I've recently been reintroduced to wine.
I've always liked wine, especially red wine. The more you drink, the better it tastes. And I don't mean drink 3 bottles in one night, but over time. Glass or two a day or every other day. It starts to develop a different flavor. You get past the bite and start to notice the wood or fruit tastes. You start to notice where the liquid clings to your tongue. You start to feel where it bites your throat.
And you start to feel a bit pretentious.
I was recently contacted by an old friend who I haven't seen since college. We had a good chat over instant messanger and a couple long emails recaping what we've missed in the past 10 years. For some reason, we start talking about alcohol and I launched into this diatribe about spanish red wine like I was defending the life of a weak child in court. I went back into the log to read what I wrote, not believing I came off that pompous, but there it was. I felt like Paul Giamatti but without the benefit of a script or years of being an oenophile. I couldn't believe it.
Maybe it was the alcohol talking.
When I moved to Texas, I developed some gastrointestinal issues that required medication. The doctors said "acid reflux" but I think it was more a "weight gain, eating greasy food, hate where you live" ulcer. So I had to stop the red wine. I've never thrown a bucket of lighter fluid into a bonfire, but I'm guessing the result would be similar to what was going on in my gullet.
Long story truncated, I can now drink red wine and I'm liking it again. However, I have to ease up on the getting plastered aspect and just enjoy maybe a glass at a time, everything in moderation and some such junk. Wine tends to screw a lot of things up, apparently, not least of which is the viscious hangover I get, regardless of sinus medicine and water tricks I may employ. Plus, I've found the snob in me is actually looking for good wine, wine I've had before that was recommended or certain vintages.
Next thing you know, I'll be listening to adult contemporary music or jazz and wearing an button up shirt with one button undone to show off my gold chain as I brush my heavily product-ed hair out of my face.
Wee! Asshole man! I need an old Porsche and an appointment to get my cuticles attended to.
Anyway...
So, Yogi came home from school yesterday and I met him and Mrs. A and his sister in the garage. I opened the door and I heard, "Hi dad." No, this isn't a dream, Yogi actually said, "hi dad." It was almost, "hi daddy" but it was at least "dad." I about cried. He also recognized the object and said the word "apple" last night. We say, what is this? And he says, A-poh? It's pretty damn endearing.
He also dances and sings now too. Not in a Fred Astaire way, more in a tribal, toy robot kind of way.
Not to take away from the first born, she was able to spell a bunch of words last night as well. Cup, boots, dog. She's getting really good at sounding things out. She's still a bossy tattle-tale, but I've found out Mrs. A was like that as well. Cute, smart, but stubborn and cries at the drop of a hat.
What I've noticed about her reading, and parents, feel free to comment on this, is that she's still memory reading her books. She's heard them so often that she's reciting and not reading. But she can read and write if she goes slow. I'm waiting for that flip where she finally slows down and reads everything instead of just pointing at a word like "beautiful" that I know she can't read, and still knows that's what it is because I've said it hundreds of times.
Not complaining, just voicing my thoughts.
I haven't found a job. Mrs. A hasn't found a day job. Mrs. A's photography has taken over our lives. It's a good thing, but it's interesting to watch someone do something they like so much that it becomes something they don't want to do. It becomes a job. However, I'm so jealous of the success of her business. The Marine Ball is coming up and while I think she may have bitten off more than we can all chew, I want to help in all the ways I possibly can.
Even if that means being a pragmatic asshole. And for that, Mrs. A, I'm sorry.
Next few weeks are going to be interesting. Looks like I picked the wrong time to stop sniffin' glue.
18.10.05
11.10.05
Domestic Security
The Austin Compound version 2.0 is equipped with a state of 1995 art security system. We don't subscribe to the service, so all we have is a bunch of window and door sensors that say "bee-dee-bee-deep" when opened and fire alarms, none of which are in the kitchen.
So we've never really had anything happen in the 2 months we've been here, knock on wood. The door beeps and it's nice to have when you have kids that can open doors.
Three weeks ago we lost power. A transformer blew somewhere close by and our street went dark.
It was 2:30 in the morning.
The first thing I remember is the noise. Your brain tends to incorporate sounds into the dreams you have. Since dreams don't generally take but a few seconds to complete, even a high pitch sounds occurring for moments can be part of an entire dream saga. I wish I remembered the dream.
The noise woke me, but it wasn't just the noise, it was all the noises. Mrs. Austin tends to mumble when she's startled awake. I tend to fight for breath through snorts and epithets. The children were already awake and it didn't take them long to start crying. The next thing I remember thinking is that something bad was happening, but not exactly what. Instinctively I glanced at the clock, knowing that was pointless. Our clock dims when the room is dark so it doesn't keep you awake. The problem is, when it's dark, you can't tell the time. However, I now know the ceiling fan, the AC, the noise machine and the DVD lights are all off. We lost power.
