The Quarterly Don Report

I resolve to not make any resolutions

2012-01-05T17:20:00.004-06:00

I don't make New Year's resolutions. I like to make my goals on an as-needed basis and not just one time at the beginning of the year. Plus, as any health club employee will tell you, most resolutions don't make it past the first two weeks of the year anyway.

However, last year I did set a couple of goals for myself for 2011. In 2010 I started riding my bicycle more frequently. I finished the year with over 1100 miles. I even rode a 100 mile ride for the first time since 1997, and completed it (see Outlaw Bike Tour 100).

So for 2011 I set some more ambitious goals. I wanted to ride a minimum of 150 miles for each month, and at least 1800 miles for the year. I also wanted to complete two 100 mile bike rides.

The monthly minimum was easy March through May when I was out of work because I could ride several days a week. But when the sunsets got earlier late in the year it got a little more difficult to find the time to ride. However, I did make my 150 mile minimum every month, ranging in distance from 150.14 miles in December to 300.22 miles in March, averaging 204.17 miles per month.

I was also able to complete two 100 mile bike rides (see Are we there yet? and Much more than first place). And with all of my rides I totaled 2450.05 miles for the year.

So, for next year I hope to improve on those numbers. I've set a monthly minimum of 200 miles and a yearly total of 2600 miles, and I want to ride three 100 mile bike rides. It looks like I have my work cut out for me this year.

Hopefully I won't give up within the first two weeks.

2011 Totals
Number of rides: 84
Distance: 2,450.05 mi
Avg Distance: 29.17 mi
Max Distance: 101.92 mi
Estimated Calories: 158,544 C
Time: 174:28:33 h:m:s
Avg Time: 2:04:38 h:m:s
Max Time: 6:08:41 h:m:s
Avg Speed: 14.0 mph
Max Speed: 37.9 mph
Avg HR: 136 bpm
Max HR: 179 bpm

Front row seats aren't that important

2011-11-28T18:15:00.005-06:00

In the late 80's, the music scene was ruled by the hair bands: Mötley Crüe, Def Leppard, Poison, Cinderella, RATT and of course, Bon Jovi. In 1986 Bon Jovi released Slippery When Wet, their best-selling album (12 million sold in the US), which included such hits as You Give Love a Bad Name, Wanted Dead or Alive and Livin' on a Prayer. In 1988 they released New Jersey, which spawned five Top 10 singles, a record for a hard rock album.

To promote that album, Bon Jovi embarked on the Bad Medicine Tour, visiting more than 22 countries and performing more than 232 shows, including exotic Lubbock, Texas where my incredibly handsome twin brother Ron and I were attending college. We invited our friends Greg and "Two Beer" Brad, and the four of us headed to the show at Lubbock Coliseum.

Lubbock Coliseum was an interesting venue, used for Texas Tech basketball games (at that time), livestock shows and concerts. Concerts there were general admission, which meant seats on the floor were first-come, first-serve, and you could push yourself as close to the stage as you wanted. It also meant you had to keep your feet or run the risk of getting trampled by the crowd.

And the Bon Jovi concert was packed. The four of us were several dozen rows back, but the band had scaffolding that went out above the crowd, and Jon (he and I are on a first-name basis) would walk out and sing to those of us in the back. However, our friend Greg wanted to see how close to the front he could get and off he disappeared into the crowd.

About an hour later, we see him making his way back to our group, and his shirt is covered in sweat. We asked, "How close to the front did you get?"

He replied, "Oh, I got all the way against the rail. It took me 15 minutes to get there, and I stayed there for 30 minutes, but then I had leave. With everyone pushing me against the rail I thought I was going to pass out, so I made my way back here."

Looking at his sweat-soaked shirt we thought he might have gotten over-heated so we asked, "Was it too hot being in that crowd? Your shirt is covered in sweat."

Greg looked down at the sweat on his shirt and replied, "Oh, it's not mine."

You know, we were fine staying where we were.

I may have been too early

2011-10-30T18:25:00.000-05:00

I am notoriously early for everything. To me, showing up on time is showing up late. I show up early for interviews, appointments and dates. I have been known to show up so early for functions I have to sit in my car for 15-20 minutes before I "arrive" at a more reasonable time.

I had one friend who had parties at his house, and I was always the first one to arrive. To keep from being the first to arrive every single time I purposely showed up for one of his parties an hour late, and I was still there first.

I had another friend who always showed up at the theater so late we would miss the first few minutes of a movie, so I started telling him a start time 30 minutes before the actual start time to ensure that he would actually show up on time. And even then he still showed up late sometimes.

But there was one time I may have been too early.

Back in 2000 my 1 year old car was due for registration. The state inspection wasn't due for another month, but I wanted them both to occur at the same time in future years, so I took my car in for inspection a month early.

When I pulled into the service center and told the employee I was there for my state inspection I was fully expecting to get some grief. So, with a somewhat snotty attitude I added, "And yes, I know I'm a month early."

The employee looked at my sticker and said, "Sir, you're a year early." (Apparently, the inspection for brand new cars is good for two years instead of the usual one.)

Perhaps I should have waited in my car to arrive at a more reasonable time.

Much more than first place

2011-10-04T18:20:00.001-05:00

At the beginning of the year I set a goal for myself to complete two 100 mile rides. I completed the first one in August. (See Are we there yet?) The past weekend I completed the second. And through some luck and skill, but mostly luck, I was the first 100 mile rider to finish.

The Texas Mamma Jamma ride is a recreational bike ride in the Austin area which began in 2009. The ride raises funds for central Texans coping with breast cancer. It's new, so it's a small ride, but since its inception it has raised over $1,000,000!

The 100 mile ride started at 7:30, led by a group of 13 riders (including me), who rode most of the first 10 miles together. As riders would bunch up I would periodically pass groups of people, trying to see how close to the lead I could get. I made it as high as sixth.

Six of the riders were much, much stronger, and around mile 15 a significant gap formed between them and the remaining pack. Over the next few miles the gap steadily increased. At this point I was in 10th. At the rest stop at mile 20, three riders ahead of me took a break, leaving me in seventh and by myself.

At mile 33, the first six riders hit the rest stop, which I skipped, putting me in first. The first six passed me back at mile 45 with relative ease, putting me back in seventh. I hit my first rest stop at mile 51, arriving just as the first six were leaving. I refilled my water, ate a power bar or two (or three), drank some fluids and got back on the road

The first six had a significant lead, and since they were excellent riders I was content to finish seventh and continued to ride at a comfortable pace. However, I had some luck on my side. When I left I came to an intersection at mile 56. One of the volunteers was hammering a "direction" sign pointing right. He said that someone had switched it to point left (not sure if it was unintentional or malicious), and he had just noticed it as he was driving by.

Of course, this meant the first six riders had gone off course. The volunteer had to get in his truck and chase them down to get them back on track. This also meant that I was now in first place again. I continued riding at a comfortable pace, and despite leg cramps at mile 65 I made to to mile 84 before I took my next break.

After a quick stop I was back on the road, finishing the 94 mile ride in under 7 hours total time, including breaks. My ride time was 6:08, slightly longer than the 102 mile ride in August, but this ride was by far the hilliest I'd ever ridden.So how did those six riders do? I estimate they rode an extra 25-30 miles due to the bad sign, but they still finished only 20 minutes after I did.

However, places weren't the reason for the ride. Fighting breast cancer was. Several of the riders were breast cancer survivors or were riding in honor of someone who was. I rode in honor of my friend Kristi, breast cancer survivor and all-around warrior. She is someone I've known for more than 25 years, and it was an honor and a privilege to ride for her.

That honor beats first place any day.

Don't stop believin'!

2011-10-02T15:10:00.005-05:00

At the end of September I went to Dallas for my niece's fourth birthday and to take Kristi to see Night Ranger, Foreigner and Journey in concert for her slightly-older-than-fourth birthday that happened the month before. On this trip I learned several things:

My niece is now aware enough to realize that her birthday is ALL about her.
The sound engineer for Foreigner is incredible.
Taco Bueno restaurants are surprisingly easy to break into.

Upon arriving at my brother's house, the door was opened by my niece announcing, "Uncle Don! It's my birthday!" It would not be the last time she mentioned that.

After lunch and cake she opened her gifts. She loved my unicorn pillow, almost as much as I loved the magnetic tiles her mommy and daddy got her. But after several hours I learned to hate the musical card she got.

After Kristi arrived, she and I headed to the concert. We both grew up during the time when the bands we were seeing were popular, and although Foreigner and Journey don't have the original singers we were looking forward to singing along. We got in the gates about 90 minutes before the concert started, so we looked at concert t-shirts (unimpressive and overpriced) and spent a fortune at the concession stand. We then took our blanket and claimed a spot in lawn seating.

Night Ranger opened with a short set, playing most of the crowd favorites. Most importantly, they closed with Sister Christian, which is my favorite song of all time. Yes, really. Foreigner played a long set, playing all of their hits from the 70's and 80's. They were, by far, the best sounding band I had ever heard live. It almost sounded like you were listening to a CD.

And finally, Journey hit the stage. Now, I have a couple of complaints about their concert. First, the sound mix wasn't nearly as good as Foreigner's. The music was a little distorted, and it made it hard to hear the lyrics sometimes. And second, they played way too many instrumental interludes between songs.

But, I did enjoy their concert more simply because I like more of their songs, and I enjoyed singing along with all the ones I recognized. The people around me probably didn't enjoy my singing as much, but I didn't care. They played all of my favorites, closing with an encore of Don't Stop Believin' and Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin'.

The drive back to my brother's was an adventure. It took 45 minutes to get out of the parking lot, and even more delays driving through construction, but we finally found a late-night fast food place a little after midnight, Taco Bueno.

Since neither of us were familiar with their menu, I suggested ordering inside and taking it back to my brother's. When we got to the door, the sign said only the drive-thru was open that late. However, I pulled on the door a couple of times, and it popped open. You could see the deadbolt sticking out, but the door opened anyway. Because we had just broken into a Taco Bueno, I thought it might be a good idea to decide what we wanted inside, and then order from the drive-thru. So we read the menu for 5-10 minutes and finally decided. During that time, none of the employees even knew we were there. I wonder if they even realized the doors were open.

After we ordered, we took our food back to my brother's and had an indoor picnic before crashing. It was an exhausting day, but I look forward to our next concert adventure.

Next time, we might try to break into a McDonald's.

Are we there yet?

2011-09-03T16:15:00.005-05:00

Last weekend, I participated in the 2011 Hotter'N Hell 100 (HH100). The HH100 began in 1982 as a way to celebrate Wichita Falls' centennial (100 miles in 100 degree heat). The first ride had 1200 participants, but it has grown into the largest single day 100 mile bicycle ride in the nation. This year, the total number of participants in all of the events was 13,241, with 11,870 of those riding the 100 mile endurance ride.

Now, this wasn't the first time I've ridden 100 miles in one day (see You're a better man than I am, I was doing fine until the ants and Outlaw Bike Tour 100), but it was my first HH100. I had two main goals for the ride: 1) Finish, 1a) Finish in a total time (including rest stops and bike repairs) of under 7 hours, or at least improve on my time from last year's Outlaw Bike Tour 100, and 2) Make it at least until mile 25 before I made my first "Are we there yet?" joke.

And on one of those goals I failed miserably.

I can ride between 40-45 miles before I have to refill my water pack, so my plan was to stop at the mile 42 rest stop, then again at the mile 84 rest stop, and then ride the last 18 miles of the 102 mile ride to the finish. That was my plan.

I made it to my first rest stop at mile 42 with relative ease. I grabbed some oranges and bananas, refilled my water, and got back on the road. Three miles later I had a flat. I changed the tire on the side of the road and started up again. At mile 50 I stopped at the rest stop to put a little more air in my tire and to buy a spare tube for the remainder of the ride (since I had used the one I brought). It was a quick stop.

I was still on pace to finish with a total time of under 6.5 hours, but around mile 70 I started to feel the effects of the heat, so I stopped at the rest stop at mile 77. I sat in the shade, drank some fluids and caught my breath. And at some point I misplaced my sunglasses.

Since I stopped one rest stop early, my new plan was to finish out the last 25 miles without stopping. Again, that was my plan.

The heat was brutal. Officially, the high was 109 (making it the hottest HH100 ever), but there were reports of temperature measurements on the ground as high as 125. The slight wind felt like a blow dryer in my face, and without my sunglasses I was squinting from the wind and glare. With my body temperature rising, and with my need for fluids and food, I stopped again at mile 91.

After getting more fluids, I got back on the bike, determined to finish the remainder of the ride nonstop.

I stopped again at mile 96. Again, more fluids. Again, back on the bike determined to finish the remainder of the ride. Since I had now left the last rest stop, I was pretty sure I was going to finish.

And finish I did. I crossed the finish line around 1:41 in the afternoon, giving me a total ride time of 7:18. It wasn't quite under 7 hours like I had hoped, but it was 59 minutes faster than the 95 mile ride I did last October. And of the total time, only 5:45 was actual riding time. Also, I rode the first 91 miles in 6:04. The last 11 took me 1:14. Did I mention it was hot?

I obviously achieved goals 1 and 1a, which means I must have failed goal 2. So when did I make my first "Are we there yet?" joke?

Mile 0. Twice.

The one time I fouled out of a basketball game

2011-08-18T20:00:00.001-05:00

For those that don't know, in almost all levels of the game of basketball each player gets five fouls per game. When the fifth foul is called you "foul out" and have to sit out the remainder of the game. In all my years of organized basketball I only fouled out of one game, and I did it with two fouls.

(Granted, it's easy to get fewer than five fouls when you don't actually get in the game, but that's beside the point.)

When my incredibly handsome twin brother Ron and I attended Texas Tech in the late 80's they had one of the largest intramural sports programs in the nation. (Because what else are you going to do in Lubbock?) They had male, female and co-ed teams in Greek, dorm and open divisions. Fellow college students were scorekeepers, timers and referees, and not so surprisinly mistakes were sometimes made.

Our freshman year we played on several of our dorm floor's teams, including the basketball team. During one game I was playing defense on an opposing player, and I was whistled for my second foul of the game. After the referee gave the nature of the offense to the scorekeeper he then informed me that I had fouled out of the game.

Naturally, I protested by noting it was only my second foul, and he said they had five fouls for me. I said, "You do realize I have a twin brother also playing, and I'm betting you put his three fouls on me." However, my argument fell on deaf ears, and I had to sit out the rest of the game.

You can bet in every game after that one of us wore a bandanna or some other differentiator.

EPILOGUE: Looking back, as long as both of us weren't in the game at the same time I probably could have gone back in the game, and they never would have known the difference.

Apparently there's a lot of humidity in my closet

2011-07-31T14:30:00.001-05:00

As mentioned in a couple of other blog posts I was laid off from my job of 8.5 years at the end of March. It was the second time in my career that I had been laid off, so I think I was better prepared at handling the time off this time.

I was a little more active in trying to find the next job, so my time off was much shorter. And I had a lot of help from friends, family and former coworkers. A friend from college is a recruiter in the San Francisco area, and she was a big help in updating my resume. Several former coworkers posted recommendations to my profile on LinkedIn, some of which went far beyond my expectations. And my friends and family, and even people I didn't know from my church e-mailed me about job opportunities that they found online.

And with all that help, I was eventually hired as a contract employee for the Department of Veterans Affairs. There was an extensive background check (some of which is still ongoing), so it took several weeks before I could start, but I finally started in mid-June. It's a bit of a commute, but I'm able to leave early enough to miss traffic. And I do have the opportunity to work from home, if the necessity arises.

The work environment is a little different. I went from having my own office to working in a "cube farm." And I went from wearing shorts and t-shirts to wearing slacks and shirts with collars. I had to buy a whole new wardrobe of work clothes since the slacks I had worn at a previous job 9 years ago no longer fit. Apparently, they had shrunk from sitting in the closet unworn.

I'm guessing it was the humidity. :)

Of course I knew what I was doing; I had a clipboard

2011-06-19T21:20:00.000-05:00

As mentioned in several other blog posts I, along with my friend Gary, coached a boys youth soccer team for 8 years (16 seasons). Gary's son Dusty was one of our players, and we coached him from U5 up to U12. Most of the other players came and went, but we did have 2 others who played all 16 seasons on our team, and several others who played 10+ seasons.

Gary and I worked well together. He had more soccer playing experience (somewhat easy, since I had none), so he did most of the in-game instructions. I focused on formations, where each kid played and substitutions. And in later seasons I even carried around a clipboard so that it looked like I knew what I was doing.

When we first started, neither one of us knew much about coaching. However, at the U5 level, it didn't really matter much. At that level, the teams play 3 to a side with no goalies, so the strategy is simply, "Kick it that way!" As they got older, the teams added more players to a side, including goalies.

Once positions became important, we tried to give each kid a chance to play as many positions as possible. Some coaches would put their 3 best kids as forwards, their 3 weakest kids in defense, and the rest in midfield. We actually split the skill level up so that each line (forward, midfield, defense) had strong and weak kids on them. And we moved them around between the different lines because they couldn't ever get better at a position if they never got to play it.

That philosophy meant we sometimes didn't win as many games as other philosophies might have, but it was recreational soccer. We felt it was our goal (pun intended) to make them better players for when they played select soccer or even high school soccer.

We may not have done a lot right in our coaching, but every now and then you get a reminder that there were some things you did do right. Three of our former players are still playing select soccer (2 played 16 seasons for us, 1 played 10+ seasons for us), and their team finished this past season as undefeated state champions for their age group. One of the player's mom e-mailed me about the team, thanking Gary and I for our coaching style. She mentioned her son appreciates that we didn't pigeonhole him into one position.

Sometimes the littlest things we do have the biggest impact.

Epilogue: When Gary and I "retired" from coaching soccer, I took some pictures from the various years and put them here.

I will always have hope

2011-04-24T17:45:00.001-05:00

My church has kicked off a fundraising campaign for renovating the sanctuary, and members have been asked to write devotionals for a six week series. The following is the devotional I wrote for the third week on hope.

“Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight.” (Proverbs 3:5-6, NIV).

I was laid off from my job of 8.5 years at the end of March. Like many layoffs, it was due to financial reasons, not because of performance. I was fortunate to have survived several rounds of layoffs over the years because I had been working on a product that was important to the long-term success of the company. That was not the case this time.

