I'm popular in Brazil!

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

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!

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

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

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!

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

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

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

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

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." :)