I start to relax a bit. At first, I'll admit, I was paralyzed with fear. I wasn't sure if someone had broken in or not. Knowing we don't arm anything, I've never heard the wailing the system was giving us. I was truly frightened.
As an aside, waking suddenly and being paralyzed doesn't mean you're afraid, it means your brain hasn't restored the connection to your body. It's a safety measure your body uses so you don't hurt yourself acting out your dreams. When you wake paralyzed, it's because you've woken too suddenly for that connection to be re-established. I think I've talked about this before, so this just make me look like an ass. Yay me.
When I was fairly certain it was just a power loss, I sprinted upstairs to the frightened children. A great but receding portion of my thoughts focused on the likelihood that there was someone in the house. It was pitch black and I was running into the void. I could have run smack dab into an intruder, him armed with a crow bar and a Glock, me armed with a minor stabbing implement sheathed in dark blue Haines.
I knew Mrs. A was behind me, which is unusual. She's normally so scared I'm sent into the darkened house with a hockey stick looking for "what made that sound." That alone made it feel more frightening, the fact that she was moved to action. I sprinted up the stairs blindly following the cries of my children. Little Mrs. Austin was standing in her doorway crying with her hands on her ears. I told her to go downstairs and find mommy. Everything was ok. Running into Yogi's room, I step on the only thing I could have at that moment, a toy with corners.
I step funny, jar my knee and hop around spewing more epithets. Yogi is crying and sitting stock still in his bed (it's amazing how much you can see with just starlight.) I hoist him up and cart him downstairs where Mrs. A is frantically going through our homeowner’s paperwork looking for the code to the security panel. Flashlights are out, children are calming down, but the alarm sounds are piercing and unrelenting.
After many, many, MANY attempts at entering the code, Mrs. A calls the company. The gist: Hey, our street lost power and my alarm is going off. I don't have a service with anyone, but the power loss must have triggered something. I have the code, but nothing I'm doing is turning the alarm off. How am I supposed to enter this? The response: I'm sorry ma'am. I can't hear you. Can you stop that noise? After about 10 minutes, Mrs. A screams at them, questioning the lineage of the technician or his proclivity for anal sex and hangs up.
The kids are still crying, the alarm is still going.
Finally I get the bright, 3am idea to go get the ladder and rip the motion detectors out of the wall, because it's the motion detectors making the sound. It doesn't occur to us that the alarm system has been turned off, but the fire alarm is still going. That’s all the noise. At this point we've gone into our closet and removed the back up battery to the security system in a desperate attempt to shut the sound off.
I finally was able to remove the hardwired fire alarms, all three, then remove their batteries.
Finally, the sound stops. The kids are squeaking and sobbing, Mrs. A is shaking and I'm sweating and trembling. We give the children some milk; we get more water for us and we all go back to our bed and snuggle up in the ever-increasing heat of possibly the hottest night of the year in Austin.
The next day we hook everything back up. I've got a possible lateral meniscus (knee disc) injury, but so far it's minor and some ice and ibuprofen have taken care of it. We also know how to shut the alarm system down, and we also know how to shut all the sounds off.
I remember my parents doing fire drills when we were kids. Not with any frequency, maybe once or twice in our first house. We worked on what we'd do if we had to leave through the second story, how to tell if the fire was outside the door, where to meet, what else to do.
This was as close as we've come to any exercise, and not only was it traumatic for the children but it really made me feel vulnerable and insecure. Think about it, by the time my brain fog had lifted, an intruder could have made their way to the bedroom and snuffed us out. No alarm system would have stopped them from killing all of us. Robbery, I can see this being a deterrent, but assault? A little noise isn't going to stop shit, except the brain functions of two adults trying to find four numbers with a flashlight at 3 AM.
And it did its job well.
So we've never really had anything happen in the 2 months we've been here, knock on wood. The door beeps and it's nice to have when you have kids that can open doors.
Three weeks ago we lost power. A transformer blew somewhere close by and our street went dark.
It was 2:30 in the morning.
The first thing I remember is the noise. Your brain tends to incorporate sounds into the dreams you have. Since dreams don't generally take but a few seconds to complete, even a high pitch sounds occurring for moments can be part of an entire dream saga. I wish I remembered the dream.
The noise woke me, but it wasn't just the noise, it was all the noises. Mrs. Austin tends to mumble when she's startled awake. I tend to fight for breath through snorts and epithets. The children were already awake and it didn't take them long to start crying. The next thing I remember thinking is that something bad was happening, but not exactly what. Instinctively I glanced at the clock, knowing that was pointless. Our clock dims when the room is dark so it doesn't keep you awake. The problem is, when it's dark, you can't tell the time. However, I now know the ceiling fan, the AC, the noise machine and the DVD lights are all off. We lost power.