Since then I have had a few job interviews, both on the phone and in person. On a couple of occasions I was content with how I performed in the interview, but none of those opportunities have resulted in job offers so far. I have several months left before not having a job will start taking a toll financially, but hopefully an opportunity comes along before then.

I don’t know what God’s plan is for me, but I’m not going to confine what He can do by my limited human imagination. I know that whatever happens in my life He can use it for the good of His kingdom. As the psalmist in Psalm 71:14 said, “I will always have hope.”

Father, help me to trust the plan you have for my life and to be patient waiting for your perfect timing. Be a lamp for my feet, Lord, and make my path straight. Amen.

What kind of tree would I be?

2011-04-08T15:45:00.000-05:00

I got laid off from my job last week, so I find myself searching for a new one. I've updated my resume, I've submitted it to a few jobs, and I've had a few interviews, both on the phone and at the prospective company.

During some of these interviews I've been asked one of my favorite questions (other than "If you were a tree, what kind of tree would you be?"): What are your strengths and weaknesses?

When answering the "strength" part of the question, you're really trying to give the company reasons to hire you. So, you want to highlight assets you have that you think would benefit the company: things like being a self-starter, being an expert on a particular product (especially if the company uses that product or has a need for expertise with that product), or that you're a quick learner.

The "weakness" part of the question is more interesting, because you're really being asked to give reasons for the company to not hire you. Of course, you want to stay away from answers like "I don't like people" or "I'm a bit of a back-stabber."

There are two schools of thought on how you should answer the "weakness" part. One school of thought is that you should give a weakness that's not really a weakness, like "I'm a workaholic" or "I sometimes get so wrapped up in solving a problem that I won't leave work until I do." I'm not really a fan of this type of response because it always sounded disingenuous to me, so I imagine it sounds the same to the person who asked the question.

The second school of thought is to give an honest weakness, but one that possibly is irrelevant to the job: things like "I wish I knew more about product A" (when product A is not important to the company, or "I'm weak when it comes to testing hardware" (when the duties mostly revolve around testing software). When I interview I prefer to give this type of response.

And what about the kind of tree I'd be? Perhaps I'd be the type of tree with long branches so that I could smack the person who asked such an irrelevant question. :)

My life as a sitcom

2011-03-22T12:45:00.000-05:00

TV sitcoms have been around for more than 60 years, and they continue to be a staple on American television. However, the longer a show runs, the more likely it is that at least one episode will use one of the following sitcom clichés: a character is given increased power at work or school and it goes to his head; a fat husband dating or married to a thin wife; the crazy or overbearing mother-in-law; the evil twin; the characters start a business; the husband forgets wife's birthday or their anniversary; a lie gets out of hand; the wife is having a baby NOW; a character unexpectedly finds out about a child he had in his youth; two people who allegedly hate each other but secretly love each other; a character needs money and there's a talent show with prize money that equals the amount of money needed; a character gets amnesia. And there are many others.

One of those clichés happened in my life (other than the evil twin one), and it's all because of Facebook. Facebook is a social networking site that allows a person to communicate with friends all over the world, some of whom he or she has never met in person, and let those friends know when he or she is taking a nap. :) But it's also a nice way to catch up with friends you've lost touch with.

And in my case, it's also a nice way to meet the daughter you never knew you had.

I have a female friend that I met back in the late 80's, and we dated for a brief time in the early 90's. We lost track of each other after that, and in the age before e-mail and cell phones it wasn't uncommon to lose track forever.

As luck would have it, I came across her name on Facebook and sent her a message. She responded, and we caught each other up on our lives. She has a couple of daughters, one of whom also has a profile on Facebook. As I was looking at the daughter's profile I noticed her birthday was listed as March of 1991, which is somewhere around the time her mother and I dated.

My mouth immediately dropped. Could this daughter be mine? Is this why we lost contact? Perhaps she wanted to raise the daughter herself, and understandably so. I wasn't exactly the most responsible person during my late teens and 20's. Or my 30's and 40's, for that matter. I wondered if the daughter was smart or funny. Did she have a lot of friends? And I thought about the past for each of us having consequences, even 20 years later.

As I was looking at a picture of my friend and her daughter, secretly thanking God that the daughter looked like her mother, I was reminded of another feature of Facebook: the minimum age for creating a profile. In order to create a profile on Facebook, you have to be at least 13 years of age. Looking at the picture, I realized that the daughter probably wasn't old enough, so she used 1991 to get past the age restriction. Even if she was older than 13, it was obvious from the picture that she certainly wasn't 20 years old.

So, my brief stint as a father came to a close, and thus ended the "sitcom" portion of my life. However, I have decided to start my own business. And hilarity will ensue. :)

Now aren't you being selfish?

2011-02-23T15:45:00.000-06:00

When I first moved to Austin back in 1992 I lived in an apartment complex for a few years. I had various neighbors during that time, but my favorites were the Rainbows, a mother and daughter who were both named Rainbow. It was confusing (to me at least) for both to have the same name, so I gave them the nicknames Rainbow Sr. and Rainbow Jr.

Rainbow Sr. was some sort of priestess in her New Age, crystal-reading, incense-burning religion, which probably explains the names. She was a single mom, and from what I could tell she had sole custody of her daughter. Rainbow Jr. was a high school student and slightly rebellious, as teenagers sometimes are. And when her mom went out on a weekend night, Rainbow Jr. liked to throw parties for her high school friends.

And as a mother and her teenage daughter are wont to do, they sometimes argued. Late one particular Saturday night, Rainbow Sr. was going out. For whatever reason, this upset Rainbow Jr. As Rainbow Sr. walked to her car, Rainbow Jr. stood on their balcony yelling at her, loud enough to keep me awake. As I lay in bed I thought it would be "neighborly" for me to let them know they were being too loud. And then, an opportunity presented itself. Rainbow Jr. yelled at her mom, "You're being selfish. What about me?"

Struck by the irony of her statement, I then yelled a retort, "Now aren't you being selfish?"

They were obviously struck by the sheer gravitas of my statement, quietly went their separate ways and pondered the wise words that I had yelled. Either that, or they were embarrassed that they were yelling loud enough for others to hear. Whichever.

Dodgeball = Life?

2011-01-20T15:15:00.001-06:00

At my church we have a few camps during the year for the kids. Since I like working with kids and being active, I sometimes help out with the recreational activities.

For the longer lasting camps we try to vary the activities, but I always try to make sure a certain activity is played at least once during camp: dodgeball! For anyone who has never played dodgeball, the game is played with two teams who line up on opposite ends of a court with rubber balls placed in the center. Someone yells go and both teams rush to the center to get a ball so that they can throw them at the other team. A player is out if they get hit by a ball or if someone on the other team catches a ball they threw. A team wins when all the players on the other team have been knocked out of the game.

Of course, when a game involves throwing objects at each other, there's always a chance for injury, but just about any recreational activity has that chance. Personally, I like having dodgeball as an activity because the rules are simple, you don't need a lot of equipment, and games can be played quickly.

And I think dodgeball is a good metaphor for life. Obviously, the more athletic kids will be able to stay in the game longer (survival of the fittest), which for the other kids might seem unfair. And nothing says life is unfair like a dodgeball to the side of the head.

But over time something else usually happens. When there's a kid who is more athletic you see the kids on the other team band together to try to knock that kid out of the game. One or two kids will the draw the athletic kid's fire, and when he is out of ammo, the others on the team will try to hit him when he can't defend himself. If they're successful, then they have a good chance of winning the game.

They see a difficult obstacle, they work together to overcome the obstacle, and they all win.

And that type of plan can help all of us, no matter what life throws at us. Even if it's a dodgeball to the side of the head.

Christmas lights

2010-12-28T11:00:00.000-06:00

Christmas is one of my favorite holidays. In addition to celebrating the birth of Jesus, I enjoy getting together with family and friends, the food, the carols. But most of all, I enjoy the Christmas lights.

I like how houses look when they are tastefully covered in lights, with additional lights covering the trees and bushes and perhaps a display or two in the yard. For the yard displays I like a general theme: a Nativity scene, the Peanuts gang, or Santa and his elves.

When my incredibly handsome twin brother Ron and I were in high school and college, we put up the Christmas lights at my parent's house. My mom and sister weren't fond of heights, and my dad wasn't as spry (and our older brother didn't live at home), so putting the lights up was our job.

Mom also had a Nativity scene in the front yard, plastic and lit from the inside. We had Mary and Joseph, the baby Jesus (of course), the shepherds and various animals. But in a nice mixing of genres that always made me chuckle, we also had Santa on the roof overlooking the scene.

At my house every Christmas I put up lights on the roof and in the tree in my front yard. Sometimes I've had some in the bushes and around the garage, depending on if I can get all the light strands working. And in the future I hope to add more lights, and I want to have a nicely lit Nativity scene in the front yard: Mary, Joseph, the baby Jesus, the shepherds and various animals. And in honor of my mom I might even have Santa standing amongst the shepherds.

He was a saint, after all.

My Undefeated Season Pitching Little League

2010-11-02T07:35:00.000-05:00

I wish I could play little league now. I'd be way better than before. - Mitch Hedberg

Growing up as a twin people would ask us if we ever pretended to be the other one or went on dates for the other one or any other twin-related pranks. And for the most part, the answer was no, especially with dating. It wasn't always easy to get a date in the first place, so neither one of us was going to pass up the opportunity to actually go on the date.

But there are some exceptions. In Jr. High band we once switched instruments as an April Fools joke. Neither one of us could play the other's band instrument very well, but sadly, the band director never caught on. Perhaps we weren't that good on our own band instrument either.

And then there was little league baseball. One year when we were around 11 or 12, I was one of the pitchers for our little league team. I wasn't great, but I could get the ball over the plate most of the time, which is pretty good by little league standards. And unlike the little league pitchers today, I wasn't damaging my arm by trying to throw sliders and off-speed pitches, primarily because I didn't know how.

We had two games per week, and pitchers were only allowed to pitch one game a week per little league rules, so Ron and I alternated games. However, Ron had control issues ... with his pitching ... so almost the entire season I pretended to be him on his pitching days. We didn't switch jerseys, and I never said, "I'm Ron." I just went to the mound and pitched.

No one ever caught on as far as we knew, although one opposing coach asked me before the game, "Didn't you pitch earlier this week?" So, Ron pitched that one game, but I pitched the other 15. I believe I finished the season with 10 wins, 4 losses, and 1 no decision.

Of course, since "Ron" pitched half of the games, I could say I was 8-0.

Outlaw Bike Tour 100

2010-10-11T14:20:00.001-05:00

A couple of months ago my friend Wayne asked me if I wanted to ride in the Outlaw Bike Tour 100, taking place on Oct. 9th. The Outlaw is a non-competitive bike ride that takes place in Williamson County with several routes available ranging from 10 to 100 miles. Since the ride was taking place a couple of days after my birthday I wanted to challenge myself, and I talked Wayne into trying the 100 mile route.

I hadn't ridden 100 miles in one day since 1997, when I last rode the MS150, and Wayne had never ridden more than 30 miles in one day, so we had our work cut out for us. We both trained as much as we could with our jobs and other responsibilities. And then, the day of the ride was upon us.

We started promptly at 8am with our group (the 100 milers) starting first. The weather was a brisk 57 degrees, but the skies were clear and the winds were light. We had to make the second checkpoint by 10am to continue on the 100 mile route, so we skipped the first checkpoint. We had no intentions of skipping any after that. Or so we thought.

After the second checkpoint, only the 100 milers were still on our route. All the other routes had turned off to make their smaller loops back to the finish line. Most of the other cyclists in our group were setting a much faster pace than us, so the next few legs were pretty quiet. It seemed like forever, but we eventually made it to the next checkpoint.

Surprisingly, we were at the fourth checkpoint. At some point between checkpoints 2 and 4 we missed a turn and bypassed the third checkpoint. Luckily, the course came back to the road we were on, and we didn't have to turn around. Also, we ended up shaving 5 miles off the total for the route. Accidentally, of course.

The road got hillier after checkpoint 4. Wayne's legs started cramping around mile 40, and he struggled to make it to checkpoint 5 (around mile 50). We took a long break at checkpoint 5. Then we headed out for checkpoint 6.

The course got even tougher. There were several big hills (by our novice standards), and some of the roads were very rough. Our pace slowed quite a bit, but we eventually made it to checkpoint 6 (mile 64). Wayne decided he was done for the day, having ridden a little more than double his personal best. He took a support vehicle back to the finish line, where he was going to wait for me to finish if I could. After resting and hydrating, I headed back out.

The next four miles were still tough, but after that the road leveled off until checkpoint 7 (around mile 73). I took a short break and got back on the road. The road got a little hillier (not as bad as earlier), and around mile 80 my legs started to cramp. My pace slowed, but I eventually made it to final checkpoint at mile 83.

I took a very long break. One of the volunteer motorcycle riders mentioned that there were only 10 people left on the course after me. So I wasn't last. I eventually got back on the road for the last 12 miles. The last leg had some rolling hills, but since my legs were cramping they seemed mountainous to me.

Finally, I made it to the finish line at 4:17pm. The parking lot was mostly empty, but the few remaining volunteers were nice enough to cheer. I had been on the course for 8 hours and 17 minutes, with 7 hours and 2 minutes of actual riding time. And I had ridden 95.49 miles. A big congratulations to all the riders, and a hearty thank you to all the volunteers.

So who wants to ride next year?

Catholic church is hard on the feet

2010-09-28T07:45:00.002-05:00

Growing up, I attended a Protestant church, so I didn't have a lot of experience with Catholic services. And by that, I mean I had no experience. When I was in college I had a girlfriend who was Catholic so I attended my first Christmas mass with her and her family.

For those of us who don't attend Catholic church, the services can seem daunting. There's a lot of ritual and congregational responses and standing and kneeling and sitting and more standing and more kneeling and on and on. I'm sure there's a pattern to it and eventually you get the hang of it, but it's confusing at first.

And then there's the kneeler.

For those parts of the services that require kneeling, most (or perhaps all) Catholic churches have kneelers, padded platforms to place your knees on. The particular church I attended had them attached to the bottom of the pew in front of you, and when it was a "kneeling time" you flipped the kneeler down. And when kneeling time was over, you flipped it back up so that it was out of the way.

An excellent idea. Or so it would seem.

As a Catholic mass rookie, I was unprepared for kneeling time so I had my legs stretched out in front of me. When the kneeler was flipped down, one of its feet ended up on top of my foot, which went unnoticed until everyone on my pew placed their knees on the kneeler, crushing my foot.

With that much weight on the kneeler I was unable to pull my foot out. I didn't want to cause a scene, so I bit my tongue (figuratively) and attempted to maintain my balance with one leg with the foot trapped under the kneeler and the other leg with the knee slightly hovering over the kneeler so that I wouldn't add to the weight pressing down on my foot. I don't know if the pain caused me to embellish this in my memory, but it seemed to me that this kneeling section of the service lasted for several hours, which is amazing considering the mass only lasted an hour.

Eventually, that kneeling portion of the service ended, and the kneeler was flipped back up. For the remainder of the service, my feet were safely tucked under my own pew. Hopefully, this story will prevent anyone else from making the same mistake I did.

As if that were possible.

Oh, he's my favorite

2010-08-04T09:20:00.001-05:00

Several years ago my incredibly handsome twin brother and his wife adopted their first daughter Shayla. She was the first niece (or nephew) in the family, and I wanted to make sure she adored her Uncle Don. Any time I visited or talked to her on the phone I always started the conversation with, "Hey Shayla, it's your favorite Uncle Don." Some might call it brainwashing; I prefer to call it targeted marketing.

Several months later, Shayla was playing with one of her older cousins Lindsay. Lindsay was helping her learn family members' names by asking where they were.

Lindsay would ask, "Where's your daddy?"

Shayla would answer, "He's at work."

"Where's your mommy?"

"She's at home."

She went through several members, and then she got to me. Lindsay asked, "Where's your Uncle Don?"

And Shayla responded, "Oh, he's my favorite!"

I guess "targeted marketing" does work.

Boo: 1995-2010

2010-07-23T16:30:00.002-05:00

My cat Boo hasn't been feeling well the past few weeks. He had stopped eating his dry food a few months ago and would only eat wet food, and he was constantly hungry. Despite eating multiple times per day, he was still losing weight. I took him to the vet, and he was diagnosed with an overactive thyroid. He started taking medicine twice a day (well, I had to give it to him), and his weight was improving. However, he still didn't seem like himself, and earlier this afternoon he passed away.

Boo wasn't supposed to be my cat. Fifteen years ago, my girlfriend at that time thought her cat needed a playmate. So she went to the shelter and found Boo. She picked him up, and he crawled inside her jacket to snuggle.

Or so she thought. It turned out he was named Boo for a reason. His previous owners had beat him, so he was terrified of everyone and everything. For the first two weeks we couldn't get him to come out from under the furniture. It took two years before I heard him purr for the first time. For whatever reason Boo liked me so when that girlfriend and I broke up Boo came with me.

Boo enjoyed being the only pet for a while, and he later tolerated those pesky dogs I brought home. Boo was fine with any other pet as long as they left him alone, which ruled out puppies and kittens. He was fine once they got older and stopped bothering him.

Boo and I had our share of adventures, like the time he tried to kill me (see Unexplained Injuries) or the time I had a brilliant idea (see That time I tried to give my cat a bath). The house will be much quieter without him.

I wonder if I can use the pool

2010-07-15T15:15:00.001-05:00

I was contacted today by an ex-girlfriend from long ago. We dated for several years, owned a house together (with a pool), but it just didn't work out in the end. It was an amicable split, and the house was the only thing we owned together, so we filed all the legal paperwork to get me off the mortgage. Or so we thought.

Recently, she was trying to get a small business loan (I assume using the house as collateral), and the bank sent her paperwork that her husband needed to sign.

My name was on the form.

We were never married.

And she has a husband.

According to the bank the paperwork we filed ten years ago wasn't legal in the state of Texas. And that's a problem since that's the state where we actually live. And apparently our lawyer at the time was an idiot.

So, she's working with the bank to get the proper paperwork for us to sign. Until then, I wonder if I can use the pool.

Hey, buddy. The light is green.

2010-07-05T07:25:00.001-05:00

In addition to my brilliant idea to put paintball cannons on all cars (see The Mother of Invention), I believe all cars should come equipped with car phones, and I mean the old school phones that are permanently installed in the car. Also, each person's license plate number should be the phone number of their car phone.

