.
Maybe thats why I stoically let my most recent relationship fail. Maybe thats why I don't really put myself in my own prayers anymore.

Like every time in my life before this when I notice fruitlessness, I'm going to have to make a major change. Going back to college is something I've thought about for about a year now. It looks like Radiology is just way too long of a hike for me, so I'll be going (God willing) to UTD to get a Geology degree. Maybe there I'll get a sense of direction. Maybe its green enough grass over there to keep me satisfied.
I've thought of why I do this so frequently, from High school to college, to the Air Force, to college again, to a semester off working 3 jobs, to full time college again, to quitting the military, to community college, to working various places for a year, to now. I think I need the change. I've grown up around change: My parents moved from place to place never staying longer than 3 years in my childhood, due to my Father's military career, they then got divorced when I was 13 and I finally stayed somewhere. Here in Texas. From there my Father got re-married, divorced, re-married again, and settled down, here in Texas. The change didn't stop there, I went from being a dorky introverted out of shape kid to a dorky extroverted runner. I went from knowing nothing of cars to loving all things dealing with nuts and bolts, trying to understand the world through physics and mechanics. I went on to make the biggest change in my life by coming into the Church, and the Truth. Changing almost everything I did in life, from the way I talked to the way I thought about God.
Change change change.
Now that I'm in a sort of lull in life, and I've done the same thing for roughly a year, (while still managing to change myself into a computer-nerd) I've gotten antsy.

I don't know why I'm writing this, all I know is it feels good to get it out. Off my chest.
I don't think I'm unhappy, in fact just the opposite. I'm just getting kind of restless. Like I don't know what to do with my hands in front of an audience, or like I've been on a bus taking me somewhere I didn't even want to go, and my butt just fell asleep.

I just realized that the next semester that I could sign up for doesn't start until after summer.
And I don't feel a thing.

45 Song remix release

http://ff7.ocremix.org

A - MAZE - ING

Finally. A day worthy of a blog post.

Sundays always start in good spirits.

I had been invited out on a "couples only" boating excursion by my good friend Byron, and the "couples only" part is in quotes because neither he nor I cared one way or the other if we had dates, we just want to be out on the water.

Jason, a good friend to both Byron and I since high school, has married and had a kid. The family man incarnate. In fact, he and his wife Yvonne are the reason this day was dubbed "Blahblahcouplesonlyblahblahblah."

Jason is quite a stubborn and good-hearted fellow. He (just by my assumption) feels kind of subverted as the man of the family because Yvonne makes all the money. This leads to him wanting to be manly and learn to drive the ski boat while were out there. No harm, Byron and I are both well decorated boating masters, and teaching is something that comes natural to us. (especially when we're together)

I promptly show up to Byron's house at the appointed time of "anywhere around 11 to 1" and Byron and Andrew (the roommate of Byron) are still at church. I make myself comfortable on the front porch with my newly borrowed Dark Elf Trilogy book. Jason and Yvonne show up about 15 minutes later, with Yvonne's friend Lauren. (meant to be Byron's "date") I introduce myself to Yvonne and Lauren, and re-acquaint myself with Jason as I haven't seen him in over 3 years. I then proceed to climb up the back yard tree, deftly jump onto the house roof and sidle over to the window that is never locked on the second story. Letting them in, we prepare the boat for the day. Loading every option I could think of into the boat seemed the right thing to do at the time, since Byron and I like to change things up on the lake. I loaded two wakeboards, two slalom skis (for Byron and I's inevitable doubles session) a lame ski for the two skiers, a knee board, and my newly acquired trick skis, which I've never tried as was very anxious to see what I could do with them.

With the food and drinks on the boat, all that was left was to wait for the two people who actually live at the house to show.

Byron arrived with his brother's truck and we hook on the trailer. Andrew is going to wait for his date and will call us to come pick him up at the dock. We're on the road to the put-in when I call Sheri, my date to the lake that day. She'll be off of work around 3-4, so she'll call me when she's ready.