I start to relax a bit. At first, I'll admit, I was paralyzed with fear. I wasn't sure if someone had broken in or not. Knowing we don't arm anything, I've never heard the wailing the system was giving us. I was truly frightened.
As an aside, waking suddenly and being paralyzed doesn't mean you're afraid, it means your brain hasn't restored the connection to your body. It's a safety measure your body uses so you don't hurt yourself acting out your dreams. When you wake paralyzed, it's because you've woken too suddenly for that connection to be re-established. I think I've talked about this before, so this just make me look like an ass. Yay me.
When I was fairly certain it was just a power loss, I sprinted upstairs to the frightened children. A great but receding portion of my thoughts focused on the likelihood that there was someone in the house. It was pitch black and I was running into the void. I could have run smack dab into an intruder, him armed with a crow bar and a Glock, me armed with a minor stabbing implement sheathed in dark blue Haines.
I knew Mrs. A was behind me, which is unusual. She's normally so scared I'm sent into the darkened house with a hockey stick looking for "what made that sound." That alone made it feel more frightening, the fact that she was moved to action. I sprinted up the stairs blindly following the cries of my children. Little Mrs. Austin was standing in her doorway crying with her hands on her ears. I told her to go downstairs and find mommy. Everything was ok. Running into Yogi's room, I step on the only thing I could have at that moment, a toy with corners.
I step funny, jar my knee and hop around spewing more epithets. Yogi is crying and sitting stock still in his bed (it's amazing how much you can see with just starlight.) I hoist him up and cart him downstairs where Mrs. A is frantically going through our homeowner’s paperwork looking for the code to the security panel. Flashlights are out, children are calming down, but the alarm sounds are piercing and unrelenting.
After many, many, MANY attempts at entering the code, Mrs. A calls the company. The gist: Hey, our street lost power and my alarm is going off. I don't have a service with anyone, but the power loss must have triggered something. I have the code, but nothing I'm doing is turning the alarm off. How am I supposed to enter this? The response: I'm sorry ma'am. I can't hear you. Can you stop that noise? After about 10 minutes, Mrs. A screams at them, questioning the lineage of the technician or his proclivity for anal sex and hangs up.
The kids are still crying, the alarm is still going.
Finally I get the bright, 3am idea to go get the ladder and rip the motion detectors out of the wall, because it's the motion detectors making the sound. It doesn't occur to us that the alarm system has been turned off, but the fire alarm is still going. That’s all the noise. At this point we've gone into our closet and removed the back up battery to the security system in a desperate attempt to shut the sound off.
I finally was able to remove the hardwired fire alarms, all three, then remove their batteries.
Finally, the sound stops. The kids are squeaking and sobbing, Mrs. A is shaking and I'm sweating and trembling. We give the children some milk; we get more water for us and we all go back to our bed and snuggle up in the ever-increasing heat of possibly the hottest night of the year in Austin.
The next day we hook everything back up. I've got a possible lateral meniscus (knee disc) injury, but so far it's minor and some ice and ibuprofen have taken care of it. We also know how to shut the alarm system down, and we also know how to shut all the sounds off.
I remember my parents doing fire drills when we were kids. Not with any frequency, maybe once or twice in our first house. We worked on what we'd do if we had to leave through the second story, how to tell if the fire was outside the door, where to meet, what else to do.
This was as close as we've come to any exercise, and not only was it traumatic for the children but it really made me feel vulnerable and insecure. Think about it, by the time my brain fog had lifted, an intruder could have made their way to the bedroom and snuffed us out. No alarm system would have stopped them from killing all of us. Robbery, I can see this being a deterrent, but assault? A little noise isn't going to stop shit, except the brain functions of two adults trying to find four numbers with a flashlight at 3 AM.
And it did its job well.
2.10.05
Shutter Fi
Hoo rah!
Mrs. A got a contract with the United States Marine Corps to be the photographer at their annual ball. Huge news for us as this could lead to many similar contracts either with them or other institutions. She sold them on her proposal, with a little flirting and drinking, and now we have a month to get ready for possibly the biggest event her business has seen.
Yay for Mrs. A!
In other news, Yogi has a few words under his belt. Bah-bi (baby,) sheo (shoe,) he-oh (hello,) bye-bye, no (of course,) muh (milk and more,) and believe it or not alright, which sounds like ah rye. Uncle Austin should appreciate that (Quagmire.)
Also, I need to find this information, someone help me. Why is it you can get a money order from a grocery store or gas station for 69¢ but at a bank where you have an account it costs $5? Does that seem right? I would think banks would offer free MOs if you had an account with them, or want to compete to get business with non-account holders by offering cheaper MOs than the local grocer. Just seems retarded.