Imagine a world where you could call the car in front of you and politely let them know that the light is green or perhaps remind them of the actual speed limit. Or you might call the person in front of you to tell them you find him or her attractive. The possibilities are endless.

Of course, I can also imagine a world where people call other drivers to vent their road rage at them, so there's a wrinkle or two to iron out.

I got a rock

2010-06-25T10:03:00.000-05:00

I got a rock. - Charlie Brown

Earlier this week, my church had a basketball and cheerleading summer camp for 1st-5th grade boys and girls. There were 155 kids who attended, supported by 67 adult and student volunteers. Their roles ranged from organizers to coaches to recreation leaders to arts and crafts teachers to bible study teachers to cooks for the lunches.

I was one of those 67 volunteers, serving as a basketball coach for eleven 1st and 2nd grade boys. My job, along with my assistant coach, was to run through an hour of basketball drills in the morning, take the kids to bible study, take the kids to lunch, run through another hour of basketball drills in the afternoon, take the kids to arts and crafts, take the kids to their recreation activity, and then finish up with the kids scrimmaging the other team of 1st and 2nd grade boys. Every day, I went home exhausted (mentally and physically) and sore.

I would guess that almost all of the kids had a good time, although I'm sure a few of the kids attended because it was their parents' idea. One kid in my group was sometimes difficult to motivate, preferring to sit and watch the basketball drills rather than participate. So, my assistant coach and I tried to come up with drills that were a little more fun for all the kids and their various skill levels.

Sometimes we succeeded and sometimes we didn't, but near the end of the final day that kid gave me a gift as a thank you. He gave me a rock. Now, I know it was one he got from the parking lot, but he thought it looked cool and it was special to him. And he gave it to me.

We don't always know if we're having an impact on those around us, and sometimes we never will.

But sometimes, someone gives us a rock.

It is finished

2010-05-23T17:45:00.001-05:00

When he had received the drink, Jesus said, "It is finished." - John 19:30a

The past week I went to my hometown for the final service of the First Presbyterian Church of Iowa Park, Texas. The church was organized in 1890 with eleven charter members. In 1921, the first part of the current facility was built with additions in 1930 and 1953. Renovations were done in 1949 and the late 1970s until 1980. In 2010, with a dwindling membership who didn't have the energy or health to continue the work of the church, the decision was made to close the church.

My family were already members of the church when my incredibly handsome twin brother Ron and I were born. We were baptized there when we were babies. In our youth we sang in the youth choir, performed in the nativity play, and helped with the remodeling of the church (well, we hit a few nails with a hammer). As we got older we sang in the adult choir, performed in youth plays (see Holly Day's Inn), and hid the Easter eggs for the younger kids.

When we were kids, Ron and I didn't get to sit next to each other during church, mostly because we talked to each other during the service. A lot. At least one of our parents sat between us, and one of us was unlucky enough to have a parent on either side. It was unlucky because neither mom nor dad could carry a tune, but they loved to belt out the hymns, and the kid with mom and dad on either side had to listen to an out-of-tune singer in each ear.

The final service was performed was performed by Rev. Tom Wisdom. Ret. USAF Chaplain Frank Hamilton, Rev. Betty Meadows, Executive Presbyter Richard Schempp (pictured L-R) and Commissioned Lay Pastor Mr. Steve Barnes (not pictured). Rev. Meadows was my favorite pastor growing up. She was there when I was in high school and college, leaving in 1990. She came back almost eleven years ago for my mom's funeral service (see A belated eulogy), but this was her first time back since then.

After the service, a catered lunch was served, people visited, and stories were shared. A few hours later, when everything was cleaned up, the lights were turned off and the doors locked one final time.

And with that, it was finished.

The Disappearing Date

2010-04-27T12:35:00.001-05:00

Over the years I've been on a lot of dates. Some were good, some were bad, some continued on to be future girlfriends, and some ended right after that first date (or perhaps during it), and some ... well, some just spent the entire evening crying in the bathroom.

Back in my late teens I had a friend who I'll call Jennifer. One day she called and asked me for a favor. She had a friend (who I'll call Susan) who needed a date to one of their high school dances. Susan had planned on going with her boyfriend, but he had recently broken up with her and was taking someone else. Susan wanted to show him that she was "so over him" by showing up with her own date, and Jennifer suggested me.

So I agreed, knowing that my role was just to be a filler, and to possibly make her ex-boyfriend jealous. Because nothing makes an ex-boyfriend more jealous than when you show up with a nerdy honor student.

That evening I picked Susan up at Jennifer's house, introduced myself ("Hi, I'm your date."), and took her to the dance. Most of her friends were also friends with her ex-boyfriend, so we sat at a table with some friends I knew at the dance. A few minutes after we sat down, she excused herself to go to the bathroom. And other than an occasional glimpse in passing, that was the last I saw of my date.

I found out later from Jennifer that Susan had seen her ex-boyfriend with his date, and she was so upset she went to the bathroom to cry. I guess she wasn't "so over him" after all. I couldn't really go console her in the ladies bathroom, so I stayed at the table, visited with my friends, and danced with other girls I knew.

My friends asked where my date was, and periodically I would see her walking in the crowd to find Jennifer so that they could go back the bathroom and talk. I would say, "Ooo, there she is, walking toward the bathroom again!"

After a couple of hours, I asked Jennifer if she would take Susan home since it didn't seem like she was ever coming out of the bathroom. And then I went home.

It wasn't necessarily a bad date, for me anyway. I've had worse. And it's certainly not the only time one of my dates ended with somebody crying in the bathroom.

You're welcome to my opinion

2010-03-24T13:45:00.000-05:00

There are certain topics I don't usually discuss with people, like politics (as noted in Getting People to Vote). Sometimes it's because I don't have enough information to have an opinion on a particular topic, sometimes it's because I don't have any passion for a particular topic (a nice way of saying I don't care about that topic).

And sometimes it's because the other person doesn't really care about my opinion. Some people are more concerned with convincing you that their opinion is the correct one. Not only are they welcome to their opinion, but you're welcome to it as well. Opinions aren't facts, but they are certain that they are right. And you could be right if you'd just agree with them.

Politics is one area where that frequently occurs. Since we have two major parties it's very easy for your party to be right, and the other party to be wrong. Take a polarizing topic, like health care reform or the war in Iraq, and it's very easy to make them black-and-white issues. And that's a shame because those issues (and most others) are far more complex than that.

For example, how would one rate President Bush as a president. (I don't have an opinion on President Obama yet, since he's only been on the job for a year.) To answer that question with a simple black-and-white response would be to simply say "he sucked" or "he was the greatest thing since sliced bread".

But it's not that simple. Now, I think President Bush is a good man who tried to do a good job, but I don't think he had the skills to be a good president, and I don't consider that an insult. Most people who know me know that I have an extremely high opinion of myself, and I don't think I have the skills either. Personally, I think his biggest problem was surrounding himself with some terrible, terrible people.

And that's where the polarizing groups would try to convince me that I was "wrong." One side would argue that not only was he a great man, he was the greatest president in the history of presidents, while the other side would argue that not only was he a terrible president, he was also a spawn of the devil. And neither extreme group would welcome any disagreement to their opinion. They are right, you are wrong. It's just not worth the effort to discuss it with those types of people.

Of course, all of the above is my opinion. But you're welcome to it.

There's no skipping in basketball

2010-02-06T16:30:00.001-06:00

I was having a bad week this past week. There were some personal and work issues bothering me, but mostly the boys basketball team I coach was frustrating me. I was trying to be patient (and failing), but their lack of attention and focus in practice was getting to me. Win or lose, I just want them to learn and get better as the season goes along. At this point, we don't have a set offense in place. We just want them to get in position, space the floor and maybe set some screens for each other.

There's a boy on my team who is younger than everyone else. He's the only one who hasn't started 1st grade yet, and he's also one of the smallest. He sometimes forgets who he's supposed to be guarding on defense, and he will probably lead the team in the number of times falling down for no apparent reason.

At our game today, we coaches were telling the boys to setup and space the floor, mostly to deaf ears. But one time, that young boy got in his position and set a screen for his teammate with the ball, which allowed the teammate to dribble past his defender and score.

As he was heading back on defense, I yelled, "Nice screen!" He smiled big, turned and waved to his dad (who was also congratulating him), and skipped happily to the defensive end. He then went on to set several more screens while he was on the floor.

For that brief moment he got it. That is why teacher's teach and parent's parent. And that's why I coach: that one perfect moment when you finally reach a child.

Ok, I could have done without the skipping.

Security question

2010-01-27T09:00:00.002-06:00

For a few of my friends I do web pages and some computer support. My friend Laura in Florida is an event planner, and I helped a little with her website (http://hollidayplanit.com/). Last week she started having issues with her e-mails not reaching their destination, and after she was unable to get a resolution with the domain provider support she called in her IT Manager. The Big Gun. Awesome Don.

When I was finally able to get through on the phone, I was connected with someone with a very strong Indian accent whose name was "Tracy." In order to prove it was OK for me to access the account, Tracy asked me the security question: Laura's mother's maiden name. My response: Uh, her mother has been married 12 times, so I have no idea what her maiden name is.

I'm betting that's the first time they've ever had that response.

So, after validating my credentials with another method, we finally escalated the issue to the group who should have been fixing it in the first place. I called Laura and updated her on the issue. And I asked her the answer to the security question in case I have to call back any time soon. :)

Epilogue: Here's a story I wrote back in 2003 about her mom back when she'd only been married 11 times: There's always hope.

I certainly admired his honesty

2010-01-18T06:35:00.000-06:00

A couple of years ago, I "retired" after 16 seasons of coaching a boys soccer team. However, this winter I returned to the coaching ranks. I am currently coaching a 1st and 2nd grade boys basketball team in my church's Upward basketball league. Unlike soccer, basketball is a sport I actually played growing up.

There's a player or two on each team with some basketball experience, but for most of the kids it's their first time playing basketball. The first few practices have been spent going over the basics: dribbling, defense, rebounding and the general rules of the game. In the future I hope to teach them offensive spacing, setting picks and switching on defense. Who knows, by the end of the season we might even learn an offensive play or two.

The games themselves are very structured. Each 18 minute half is divided into 6 minute segments. At the start of each segment, the players in the game are lined up based on skill level, and each one guards the player on the other team with the similar skill level. They play a basic man-on-man defense with no double-teaming or pressing. The substitutions are set up so that no player ever sits out more than one 6 minute segment in a row.

We just had our second game, and the boys are improving. There's still a lot of traveling and double-dribbling, and they sometimes forget who they're guarding on defense, but they're having fun. During halftime we were going over some things to work on in the second half. One player had missed the first game, so this was his very first game ever. He interrupted my pep talk to tell me, "Coach. This is my first game, and I have NO idea what I'm doing!"

I certainly admired his honesty.

Make a joyful noise!

2010-01-02T13:30:00.001-06:00

Singing is much too enjoyable to only be done by those who are good at it. - Molly Ivins

I sing in my church choir. I sing not because I'm good at it, but because I enjoy it. I have a kind voice: the kind that should be singing quieter. The Bible tells us many times to make a joyful noise or to sing His praises; nowhere does it say we have to be in tune.

I never sang in my school choir, and I've never had any formal training. I can read music because of my years in the school band (playing the tuba, because I was just so cool), but I can't look at a note and sing the pitch I should be singing. I don't have perfect pitch, or even reasonably-close pitch. I don't harmonize, and I have no training in music theory. In fact, I didn't know what part I would sing until my first rehearsal. My range is limited, my voice is shaky, and my pitch is questionable.

But I like to sing. Put me next to someone who is singing the correct pitch, and I do my best to match it. I try not to sing too loud except when the song really moves me, and then I make no guarantees. I keep rehearsals lively with my sarcastic and slightly disruptive comments. I perform to the best of my abilities with all the talent that I have.

I make a joyful noise.

Snowpocalypse 2009

2009-12-30T15:30:00.000-06:00

A lot of people not from Texas are surprised that Texas gets its fair share of snow. Granted, it's not months and months of snow like in the northern regions, but in north Texas, where I grew up, we usually got a few weeks of snow every winter. Typically, the snow hit in late January or early February, but we sometimes had a white Christmas.

However, we never had anything like this year. (In the literary world, this is known as foreshadowing.)

Early last week, I drove up to my dad's in north Texas. I had planned on spending a few days there and leaving on Wednesday the 23rd. However, I later decided to stay an extra day and leave for the Dallas area (to visit my brother and his family) on Thursday.

Little did I know that that decision would forever change my life. (More foreshadowing and a lot of exaggeration.)

Around 4:00 AM Thursday morning I awoke to hear a heavy rain falling. It rained a few hours, creating a nice layer of ice on the ground. Later, still early in the morning, it began to snow. By the time I tried to leave there were already several inches of snow on the ground. I was unable to get my car on the highway. I was also unable to get my car back up the driveway, so my car remained uncovered the rest of the day.

It snowed almost the entire day with the wind gusting to 30-40 MPH. Several of the highways in the area closed, and some travelers were stranded for 10-12 hours. Many had to abandon their cars. By the end of the day, my hometown reportedly had 15 inches of snow. As far as I can remember it's the most snow we've ever had.

On Christmas morning I again thought about driving to my brother's. However, several of the roads remained closed, and my car was going to take some time to dig out. So I stayed one more day.

By Saturday morning I was ready to leave. I was a little burned out on playing the Wii, and I really wanted to sleep in my own bed. After I dug out my car, my sister and some neighbors helped push me out of the driveway, and I headed out.

The roads were still somewhat icy, but on the major highways there was usually one lane that was fairly clear. The most difficult part was passing the really, really slow traffic because that meant switching over to the lane that was less clear. Several of the abandoned cars were still on the side of the highway.

The first part of the trip was very slow-going. It took 3 hours to travel a distance that normally would take 1 hour. But once I got far enough south the roads were much better. Once I got south of Ft. Worth, there was no snow or ice to be seen at all.

So, after 8 hours of traveling, including a stop at my brother's to drop off Christmas presents (and to play Guitar Hero), I finally made it back home. It was nice to finally sleep in my own bed.

Canine Massage Therapy

2009-12-11T13:45:00.000-06:00

I was getting my hair cut today. My hairstylist has been cutting my hair for years, so we usually chitchat about things going on in our lives. Today, she mentioned an additional career that she wanted to try, which involved going to Canine Massage Therapy School.

I paused, wondering if I heard her correctly. And I thought, did a Mr. and Mrs. Canine open a massage therapy school, or was there a school to teach massage therapy for canines? So I asked.

And yes, she wants to learn massage therapy for canines. Again I paused, wondering just how tense could a dog's life be. Do they get knotted muscles from the stress of laying around the house all day? Do they complain all day about their backs hurting because they "slept wrong?"

It was explained to me that this massage therapy was for rehabilitation, not relaxation. So, in the future if you have a dog who needs to rehab from a surgery or injury, I might have a specialist I can recommend.

The D stands for awesome!

2009-12-02T12:45:00.000-06:00

It's been said that you can't give yourself a nickname. In an episode of Seinfeld George Costanza tries to get people to call him "T-Bone" only to end up with the nickname "Gammy." In my youth I once tried to get people to call me "Doc" because my first two initials are D.R. No one ever called me "Doc."

That's not to say I didn't have a nickname or two growing up. Since my full name is Donald and my incredibly handsome twin brother's full name is Ronald we heard our share of Ronald McDonald variations. And yes, we've heard them all.

(And just to clear up a common joke: we were often told that if we'd been triplets the "other one" could have been named Mack so it would be Ronald, Mack, Donald. My response: Look, genius, it's not MacDonald's, it's McDonald's. The "other one" would have been named Mick. Get the joke right.)

Some classmates used to call me Onald to ensure they were never calling me by the wrong name. An older kid in the neighborhood used to call Ron and I "Ding" and "Dong" which was actually one of my favorite nicknames. And my dad still refers to me as Ronald-Donald because he likes to pretend he doesn't know which one I am.

Recently, however, I was able to give myself a nickname that stuck. At my job we did a lot of software demos (and still do). It involved calling a conference number and logging into a meeting application such as WebEx or LiveMeeting. When someone was doing a demo they would have to share their desktop with the other attendees. To do that, the moderator or the most recent presenter would have to scroll through the names of the attendees and make them a presenter. If there was a lot of people in the list it sometimes took several minutes to find the name of the next presenter.

So I decided to do the old phone book trick of signing in with an "A" name, ensuring my name would be near the top of the list, and making it easier to find. The name I used: Awesome Don.

Over the course of several months and many, many demos that name stuck. Perhaps it was for ironic reasons (like calling a bald man Curly), but it stuck nonetheless. And recently, the nickname has spilled out into life outside of work. People ask me how I got that name, and I could tell them the boring truth (like I just did), or I could make up a fantastic story about doing something truly awesome.

Or I could just tell them that my name is Don, and the D stands for awesome!

And for that, I give thanks

2009-11-24T17:00:00.000-06:00

Thanksgiving is around the corner, a time when people remember all the blessings in their lives. However, there are people who aren't satisfied with what they have. They think that if only they had a little more, then they'd be thankful. It's always easy to focus on what we don't have.

Today, I was riding on the local hike-n-bike trail. For most of the ride I was lost in thought, thinking about problems that needed to be worked out, bills that needed to paid, and chores that needed to be done. I wasn't paying attention to the beautiful weather, the red and brown leaves scattered along the trail, or any other blessings in plain sight.

On one part of the trail a woman was walking with her dog and not doing a good job of staying to one side of the trail. I sighed, slightly put out because she was blocking my path. I politely said "on your left" to let her know I was passing, and she scooted over with a bright smile and a cheery "oh, sorry."

It was then that I realized that there's a good chance she was blind.

It was not one of my finer moments. So for the rest of my ride, I thought about the things I had: my sight, my hearing, my overall health. I have a good job, a roof over my head, a mostly well-behaved dog, and a cat that tolerates me. I get to play the sports I enjoy, and my church choir doesn't mind having me as a member. My family gets along with each other and is only slightly dysfunctional, but in a good way. My life is full of people who genuinely care about my well-being.

And for that, I give thanks.

Ego search

2009-11-12T15:00:00.000-06:00

An ego search is when a person performs a web search on their own name. A person might legitimately do an ego search to ensure there isn't false or embarrassing information about themselves online. Companies sometimes perform them to see what people are posting or blogging about them. Me? I just have an enormous ego.