As Byron sees me put my phone down he realizes that he's left his own phone and wallet at home. Not really a big deal to him so we continue on.

The boat ramp is PACKED by the time we arrive. More people than I've ever seen at this particular ramp, but thats to be expected, only a week previous did it re-open, and this is Sunday after all.

After a short wait we get the people in the boat and the boat in the water. Byron likes it when I back the trailer in, so thats my role in all of this. Once the boat is in the water I get the pleasurable task of parking about 1/2 mile away and trotting back to the dock in sandals.

A very normal very fun day begins to unfold as I watch the group dynamic, of which I must poll every time I go out on the boat with new people because, well, I like watching people I guess.

Lauren sticks out in because of one simple oddity. She brought a magazine to the lake. How boring does she think we are? When she pulled it out Byron and I met glances and he smiled as I let my disappointment be known with a hand and the forehead and a sullen shake of the head. She even leafs through it for about an hour as we attempt to teach everyone to two ski. Yvonne goes first and all while we are fitting her in the skis and telling her what to do out in the water, I can see fear building in her eyes. She certainly married the right guy. The truck ride up was mostly filled with Jason asking how bad it hurts when you fall, and what the chances of injury are.

The moment Yvonne gets in the water and holds the ski rope in her hands, she calls out "I don't wanna do this!" Byron and I didn't just invest 30 minutes of lake time teaching her to ski for nothing. We cat-call back the usual encouraging remarks and line her up to ski. Seeing she has no choice, she concedes to try it once. After 3 failed attempts to get up, she calls out that this is her last try (I like to see that 'never give up' attitude.) the fourth try she lets the ski's split (again) and does something remarkable. She holds onto the rope. I let out a long belly laugh and watch as she finally lets go, about 100 feet from where the skis are. I told her to let go if something goes wrong.

She says that she wants to see someone get up on two skis, just to observe how its done, and I take pleasure in giving that show. Since two skiing is kind of boring unless I'm trying something stupid like jumping a tube being pulled by the boat, I put all my weight on the good slalom ski and kick off the learner, tucking my foot in the back boot. I think of how I lost the other learner ski and shrug. I come back in after a few cuts, wanting to give others a try at it first. We managed to find the ski this time, too.

Next up is Jason, more of the same tutelage, more Lauren reading her magazine, which by this time is wet and soggy from us running over our own wake several times. (an intentional move by Byron) Jason, who's foot cant be any larger than my own, has the hardest time in the world getting into the boot of my favorite slalom ski (admittedly difficult, the boot is meant for competition slalom skiing, making getting into it a low priority and control a high, but with a little sunscreen lube I can get into it in about 10 seconds.) We lube the boot up real good and both me and Byron use all of our strength forcing his foot in there. That alone took about 10 minutes. The other ski is just the lame learner ski so Jason slipped right in and we shoved him off the boat. Jason nearly got up the first time he tried, and on his 3rd though 7th try he actually did get up, but ignored us when we told him to keep his arms out straight in front of him. (when you pull in on the rope you loose a lot of your control and often topple over backwards, which he did) Finally he made it up and was going quite well until we crossed the wake of another boat and threw him off.

After his slight victory, Jason moves on to being fascinated with learning to drive the boat, but refuses to actually pay any attention to what Byron and I are telling him (unbeknownst to us). Smooth control of the throttle, always go right of a boat thats heading for you, never get within 100 feet of another watercraft, etc. (the last two quite applicable since its hard to see even a drop of water left in the lake that doesn't have a boat on it. While we are teaching Jason (mostly for selfish reasons, as Byron and I needed a driver for when we both slalom together) Andrew, who couldn't call Byron since his phone was at the house, showed up next to us on a random person's boat with his date, Brenda. They thank their taxi drivers and wish them a safe day.

Brenda is a huge ball of flaming energy. Things like "OOOO I LOVE that" and "wow! I really love you girls, you're SO awesome!" came out of her mouth probably every 4 to 7 seconds.