Anyway, that's what's going on. Mrs. A and I saw Ballet Austin/Austin Lyric Opera and Austin Symphony Orchestra's presentation of Carmina Burana last night. If you don't recognize the name, you'll recognize the opening and closing movements O Fortuna, Google it. If you've ever seen a movie preview or a promo for HBO about 5 years ago you'll know what it is. It's a terribly catchy and moving piece and little wonder Carl Orff's musical score to the Johann Andreas Schmeller poetry is one of the best known musical scores in the world. It just begs for applause at the end and evokes serious emotional responses.
Makes me think of Die Hard even though that was Ode To Joy. Also makes me think of Williams' Duel of the Fates from the latest Star Wars: The Phantom Menace. My guess is he was heavily influence (Williams, influenced? Shut up!) by both pieces.
Anyway, Mrs. A is shocked I enjoyed it as much as I did. Me, the guy who played Simon in Jesus Christ Superstar and Sebastian in Twelfth Knight. I enjoy theater and dance and music. I think I enjoyed seeing little kids choir on stage at the curtain call a little too much. I think I actually shouted "Yay little kids!"
Anyway, no luck on the job front yet. Hopefully that changes soon. I keep hitting any job that I even romotely qualify for, none of which has resulted in any bites. I've had two hits so far for graphic arts positions saying they either filled it or I didn't make the cut this time but they'd keep me on file.
So, that's all this time. Carry on.
Mrs. A got a contract with the United States Marine Corps to be the photographer at their annual ball. Huge news for us as this could lead to many similar contracts either with them or other institutions. She sold them on her proposal, with a little flirting and drinking, and now we have a month to get ready for possibly the biggest event her business has seen.
Yay for Mrs. A!
In other news, Yogi has a few words under his belt. Bah-bi (baby,) sheo (shoe,) he-oh (hello,) bye-bye, no (of course,) muh (milk and more,) and believe it or not alright, which sounds like ah rye. Uncle Austin should appreciate that (Quagmire.)
Also, I need to find this information, someone help me. Why is it you can get a money order from a grocery store or gas station for 69¢ but at a bank where you have an account it costs $5? Does that seem right? I would think banks would offer free MOs if you had an account with them, or want to compete to get business with non-account holders by offering cheaper MOs than the local grocer. Just seems retarded.
Anyway, that's what's going on. Mrs. A and I saw Ballet Austin/Austin Lyric Opera and Austin Symphony Orchestra's presentation of Carmina Burana last night. If you don't recognize the name, you'll recognize the opening and closing movements O Fortuna, Google it. If you've ever seen a movie preview or a promo for HBO about 5 years ago you'll know what it is. It's a terribly catchy and moving piece and little wonder Carl Orff's musical score to the Johann Andreas Schmeller poetry is one of the best known musical scores in the world. It just begs for applause at the end and evokes serious emotional responses.
Makes me think of Die Hard even though that was Ode To Joy. Also makes me think of Williams' Duel of the Fates from the latest Star Wars: The Phantom Menace. My guess is he was heavily influence (Williams, influenced? Shut up!) by both pieces.
Anyway, Mrs. A is shocked I enjoyed it as much as I did. Me, the guy who played Simon in Jesus Christ Superstar and Sebastian in Twelfth Knight. I enjoy theater and dance and music. I think I enjoyed seeing little kids choir on stage at the curtain call a little too much. I think I actually shouted "Yay little kids!"
Anyway, no luck on the job front yet. Hopefully that changes soon. I keep hitting any job that I even romotely qualify for, none of which has resulted in any bites. I've had two hits so far for graphic arts positions saying they either filled it or I didn't make the cut this time but they'd keep me on file.
So, that's all this time. Carry on.
28.9.05
Goodbye Dell.
When the universe tells you that a shift in your life is about to happen, it doesn't mess around. Things happen in groups for a reason, but I'm not really sure what that reason is. I know that people die in threes, or at least we notice/group them that way, and common folk have been heard chanting 'good things happen in threes.'
So we're working on two things right now and for the life of me I can think of a third occurence to balance this out.
Mrs. Austin quit her job yesterday.
And thank fucking God she did. I've told her this, she should have quit 2 years ago. She's hated working there for years now. The birth of our children really made her realize that the company was a bad place to work, or as she said, "Not a good place to be, but a good place to have been."
The last few months have been especially hard, and I won't go into details because it's not my place. If she wants to talk about what went on, that's her deal. I'll leave it alone. It was a hostile work environment and toward the end she was unable to take anymore time off for medical reasons or to interview at other places. So the choice came up, quit or be fired. Her team was going to be dissolved in a month anyway, and she had some photo and commission income coming in, so I was behind her in her decision to pull the trigger. And Dell isn't a place you give notice, either. You give notice and you're immediately walked out, so that's what she did. She packed up her desk and left. Tried to tell her boss, her boss wasn't there, so she said her goodbyes to people that really didn't like her, and she walked out.
I'm kind of envious.