I also have the distinction of sharing a name with the Representative for the state of Alaska. Congressman Don Young is currently one of the longest-serving members of the House. He has chaired both the House Transportation and Infrastructure Committee and the Resources Committee. He is noted for having lost his first election attempt to a man who had been missing for almost a month and was later declared dead. He has also been investigated on more than one occasion for ethics violations.

As you might expect, there are many web pages, online articles and blogs about Congressman Young and an "ego search" of Don Young returns a lot of hits. There was also an unexpected side-effect. People searching for the Congressman would sometimes end up on my personal website. Despite my "About Me" and "Contact Me" pages specifically mentioning that I am not the Congressman for Alaska, I would still get the occasional e-mail meant for that other Don Young.

One time, I got an e-mail from a woman who was VERY upset with the way I voted on a particular piece of legislation. She went into great detail as to why my vote was the incorrect one, and she was nice enough to thrown in a few insults, too. I had no idea what the legislation was about, and I didn't care, but I began typing a response to the woman. I gave my reasons for voting the way I did, all completely bogus, of course, and I included a few insults of my own. However, I thought better of impersonating a Congressman and deleted my response before I sent it.

I would hate to have been brought up on ethics charges.

I'm one of the select few

2009-11-04T11:25:00.000-06:00

Temptation comes in many forms, and it usually strikes us where we're weak. A person with an addiction will often be tempted by that addiction. A person on a diet will probably be tempted by food. A person with issues with pride will be tempted by power and recognition. Or so I've heard. :)

I like nice cars. I like the big engines, the fancy options, the nice sound system, etc. However, when I have a car, no matter how nice it is, I get as much as I can out of it. I've never had a car for less than 6 years. I've had my current car for over 10 years and nearly 190,000 miles. In fact, I've been a car owner for more than 25 years, and I'm only on my third car.

I've had the new car bug for a few months, but I've been wanting to wait until next year when I'll be closer to paying off one of my mortgages and I won't have any other outstanding debt. I'm hoping my current car lasts until then with just the usual maintenance.

But temptation struck. Yesterday, a loan specialist from my bank left a message. I was one of the "select few" customers chosen for a special car loan rate. And by select few, they mean that I'm a customer who doesn't have a big outstanding loan with them, so they're not making any money off of me. How nice of them to offer me a loan out of the goodness of their hearts. :)

I thought about it a long time yesterday, but for now I'm going to wait. The new cars aren't going anywhere, and I'm guessing the bank will still have money to loan next year. Who knows, maybe I'll be one of the select few again.

Holly Day's Inn

2009-10-12T09:00:00.002-05:00

Sometimes in life things work out despite our worst efforts.

Growing up I went to a very small church, and that meant that the youth group was small as well. One year the youth group put on a Christmas play called Holly Day's Inn. The story was about a man, Hollister "Holly" Day, who owned a hamburger stand called Holly Day's Inn. On Christmas Eve several unhappy people visit the stand, including a young minister and his wife, but they leave with their questions answered.

My incredibly handsome twin brother Ron and I were the only teenage boys in the youth group, so Ron played the minister and I played Holly Day. Despite my desire to be the center of attention, being in a church play was not something I wanted to do. So I complained constantly. I was sullen and moody. I purposely made very little effort to memorize my lines. In the acting world, I was what they call "difficult."

My older sister was also in the play. At the time she worked at a bank, and a few weeks before the play a bag of quarters fell off a table, landing on her foot and breaking it. I was ecstatic, not because she broke her foot, but because I thought we would have to cancel the play. But, she was a trooper and played her part on crutches. Darn it! :)

Despite my worst efforts, the play went off mostly without a hitch. Somewhere in the middle I accidentally skipped a few pages of dialog, which almost caused my sister to miss her cue to enter. Luckily, the people back stage noticed my mistake and were nice enough to push her onto the stage at the right time. In hindsight, that probably wasn't a good idea since she was still on crutches.

Also, my brother's duet of Silent Night with his "wife" was a little off-key (he blames the "wife"), but because of that, my line after the song made me chuckle to myself: "That was beautiful!"

So why did I not want to be in the play? I don't know. Our lives are filled with things that we don't want to do or that we think will be difficult, but the right thing isn't always the easiest thing. And sometimes we learn that it wasn't nearly as difficult as we imagined. Despite our worst efforts.

I was doing fine until the ants

2009-09-18T06:00:00.000-05:00

Sometimes when you're trying to make a difficult decision, there are figurative signs pointing you in the right direction.

As noted before, I've ridden the MS 150 (a 2 day, 170 mile bike ride from Houston to Austin) five times and finished it four times. Back 1993 I first rode the MS 150 with some friends, including my incredibly handsome twin brother. It had been around 10-15 years since I had ridden a bike, but I was young and moderately athletic. I rode on some short rides around Austin to get ready, but my training was interrupted by a bout of the flu a couple of weeks before the ride. However, I recovered and felt ready to go in time for the ride. Or so I thought.

On the first day my group started out. The stronger riders in our group rode ahead, but several of us took a more leisurely pace, pausing frequently to take pictures. We stopped at all the break points to drink fluids and eat snacks (power bars, bananas, etc.).

Around the 50 mile mark, I started feeling bad. I had a fever, chills, and I felt very weak. I had to make frequent stops in between the break points and rest, so I told the group not to wait and that I would catch up.

Around the 80 mile mark, I made another stop on the side of the road to rest. I felt weak, and my whole body ached. I stood next to my bike trying to decide whether I should continue or not. I had no idea how many more miles I had left or if I could make it, but I didn't want to quit. I went back and forth, alternately between wanting to give up and talking myself into going on.

And then I felt a stinging sensation in my right foot and lower leg. I looked down and saw that I was standing in an ant pile, and my foot leg were being bitten by fire ants. I paused, took a deep breath, and thought, "Well, there's my sign." And I called it a day.

I was only 20 miles from finishing the first day, but I'm fairly certain I wouldn't have been able to ride the 70 miles on day 2. Plus, I knew how to read the signs.

Do not attempt

2009-08-17T21:00:00.001-05:00

Toyota has a commercial where a driver pulls up to a drive-thru in an old, junky car. The person on the speaker asks, "Can I take your order?" Suddenly, a big mechanical claw drops onto the car and pulls it into the air, revealing a nice, new Toyota underneath.

If only it were that easy.

At the bottom of the screen during the commercial is the legal disclaimer: Do not attempt.

I understand that our litigious society is the reason for legal disclaimers in the first place, but what exactly do they think the viewing public will attempt?

If you come back tomorrow, it will be

2009-08-09T06:30:00.000-05:00

When someone is a little too sarcastic or mean-spirited in what they say to me, I usually think of a nice retort much too late, sometimes not even the same day. Granted, sometimes it's better to not say anything, to be the bigger person, so to speak. But every now and then people (including myself) need to be reminded that they aren't the center of the universe. In a nice way.

My summer job during my college years was on the flight line at Sheppard AFB. The base trained Euro-NATO pilots on the T-37 and T-38 aircraft. As a summer hire, my job was to do the simpler tasks, like refueling and cleaning the windscreens, and to assist in the not-so-simple ones, like sitting in the cockpit pressing on the "brake pedals" while the real mechanics worked on the brakes. And most fun of all, I got to launch the aircraft (pictured).

Launching an aircraft involved taking the pins out of the landing gear (so that they could be raised once the plane was in the air) and stowing them, stowing the grounding wire, stowing the pitot tube cover, hooking up the compressed air hose to the engine (used to start the plane when the pilot was ready), and getting any items the pilot needed for the cockpit. While I was doing that, the instructor pilot and his student were doing their walk-around inspection and then getting strapped into the cockpit. Once in, I would remove the ladders and get ready to turn on the compressed air when given the signal. Once the engine was running, I would remove the hose, remove the tire blocks, and marshal them out. Simply put, the pilots could not take off without ground support.

One day, we were extremely busy. A couple of pilots had done their walk-around and were waiting for someone to launch them. They were concerned that they weren't going to make their launch time, which meant having to come back later in the day. All of the mechanics were busy. I was refueling the plane next to the waiting pilots, and I couldn't leave to help until I was finished with that job. When I finished 5-10 minutes later, I told the fuel truck driver that I would start refueling the next plane once I launched the other plane.

So, we're extremely busy, and I was taking time out of the task I should've been doing to make sure these guys made their launch time, which was observed by the waiting pilots. I rushed over to the other plane and asked the instructor if they needed anything for the cockpit, and said in an angry tone, "I need a couple of spacers for the front, and I needed it done yesterday!"

To which I calmly replied, "Well, if you come back tomorrow, it will be."

No, I ain't no Denzel Washington!

2009-08-03T14:30:00.002-05:00

Many years ago I was in Hollywood with my girlfriend at the time and her son. Let's call the son James. We were shopping one day and stopped into a comic book store. Each of us has gone off to look at different things. I was looking at the old Spider-Man comics when I suddenly heard a recognizable voice over the racks of comic books: the voice of Samuel L. Jackson.

"No, I ain't no Denzel Washington!"

Apparently, someone had mistook him for another actor, and he was letting that person know that he was mistaken. He didn't sound angry, but imagine the tone of Jules from Pulp Fiction during his "furious anger" speech.

And then I had a thought. Oh please don't let him be talking to James. I worked my way through the store and bumped into James working his way through the store to find me. He asked who that actor was, and I told him. And then I asked him if Mr. Jackson was talking to him. James lowered his head and said, "Well, I couldn't remember his name."

We asked for a picture, but he politely said no (very politely actually), so we left him alone. I'm just thankful he didn't sound entirely like one of his characters and add a curse word or two to his response to the Denzel Washington question.

I'll leave the curse words to your imagination.

I smell smoke!

2009-07-20T10:30:00.003-05:00

I'm not a teacher, but I'm guessing that they prefer a class full of honor students versus the alternative, but sometimes those smart kids use their big brains for evil instead of good.

When I was a senior in high school I took a Calculus class. The students in that class consisted entirely of the top 20-30 in that grade. The teacher was a very nice woman, although she had a tendency to go off on tangents. She had a clock sitting on her desk, and she once mentioned that the alarm on it sounded very similar to the fire alarm our school used.

A few months later we had a substitute teacher. Before the class started (and before the teacher was in the room), someone came up with the idea to set the alarm to go off during class. (I would credit the person who came up with the idea if I could remember who it was. No, it wasn't me.) When the alarm went off, the substitute asked what it was, and we innocently replied that we thought it was a fire drill. And one of the students, who had a very prominent nose, started sniffing the air and shouted, "I smell smoke!"

The substitute wasn't sure of the fire alarm process, so she told us to do what we normally do. We hadn't really thought that far ahead, so we just went outside. While we were heading out the teacher in the room next to ours told our teacher that there hadn't really been a fire drill, so those of us who had made it out of the room were sent to the office.

We didn't do anything too terrible, so we weren't going to get in a lot of trouble. But it was even less of a problem since both the principal and assistant principal were out of the office that day. The only two staff members working at that time were the secretaries, my mom and Mrs. Biddy, who also had a son in that class. When they were told what had happened, they both just rolled their eyes and sent us all back to class.

Of course, there were other consequences. When our regular teacher returned the next day she gave us a 1 question pop quiz. You either made a 100 or a 0. But I think most of us in the class thought it was worth it.

Let me help you fix that Bible

2009-07-09T09:30:00.001-05:00

As you might have noticed, I'm a bit anal retentive. (That's like saying a woman is a bit pregnant.) And obsessive compulsive. And a nerd. I'm fortunate that the work I do (testing software) is made for people like me, but it also means that I like to fix everyone and everything. Even the Bible.

I have a study Bible, also jokingly known as a cheater's Bible, and I gave myself a goal of reading the entire Bible since it's something I've never done before. I started with the New Testament (because it's shorter). When I finish I plan to go back to the Old Testament for more of the historical information.

One of the things I like about the study Bible is the section before each book that describes who the author was, who it was written to or for, and the major themes of that book. Last week I was reading 1 Peter when I see a small typo ... nothing major, and it didn't hinder the meaning of the passage in any way.

But, I couldn't let it go, so I e-mailed the publisher Zondervan this following tidbit:

On the Megathemes section of 1 Peter (pg. 2100), in the Importance portion of the Salvation theme the last sentence spells "should" as "shuld".

I included that I was pretty sure that it had already been corrected for future printings, and I expressed my gratitude for a wonderful Bible.

But now I can rest easy knowing that this version will be fixed for future readers. You're welcome!

EPILOGUE: I got a reply from Carrie Colter in Customer Care (a nice bit of alliteration) saying that the information had been passed on to the Bible department for advisement. In other words, "Thanks, nerd boy. Go have that OCD looked at." :)

How not to go green

2009-06-22T20:45:00.001-05:00

At my current job my employer provides a corporate American Express card for business use. Due to cost cutting, or as we call it, aligning our expense to revenue ratio, we don't travel as much. Plus, would any company want me to be their "face" to the customers?

So, I haven't use my card in many, many months. And if I don't use the card I don't get a statement. However, this past month I got a bill for $0.00. The reason they sent me a statement was to include a notice saying they weren't going to send paper statements any more. To save money and the environment all future statements are going to be via e-mail.

So, wouldn't it have saved even more money if they just would have sent the notice via e-mail?

I wonder if I'm the beneficiary

2009-06-09T16:00:00.001-05:00

Every now and then something happens in my life to remind me that I'm an idiot. I did some financial planning this past week and part of the comparison included my current life insurance policy and some that they offered. Since I don't have the policy handy, I called my agent this morning to get a copy of it. She didn't have it on file so she had to get it from the home office and was going to e-mail me the info when she got it.

Later, she e-mailed me the info, but I was confused by the monthly charge. I called her and asked why the monthly charge was $35, yet $70 was being drafted from my checking account every month. She gave me the policy number for a second policy that was also being drafted from my account and the phone number for the home office so that I could have the auto-draft removed, if need be.

The home office gave me the information on that second policy, and I immediately responded with, "Holy crap!" I was the primary policy holder on another life insurance policy. I won't give the name of the secondary, but it was someone I stopped dating in 1999. So for 10 years I've been paying the premium on that ex-girlfriend's life insurance policy.

Yeah, that auto-draft was removed.

Oh, you heard that?

2009-05-28T15:45:00.002-05:00

A fool gives full vent to his anger, but a wise man keeps himself under control. - Proverbs 29:11

In my younger days I had my share of foolish times. I'm not saying it doesn't still happen in my older days, but hopefully much less often. During some of those foolish times I was able to "give full vent to my anger" in private; however, I sometimes wasn't as alone as I thought.

Many, many years ago I had a terrible cell phone. Well, the phone was OK; however, the battery wouldn't stay secure and would sometimes come loose in the middle of a call. And since there wasn't power, I would lose the connection.

One time this happened I was in the middle of leaving a voicemail for a friend. I was telling her I was on my way to pick her up for lunch when I heard the call disconnect. I looked at the phone in disgust, threw it on the passenger floorboard of my car, and vented my frustrations with a barrage of obscenities aimed at the phone. Never has an inanimate object been the subject of such a scolding.

A few minutes later I was picking up the friend. She asked me why was I screaming obscenities in the voicemail. I said, "Oh, you heard that?" Apparently, the call didn't really disconnect and she heard every word. So yes, she did hear that.

And she thought it was so funny she replayed the message for all of her coworkers. Repeatedly.

Mysterious ways

2009-05-25T10:15:00.002-05:00

They say the Lord works in mysterious ways. I guess that's another way of saying that we don't always know or understand what His plan for us is. Trust me, there's a lot I don't understand. :) (And no, I don't know who they are, but they sure do say a lot.)

My parents wanted three kids. That was their plan. First, they had my brother Richard. A few years later, when my dad was stationed in England, they had my brother Robert. I never got the chance to meet Robert because after a little more than a month, he passed away from fluid on the lungs. A couple of years later, when dad was stationed in his final stop of Texas, they had my sister Teresa.

Again, my parents had planned on three kids. So a couple of years later they tried again. And they had twins. Since I am the younger twin, my incredibly handsome brother Ron has always maintained that they didn't actually want me. My rebuttal has been that it was a shame then that I turned out the best. (No, that's not really true, but it's the only rebuttal I have.)

I would never claim that having Ron and me was a blessing in disguise, because there is plenty of evidence to the contrary, but I think about my brother Robert when I'm confused about the paths my own life has taken. Sometimes we just have to trust that there's a bigger plan for each of us.

You're a better man than I am!

2009-05-07T20:45:00.002-05:00

Over the years I've received my share of compliments. Of course, I've also received my share of insults and criticisms, but that's not important. As for the compliments, there was one that surprised me more than usual.

The MS150 is a 150 mile (or more) bike ride in various cities in which the proceeds from donations benefit the National MS Society. The Houston to Austin MS150 is around 170 miles over two days, with an overnight stay in La Grange. The first day is around 100 miles of mostly flat riding. The second day is around 70 miles and goes through Bastrop and Buescher State Parks. This part of the ride also has a few more hills in it.

None of the hills are difficult for the professional or frequent riders, but a lot of the people riding the MS150 are neither professional nor frequent riders, including me. So, on some of the steeper hills people would have to walk their bikes to the top and catch their breath. The really difficult hills would have many, many people sitting at the top resting and catching their breath.

I've ridden the MS150 four times, but I only finished it three times. The first year I had the flu and had to drop out after 80 miles (detailed here). My second year I was determined to finish it. Plus, to make up for not finishing the year before I gave myself an additional goal of not having to walk my bike up any of the hills.

On that second day during the hilly section most of the hills weren't a problem. As I was riding I saw the steepest hill of the ride coming up. I could see several people walking their bikes up the hill, so I accelerated to get some momentum. About halfway up the hill my pace slowed considerably, almost to a stop. I stood in the saddle and forced my legs to keep peddling. A few agonizing moments later and I reached the top. I sat down in the saddle and exhaled in relief.

Unbeknownst to me, some people resting at the top had been watching me battle my way to the top. When I got there, there was a few congratulations yelled in my direction. However, one of them caught me off guard.

After it got quiet, a woman yelled at me, "You're a better man than I am!"

No woman had ever said that to me before (or since), so I wasn't quite sure how to respond. With a confused look, I gave the only response I could think of:

"Uh, thanks?"

The Big Picture

2009-04-29T14:00:00.001-05:00

Robert Fulghum is the author of the bestselling book All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten, which is one of my favorite books. The followup book, It Was On Fire When I Lay Down On It, was also very good. In that book, he told the following story:

A traveler went to Chartres in France to see the great church that was being built there. He arrived at the site just as the workmen were leaving for home. He asked a man, covered with dust, what he did there. The man replied that he was a stonemason. Another man, when asked, said he was a glassblower, who made slabs of colored glass. Another said he was a blacksmith who pounded iron.