We decide that Andrew should learn to two ski, since thats the flavor of the day, and he's already really good at knee boarding, so this should be a cake walk. But then Byron lets Jason take the helm. We run through the rule list of do's and dont's and what to do when a skier is behind you, oblivious to the fact that Jason doesn't hear a word through his nods and "uh huhs" Andrew, somehow, to his credit gets up on his first try even though Jason really didn't hammer the throttle down like we told him to, and when we told him that 40 is really too fast for a skier, he immediately slowed to 15. Poor Andrew, who somehow manages to keep balance decides to go outside of the wake. Meanwhile Byron and I are both in Jason's ear about smooth throttle control. I notice that Jason seems to want to aim directly for a large peninsula, and right in his path is the branches of a tree sticking out of the water. Incredulous I tell Jason to steer left and avoid it. Not listening, he keeps right on trucking. Flustered at this time I grab at the wheel and yell at him to turn left, the tree approaching. A small side note, not only was the water too shallow where he was aiming, but thinking of the number one priority, the skier's safety, a tree would really hurt to fall on. Byron notices our impending doom and joins the chorus of me screaming at Jason to turn. Jason finally gets the message and hits left. Hard. This slows the boat enough to sink Andrew finally. We clear the peninsula, thank the Lord. Byron and I, with full loads in our shorts, fill them even more when Jason puts the skier on the wrong side of the boat. Something that should be fresh in Jason's mind is "Always put the skier on the driver side of the boat, so you can see them better, and keep from running them over." No one said this was a perfect world. Jason manages to not kill Andrew and he turns in the skis for his knee board. Byron takes the helm back aggressively. Andrew has some fun showing off his knee boarding skills and takes a decently nasty fall after attempting a jump. With that, he turns in.

By this time I am getting quite hungry, and I remember to check my phone. A few perturbed messages from Sheri waiting around for us in Lewisville (since she doesn't know where the dock is) prompt me to call her. I give her directions to the bridge that we've been skiing next to all day and tell her to "jump off the bridge" Something Lacey and I did when we met up with Byron on the lake last time we were out. We eat a little, go under the bridge and tie off in the middle. Byron and I clamber up the tower on the boat and climb onto the bridge, ready to jump. Unfortunately we cant see where Sheri should be walking by, and she ends up walking the length of the bridge looking for us. A few jumps off the bridge later, we phone her and she walks down the rocky slope on the side of the bridge to hop in from there. I swim her over to the boat and I introduce her to the crowd.

I decide to make an executive decision and have Sheri two ski, since she has once in her life already. After a few failed attempts (she was really close to getting up, too) she decides to come in to allow some other folks to give it a go. Byron and I get our turn on the slaloms.

Stupidly, we give the reigns back to Jason and tell him what to do. The first try, he didn't hammer down the throttle and leave it, like we told him to. (for those who don't know, getting up on a single ski is pretty hard, and even harder without an experienced driver) I veered off to one angle too badly to recover, and Byron got up, so instead of keeping Byron on the line and bringing him to where I am so we can both give it another go, he tows Byron for a while and stops. Ah, well whatever. So he comes over to me and I tell him to let me get the rope and tow me over at idle to Byron. He tows me alright, but not at idle. I end up swallowing a gallon of water and let go before were all the way there. He goes and gets Byron and finally gets what "idle" means and we meet up again. We both get up this time and find that our ropes are too similar in length to cross paths, and instead of going straight, Jason veers around the lake like its Formula One. We get to the other side of the lake and I intentionally let myself fall victim to a wave, so we can tell him to go straight, and to have someone take a rope in enough for us to criss cross (will make you shout, shout). Jason explains that he'll do a U turn when we are both up and head down the coast line. We tell him to just go straight and when he runs out of room, then U turn and go back. Right off the line, I see the boat in a hard turn. I think I should reiterate that a slalom ski is hard to get out of the water, even in good conditions. I open my eyes after about 7 seconds of agonizingly slow dragging through the water to find myself encapsulated in a perfect bubble of water. It was actually pretty cool. In between my shouts for Jason to die I could hear Byron yelling for me to stay with it, funny how we could both be pulled like that and carry on a near-conversation. So finally as Jason straightens the boat out we get some speed and Byron and I exchange surprised glances and start laughing maniacally. We have enough fun criss-crossing each other and give up.

