January 2005 Archives

Thanks to technology, we’ve become an on-demand society. Need information? Internet! Hello! Send a message? E-mail it! Not fast enough? Instant message! Text message ‘em on their cell phones! Watch your favorite movie? Videos! DVDs (skip to your favorite parts)! Too lazy for that? Cable! Satellite! Videos on demand! Want to watch your favorite TV show, but can’t stand to wait until it comes on? Buy entire seasons on DVD. Want to hear your favorite song? Don’t wait until it comes on the radio! Pop in the CD! Download the song off the Internet! Carry it in your portable MP3 player wherever you go, along with your entire music collection. Bored? Tired of just sitting around? Instead of taking a walk or riding a bicycle, play a video game! Yes! It counts as physical activity if you beat the snot out of some digital opponent, doesn’t it? Well, no. Progress means taking less time to do things we want to do, rather than have to. Want popcorn? Forget pulling out a pan and some oil, or even the air popper. For years, the home-standard has been a few minutes in the microwave.

I’m intrigued, and not all that surprised, that the past few years have brought us boxed sets of TV shows so that we may watch whatever we want, whenever, without having to wade through random reruns to see our favorite episodes. My, that was a long sentence. Anyhow, I wonder how long it will take for the more obscure shows to receive such treatment. When are fans of Too Close for Comfort going to have their day?

I’m waiting for season 1 of Bosom Buddies to be released. The subsequent seasons weren’t nearly as fresh, because Kip gets the girl and he and the other guy start their own ad agency. I’m surprised one of the stars of that show didn’t make it big as a movie star or something. That Tom Hanks, he really cracks me up.

What TV-show purchases have you succumbed to lately?

The Petite Filet had a much better day at work on Friday, which was apparently absent of yelling, screaming and migraines. She had a 90-minute convo with her boss the day before, and for now things are good enough to make her think she might survive the job for a full year (don't want the resume to look spotty). That's six more months. (Yikes). Thanks to the well wishers for, well, their well-wishing.

In other news, one reason I'm glad I don't share this blog address with my friends (see previous post) is because one of them just became ordained into the Baptist ministry. The process was a little foggy, because I obviously wasn't involved, but there was an ordination committee, bright lights and interrogations, repeated testimonies, searching of hearts and lots of praying. It was a moving ceremony during which he was ordained, and for me – a typical average Christian who struggles a lot on his daily life in God's grace – quite humbling.

It was humbling for my friend, too, and something he never thought he'd be called to do. It is a heart-changing, life-changing thing that is hard to express in words, but of course, I'll do my best to understand what it means for him:

The inevitables of life: death, taxes, traffic and spam e-mails.

I'm not writing this (my second post of the day) to rant about spam. It's laughable now, like digital pollution but easier to clear out than the real kind. I figure if so many people are interested in my penis, and they are if the spam is any indication, I might as well talk about it. Turn back now if you are easily offended!

I've been thinking a lot about jobs lately – specifically the one my wife is working and hating so tremendously. She had to stay home yesterday with the Cutlet, who had a tough night of tummy aches and congestion. This morning, she had been at work less than an hour before the fit hit the shan. This could be the day she quits.

We'll survive if she does with some tightening of belts around Casa del T-bone. Somehow, we muddled through 18 months of suriviving almost solely on my salary at my former job (nearly $10,000 less than I make now). We can take a lesson from the fact that it appeared to be the right time for her to return to work. The Cutlet is thriving with a bit of kid time, and we are overcoming our debts in a methodic manner.

I've learned something from every job I've ever had:

The Petite Filet hates her job. A lot. And she's got a lot of good reasons to feel that way. Sometimes she questions her return to the workforce at all, but she knows it is good for the Cutlet to have time away from momma. It had been good for her in the beginning to have some adult interaction. It was also good for our bank balance, as we are "above average" in the credit-card debt department. We have been able to pay some of them off and cancel them, and we haven't added any new debt in the past several months.

Now, the search has begun for a new working adventure. Anyone who's done it lately knows that looking for a job is a full-time job in itself. I've been blessed that jobs have practically fallen in my lap, and I've always left a job I didn't necessarily hate in good standing to pursue something else. I've never taken a pay cut (yet), and I've never regretted moving on. I've worked my current job for about a year, and already make nearly $10,000 more than I did at my previous job. I like it here a lot more, I'm more relaxed and I'm fully using my college degree. The Petite Filet's current job has issues that won't be resolved easily or under the current management, even when she's adjusted her attitude and renewed her commitment to the department.