Wandering inside the unfinished edifice, the traveler came upon an older woman, armed with a broom, sweeping up the stone chips, wood shavings and glass shards from the day's work. "What are you doing?" he asked. The woman leaned on her broom, looked toward the high arches and replied, "Me? I'm building a cathedral for the glory of God."

Now there was a woman who knew how to look at the big picture.

Some recent events at my job reminded me of this story. I work for a computer company testing software. My job is to make sure the product does what it's supposed to do and that the quality is good enough for our customers.

With the current economy people are worried about their jobs and hope they rank high in their department. Managers are always trying to measure employees, and for QA people one of the common measurements is the number of defects found during testing. It's not a foolproof measurement, but it's a tangible one that gets used a lot.

A coworker mentioned to me that his manager was disappointed that another group found a defect in his product instead of him. Of course, there's many valid reasons for this: 1) that set of testing wasn't his responsibility, 2) that defect wasn't there when he tested it and was just recently introduced, or 3) the other group had the resources to test it and his group didn't. His concern was that his ranking would be lower because he wasn't the one that found the defect.

To me, it's a shame that he has to worry about that. I'm not saying it's not a valid concern because I'm sure his manager will use this in his ranking. However, we should be happy that the defect was even found before the product was shipped, no matter who found it. Our job is to ship a product that has value for the customer and works well.

That's the big picture.

Free Breakfast Tacos

2009-04-15T07:45:00.001-05:00

I like coming into work early because traffic is minimal and there's fewer interruptions from coworkers. Most of the time I'll just pick up some breakfast on the way, but today was Free Breakfast Taco day at work. The company provides breakfast tacos the third Thursday of every month.

So I drove straight to work. I thought I could get in 1-2 hours of work before the tacos arrived at 8:30.

It was at 7:30 when I realized today was Wednesday. Tacos won't be here until tomorrow.

Anyone want to go to McDonalds?

Don Young: Cheerleading Competition Judge

2009-04-11T16:40:00.000-05:00

When switching through the channels, you've probably seen a cheerleading competition or two. You may have wondered what kind of experience the judges have. Perhaps they used to be cheerleaders in their younger days, or maybe even a coach.

Or perhaps they were undercover.

Many, many years ago a friend of mine coached a cheerleading team. In their bracket was a team that consistently won the various competitions. And in those competitions they usually had the same set of judges, more or less. And one of those judges used to coach the team that consistently won. In that case, the judge is supposed to let the alternate judge take care of that bracket, but this judge wasn't doing that. So my friend wanted to make sure that everything was being judged fairly, and she needed an undercover judge to investigate.

And that judge was me.

I was never a cheerleader in high school or college, and I had no idea how to judge them. My friend brought over tapes of prior competitions and I took a crash course in what to look for. And we also decided on what my cheerleading experience would be when I was introduced at the competition. I also decided that the reason I no longer cheered was because of a knee injury, just in case anyone asked.

At the competition I was the alternate judge, which meant I tallied the other judges' scores and took them to the person running the competition. For that one bracket, the judge in question had been asked to let the alternate take his place, so I did. And truth be told, the team that kept consistently winning was doing so because they were actually better than all the other teams. We proved that the judge wasn't playing favorites.

As for me, my friend and the person running the competition thought I did such a good job that I was a judge at the competition the following year, too. After that, I retired.

That time Jessica Alba met me

2009-03-30T21:00:00.000-05:00

A few years ago the movie Sin City was filmed in Austin. It was based on the graphic novels by Frank Miller and directed by Robert Rodriguez, and it starred Bruce Willis, Elijah Wood, Mickey Rourke, and many others. While the cast was in Austin, Bruce Willis' band gave a performance at Antone's with another band (whose name escapes me) opening. That band performed a second set with director Robert Rodriguez joining in.

I was able to attend because my friend's sister's husband's brother is Bruce's personal assistant. It's actually easier to understand if I say that my friend's brother-in-law has a brother who is Bruce's personal assistant, but I like the other way better. And yes, I'm calling Bruce by his first name because he and I have an understanding: I don't bother him when he's making movies, and he doesn't know who I am.

Anyway, the assistant got us four tickets and one VIP pass. My friend had been in the VIP section the previous time Bruce was in town and his band performed, so I was given the pass this time. I went upstairs where Bruce, Robert, Frank Miller, and others were sitting. I'm not someone who gets autographs or tries to take pictures of celebrities, so I sat down and had a nice conversation with the woman standing near me, who turned out to be Robert Rodriguez's wife (now his ex-wife).

Bruce's band started their set and other people sat down. I glanced to my side and noticed that I was now sitting next to Jessica Alba. I probably would have said hello, but she was trying to pay attention to the band. Plus, on the other side of her sat Woody Harrelson, and he was talking and talking. For those that don't know, Woody believes in the legalization of marijuana, and he was exercising his rights. I believe the term is "baked."

I don't think I'm going out on a limb when I say that no one gave me a second look that evening.

Learning to drive on the ice

2009-03-04T21:15:00.001-06:00

In Texas we have pretty mild winters, at least compared to the rest of the country, so we don't have to drive in icy conditions very often. That's fortunate since most of us don't do it very well. However, I learned from an expert.

My dad grew up in a northern state and had quite a bit of experience driving in bad weather. One weekend when my incredibly handsome twin brother and I were sixteen, we had to go with our dad to pick up his truck from where our older brother had left it the night before. I was going to have to drive our mom's car back while dad drove his truck. It would be my first experience driving on an icy road.

On the way, Dad was offering advice and tips on how to drive in the ice, such as: accelerate slowly, tap the brakes when slowing down, don't be in a hurry, don't make any sudden movements with the steering wheel, etc. All of it was excellent advice.

If only Dad would have listened to it himself.

During the drive Dad reached for his beer that was sitting to his right. He reached with his left hand, jerking the steering wheel in the process. The car started swerving back and forth while Dad tried to regain control. The car spun around and ended up in the ditch on the side of the road.

After coming to a stop Dad said, "See, that's why you don't do that."

And it was fortunate that both Ron and I were there, since we had to push the car out of the ditch.

Don vs. Sprint

2009-02-05T18:00:00.002-06:00

Several years ago I had cell phone service with Sprint. I was very happy with the cost and the features; however, there were two places where I didn't get service: the apartment in which I lived and the building in which I worked. To use my cell phone at work I would have to stand out on the balcony, and to use my cell phone at home I would have to stand outside. So I closed my account and changed to a different provider.

A few weeks later I got a prorated bill from Sprint for 51 cents. I had been with Sprint for a few years, and I thought that maybe they could have not worried about that final 51 cents. However, I also didn't want my credit to be impacted for such a small amount, so I sent them a check.

For 52 cents.

Simply because nothing would have made me happier than for Sprint to have to issue a credit or refund of one cent. I just would have thrown it away, chuckling to myself over my victory over "the man."

I guess they got the last laugh after all. They never refunded me the penny.

I just met the future version of me

2009-01-29T19:40:00.000-06:00

This might surprise some of you, but I have been known to talk a lot, and it doesn't matter if I know you or not. Last week, I met the future version of me.

I was in the doctor's office for a routine checkup, and I was finally called into the back. My actual appointment didn't take long, and I rushed out of the office so that I could get back to work. Well, that was my intention.

In the waiting room an elderly gentleman was sitting by himself waiting for his appointment. No other patients were there. As I walked toward the door he asked me if only one doctor was working today. I answered, and he then continued talking for the next 15-20 minutes on a wide range of topics. I gathered he was just happy to have an audience so I stood there quietly and nodded occasionally.

Here are some of the topics that were brought up:

On his first visit to this clinic the doctor stuck a needle THIS BIG (hands held 2 feet apart) up his butt.
Seventy-five is a good age to die. After that, the body starts falling apart, and you spend most of your time in the doctor's office.
He was 87.
When Indians (Native Americans) turned forty, they went off into the woods to die. That seemed like a good idea to him.
He voted for Obama because the other clique had their chance for 8 years.
I should invest in silver.

All-in-all, it was an entertaining conversation, albeit a bit one-sided. I guess now I know what my friends go through. :)

That time I tried to give my cat a bath

2009-01-07T14:45:00.001-06:00

Sometimes, something can seem like a good idea beforehand, only to be monumentally stupid in retrospect. Like the time I tried to give my cat a bath.

Cats are largely low maintenance pets. They poop in a litter box, eat when they're hungry, and take care of their own bathing needs. However, several years ago my cat Boo got into something stinky and needed a bath. So I thought I would be a good owner and give him one.

Boo is a special cat. He's very skittish (thus the name Boo) and doesn't really like to have new things sprung on him. He also still has his claws, and I thought giving him a bath in the tub would be a struggle.

So I had the brilliant idea of bathing him in my shower. It was a stand-alone shower that had a detachable shower head so cleaning him would be really easy. Or that's what I thought.

I didn't want to get water all over the floor --- and I didn't want him to escape --- so I had another brilliant idea: I'll be in the shower with Boo and keep the door closed. I didn't want to get my clothes wet, yet I also didn't want any dangling body parts to be misinterpreted as a cat toy, so I wore swimming trunks in the shower. Plus, being naked would have been a little creepy.

Initially, Boo's bath went well. And by initially, I mean the first one or two seconds. After that, he managed to get lose from my grip and attempted to jump out of the shower. The shower walls were six feet high, so I knew he wasn't going to get out.

Surprisingly, he came very close to the top of the wall. Another surprise was what happened after his jump. Since he was now falling from a high jump, he stuck out his paws to latch onto anything close by.

Which happened to be me. My screams could be heard for miles when Boo's claws dug into my chest and stomach. I immediately opened the shower door so that he could get out and I could attend to my injuries.

As I stood in the shower, in my swimming trunks, rinsing the blood off my body, I thought, "You know, maybe this wasn't such a good idea."

Bean and cornbread supper

2008-12-11T10:50:00.001-06:00

Surprisingly enough, I wasn't always the hip and cool person that I am now. Some of the activities of my youth might have been considered dorky. For example, I played the tuba in band. I know it's what today's cool kids want to play, but way back then it wasn't quite so awesome.

In January or February of every year, our school bands put on a concert in the school cafeteria. A dinner of beans and cornbread was included in the price, and it was also the very first concert for the 6th grade beginner band.

When I was in 6th grade I was a little on the small side. It's safe to say that the tuba probably outweighed me at that time. However, that wasn't an issue because I didn't actually have to hold the tuba. It sat on some brackets that were attached to a chair, and I just sat there and played.

At the concert we didn't have our tuba chairs, so we had to hold them for the first time. Most marching tubas have a pad strapped to it in the area where the tuba meets the shoulder; however, these did not. And again, I was trying to hold up more than my body weight on my left shoulder.

So I struggled. Several times during the first song, it looked as if I was going to tip over and crash to the ground. And I probably would have if one of the dads hadn't walked up from the audience to stand behind me and hold the tuba up.

Was that a hip or cool moment in my life? Probably not, but it was better than if I had dropped the tuba.

King of all Dance Land

2008-11-26T12:10:00.000-06:00

I have a new nickname, and unlike the one I'm called at work (Awesome Don), it's not one I gave myself.

The other day I was in the grocery store with my girlfriend and her daughters, and the store was playing music over the PA system. One of the songs played was I Want It That Way by the Backstreet Boys. Naturally, I sang along and got down with my bad self.

The 6 year old daughter looked at me and asked, "Why are you dancing? Are you the king of all dance land?"

I am now.

That time I won Lance Armstrong's Ride for the Roses

2008-10-30T16:10:00.000-05:00

Several years ago, Lance Armstrong and his buddies would have a friendly bike race in the Austin area with the winner being awarded a dozen roses. They called it the Ride for the Roses. Later, it became a charity race to support those fighting cancer, and since then it has been expanded into the LIVESTRONG Challenge. Back in the late 90's when it was still the Ride for the Roses charity race, I was actually the first to cross the finish line.

One Saturday, my friend Henry and I went on a short 100 mile bike ride. In fact, it was so short it was closer to 30 miles. On one part of the ride, the right lane of the road had been blocked off with pylons and motorcycle cops were spaced along the route. At a stoplight we asked one of the cops why the lane was blocked off. He said that it was part of the route for the Ride for the Roses, and that the cyclists should be riding through soon. We thanked him and continued on our ride.

We came over a hill and saw that the banner for the finish line was a few hundred yards away with a small crowd awaiting the riders. We decided to race to the line and took off. As we got closer, the crowd noticed us and started cheering because they believed we were actual participants in the race.

As I crossed the finish line first, the crowd roared, flashbulbs popped, and I raised my arm triumphantly!

And we just kept on riding.

I guess you could say we idiot proofed them

2008-10-09T15:00:00.002-05:00

I don't drink, not because I think it's evil, but more because I'm pretty sure I wouldn't handle it well. Since I don't, I can't blame anything on alcohol. The stupid things I say and do can mostly be blamed on ... well, stupidity.

Several years ago, I was a software developer at IBM. My department worked on the floor control software for the RS/6000 manufacturing line. One portion of the line was called the pickpack area. In this section the operators would put the loose materials into the box: the mouse, documentation, support disks, etc. However, we got frequent complaints from customers because necessary items had been left out of the box.

So, my department implemented a very nice scanning system in that area. The scanners had small LCD screens on them. The operators would scan in the serial number of machine, and a list of pickpack items that needed to be placed in the box would be displayed. When they scanned in an item before placing it in the box, it would be removed from the list. After it was implemented, the plant manager made an appearance on the floor and even scanned in a few items.

At the end of the year, my department was making a presentation to the plant manager. My part was to present the department's significant accomplishments that year. And one of those was the scanners in the pickpack area.

When I mentioned that accomplishment, the plant manager commented that he was impressed with how well the scanners worked because even he was able to work them.

And without thinking (obviously), I replied, "Oh, I guess you could say we idiot proofed them."

A collective hush fell over the group and a few gasps were heard. I immediately continued with my presentation thinking, "Well, maybe he didn't hear me."

After the department presentation was done, the plant manager thanked us and talked about all he learned from it. He concluded his list with, "And I learned that Mr. Young is obviously independently wealthy or else he wouldn't risk his job like that."

So I guess he did hear me.

But at least he knew who I was. :)

The Hannah Montana Karaoke Sing-along and Petting Zoo

2008-09-23T20:10:00.000-05:00

My girlfriend has a theory: when an ex-husband who was typically delinquent suddenly starts showing an interest in his child it's probably because he has a new girlfriend. After all, he has to impress the new woman with his dedication and commitment.

A couple of weeks ago a friend's daughter was having a birthday party. The ex-husband asked if he could plan the party and have it at his house. The mom was skeptical, but would never turn down his offer to do something for his daughter. (And yes, the ex-husband had a new girlfriend.)

So he planned a Hannah Montana karaoke party. Not a bad idea, if you assume the daughter was a Hannah Montana fan ... although that assumption was incorrect. However, the bigger issue that was pointed out to him was that the party was also going to have little boys in attendance, and the odds were pretty high that they were definitely not Hannah Montana fans.

So what would they like to do at the birthday party? A petting zoo, of course.

Thus, the first ever Hannah Montana Karaoke Sing-along and Petting Zoo birthday party. Where else could you pet a goat, ride a pony, and sing Best of Both Worlds?

I'd like some ham on that burger please

2008-09-09T17:05:00.000-05:00

Texadelphia is a restaurant chain in Texas and Oklahoma featuring cheesesteak sandwiches and other items. There are several locations in the Austin area; however, one of them is very close to where I work, and I visit it frequently. In fact, when the cooks see me walk in the door, they start making my food before I even order because I am a creature of habit. I'm not sure if that is really cool or really sad. I'm going with "really cool."

Earlier this week I was picking up lunch and noticed a seasonal item on the menu: The Veggie Cheesesteak. The sandwich is made of cheese, peppers, mushrooms, and various other vegetables that I don't like on a 6" whole wheat roll.

So I was thinking: can you really call it a cheeseSTEAK sandwich if it doesn't have any meat? That's like getting a HAMburger without any ham.

Isn't it ironic, don't you think?

2008-08-22T08:10:00.001-05:00

Growing up, I constantly corrected the grammatical mistakes of my friends. I was even given the nickname The Master Grammarian. It wasn't a compliment. :) Luckily, I've learned to let things go as I've matured.

Perhaps not.

Yesterday, I was talking to a friend who shall remain nameless. We were discussing her current relationship because I'm such an expert. (Yes, that was sarcasm.) She mentioned that the behavior of her significant other had improved greatly after a long talk, although he still had a "stupid moment" or two. However, she said stupid moments are part of being a man so she was going to give him some "leadway."

I paused, thinking, and decided to point out her mistake, "Don't you mean leeway?"

She laughed and said, "You couldn't just let it go, could you?"

I said, "I would have, but you just insulted my gender and called us stupid."

Sweet, delicious irony. :)

It's another name for a cat

2008-08-05T05:05:00.000-05:00

NOTE: Names have been changed to protect the innocent. But I'm still Don because I'm not that innocent.

This past Sunday I was at my girlfriend's house doing some computer work and lounging around. Mostly lounging around. She had let her dog outside to go do dog things, but she later realized that the dog had gotten out. I'm no detective, but more than likely she got out through the open gate.

I jumped in my car to drive around the neighborhood and look for the dog. Riding with me was my girlfriend's almost 6 year old daughter (we'll call her Felicia) and the 8 year old daughter of the next door neighbor (we'll call her Amanda). I gave them each the job of sitting in the back seat and looking out their respective window so that they could help.

Felicia was concerned for the dog and in her nervousness proceeded to talk non-stop, saying things like, "Oh, there's an open gate. Maybe she's in that backyard. I think that mean lady across the street called the pound. I hope she's not at the pound, they'll be mean to her. What if she went in someone's garage and they kept her? Maybe we should ask those people if they saw a dog? What if she's cold and scared?"

For that last comment I replied, "It's 106 degrees outside, she's not cold."

Felicia continued, "What if she's at the lake and she gets in the water and can't swim?"

Amanda replied, "Oh, all dogs can swim. Well, unless she's a p*ssy."

Yes, she said the p-word. At this point I nearly ran off the road. I wasn't sure what to do since she wasn't my kid. Plus, I didn't want to overreact because I was thinking that if I let her know she said a bad word she'd just want to say it more. And I wondered if she really knew how bad that word was.