Yes, this comes at a time when I'm on terminal employment, but honestly, I hated how she came home everyday or called or emailed me with stories about how utterly fucked up her day to day was. She was able to sleep in today, spend time taking the kids to school and plan interviews and appointments. She can make more photo contacts now. She's not totally going unemployed forever, but we are talking about taking the kids out of day care to save money, and really, if she's home, why can't they be home too?
So I'm waiting for the third thing. Friends and family have said my losing my job is the best thing that could happen, and I've already disputed that idea because I'm an unskilled monkey. I consider getting laid off bad. I also consider the second half of our income being cut short bad as well. As much as I'm happy she's out of that place, I'm concerned about money and I consider it a set back financially. So that's two things.
Our house is new, the kids aren't really sick and our cars while not brand new aren't really old. I don't know what will happen to make it three. It has to be bad to fit the universe's edict. A good opportunity came up for Mrs. A and I'd like to think that was it, because it's huge, but two bad things and a good thing make one bad thing. I can't have it unbalanced like that. If the other shoe doesn't drop, I'm going to stress and do something stupid like sell all my comic books and Legos.
So we're working on two things right now and for the life of me I can think of a third occurence to balance this out.
Mrs. Austin quit her job yesterday.
And thank fucking God she did. I've told her this, she should have quit 2 years ago. She's hated working there for years now. The birth of our children really made her realize that the company was a bad place to work, or as she said, "Not a good place to be, but a good place to have been."
The last few months have been especially hard, and I won't go into details because it's not my place. If she wants to talk about what went on, that's her deal. I'll leave it alone. It was a hostile work environment and toward the end she was unable to take anymore time off for medical reasons or to interview at other places. So the choice came up, quit or be fired. Her team was going to be dissolved in a month anyway, and she had some photo and commission income coming in, so I was behind her in her decision to pull the trigger. And Dell isn't a place you give notice, either. You give notice and you're immediately walked out, so that's what she did. She packed up her desk and left. Tried to tell her boss, her boss wasn't there, so she said her goodbyes to people that really didn't like her, and she walked out.
I'm kind of envious.
Yes, this comes at a time when I'm on terminal employment, but honestly, I hated how she came home everyday or called or emailed me with stories about how utterly fucked up her day to day was. She was able to sleep in today, spend time taking the kids to school and plan interviews and appointments. She can make more photo contacts now. She's not totally going unemployed forever, but we are talking about taking the kids out of day care to save money, and really, if she's home, why can't they be home too?
So I'm waiting for the third thing. Friends and family have said my losing my job is the best thing that could happen, and I've already disputed that idea because I'm an unskilled monkey. I consider getting laid off bad. I also consider the second half of our income being cut short bad as well. As much as I'm happy she's out of that place, I'm concerned about money and I consider it a set back financially. So that's two things.
Our house is new, the kids aren't really sick and our cars while not brand new aren't really old. I don't know what will happen to make it three. It has to be bad to fit the universe's edict. A good opportunity came up for Mrs. A and I'd like to think that was it, because it's huge, but two bad things and a good thing make one bad thing. I can't have it unbalanced like that. If the other shoe doesn't drop, I'm going to stress and do something stupid like sell all my comic books and Legos.
21.9.05
Rita with salt.
If anyone reads this before this weekend, I'll try to answer a few questions.
- I don't know where it's going to hit.
- I've not been in Texas when a hurricane has hit Houston or Galveston directly. I was here for Tropical Storm Allison, we got some rain out of that. Before that, it was Hurricane Alice in 1983. So if it does hit, I don't know what to expect in Austin.
- The weather guys here say we could see winds up to 80mph if it hits where they predict.
- We've already purchased supplies and will be tying down outside stuff and bringing things inside tonight.
- Mrs. A is in talks with her family about coming to Austin for the weekend. Houston Mayor has signaled a voluntary evacuation. Galveston is manditory. Evac routes go all the way up to Brenham, Lufkin, Bryan/College Station and Huntsville. Hunstville is about an hour up the road from Mrs. A's mom's house.
- Still haven't found a job.
- The bit with Mrs. A's job thing I mentioned earlier went well. We'll have more news next week.
- Mrs. A has a wedding expo this weekend, to add to the chaos.
- My Name Is Earl was funny, you should watch it. They'll replay it.
- Serenity comes out in 9 days, go see it.
- Yes I'm excited about Lost tonight.
- Yes I'm still not smoking. Other than the day I got laid off, it's been since August 20th.
More to come as the storm approaches.
Carry on.
- I don't know where it's going to hit.
- I've not been in Texas when a hurricane has hit Houston or Galveston directly. I was here for Tropical Storm Allison, we got some rain out of that. Before that, it was Hurricane Alice in 1983. So if it does hit, I don't know what to expect in Austin.
- The weather guys here say we could see winds up to 80mph if it hits where they predict.