Any Fort Worth-area employers looking for an intelligent, hard-working and dedicated worker are encouraged to e-mail me. She has a journalism degree, having worked as a newspaper reporter and in public school communications/public relations. Did I mention she can bake a mean batch of brownies?

It's been said before, often jokingly, that we enter this world crapping in our pants, and God willing, may reach our 80s or 90s and end up doing the same thing as we knock on death's door. I realized today that some children's TV programs are likewise preparing us for our elder years in another way.

My great-grandmother, hard of hearing and becoming physically frail, reportedly used to shout back at the TV during her waning months. She either didn't understand what a TV was (growing up before electricity, indoor plumbing or cars) or in her geriatric fog thought someone was actually talking to her.

Well, on my regular Monday father-son bonding day, me and the Cutlet were catching a few cartoons before his midday nap (which at 3 p.m. he still hasn't taken). In two shows, characters would ask a question of the kids watching, wait for an answer, and then respond generically to make it seem like they actually heard what watching kids said. Are such programs deception, or are they attempting to make us accept that years from now, in our old age, in between bites of creamed corn, the only people who will listen to us anymore are on TV?

Maybe it's time for me to visit my grandmother in the nursing home and do some serious listening, even if she doesn't have much to say.

A blogism that I've seen in several places (including on my own blog) refers to "cheese sandwich posts." Those include entries that delve into the "exciting world" of what new tricks your cat has learned, what you decided to wear and, by its name, what you had for lunch. Bo-ring! Here at Texas T-bone, we (uh, I) strive to avoid those topics, though I am only human. To show that a cheese sandwich post won't talk about cats, clothes or what I'm actually having for lunch, I offer The Ultimate Cheese Sandwich Post. (I'm a dog person and plan to have Mexican for lunch)

Unless you expect a religious icon to appear on your sandwich, take this 12-step program to make sure your sandwich (and your blog) is all it can be:

There's something magical that happens after you've turned 30. Depending on the stage in your life at which you hit your third decade, it can be settling or unsettling, wonderful or miserable. For many of us, it's the next "big" number after we turn 21 (although I celebrated 25 because my car-insurance rates went down). I am enjoying life at 31 more than I ever have, and I hope it continues to only get better.

That magic can be of the black kind, too. A combination of slowed metabolism and newfound familial obligations makes for a less active lifestyle. I still exercise regularly, but it's nowhere near the amount I used to. When I was in my 20s, single and fancy-free (and also working a night job), I'd hop on my bicycle and ride literally for hours. You could bounce a quarter off my abs, and I could lift heavy boxes without my arms nearly falling off.

The Cutlet, 2, weighs almost as much as his 5-and-1/2-year-old cousin. He is also catching up to his cousin height-wise. He is talking more, although still not in "complete" sentences. Not that I. His favorite word, as many parents of 2-year-olds can attest, is "No." He says "No" very well. He is also quite energetic; a positive sign of health but a positive sign that we'll be worn out by day's end. He is also tough. He took a backwards flip off his rocking horse last night and landed on his head, got up, brushed himself off and got back on that horse again. We don't baby him, but we show him lots of affection. He's our little man.

So much for New Year's resolutions. It's three weeks into 2005 and the gyms are already emptying out. Rather than exercising, many are sitting around eating Twinkies and watching Fear Factor. People are shopping with credit cards of charging fury. Organization flies out the window when you tend to keep everything in a pile on your kitchen floor. It's already time to start over.

There’s some guilt involved, and some grief. But overall, there’s a sense of relief. Like the other shoe has dropped and there’s no longer a need to hold your breath.

I dropped my peeps off at the aero puerto this mañana so they could visit the Petite Filet's grandmother, who was recently diagnosed with breast cancer. Of course, they normally fly Southwest, which means we have to hot-foot it from Fort Worth to near downtown Dallas. During Friday. Morning. Rush. Hour. Through typical construction zones and trying not to get hit by flying motorists. At least they won't be gone long, and it will be a Monday night when I pick them up.

Let's do a little word association. I'll write a word, and you write what it makes you think about ...