Felicia wondered something as well. She asked Amanda, "What's that mean?"

Amanda replied, "Oh, it's another name for a cat. And cats can't swim."

That worked for me.

I may be right, but I'm also hungry

2008-06-21T06:40:00.000-05:00

When I'm paying cash for anything and I don't have the exact amount, I like to give what seems like an unusual amount so that I can get the fewest number of coins back. For example, if the total is $4.86, and I don't have 86 cents, I'll give $5.11 so that I can get a quarter back. An added benefit is the look of confusion in the face of the cashier when I hand them the unusual amount.

One Saturday morning, many years ago, I was on my way to work, and I decided to stop for breakfast. I'm not really a fan of Burger King, but it was very close to my apartment, so I hit the drive-thru for a breakfast sandwich and a drink.

My total was $2.79. I gave the cashier $2.84 expecting a nickel back. She proceeded to give me 4 pennies back as change. I stared at the change, looked back at her, and asked, "Uh, excuse me. I gave you $2.84."

She replied, "No, you gave me $2.83."

I thought, "Now why would I give her 3 extra pennies just to get 4 back?" And I also knew that I gave her 4 pennies --- not 3 --- and that she was a big stinky poopy. So I muttered some obscenities under my breath and roared out of the drive-thru in anger.

I calmed down on the 15 minute drive to work. However, as I sat in my office I was still thinking about how right I was. Then I realized something.

I never got my food.

I had two options: 1) slink back to Burger King and get my food, or 2) forget about it and learn a $2.84 lesson in anger management. Or a $2.83 lesson if you believe the cashier. I went with option 2, and I've never gone back to that Burger King.

The Big Easy

2008-06-17T08:15:00.001-05:00

My incredibly handsome twin brother just returned from a business trip to New Orleans. The Big Easy. And although he and his coworkers don't have time to go sightseeing, he did make it to Bourbon Street briefly.

He said there are four types of businesses on Bourbon Street: restaurants, bars, souvenir shops, and adult-themed businesses. Sometimes they combine two of them and end up with a restaurant and a souvenir shop.

And I thought, "You know, if they had an adult-themed souvenir shop, someone could buy a vibrator that said, 'Welcome to the Big Easy!'"

:)

I'm popular in Brazil!

2008-05-27T10:00:00.000-05:00

Several years ago I was sent on a two-week business trip to Brasilia, Brazil. We were installing our software at several locations of a large bank. Since it was important that the computers be available during business hours we were only allowed to work on those computers during the night. And because we were sleeping during the day it didn't allow much time for sightseeing.

One evening the computers weren't available so a group of us, and our translator (none of us spoke Portuguese), decided to find a dance club. Our translator took us to what he thought was a popular place. And it was crowded. The place was full of incredibly stunning women. But something seemed a little off.

We sat at a table, and I observed my surroundings. I noticed that there were more women than men (about a 6:1 ratio), and that there wasn't really an unattractive woman in the place. Also, it seemed that every guy (or group of guys) in the place was being chatted up by the ladies. I pointed that out to the translator, and he went to get more details on the club.

He came back to the table and told us what kind of bar it was in Portuguese. When we all stared at him blankly - since we didn't speak the language - he told us in English, "This is a prostitute bar." Prostitution is legal in Brazil (or it was back then), and this club was for men to come see what was available, buy the lady some drinks, negotiate a price, and take her back home.

Later, I made the mistake of asking someone to dance. She considered that the beginning of our negotiations, and she became rather offended when our translator had to tell her I just wanted to dance. After talking to me through the translator, she finally said, "Why even come to a country if you don't speak the language?" :)

So I sat at the table and didn't ask anyone to dance. Unfortunately, that didn't work too well either. Since there were so many more women than men, the odds were that a girl wasn't going to be "chosen." And if she wasn't, then she didn't get any money. So if there was a guy by himself, one of the ladies was going to talk to him and try to start the negotiations. I fended off many women that evening.

For a moment I thought I was extremely popular in Brazil.

EPILOGUE: When our group got back to the hotel our concierge asked us about our evening. After telling him, he told us that we didn't have to go that place because the hotel would provide those services for us. Apparently, they had a book with pictures of "working women" for the guests to choose from. Your choice was then called and sent to your room. The reason the hotel provided this service is because they would charge you for having a guest in your room overnight.

Desire with an extra e

2008-05-22T17:00:00.002-05:00

A couple of years ago my roommate Nono had a personal assistant named Desiree. Also, to help earn even more money she cleaned my house and took care of my pets during the day. A year later she had to move back home for health reasons, and I haven't really heard much from her since.

Until yesterday. There was a call on the home phone, but I let the answering machine pick up since I didn't recognize the number. After the outgoing message played, I heard a voice say, "Hey Don, this is Desiree, and ..." at which point I picked up the phone.

I said, "Hey, I haven't heard from you in a long time. How come you never comment on any of my blogs?"

She replied that she hadn't received any of my e-mails, so she gave me her current e-mail address. I noticed that she spelled her name differently than I remembered, so I told her, "I always thought it was spelled like 'desire' with an extra 'e'."

She asked how I was doing so I gave her a lengthy 10-20 minute speech on what was going on in my life (I do tend to ramble). I asked her about her job, and she was doing something (graphics art) that I didn't remember her being trained for. I asked her about moving back home, but she said she was in a different state now. I also asked her about her health issues, but she said she wasn't having any.

It was at this point that I realized I was talking to a different Desiree (or as she spelled it, Desarae).

So after wasting more than 20 minutes of her life with my questions and talking, I explained our confusion (ok, MY confusion) and apologized for thinking she was somebody else. And after hanging up, I thought, "You know, her voice didn't even sound the same."

I think I'll let the answering machine pick up the next time she calls.

It sucks to be me!

2008-05-18T19:45:00.002-05:00

Several years ago I had a girlfriend who had a couple of close female friends. Julie was a very attractive and happily married redhead, and Beth was an attractive blond who was engaged to Julie's brother. Both of their significant others worked nights, so they would go out with my girlfriend and me because 1) their significant others knew I wasn't a threat to steal their ladies away, 2) my girlfriend didn't mind if I danced with them, and 3) I was a good designated driver since I didn't drink. And I didn't mind them tagging along because they would try to make me blush by complimenting my butt the entire evening. Yeah, it sucked to be me. :)

One evening we were at a dance club, and Julie, Beth, my girlfriend, and I were standing near the dance floor. During the course of the evening, several guys asked Julie to dance, and she turned them all down. A couple of times, she asked my girlfriend permission to dance with me, which was granted, so we hit the dance floor.

Later in the evening I had to use the restroom. For the female readers, let me explain an unwritten "guy rule." Unless you know the guy standing next to you at the urinal you keep your eyes forward and your mouth shut. There is no small talk in the men's room. On this night, a guy broke that rule. The guy in question had had a few drinks, and he was one of the guys who had asked Julie to dance. And he had also noticed that Julie had been dancing with me.

So, as we're taking care of our business ... individually, of course ... he turned to me and said, "Hey, you're making out pretty well with that redhead." Since I knew I was their ride, I replied with confidence, "Yeah, I think I can get her to go home with me." When I got back to the group I told them what had happened. So Julie asked me to dance a couple more times just so that the guy would wonder what I had that he didn't.

And yes, he did notice us all leave together later that evening. Mainly because I waved to get his attention, pointed to Julie, and gave him the thumbs up sign.

It sucks to be me! :)

A belated eulogy

2008-04-25T08:30:00.000-05:00

Today would have been my mom's 72nd birthday. However, she suffered a stroke on June 24, 1999 and died two days later. She worked as a secretary at our local high school for more than 20 years and was generally liked by nearly everyone. Her funeral was on a cold, rainy day, but it was still standing-room-only in the church. There's an old saying that goes something like this: "It doesn't matter how good or how bad a person you were in life, the attendance at your funeral will be determined largely by the weather." Apparently my mom was an exception to that.

Let me tell a story about her, and although it may seem like a bad one I promise it gets better by the end.

When my incredibly handsome twin brother Ron and I were seniors in high school, my mom wanted us to get a class photo together, in addition to our individual ones. So she arranged for our photo times to be back-to-back. Since we didn't really want to take one together, we just refused to do it. (It was not one of our finer moments.)

As you can guess, mom wasn't pleased, and she refused to speak to us. For an entire week, she would tell our sister things like, "Would you tell them it's time to eat if they feel like eating?" Since we were sitting in the same room as our sister, it wasn't really necessary for her to pass that on. After the first week, my sister told our mom, "Don't you think it's gone on long enough?" Apparently not, because for the next week she didn't speak to me, Ron, or my sister. After that second week, my dad finally told her, "Nancy, would you please talk to someone else? I'm tired of talking to you."

The point is this: of the 30+ years that mom was in my life, that's the one "bad" story I can come up with, and it's really not bad. Growing up, Ron and I played 8 years of baseball, 9 years of football, and 6 years of basketball. We were in the band for 7 years. Of the hundreds of games or performances that we were a part of, our mom (and dad) made almost all of them. She was there to support us even though we sometimes wouldn't even get in the game.

She ran the concession stand at the baseball games and was in the booster clubs for football and band. When we were in elementary school we had to read books to our parents to get gold stars. Dad worked the night shift so she listened to every book twice. Most of all, she exhibited monumental levels of patience in dealing with two bratty kids like Ron and me. Mostly Ron, of course. :)

I miss her every day, but I'm thankful for the time she was here.

P.S. When Ron and I were freshman in college, we had professional portraits done of the two of us, and we gave them to our mom for Christmas that year to make up for not getting senior pictures together the year before. That was one of our finer moments.

It helps to be lucky

2008-04-14T17:15:00.001-05:00

In life, you can succeed by being smart, hardworking, and handsome. And I should know. :) Of course, it also helps to be lucky.

Many, many years ago, my friend Geri was flying in from California to attend a wedding in San Antonio. Since I make an excellent wedding date, and because I was one of the few people she knew in Texas, Geri asked me to be her date. Since she was in the wedding party, we drove down for the rehearsal dinner Friday evening.

Several hours later, we were driving back to Austin. The weather had turned worse during the day, and it was now in the 40's with wind gusts of 40-50 MPH. I wanted to get home before the weather got any worse, so I was driving a little over the speed limit.

When I was pulled over by the cops, I was clocked doing 85 in a 55.

When you're going that much over the speed limit, the odds of getting a warning are very slim. In fact, they can sometimes give you another ticket for reckless driving if your speed is significantly faster than the posted limit.

The cop took my license and went back to his car to make sure I didn't have any outstanding warrants. I watched in my mirror as he walked back, and I noticed that he stopped at the back of my car and shone his flashlight around for 5-10 minutes. I had no idea what he was doing back there.

Eventually, he came back to my window. In a dejected voice he said, "Mr. Young, it looks like it's your lucky day. The wind blew your drivers license off my clipboard, and I can't find it. I'm going to have to let you off with a warning."

I replied, "No problem, officer. I'll just get a new one." And I proceeded to leave the scene as quickly as possible. I sure didn't want to lollygag and give him time to suddenly say, "Oh wait! Here it is."

You can bet I didn't drive much faster than 55 the rest of the way.

Watch out for that tree!

2008-04-01T15:30:00.001-05:00

A couple of weeks ago I went dirt bike riding with my friend Wayne. Since this was only the second time I had ever been on a dirt bike, I didn't have any gear. Wayne was nice enough to provide the shirt, gloves, and helmet. Oh, and the motorcycle. With the right equipment even a beginner like me gives off the appearance that he knows what he is doing. Looks can be deceiving though.

One thing I noticed is that when you tell someone you're going to get on a dirt bike, they feel compelled to tell you about all the injuries that they, or someone they know, received the last time they were on a dirt bike. I heard stories about cracked ribs, collapsed lungs, concussions, and broken legs. The last time I was on a dirt bike I bruised my ribs, but at least I was nice enough not to remind myself about it.

Being a beginner I fully expected to have a spill or two. Fortunately, I got the first wreck out of the way in the first 5 minutes. I came into a turn a little too fast and had to brake hard. Since the bike was new to me, it braked a lot harder than I anticipated, and I slid into the turn on the ground. I was OK, but I damaged the clutch bracket (as you can see) which made it difficult to engage the clutch. But that didn't stop me from riding.

The course we were riding had some easy sections and hard sections. I stayed mostly in the easy sections because you make your biggest mistakes when you go beyond your capabilities, as I learned from experience. One part of the course split into two trails. The hard section included a nice little jump that the easy section bypassed. On one of my laps, I decided to give the jump a try. My friend Wayne told me that when telling people about the jumps you should always say they were huge, no matter how big they were. So this jump was HUGE!

It was also deceptive. What I couldn't see from the front side of the jump was that it wasn't flat on the back side. Instead, there was a HUGE ditch on the other side, one that required a lot of speed to clear. Speed that I didn't have when I made the jump. A more experienced rider possibly could have recovered in mid-air, but I was not that rider. I was the rider that hit the ditch front-wheel first and flew headfirst over the handlebars and onto the ground. Thankfully, there were no serious injuries, and there didn't seem to be any witnesses either. If only that were the case for my other accident.

Did I mention that I ran into a tree?

Some sections of the course included some trails that went around and between several trees, including some parts where the bike barely fit between the trees on either side. One of these sections involved a lot of hard turns back and forth, also known as a switchback.

The proper form in a turn is to move forward on the bike so that more weight is on the front wheel. This allows more control of the steering. Also, you can give the throttle a little blip and force the rear wheel out in order to make the turn quicker. Unfortunately, I did not do a good job in one of the turns. My weight was too far back and blipping the throttle caused me to go in more of straight line than I wanted, and I ran nose-first into the tree that was on the outside just past the apex of the turn. I didn't actually get thrown off, but I did come to a stop. And there were plenty of people to witness it.

Personally, I think the tree jumped in front of me.

After a few hours we called it a day. A slightly bruised stomach and a bruised ego were the only injuries I suffered, so I think that counts as a success. Next time I'll watch out for the trees.

There's a decal for everything

2008-03-24T12:05:00.000-05:00

While driving to work this morning, I found myself behind a car that had a few window decals on the back - the ones with the child's name and his or her sport or activity. I've seen decals for baseball, football, soccer, swimming, band, and honor students. I thought I had seen all the variations, but I was proven wrong, for the decal I saw today: Kickball All-star!

Kickball? Is there actually organized leagues of kickball in school now? I remember we played kickball in P.E. or at recess, but there was never any school or recreation leagues. I know there's adult leagues for kickball, but that's more of an excuse to drink and not for exercise. Kind of like bowling.

And not only is there a kickball league somewhere, but this particular child was an all-star! Apparently, the best kickballers from this league were traveling the country playing all the other kickball all-stars to see who would be the national champion kickballers!

Of course, that would mean another window decal.

Getting people to vote

2008-02-16T15:20:00.001-06:00

I don't really care for politics. It's not something that interests me, and I think most politicians are a little on the dishonest side. I'm what I call a political agnostic: I'll believe in an honest politician when I see one.

In fact, I haven't voted in the past couple of elections, simply because I was tired of choosing the lesser of the available evils. I know I could just leave my choice blank for some of the offices and only vote for the candidates I like, but I don't know if that really conveys my disinterest in the available candidates. All it means is that the number of voters for that particular office would be one less.

So here's what I propose: make "None of the above" one of the choices. That way, if you don't like any of the candidates, you can let them know. Also, if "None of the above" gets a majority of the votes for a particular office, then the election for that office has to be redone, and most importantly, none of the candidates who were running can run again. We the public have already said we don't want any of those candidates, so new ones should be brought in.

If we do that enough times I think our choices will get better.

I don't remember if I forgot something

2008-01-29T13:45:00.000-06:00

Coming into work this morning at my usual crack of dawn seemed different this morning. Something felt off, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. The weather wasn't bad, and traffic was flowing at the usual early morning pace. Did I leave the stove on? No, that wasn't it (because you don't need to use the stove to make cereal). Did I forget my badge? Nope, I had that. I had no idea what was off, but I couldn't shake the feeling.

So, I walked into work, said "Morning, Frank" to the security guard who happens to be named Frank, and headed to my office. I unlocked my door, put my laptop in its docking station, and powered it up for the day.

Well, that's what I would've done if I would've remembered to bring my laptop to work today. At least I know now what was off.

There's no place like the airport

2008-01-08T11:00:00.000-06:00

Sometimes the simple questions are the hardest to answer. On Sunday night, I was at the Austin airport waiting for Lidiya's flight to arrive. I was standing in the baggage claim area when a family approached. The wife asked me, "Excuse me, do you know how to get to the airport?"

I was stumped in how to respond to that question. First, Austin only has one commercial airport. Second, the woman happened to be standing in it. I thought perhaps this woman knows of another Austin airport - a secret one that no one else even knew about.

I tried to come up with a response. I thought about spreading my arms wide and responding with, "Ta da! You're at the airport! I'm magic!" Or perhaps I could have told her to close her eyes, click her heels together, and say, "There's no place like the airport. There's no place like the airport." Instead, I stood there quietly with a very confused look on my face, a look I do quite often.

Sensing my confusion, she added, "I'm sorry, I know I'm AT the airport. What I meant to ask is where are the ticket counters?"

To which I replied, "They're at the airport." :)

Dancing with the Austin Stars

2007-12-05T09:00:00.000-06:00

This past Sunday Lidiya and I attended Dancing with the Austin Stars, a ballroom dance competition benefiting the Center for Child Protection. Local Austin celebrities were paired with professional dancers, who were given a style of dance and trained for several weeks. They performed their routines in front of a capacity crowd, who then chose a winner by popular vote.

Lidiya and I attended for a few reasons. First, it was benefiting a good cause that we wanted to help. Second, one of professional dancers in the competition is our salsa dance instructor, and we wanted to cheer for him and his celebrity partner. And third, it gave us an excuse to dress up, and as you can see from the picture we looked pretty hot. Ok, she looked much, much hotter, but I cleaned up pretty nice. (We're a pretty unusual couple. She's pretty, I'm unusual.)

As for the dancing itself, the celebrities all did a great job --- some better than others --- but the point was to have fun and raise money. Some of the dancing styles performed were flashier and bigger crowd-pleasers, but each one received a generous ovation upon completion. The inaugural event was won by Bill Jones, a law partner with Vinson & Elkins, who danced a salsa. It was also my personal favorite, although I thought our instructor Danny Davila and his celebrity partner Cecilia Abbott (Attorney General Greg Abbott’s wife) did an excellent job with their mambo. I also enjoyed the performance by lobbyist Andrea McWilliams, who danced a very elegant waltz.