- We've already purchased supplies and will be tying down outside stuff and bringing things inside tonight.
- Mrs. A is in talks with her family about coming to Austin for the weekend. Houston Mayor has signaled a voluntary evacuation. Galveston is manditory. Evac routes go all the way up to Brenham, Lufkin, Bryan/College Station and Huntsville. Hunstville is about an hour up the road from Mrs. A's mom's house.
- Still haven't found a job.
- The bit with Mrs. A's job thing I mentioned earlier went well. We'll have more news next week.
- Mrs. A has a wedding expo this weekend, to add to the chaos.
- My Name Is Earl was funny, you should watch it. They'll replay it.
- Serenity comes out in 9 days, go see it.
- Yes I'm excited about Lost tonight.
- Yes I'm still not smoking. Other than the day I got laid off, it's been since August 20th.
More to come as the storm approaches.
Carry on.
19.9.05
Child Update - Not for the casual reader
No luck on the job front yet. I've submitted my resume to all the online places and emailed it to about 15 places looking for graphic artists. Now I'll start looking for more IT support roles, maybe even...*shudder*...Help Desk.
Mrs. A has some things going on with her job as well. I can't really say anything until it's all settled, but there's things brewing.
So, on with the kids.
Lil Miss Austin is at the same time turning into a neat little kid with a vivid imagination and an unruly little kid with a hair trigger cry reflex and a propensity to sass and throw down. The last couple weeks she won't go to sleep until she gets a) and glass of milk, b) someone to sleep with her or c) something to eat. Now, we've never given her more than a cup of water and 2 stories, then it's lights out. For some reason she's really testing the boundaries of what she can get away with, and for the most part we're holding the line, but it's a nightly affair. Not only that, she's also walking around, still asleep, looking for bathrooms.
Luckily, Yogi isn't as complex. He's really great at going to bed and staying in bed. Maybe once or twice a week he'll wake up around 11. We just refill his bottle and he's back out. We tried taking the front of his crib off, but that lasted about 10 minutes as he crawled out of it each time. I think we're still about 6 months away from that. But he's such a big kid that it's probably only going to be a matter of months or weeks before he figures out how to crawl over the railing.
Yogi also has finally picked up the "blow me a kiss" gesture. He puts his hand to his mouth and says MWA! He's also finally moved away from the open fish mouth kissing to the tightly squeezed lip mouth kissing. We haven't seen him to the "more" or "please" sign in a while and I'm kind of upset about that. He did it so well that one time, I don't know why he dropped it.
He and LMA run around the house like little cracked out mammals. They love to chase, take toys away from each other, tackle. I worry about Yogi more than LMA because she's bigger, but she has the wherewithal of a porcelain bubble. One wrong move and it's Crysville, population her. Yogi just gets pissed with I take things away from him; things like lamp plugs, new sharpened pencils, ammunition, etc. He loves doing things he's not supposed to do. Loves it. Like the Devil himself found a midget body and is just jackin' with me all day.
It makes for good times.
The kids' hamster died at school. We don't know when, probably over the weekend. We found it hadn't been fed properly. It doesn't make me want to donate another little animal if they can't take care of it, but I feel like we should replace it somehow. I don't know. Just not a great way to start a week off, by burying a dead animal. And by burying I mean wrapping in a tissue and tossing it into the dumpster. I said a few words, mostly along the lines of "dammit" and "smelly dead thing" but I gave him his due.
More later.
Mrs. A has some things going on with her job as well. I can't really say anything until it's all settled, but there's things brewing.
So, on with the kids.
Lil Miss Austin is at the same time turning into a neat little kid with a vivid imagination and an unruly little kid with a hair trigger cry reflex and a propensity to sass and throw down. The last couple weeks she won't go to sleep until she gets a) and glass of milk, b) someone to sleep with her or c) something to eat. Now, we've never given her more than a cup of water and 2 stories, then it's lights out. For some reason she's really testing the boundaries of what she can get away with, and for the most part we're holding the line, but it's a nightly affair. Not only that, she's also walking around, still asleep, looking for bathrooms.
Luckily, Yogi isn't as complex. He's really great at going to bed and staying in bed. Maybe once or twice a week he'll wake up around 11. We just refill his bottle and he's back out. We tried taking the front of his crib off, but that lasted about 10 minutes as he crawled out of it each time. I think we're still about 6 months away from that. But he's such a big kid that it's probably only going to be a matter of months or weeks before he figures out how to crawl over the railing.
Yogi also has finally picked up the "blow me a kiss" gesture. He puts his hand to his mouth and says MWA! He's also finally moved away from the open fish mouth kissing to the tightly squeezed lip mouth kissing. We haven't seen him to the "more" or "please" sign in a while and I'm kind of upset about that. He did it so well that one time, I don't know why he dropped it.