Heres where the day really got better.

We come back to the boat and blow up the tube, now that the ladies would like another go. First out after some deliberation is Jason's wife Yvonne, and guess who wants another crack at driving. Yea. Yvonne gets pulled at a pleasant speed for a while, just what you would expect from a caring husband right? Well he ramped up the speed to near full throttle. As to be expected on such a busy day on the lake, there is another boat, heading right for us. I tell Jason, "remember, in this situation you always ALWAYS go right. Just like on a road with traffic." The boat is far off enough for me to remain calm and explain as Jason begins to turn left, "Right, Jason, right." and grab at the wheel. He fends my arm off. The boat coming ominously closer, and fearing for our tuber, I begin to fret. "Right Jason! Right!" He begins to understand that its english that is his language of choice and makes a slight movement right, but thats only enough to get us back on course to crash into the oncoming boat. "RIGHT JASON!" as I paw uselessly at the wheel. He gets it, he's in trouble. Hard right it is, captain. He veers right hard enough to send his wife flying off the tube. The other boat is at this point confused enough to start slowing. Byron notices that Yvonne has fallen off the tube and is now directly in the path of the oncoming boat and tells Jason to go back for her. Instead of doing the normal, sane thing to do, which in this case would be turn the boat around and go over to our lost tuber, Jason FREAKS out and slams the boat in reverse. This is from a speed of over 35 miles per hour, by no means slow on the water. Well as expected Byron and I start screaming at him to put it in neutral, and as we begin to smell the poor boat frying something and begin to eat the rope that the tube is attached to, our voices get even more shrill. All the while, the oncoming boat has stopped to see this spectacle, and Jason gets up from the driver seat to yell at the oncoming boat (no longer oncoming) to stop. Byron and I cant reach the throttle soon enough as the tube nears the back of the boat. Jason finally hears our girlish yelping and puts in in neutral. Jason now wants to put in forward gear to go get his wife, at which time Byron gets Jason out of the driver's chair and turns off the injured boat. Jason goes to argue "what about her? I have to go see if she's ok!" Byron looks sternly at Jason and says "you've got two legs! GO SWIM!" Jason grabs a life jacket to swim to his perfectly safe wife.

Miraculously, when we go to pull the rope out of the prop, the rope had somehow navigated under the steering fin and over the prop, and no harm came to it. We get in and start the boat up. We get underway only to feel that something is terribly wrong. Any speed on the prop and it just bogs down the motor. Feeling really bad for Byron I make the obvious call, "lets just limp it back to the docks and call it a day." Agreeing a somber Byron sets the boat at a little over idle and makes his way back to the docks.

We all settle in for the long but calm drive back. Andrew, Sheri and I take the front and have a good conversation. Byron's spirits are getting higher and is able to laugh about it. A yacht passes from quite a ways away and we see the waves coming. The unexpected happens.

Water from the first wave comes into the boat, more that I had seen before, but nothing the boat couldn't handle, but the second wave combined with our slow forward momentum drives the nose of the boat down. We were sinking! I tell Byron "give it some speed!" knowing that the buoyancy of the boat will win out, but we need to use the shape of the boat to shed some of this water. He does as instructed and the motor bogs. Crap, didn't think of that. Its funny, I was calm enough to look at Byron's face to see his reaction to all this and it was priceless, a panicked look combined with looking back and forth. He shouts all of the sudden "get out of the boat!" knowing that our weight in the front wasn't helping anything, I jump ship. The rest of the crew follows suit a few seconds later when they realize he was serious. The boat gets very low on the water as we see its momentum carry it away from us. The boat was seriously 6 inches from being completely submerged, aside from the glass and the tower. Byron manages to get over to the cooler and dumps its contents into the lake. He starts paling the water out as fast as he can. I begin to swim to catch up with the boat so I can help. Finally I arrive at the boat and begin scooping water with a Pringles can that I dumped out. Byron after about 15 minutes of paling that huge cooler, with Andrew's help, begins to see progress. The bilge is on, but thats a pretty small pump. About 5 boats stop to watch us desperately trying to get the water out of the boat. I take a shift on the cooler and we pail for about 25 more minutes and finally see (semi) dry carpet. Crisis averted.