The event was a huge success, so they plan on having it again next year. Keep your calendars open and come join us. Who knows, by that time I might have done something worthy of fame and you could come watch Lidiya perform.

The Art of Coaching

2007-11-25T20:00:00.000-06:00

Last weekend marked the end of the fall season for the boys soccer team I coach. We finished in third place in our bracket out of twelve teams (and in first place amongst Round Rock teams) with an 8-2-2 record and qualified for the end-of-season champions tournament. Overall, the boys had an excellent season.

We played three games in the champions tournament last Saturday, and although we didn't qualify for the semifinals the boys played really well. The final game was played in the cold and rain, included a 30 minute delay for lightning, and finished in near-darkness due to our field not having working lights. As you can see from the picture, even coaches who brought umbrellas got wet. :)

Coach Gary, the team's other coach, and I have coached for fifteen seasons - some good, some bad. Last spring was one of our bad seasons, one in which we finished 0-10 and scored only one goal the entire season. It was a long, grueling season, and it was difficult to maintain the kids' enthusiasm.

This fall was one of our good seasons. We managed to surpass last season's totals for goals and wins in our first game when we won 7-1. Also, this fall we never gave up more than 3 goals in a game which was a vast improvement over last season as well.

I don't consider myself a good soccer coach. I never played organized soccer growing up, and I'm sure most of the other coaches know more about the game than I do. Granted, after fifteen seasons and a few coaching clinics I know more than when I started, but I'm still no expert.

But I do consider myself to be a good coach. I don't yell and scream at the kids, I try to make the practices fun, and I make sure every kid gets to play at least half of the game. You'd be surprised at how many coaches don't play all of their kids, even though most soccer associations require it.

The point is this: don't let a lack of knowledge ever stop you from volunteering with kids. A little time, a little patience, and a little fun are all you need to have an impact.

Never mind

2007-11-02T08:30:00.000-05:00

Back in the 70's, Gilda Radner played a character on Saturday Night Live named Emily Litella. (You know, back when SNL was funny.) Miss Litella was an older woman who would misunderstand the topic of a commentary by a single word, but would still discuss the topic at length until her mistake was brought to her attention. For example, she once wondered why people were against violins on television. She thought we needed more violins and less of that loud rock music. When told that people were actually against violence on television, and not violins, she responded with her usual, "Oh, well that's different. Never mind."

Several months ago, I was reading the news headlines on Yahoo when one caught my eye. It stated that some people had been injured by tomatoes in Florida. I remembered the spinach deaths prior to that, and I thought to myself, "This is why I'm a carnivore. Vegetables are evil, and I didn't work my way up the food chain just to eat grass! Vegetables aren't food. They're what food eats."

So I clicked the link to view the entire article. I then realized that I had misread the headline. The people weren't hurt by tomatoes in Florida; they were hurt by tornadoes.

Well, that's different. Never mind.

So let me tell you about women

2007-10-26T07:15:00.000-05:00

The key to a woman's heart is an unexpected gift at an unexpected time. - Sean Connery in Finding Forrester

Over the years, I've learned that any time a man starts a sentence with, "So let me tell you about women," you can pretty much ignore everything after that. Let's be honest, most guys know very little (if anything) about women. They are confusing, frustrating, intoxicating, and beautiful creatures, much more complex than us simple men. And yet, impressing a woman is a big reason a man does what he does. For the right woman, a man will move mountains.

So let me tell you about women. :)

My girlfriend Lidiya is going to school, and she works hard to maintain good grades. She was recently taking a Literature class, and she wanted to ensure an A by doing some extra credit work. One of the options was to go to a poetry reading and write a review. And being the best boyfriend ever, I also went.

The poetry reading was at a coffee house (naturally) in south Austin, and as you might expect from a liberal college town, the clientele consisted mostly of people of the non-conventional variety. Hippies. Those of us without tattoos, such as Lidiya and myself, were in the minority.

The evening started with an open mike night. People from the crowd were signing a list to come on stage and read their work. The topics ranged from politics to fake breasts to unrequited love. Although there were a few that could have used a little more work, most of them were quite good.

The featured performer came on after open mike night. His work detailed his struggles growing up gay, his coming out to his mother, and an anniversary letter to his partner. He also had a couple of humorous pieces, one filled with Freudian slips and double entendres and the other describing what it was like growing up a "weirdo."

Once the performance was done, Lidiya and I stopped to check out the CDs he had for sale. Lidiya thought including a CD with the review would be a nice enhancement (or as she called it, a bribe), so I bought one for her. Of all the gifts she's received from significant others, I can guarantee I'm the first one to give her a gay poetry CD.

I may not have moved a mountain, but I made an impression.

P.S. And to answer your expected question, yes, she made an A in this class.

prefectionist.

2007-10-05T14:00:00.000-05:00

I have a t-shirt with a single word on it: prefectionist. As you can see the humor derives from the misspelling of the word perfectionist.

Today I was at the DMV renewing my drivers license since my current one expires on my birthday this Sunday. (Shop early; shop often.) I filled out my form and was waiting for the woman at the information desk to give me my number. She looked at my shirt and said, "The P should be capitalized."

I replied, "Probably so, but don't you think the bigger issue is that it's misspelled?"

The Art of Parking

2007-09-15T20:30:00.000-05:00

park·ing - (slang) Kissing or caressing in a vehicle stopped in a secluded spot.

As a young man, I did my fair share of parking. I'd like to think it had something to do with my incredible personality and abundant charisma, but more than likely it was because I had a nice car (as shown in the picture). I did learn a couple of things in my experience. First, tinted windows are a necessity. And second, never park near a wild turkey pen.

One day during my youth a young lady and I went parking. There was a secluded dirt road outside of town that had very little traffic, so it seemed like the perfect spot. I parked the car under a tree on the side of the road to keep the car cool.

It was very quiet. The leaves were rustling in the wind and some birds chirped in the background. Romance was in the air. And then I heard the sound of a car door opening and slamming shut, which is never a good sound when you're parking.

I raised my head to look out the window, and I saw three police cars surrounding my car. One of the officers was walking toward my door, so I composed myself (as did the young lady) and rolled down my window.

At that point the officer was pretty sure what was going on, and he said, "Good afternoon, Tiger." And yes, he called me Tiger the entire time.

I asked, "What seems to be the problem, officer?"

Apparently, I had parked near a wild turkey pen. The owners of the pen had driven past my car and had not seen anyone inside (those darn tinted windows) and called the police. However, the officer told me, "It's obvious you're not here poaching turkeys, based on the way you're dressed and by the look of that little red-faced girl sitting next to you. Why don't you head on home, Tiger."

So I did, and you can bet this tiger never parked there again.

Sports and life

2007-08-02T20:45:00.000-05:00

Growing up, I was never great at sports. I wasn't bad either, but I was never the star. I was small, but I made up for it by being really slow. :)

I was what is known as a role player. I came in, played hard, and tried to out-hustle the person or team I was playing against. And from time to time, I managed to make a somewhat spectacular play.

It's still the only way I know how to play. I continue to play sports because they're fun. I play the best I can, and hopefully I contribute to my team winning. And if not, I just hope they don't kick me off the team. :)

Of course, at my age it can lead to an injury here and there. I've bruised ribs, twisted ankles, and separated shoulders by trying to make diving catches or by running into a fence or two. Or I end up covered in dirt and chalk after making a headfirst slide into third base, as shown in the picture from last Monday.

(Click the thumbnail to view the full-size image)

Life should be approached the same way. Every day should be an opportunity to work hard and do the best you can. The world is full of people who fail in life even with incredible intelligence, superior athletic skills, or vast wealth (and sometimes all three), while the "role players" impact the world around them through dedication, hard work, and commitment.

They might run into a fence or two, but from time to time they do spectacular things.

What's the point of riding in an ambulance if they won't run the siren?

2007-07-02T21:15:00.000-05:00

The Fourth of July. A time for cookouts, a time for fireworks, and a time to celebrate American independence. And for my family, a time to ride in an ambulance.

Back when my incredibly handsome twin brother Ron and I were in our early teens, we were spending the July 4th holiday at Lake Nocona. Our family had property in the Nocona Hills Country Club, and Ron and I were spending the day at the country club swimming pool. It was a pretty nice pool, but there were times when the chlorine levels were so high it made the water very murky. This was one of those times.

I had just executed a perfect 1½ somersault off the low dive and was heading back to the surface. Ron, who was next off the diving board, decided this would be a perfect opportunity to splash me, and he attempted a jackknife. As mentioned earlier, the water was murky, so he landed too close to me as I was surfacing and the back of his head hit the top of my head.

At this point I was unaware of what or whom I had hit. I just felt a stabbing pain in my head, so I let forth a curse or two and swam to the side. Apparently, the curse wasn't under my breath because a little girl told me to watch my language. I replied, "I just hit my head, so mind your own darn business." (Not one of my finer moments.)

I climbed the ladder with one hand on my head. I looked at my hand and saw that it was covered in blood. (Mike, the lifeguard, told me later that at this point blood was spurting out of my head.) After seeing the blood, I decided it would be a good time to lay on the concrete.

Mike came to help, yelling for someone to call an ambulance. At this point, I realized that I didn't see Ron anywhere, so I thought he might still be underwater. I tried to tell Mike that I thought my brother was still in the pool, but he kept telling me to calm down and not say anything. I finally gave up when I saw Ron surface and swim to side.

Ron managed to get partially up the ladder and collapsed on the concrete. As he lay there bleeding from the back of his head, someone yelled, "Oh my God, there's another one."

The ambulance arrived a few minutes later. Since my injury seemed worse, I was put on the stretcher, while Ron got the board. As they were wheeling me to the ambulance, my mom ran up to see how I was doing. Since my mom had a tendency to overreact, she was crying and blubbering, "Are you OK?" I calmly replied, "I'm OK. I just cut my head open." I paused, and then continued, "But you should see Ron. I think he almost drowned!" Of course, that caused my mom to run off crying to go check on Ron. (Again, not one of my finer moments.)

The ambulance ride was mostly uneventful, mainly because they refused to turn on the siren even after we repeatedly asked them to. One eventful part was whenever they turned a corner, because the board Ron was on would go sliding into the side of the ambulance.

Upon arriving at the hospital, we were taken to the emergency room where the area around the injury had to be shaved. My nurse was very upset that we were interrupting her dinner break (like we had any control over that), so she proceeded to shave a large portion of my head in a few seconds with no concern to how much pain she was causing. Ron's nurse took her time, making a concerted effort not to hurt him.

We were then given shots to deaden the pain. (Perhaps that should have come before the head shaving.) A few minutes later the doctor arrived.

Like any small town, Nocona probably didn't get the pick of litter when it came to doctors. I'm not saying the guy was bad, but his nickname was Malpractice. (Sadly, that's not a joke.) As he was putting the stitches in my head, I felt every bit of it. I pointed out that apparently my head wasn't dead, but my happy nurse told me to be quiet because my head WAS dead. (What did I know, I was just the patient.)

After 5 stitches for each of us, we headed back to our lake property. We weren't allowed to get our stitches wet, so we couldn't go swimming the rest of the holiday week. And since we had parts of our heads shaved, we spent the entire time wearing baseball caps.

All-in-all, it was an eventful holiday. And from that point on, we were very well-known around the country club.

Dead chins and broken needles

2007-06-10T23:15:00.000-05:00

As a kid, I didn't have a family doctor. Because my dad was retired from the military, our "family doctor" was the nearby Air Force base. The cost couldn't be beat, but sometimes you ended up with a doctor who was a little green.

My freshman year in high school, my chin was busted open during football practice, so my mom took me to the base to see if I needed stitches. The doctor decided I needed some, so he let the student doctor deaden my chin with some shots. As the student gave me shot after shot after shot, the doctor finally asked him with a little sarcasm, "Do you think his chin is dead yet?"

The student replied, "I'm not sure." The doctor told him, "Well, why don't you ask the patient?"

When the student looked at me, I said "Is my chin dead yet? Are you kidding, I can't even blink."

And sometimes, it's not the doctors who are green. A lot of the student pilots were from other countries, and they hadn't been to the doctor much growing up. So naturally, they were a little uneasy when they had to see the doctor.

One time, when my incredibly handsome twin brother Ron and I were in elementary school, we had to go get booster shots. As we stood in line with our mom, I overheard one of the foreign pilots nervously asking the other pilots about the shots. And as you would expect, the American pilots were making up stories about the doctor breaking needles off in people's arms and needing to pull them out with pliers, which just made the foreign pilot more nervous.

The foreign pilot was behind me in line, so when I was leaving after my shots, he asked me how it went. He probably thought a little kid would give him an honest answer. (He obviously didn't know me.)

With a deadpan expression, I replied, "Well, it was fine until the doctor broke the needle off in my arm."

Even as a kid, I was evil.

Tell me if you're not here

2007-05-28T10:00:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I stopped by the ATM to pick up some cash. On the machine was the following sign:

Audio instructions available for the visually impaired.

So my question is this: who exactly was the sign for?

Are hamburgers supposed to be that color?

2007-05-22T21:00:00.000-05:00

This past weekend I decided to visit my incredibly handsome twin brother Ron and his family. (After all, I am my niece's favorite uncle.) A few weeks ago, Ron asked if I wanted to come up on Thursday so that I could go along with him on a field trip with Shayla's school. Naturally, I said yes.

Well, he found out a few days prior that he misunderstood. It wasn't a "field trip"; it was a "field day" where the kids get to do various outdoor events to celebrate the coming end to the school year. Even so, I still planned on being there.

Ron failed to mention that he volunteered us to work one of the events for the morning shift. We ended up running the obstacle course. Every 10 minutes, a group of kids would arrive at our event. Ron would go over the course while I demonstrated, and then we had the kids start. Occasionally, Ron and/or I would be challenged by the kids to race them, so we HAD to comply. (And yes, we let the kids win. Most of the time.) Once their time was up, they moved on to the next event, and we got the next batch of kids.

Once the morning group was done, the kids with parents there had the option of going home for the day. Shayla decided she wanted to eat lunch in the cafeteria, so we stayed. I enjoyed a hearty lunch of milk and an unusually-colored hamburger made of a meat-like substance.

After lunch, Shayla again had the option of going home, but one of her classmates was having birthday cake later that afternoon, so she wanted to stay. We watched a movie and then headed to the playground for recess. After recess, things got interesting.

As we were walking back to the classroom, an alarm bell sounded and an announcement was made that the school was being locked down. All the kids and teachers (and dads and uncles) had to rush to the classrooms, lock the doors, and turn out the lights. The kids each sat in their individual cubbyhole.

While sitting in the dark, we adults found out that a man with a gun was within a 30 mile vicinity; thus, the lockdown. He apparently had shot a police officer and stolen a car. He abandoned the car in a nearby town and took off on foot.

In an ideal world, the kids were supposed to sit in their cubbyholes in the dark until the lockdown was over. However, after about 30 minutes they started to get antsy, so they quietly had the birthday cake in the dark, and the teacher read them a story.

After another 30 minutes, the school started letting kids out of the classroom if their parents were there to pick them up, so we headed home. We planned on swimming at the nearby community pool that afternoon but decided to stay inside until after the gunman was caught. As far as we know, he never was.

Thankfully, the rest of the visit was much quieter.

At least I don't have a fat ass

2007-04-27T09:30:00.000-05:00

This is my fourteenth season to coach boys soccer, and it's been a difficult one. The coaches in our soccer association decided to play against other teams in the Austin area (I voted against it because I didn't want to travel), and because we did so well last season, we were placed in the hardest bracket for our age group (U12). Unfortunately, the people making that decision didn't take into account that I lost almost half of my team to other sports, and I had several new players this season with much less soccer experience.

And the season hasn't gone well. So far, we haven't won a game. We played well in a few of the games, but in the others we didn't play well at all. Sometimes it seemed like we were back in U5 when all the kids just ran to the ball, not worrying about positions or passing. Herd ball.

(And just so I don't just pick on the kids, part of the problem was me trying to figure out where to play some of the kids. It took me several games to decide where everybody should be playing.)

In practice, it's hard to work on aggressiveness and playing positions because we only have half of a field to practice on. The other half of the field is used by a U14 girls team. So last week, I asked the other team's coach if they would like to scrimmage against us. That way, we could play on the whole field, and we could work on playing positions.

And it helped. In our game last weekend, we played much better. We still lost, but other than a few defensive lapses in the first half we outplayed the other team. In fact, we didn't allow them to score the entire second half of the game.

So at practice last night, we scrimmaged the girls again. As noted earlier, they're bigger than my boys are, and they foul a lot, but we don't call most of them because I want the boys to learn to deal with bigger opponents.

One of the smaller boys on my team was playing midfield, and he was battling with a couple of bigger girls for the ball, and he was getting fouled and knocked down a lot. Usually, this is very quiet and polite boy. However, he'd had enough fouling and told the girl, "Stop pushing!"

To which the girl replied, "Maybe you shouldn't be so small."

There was a pause, and then the boy retorted, "At least I don't have a fat ass."

No, not the nicest thing to say, especially to a self-conscious teen-age girl, but in all fairness, she did start it. And it wasn't the worst thing to happen in the scrimmage. A couple of my players had to leave early, so I ended up playing defense. I tried to clear it up the field with a good, hard kick and ended up hitting one of the girls in the face with the soccer ball. We decided then that it was a good time to end the scrimmage for the day.

My breath is Aqua Net fresh

2007-04-06T09:30:00.000-05:00

At work, I sometimes have early morning meetings. Usually, these are conference calls with my coworkers in India, and I'm just in my office by myself. On some mornings I'm running a little later than normal. Instead of rushing to get cleaned up and driving through traffic, I just head into work right out of bed. (Well, first I change out of my Spiderman pajamas.) After I'm done with the meeting, I just use the showers we have at the office.

That's how my morning started yesterday. The meeting was over quickly, and I headed to the bathroom that has the showers. The showers are in separate room from the bathroom, behind a badge-access door, because you're supposed to pay the monthly fee for the fitness center in order to have access to the showers. The shower room has several showers, some lockers, shampoo and soap dispensers in the showers, washcloths, towels, and a counter with a hair spray dispenser, a mouthwash dispenser (with little cups), shaving cream, and disposable razors.