He and LMA run around the house like little cracked out mammals. They love to chase, take toys away from each other, tackle. I worry about Yogi more than LMA because she's bigger, but she has the wherewithal of a porcelain bubble. One wrong move and it's Crysville, population her. Yogi just gets pissed with I take things away from him; things like lamp plugs, new sharpened pencils, ammunition, etc. He loves doing things he's not supposed to do. Loves it. Like the Devil himself found a midget body and is just jackin' with me all day.
It makes for good times.
The kids' hamster died at school. We don't know when, probably over the weekend. We found it hadn't been fed properly. It doesn't make me want to donate another little animal if they can't take care of it, but I feel like we should replace it somehow. I don't know. Just not a great way to start a week off, by burying a dead animal. And by burying I mean wrapping in a tissue and tossing it into the dumpster. I said a few words, mostly along the lines of "dammit" and "smelly dead thing" but I gave him his due.
More later.
9.9.05
Pounding Pavement
Most of my friends and family have heard by now, and even though I don't think I'm supposed to say anything, I really don't care at this point.
My company is laying me off. They're restructuring the IT group and they just don't have spots for me and my coworker of almost 7 years. So now I have to, for the first time in a long, long time, look for a job.
The last time I looked for a job, I was in Colorado. It was 1996 and I had just stopped going to school so I could pay for my apartment and car. I got a job through a temp agency with TCI Cable. They had new cable boxes and need people to test their functionality. I watched TV for 10 hours a day for 2 months. When that stint was up, I stayed on with TCI and worked at their HQ. I started helping security with the parking garage and the key cards, then moved to archives.
Then I met Mrs. A and moved to Texas. I was able to transfer my employment with TCI and worked at a phone center in Houston. My brother in law told me of an opening with his company. I interviewed for the News Reader position and got the job. After the company went under, I was kept on as office support under the new company. After a time, a few people I knew, including my brother in law, moved to Austin to start at a rival company. Eventually, I was offered a job there as well (over ICQ) and so I moved to Austin.
While in Austin, I worked at a company that changed its name, then was bought, then sold again. Now I'm working with remnants of that original crew from 1999. Once November hits and I leave, and February hits and my coworker leaves, there will be only one person left who original worked on the software from almost 7 years ago.
Now, for the first time in 9 years, I have to actually send out resumes, make phone calls, send emails and call in favors. Even though I've technically worked for 7 companies in that time, I've only ever had to update my resume once, and that was for an internal opportunity that was pretty much a lock.
So, I have to find a new job. It sucks. It sucks bad. I have 2 little kids, and a brand new house. Mrs. A hates her job and has been looking to leave it. Her wedding photo business is doing well and is accounting for about half or more of what she brings home. But no matter what job I get, we're going to suffer a pay cut. I won't say I was overpaid for what I did, but I came to work every day and did my best full of the knowledge that it was all temporary. At some point, someone would say, "Holy shit we're paying this guy a lot."
And I think that's what it came down to. I don't want to go into specifics, or name names or anything like that. It's just business and they needed to do what they did, and now I need to do what I need to do; find a new job.
So to start, I'm looking for graphic design jobs. I've seen ten or twelve in Austin and I've sent resumes, but no bites yet. I will eventually go back to finding work in my field, with my skill set, then anything technical, then anything at all. In the end I'll probably be able to collect unemployment, so I won't be totally lost.
I mentioned something to my friend here at work. I said, "Keep in mind, there's several thousand people now in Austin from NOLA. They're all looking for jobs too." She said she hadn't even thought of that.
Not all doom and gloom, we'll be fine. I've got friends in several companies that I can find if they've got work, so it'll be ok. Some people have said this is the best thing that could happen. I'll be so happy when I get out of here and into a new job. I have to disagree with that. I know their intentions were true and they're just trying to be positive, but honestly, the best thing that could have happened was a raise and then some training. The worst thing is that my house and job were in New Orleans. I'm somewhere in between, I'll let you figure it out.
My company is laying me off. They're restructuring the IT group and they just don't have spots for me and my coworker of almost 7 years. So now I have to, for the first time in a long, long time, look for a job.
The last time I looked for a job, I was in Colorado. It was 1996 and I had just stopped going to school so I could pay for my apartment and car. I got a job through a temp agency with TCI Cable. They had new cable boxes and need people to test their functionality. I watched TV for 10 hours a day for 2 months. When that stint was up, I stayed on with TCI and worked at their HQ. I started helping security with the parking garage and the key cards, then moved to archives.
Then I met Mrs. A and moved to Texas. I was able to transfer my employment with TCI and worked at a phone center in Houston. My brother in law told me of an opening with his company. I interviewed for the News Reader position and got the job. After the company went under, I was kept on as office support under the new company. After a time, a few people I knew, including my brother in law, moved to Austin to start at a rival company. Eventually, I was offered a job there as well (over ICQ) and so I moved to Austin.