1. Buick
2. microwave
3. cool
4. mountain
5. zipper
6. cowboy
7. monkey
8. apricot
9. David Letterman
10. water

Remember, there are no wrong answers ... just funny ones.

Does anybody actually say "Feh" or "Woot"??? Those seem like blogisms to me. In real life, I've expressed the sentiments behind "feh" with either a big sigh or some sort of snort. With "woot" I've used the similar "woo hoo" or "yippee skippy" to denote elation. Of course, I've rarely heard people wandering around saying things like "LOL" or "LMAO."

I'm thinking I need an iPod Shuffle. In my little world, even the cheapo model with its 140-song capacity would be just fine. That seems like a lot of songs to me.

My 20-minute commute to work could be filled with what I want to listen to rather than what the radio stations want to play (or blather on about). That's about 10 standard CDs' worth of music – enough for any road trip I've ever taken. Half the time I just like to ride in silence, watching the gray ribbon unfold and pondering the bored moo cows, wondering what's playing on their soundtracks. Maybe it would behoove them to have iPod Shuffles, too.

The ability to play the uploaded tracks at random is exciting, too. That just means I'd have to be picky about my playlist to make sure I like all the songs on it.

Now, where can I get a quick $100?

For those who have severe allergies during this or any other time of the year, I feel for you. But to brighten your day, and let you know that red noses aren't only relegated to lead reindeers or those with Kleenextus Allthetimeus, here's a photo ...

After the Cutlet got a heap of large toys for Christmas and his birthday, me and the Petite Filet realized we didn't really want our living room to look like a Toys 'R Us had exploded. The Cutlet's room, while a great place to play, also has the necessary bed and dresser that would make placement of said LARGE toys nearly impossible. Certainly inconvenient.

Fortunately for us, we have an "extra" room over the garage that has been used mostly for junk (or if it's nice stuff, "junque") for most of the five years we've lived in the house. It needs a lot of work: paint, replacing the three nasty windows, new floor (it is currently carpet with a cartoony wood-plank design) and then ... decor.

My photograph will soon appear on the pages of a Brazilian newspaper. That is all.

I used to have a recurring "nightmare" of sorts when I was in school. Instead of not doing my homework, or forgetting about a test, I'd dream I was at school without shoes on. Nobody else seemed to notice, but for some reason it bothered me. It was probably some sort of other insecurity that was eating at me, because I always had shoes (at least semi-decent ones) growing up, and besides a few teen-age indulgences, never gave much waking thought to them.

Going barefoot is something we all do at some point. There are perfectly acceptable times to do so:

• Showering/bathing
• Swimming
• On the beach
• Trying on shoes that don't require socks
• Making love
• Relaxing in your own home
• Sleeping
• During a pedicure

And many more ...

I have long-called myself a borderline neat freak, and I justify the italicized word by saying that I don't really mind if my home, my car, my desk, my sock drawer gets totally ripped before I do anything about it. However, when I get in the mood, it's cleaning time!

I list these things proudly:

• Friends, family, co-workers and even mechanics have commented on how absolutely clean the interior of my vehicle is. One guy even said, "That's the cleanest car I've ever seen." When we sold the Petite Filet's old car, the sale was made by the spotlessness of it. Our cars get dirty, but I'm pretty detailed when it comes time to scrub 'em.

• Our hall bathroom may be falling apart, but you could practically eat off the floor or toilet seat. Um, wouldn't recommend it, though. Just the thought of it is kinda gross.

• The yard may need some serious landscaping help, but by golly the fallen leaves are all mulched and the trees mostly trimmed. The neighbors' trash that blows into my yard is also picked up post haste.

• The silverware drawer in the kitchen is a model of efficiency and neatness, despite the PF's insisting we need to store used twist ties in there ("You never know when you'll need one."). The Smithsonian is going to host an exhibit on our drawer, with a larger-than-life-size replica of the drawer and its contents on display. It's that awesome.

Here's how you can tell if you, too, are a neat freak:

The wedding announcement carries with it the beaming, glowing face of a beautifully blushing bride. It wasn't until I read the announcement that I was shocked and amazed. I considered contacting them to say, "Whoa, Nellie! Slow it down a bit there, buckaroos. You're making the rest of us married folk look bad."