However, there isn't a sink in that room. If you want to shave or brush your teeth, you have to take the shaving cream or mouthwash into the main bathroom where all the sinks are. It seems like a poor design to me.

But I digress.

After showering and getting dressed, I took a cup of mouthwash to the sink area with my toothbrush and toothpaste. I brushed, rinsed, and was gargling the mint-flavored mouthwash. I'm not sure how it got into the mouthwash, but I also detected the slight aftertaste of hair spray.

For those that don't know, hair spray is not a taste you can get rid of by drinking a huge glass of water. I'm sure alcohol will work, but since we don't have a scotch machine at the office (and I don't drink), a Coke did the trick.

Tagless shirts

2007-02-28T17:45:00.000-06:00

For my birthday last year (Oct. 7th, in case you needed a reminder), a friend of mine gave me a lovely t-shirt. One of the things I like about it is that it's a nice simple design: not too flashy, not too bright. Kind of like me, I guess.

Another thing I like is that it's tagless. It has the care instructions printed inside the shirt where the tag would have been. So there's never a tag poking you in the back of the neck, and you never have to push the tag back into the shirt.

However, the one thing I don't like about the shirt is that it's ... tagless. Because sometimes it takes me until after lunch to realize that I've been wearing it backwards all morning.

What I lack in skill, I make up for with enthusiasm

2007-02-07T21:40:00.000-06:00

Dancing is something I enjoy. If you've ever seen me dance, you know I'm not great at it, but what I lack in skill, I make up for with enthusiasm.

Many, many years ago I had a girlfriend whose name started with the letter Teresa. She was a few years older than me and was constantly fretting over what she perceived was my immaturity. I think it had something to do with the fact that I was immature.

A month or so into our relationship, we went to a wedding. The groom was actually the younger brother of one of her ex-boyfriends --- a boyfriend that she lived with for four years --- so she was very concerned about making a good impression. To that end she decided that we weren't going to dance to any fast songs at the reception.

We danced to the slow songs, but she wouldn't dance to the fast ones. And I sat through some really good fast songs. Heck, I even danced the Hokie Pokie just to get out on the floor.

Finally, Young MC's Bust A Move started playing. And I literally begged, "Please, can we dance to this song?" And she replied, "Fine, but if you do anything crazy, I'm walking off the dance floor."

And I did really well at first. Both feet were on the ground at all times. My hands stayed below shoulder level, and not once did I do any sort of spin ... up until the part of the song where Young MC sings, "Break it down for me fellas!" and the bass and drum interlude kicks in.

And I broke it down for him!

After a few spastic arm moves and a spin, I looked up and Teresa had already stormed off the dance floor. She sat at our table, arms crossed, glaring in my direction. When I walked back to the table, another couple sitting at our table gave me high-fives and congratulations, while Teresa remained in the "glare" position.

As you might expect she ended the relationship a few months later. She said it was because I was "too immature."

To which I replied, "Am not! Am not! Am not!"

You've got the wrong one again!

2007-01-27T07:00:00.000-06:00

Earlier this week, my grandmother turned 91. Even at that age, she's still very sharp (at least compared to the rest of us in the family). However, she doesn't hear that well, and she won't wear her hearing aids, so you have to talk to her VERY LOUDLY.

She also gets me and my brother confused. I've been known to get Christmas cards from her to "Don and family" even though Ron is the one who is married with a kid, and I'm ... uh, not. She also thinks Ron lives in Austin. I don't really fault her for that since we are twins, and she's not the only one who gets us confused (see My brother Ron is a PIG!).

I sent my grandmother a birthday card, and I was trying to call her to wish her a happy birthday. Normally, you have to catch her near the phone or someone else has to be there to hear it, but I couldn't get anyone to answer all morning.

I called my brother to make sure I had the right number, and I did. He said he had talked to her 10 minutes earlier, and although no one was at the house when he called, he said Dad was up there visiting so I might be able to get through when he's back at the house. He also said she thanked him for the birthday card, but since he didn't send one he assumed she thought he was me. He said he just went along with it and told her she was welcome.

I kept trying to call and finally got through later that afternoon. I wished her happy birthday (loudly). My niece has the same birthday as my grandmother (just 85 years apart), so she asked me if my daughter had received her card yet. I planned on going along with her until I heard my dad yelling in the background, "You've got the wrong one again!"

It didn't matter anyway. She didn't hear me still talking, so she said her goodbyes and hung up on me.

The Ranch Style Beans Incident

2007-01-15T20:50:00.000-06:00

Back in the summer of 1987, my incredibly handsome twin brother Ron and I were walking around the mall one Saturday to kill time. One of our friends --- let's call him Richard B. (because that's his name) --- saw us and invited us to a pool party his parents were having. Since it involved free food (which we Youngs never turn down), we said, "Sure!" and headed over to their house.

We arrived at Richard's house and were introduced to his parents. The parents had a few guests of their own, but it wasn't too crowded. The food was ready when we arrived, which included bratwurst and Ranch Style Beans, something I think is the second greatest invention of all time. (The first is Cheeseburger Macaroni Hamburger Helper ... duh!)

After a little bit of food, a little bit of swimming, a little more food, and a little more swimming, I decided to go for thirds on the Ranch Style Beans. I know, it sounds like I was being a pig, but in my defense, I was only going to get a couple more bites. Plus, everyone else had already eaten at least one helping.

As I was spooning out the beans, I noticed Richard's mom, Mrs. B., was glaring at me. Apparently, she thought I was taking more than my fair share. "Well, why don't you just take the whole damn pan?" she said with a hint of disgust.

Looking back, a mature person would have explained that he was just getting a small amount and that everyone had already had a helping or two, but being mature is something I'm rarely accused of. As Mrs. B. gave me the evil eye, I glared back at her, dumped the entire pan of beans on my plate, and ate every bit of it. Yes, it was way too much food, and yes, my stomach hurt after, but I was going to win this battle of wills. And I think I did.

Surprisingly enough, Mrs. B. never really liked me that much.

EPILOGUE: A few years ago, Richard's lovely sister was my date to a Halloween party. In addition to the pictures we took of us in costume, we also took one with the both of us holding a can of Ranch Style Beans as a memento for Mrs. B.

They say the memory is the second thing to go

2007-01-06T10:30:00.000-06:00

They say the memory is the second thing to go. I was reminded of this when I was at the grocery store this morning. After selecting all of my items and going through the checkout line, I realized I had forgotten my wallet. As nice as the employees are, they weren't going to let me pay with my striking looks and incredible wit. However, they were nice enough to hold my groceries while I drove home to get my wallet. It's fortunate that I lived close by.

I have an excellent memory. Anyone who's had to listen to one of my stories told in excruciating detail can attest to that. I remember my first crush. I remember quotes from obscure movies. I remember the two interceptions I made during my high school football career. I remember the time Ron dove into a swimming pool, hitting my head with his head, causing each of us to get 5 stitches.

But I've forgotten some things, too. I don't remember going to a friend's wedding, even though she has a picture of me standing next to her at the reception. A few years ago, I was filling up the tub for a bath, and I went off to do other chores. Thirty minutes later, I realized that I'd left the water running. When I went to check on the bathroom, I found out that I had forgotten to turn the water on.

They say the memory is the second thing to go.

"What's the first thing to go?"

I don't remember.

That's how the game of Uno is played!

2006-12-28T14:30:00.000-06:00

Another Christmas has come and gone. This year, I drove up to my brother's house outside of Denton. My dad and sister were also there, so my oldest brother was the only immediate family that couldn't make it.

The drive up was largely uninteresting, except for when the truck in front of me (and one lane over) lost their load and had some mattresses and box springs come flying out of the back. A queen size mattress landed in my lane, but my "race driver" reflexes allowed me to dodge it. I was like a NASCAR driver that could also turn right.

I spent a lot of my time watching football on TV. Ron's cat Dude would sit with me, but he seemed uninterested in the games. We also played Uno with Ron's daughter Shayla. Ron still hasn't learned the ol' "let the kid win" lesson, and when he made her draw 8 cards she threw her cards down crying and quit. (In his defense, he claimed that she doesn't mind drawing cards when it's just the two of them playing.) She did rejoin the game later, and we even let her win a few games (even Ron).

We got Shayla to go to bed early Christmas Eve, and Ron snuck out of the house in the cold rain to ring sleigh bells outside of her window. She ran into the living room very excited because Santa's reindeer were outside her window. She wanted to go outside and see them, but we convinced her to go back to bed. Ron was finally able to come back into the house once we got her back to bed.

The excitement didn't wear off though. She got up at 2:15 Christmas morning to see what Santa had brought her. I was sleeping on the couch in the living room, so I had to get up, too. But I couldn't really complain too much since Ron and I used to set the alarm for 12:15 when we were kids. We wanted to give Santa a minimum of 15 minutes to carry in the heavy stuff.

After a good Christmas lunch, I headed back to Austin. Again, it was a fairly uninteresting trip. I did get passed by a red Mercury Cougar near Austin. The driver was dressed as Santa, and his wife (or girlfriend) was dressed as Mrs. Claus. I guess the reindeer were napping.

All-in-all, it was a good Christmas. I did learn a couple of lessons: 1) don't play Uno with my brother, and 2) when I send Christmas greetings via text messages, I need to sign my name. Otherwise, I just end up getting several phone calls wondering who just sent them a message.

I hope everyone's Christmas was merry. All the best in the coming year.

Goats, clowns, and diverted flights, oh my!

2006-11-02T20:30:00.000-06:00

This past Halloween, my friend Laura asked me to come out to Florida to visit her and her family. Her daughter Abby was old enough to go trick-or-treating this year, which meant candy for me, too. And we Youngs never turn down free food. I planned to leave Friday after work and stay until the day after Halloween.

My trip didn't start out well. After parking my car in off-site parking and getting on the shuttle, I realized on the way to the terminal that I had left my cell phone in my car. When I got to the terminal, I learned that my flight had been delayed for 45 minutes, so now I needed my cell to let Laura know I'd be late. On the plus side, I now had plenty of time to catch a shuttle back to my car and pick up my cell.

The flight finally took off an hour late. Naturally, there weren't direct flights to Tampa, so I had a quick stop in Dallas. And of course, the Dallas-to-Tampa flight was delayed as well. Another call was made to Laura.

Since the second leg was longer, I had to make a pit stop during the flight. I found a lavoratory that was marked Vacant and opened the door. Unfortunately, it was already occupied by a man sitting on the toilet. I'm not sure why he didn't lock the freaking door, but there he was. I apologized and started to close the door when I realized he was actually fully dressed. He was just trying to use his cell phone during the flight (which is a no-no), and he was trying to be sneaky and hide in the bathroom. Apparently, he was soooo important that he couldn't wait another hour to use his cell on the ground.

Laura was nice enough to be at the airport when I finally arrived at 2:00 AM Saturday morning. The rest of the night and most of the morning were spent sleeping. Saturday night we all went to a haunted house and out dancing. We ended up at a club that played 80's music, so I was in my element.

On Sunday, we went to a fall festival at Laura's church. Abby dressed in her clown costume (like JoJo from JoJo's Circus) and really enjoyed the pony rides. I got to make a new friend, shown below.

On Monday, Laura's work was moving to a new location. She works for the Deaf and Hearing Connection of Tampa, and they were moving the administrative offices to a new location. I didn't do any heavy lifting (I was on vacation), but I did drive the U-haul.

After Laura and I picked it up, I drove it to the old location so that it could be loaded. When I was in the parking lot, I stopped so that I could back it in. At that time, a car parked in a parking spot to my left decided to back out. He then proceeded to back into the driver-side door and dent it. Yes, I tried honking at him, but since he was deaf, it didn't really do much good.

When Laura was talking to him (via sign language), he told her that since the sun was in his eyes at the time and he couldn't see me, he decided it wasn't his fault. Apparently, the noon-time sun prevented him from seeing a big orange truck. The police had to be called so that a report could be filled out naming him as the one responsible for the accident.

Since that was so much fun, I didn't go to work with Laura on Tuesday. Instead, I spent the day in my PJ's sick. I felt better later that afternoon, and Abby and I got to play in the back yard.

That evening we took Abby trick-or-treating, mainly to all her relatives on her dad's side of the family. They were nice enough to offer me some candy, and I was nice enough to take it.

The next morning, I had my flight from Tampa to Dallas, and then from Dallas to Austin. During the flight to Dallas, the pilot announced that the weather was bad in Dallas and there was a "line" to land, so planes were having to circle around waiting for their turn. Since we didn't have enough fuel to circle that long, our flight was being diverted so that it could refuel and continue on to Dallas. As luck would have it, we were being diverted to Austin.

Since Austin was my final destination, they asked if I wanted to get off when we refueled or did I want to continue on to Dallas. I believe my response was, "Duh!" I had checked one bag, so I was going to have to come back to the airport later that night to pick up my bag, but that was a small price to pay for getting home a couple of hours early.

We didn't have a gate, so I actually got to de-plane down the rear steps. I tried to get them to let me slide down one of the emergency landing slides, but they didn't go for it.

Maybe next time.

He probably thinks I'm an idiot

2006-09-25T11:00:00.000-05:00

According to Wikipedia, passive-aggressive behaviour refers to passive, sometimes obstructionist resistance to authoritative instructions in interpersonal or occupational situations. Someone who engages in passive-aggressive behavior will typically not confront others directly about problems. But, in some cases it can also be fun!

For example, when I was in high school, my incredibly handsome twin brother and I shared a car, a 1985 black IROC Z-28 (shown here). At the time, that car was awesome. During my senior year, I asked a young lady to the movies. Naturally, she said yes. (Ok, her exact words were, "I guess.")

The day of the date, a friend told me that another friend told her that my date had told the friend of a friend that the only reason she was going on the date was so that she could ride in the car. And I thought it was because of my sparkling personality. I thought about canceling the date, but I didn't want to stoop to her level. And I didn't know for sure if she actually said that.

So I went on the date. I just took my sister's car instead. My sister had a very nice Buick Regal, so it's not like I showed up in a Ford Pinto, but when I picked her up for the date, she said, "Uh, where's your car?"

See, that was fun.

Another example happened in college. I was in a large political science class, and I was doing OK in the class. I did well on the first test, and I took pretty good notes. Before the final, a classmate asked if he could copy my notes because he had missed a few classes, and he knew that I hadn't. So I let him borrow them, he made his copies, and he returned them that same day.

A few minutes before the final, he sits in the seat directly behind me. He leans forward and says, "Hey, when you take your final, could you keep your test on the right side of the desk? I got really wasted last night and didn't get a chance to study. Don't worry, I only need to make a 60 to pass the class."

I was pissed that he expected me to help him pass the class just because he couldn't take the time to study. But, I'm not a snitch so I let him copy off my test. I put a little dot under each answer that I thought was correct, and then I purposely circled a different answer on every single question. When he got up to turn in his test, I went back and changed all of my answers.

I got an 'A' on the test and in the class, but I imagine he didn't make the 60 he needed to pass. When he got his grades, he probably saw his failing grade in political science and thought to himself, "That guy I cheated off of was an idiot!"

I hope he's the assistant coach

2006-09-09T23:15:00.000-05:00

I didn't sleep well Friday night. The soccer team I coach had their first game of the fall season Saturday morning, and I was nervous about how well the kids would do. Yes, it's "just" recreational soccer, and yes, it's not about the winning or losing so long as the kids have fun. Well, in my opinion it's not much fun if the other team beats the holy heck out of you.

Why was I worried? First, we just moved up to U12 (Under 12) this season. At the U12 level, we play with a full complement of players, 11 vs. 11. And since I didn't play soccer growing up, I had my concerns about my ability to decide on a formation and where to play the kids.

Second, I was worried about the number of new kids I had on the team and the number who hadn't played soccer before. Several years ago, the U7 team I coached had eight kids on the team, five of whom were new and had never played soccer before. We lost every game that season, and we never scored a goal in any of our games. Granted, they did improve over the season, but losing the first game 13-0 certainly sucked.

Third, I was worried about playing older kids. There is no U11 age bracket, so the kids play in the U12 bracket for 2 years before they move up to the next one. All of the kids on my team just moved up to U12, and we were playing a team that was comprised mostly (if not completely) of kids who were in their second year of playing U12.

And the other team was a lot bigger. They had 2 or 3 players that were bigger than the biggest kid on my team. (I think they might have been bigger than our other coach.) While we were warming up, one of my smaller kids looked down the field at the other team and remarked, "I hope #17 is the assistant coach!"

But as we all have learned, sometimes we worry about nothing.

We won the game 2-0.

Could you use four bags, please?

2006-08-13T09:15:00.000-05:00

In another chapter of my exciting life, I made a trip to the grocery store yesterday. It was a quick trip because I only needed some basic necessities, like milk and peanut butter. Oh, and dishwasher detergent. I even left the empty bottle on my kitchen counter as a reminder to buy some more on my next trip to the grocery store.

Hey, guess what I forgot to buy yesterday?

So, this morning I made a return trip to the grocery store to buy the memorable dishwasher detergent. And since I hate buying just one item (and I like fresh breath), I also bought three packs of gum. After paying for my items, I reached for my plastic bag of groceries when I noticed it was actually plastic bags of groceries. My four items, three of which were the size of thick credit cards, had been placed in two bags.

Was that really necessary? Did the bagger think that adding the packs of gum to the bag with the dishwasher detergent would cause the bag to explode from the stress? If the bags are that fragile, perhaps he should have bagged each of the packs of gum separately as well, just to be safe.

Hope springs eternal

2006-07-29T16:30:00.000-05:00

There's been an update to the story I wrote back in 2003: There's always hope. The story was about my friend Laura and her mom's ELEVENTH marriage. Well, that one ended long ago, but this month Laura's mom got married yet again! Her husband count remains at nine because she remarried the same guy from marriage #11.

Laura wanted to have a betting pool on how long this one would last, so she asked me to write something for her. I created a simple website where you could guess the length of this marriage (in months) and also choose the over/under of 6 months: Marriage Pool. Her mom's marriages have lasted between two weeks and ten years, but I guessed it would last at least a month so you can choose between 1 and 60 months. (I'd be surprised if it lasted longer than that.) Please only bet once per person.

There is no cost to bet because there's no prize for winning. Ok, maybe the lucky winner will get to be the next spouse, even the ladies. Who knows, maybe by then she'll have decided she's been married to every guy in existence and will have moved on to the ladies.

Enjoy!