Opening the engine hatch, we notice that its still flooded down there, so we cant start the motor with it like that. we decide to let the bilge do the rest and start swimming the boat back. The girls flag down a boat (even after we tell them not to) to tow us. I explain I didn't like the idea of towing the boat because we still have alot of water inside and waves could come back over the bow and do the same thing again. After some deliberation, we decide to go for it and let them tow us back to the dock. As a precaution, I sat everyone on the back of the boat.

Getting the boat on the trailer was easy enough, I skipped the line since we were already taking a slot on the ramp. I make sure that Jason has pulled in the boat enough with the hand crank and get back in the truck. Thats when a fat man on a Kawasaki bike pulls up (obviously drunk) and starts telling us what-for. I ignore him for a while, there is a more pressing need at hand. I pull the boat out and get up to the asphalt and the tires begin to spin. The fat man remarks loudly, enough to get my attention, that "AH TOWYOOTA TUUNDRAA WOULLLNT DOO THAYAT!!!" I begin ignoring him again. He loudly claims as I put the truck back down on the concrete grippy surface that the limited slip would engage on a toyota tundra and we wouldn't have this problem. I begin to seethe. I've had a long day. I get a good run up to the asphalt and the wheels spin again. The boat still has a ton of water in it, making it way heavier than normal. "TOYOTA TUND...." starts the fat one. "SHUT UP!" I yell as I lay some rubber down, knowing that the heat will eventually win out over the slick wet surface. Some white smoke later, we've gotten the boat off the ramp.

Later that night Byron and I were able to joke about the whole thing. We tried starting the boat but there was water in the cylinders. I luckily had my tools with me and pulled the spark plugs out. While we were turning the starter over I did notice a little water come out. Put them back in, and she was running like a champ again.

Upon inspection, Jason had actually bent the prop. That hard reverse from 35 was such a huge shock to the drive train that something had to bend or break.

A microwaved lasagna later and some water, Byron and I knew that we'd never forget this day.

And I never got to try my new trick skis. Blast.

FEAST or FAMINE.... Seriously

Ok so this happens every time. Pretty much with everything I do in life.

I now work for my friend Alex whenever I can, usually 2 days a week, and the rest is working construction and "facility management" (whatever that is) for my Dad. Alex has a friend looking for someone to help him with buying and selling cars on his dealer's license. Sound familiar? I'll end up doing something on a weekly basis with him too, probably.

So here are a few examples of this here feast or famine thing:
I had only had one girlfriend in highs chool. I didnt have any dates after that until Jessica came along. (about 3 years later)
when I was first starting to get interested in Jess, and her in me, about a slew (i didnt keep count) of women pounded down my door to see if i was available, and the list includes, but is not limited to: 2 girls from high school, a car show model (I'm not kidding, she called me and everything), a friends ex-girlfriend, my favorite restaurant's owner's daughter (half Japanese half Arabic! wow!), and other sporadically placed females. (there are more, i just cant remember how they knew me)

another example:
One semester i took off when i was 19 (after high school) led to me sitting around, no job, no nothing. The next semester I was in school and had 3 jobs. Military, Construction, and Goodyear Tires.

another: In high school, I had a 69 Camaro, 88 RX7, and a 95 B3000 (light truck) at my disposal, and just last year I didn't own a car for about 8 months. fun. biking isn't what its all cracked up to be.

yet another: I didnt drink a single drop of alcohol in high school despite all manner of peer pressure to the opposite. When I got back from military training, there was nothing else that touched my pallet.

So I don't know what it is God is trying to show me by having this funny tidal-like system around my life, but I'm looking hard to find what it is.

On a different note; I'm tired, and glad its the Sabbath.