While in Austin, I worked at a company that changed its name, then was bought, then sold again. Now I'm working with remnants of that original crew from 1999. Once November hits and I leave, and February hits and my coworker leaves, there will be only one person left who original worked on the software from almost 7 years ago.
Now, for the first time in 9 years, I have to actually send out resumes, make phone calls, send emails and call in favors. Even though I've technically worked for 7 companies in that time, I've only ever had to update my resume once, and that was for an internal opportunity that was pretty much a lock.
So, I have to find a new job. It sucks. It sucks bad. I have 2 little kids, and a brand new house. Mrs. A hates her job and has been looking to leave it. Her wedding photo business is doing well and is accounting for about half or more of what she brings home. But no matter what job I get, we're going to suffer a pay cut. I won't say I was overpaid for what I did, but I came to work every day and did my best full of the knowledge that it was all temporary. At some point, someone would say, "Holy shit we're paying this guy a lot."
And I think that's what it came down to. I don't want to go into specifics, or name names or anything like that. It's just business and they needed to do what they did, and now I need to do what I need to do; find a new job.
So to start, I'm looking for graphic design jobs. I've seen ten or twelve in Austin and I've sent resumes, but no bites yet. I will eventually go back to finding work in my field, with my skill set, then anything technical, then anything at all. In the end I'll probably be able to collect unemployment, so I won't be totally lost.
I mentioned something to my friend here at work. I said, "Keep in mind, there's several thousand people now in Austin from NOLA. They're all looking for jobs too." She said she hadn't even thought of that.
Not all doom and gloom, we'll be fine. I've got friends in several companies that I can find if they've got work, so it'll be ok. Some people have said this is the best thing that could happen. I'll be so happy when I get out of here and into a new job. I have to disagree with that. I know their intentions were true and they're just trying to be positive, but honestly, the best thing that could have happened was a raise and then some training. The worst thing is that my house and job were in New Orleans. I'm somewhere in between, I'll let you figure it out.
6.9.05
Duke Gardlebean
I heard a commentary on NPR this morning from an aid worker who is putting some nuts out there by saying America is upset at a slow aid effort. Slow compared to what?
I won't add bias, listen to the story. It crystalized a feeling I was developing over the last couple days that the Blame Game is in full swing and the 24 hour media did a good job illuminating the faults with our system, but it's all overblown compared to what happens around the world.
Take a listen.
Mrs. Austin and I were relaxin' around the house Saturday morning watching our son slowly turn from a baby into a little kid. Watching him walk and try to talk, I know where the term toddler came from. Yogi has the balance of drunk and the coordination of a newborn calf, but man his resolve to get places is unparalleled. He moves like he's motivated with money or his life.
For the last couple weeks, maybe months, he's started to do things that are showing more and more cognitive development. He knows patterns and anticipates events or tasks to come. Example: When it's bed time and he's had his bath and he's got his milk, he knows that when I'm putting his PJ shirt on he can shift his milk holding hand and stuff the other arm into a sleeve. He knows that after a shower he finds a towel and puts it on his head. He doesn't understand drying off, but he knows that the towel will make it all ok.
A side effect of this new level of thinking is his empathy skills, which are both cute and worrisome. Cute in that he's acting like a person and not a blob of human parts, but it also acts as a mirror to the people he lives with. When someone falls down or seems sad, he really wants to come up and give them a hug. If they hang their head, he bends down and looks into your face and makes a little inquisitive sound like "Are you ok?" He's starting to use spoons and forks more effectively, so much so that cleaning after dinner is become less a chore than in the past. Don't get me wrong, we still have to get Spaghettios out of his ears, but not as many off the floor.
But, he also yells at his sister when he thinks she's in trouble. If she's sitting in her room crying because she was just told by a parent to clean her room and stop crying or she'll get a spanking, he'll stand at her doorway shouting at her like he's doing the scolding. It's concerning to me that this is how he sees me, as a yeller and a punisher. It makes me want to stop, but that's a different topic.
I know I wrote a lot about Lil' Miss Austin when she was a toddler and I feel it's just fair that I pay some props to the little man. He's the cutest freakin' kid I've ever seen. He smiles a lot and laughs and shouts and purses his lips when he thinks really hard. He loves dropping things from the loft into the entryway below. He loves pushing things that have wheels and some things that don't. Even though we worry about his breathing, he does not seem in anyway hampered by ailments.
He's such a great little kid and he and LMA act so well together. It's neat to see them run around and play tag and tackle and watch cartoons together. It's funny to hear them fight over toys, and it's sweet to see them share. I'm really lucky to have them as kids.
This weekend saw some more home improvements. We finally got around to replacing most of the light bulbs. There was one above the dining room that was part of a ceiling fan the previous owner said they had to special order. So Mrs. A went online and looked for bulbs and really only found that it's hard to shop for bulbs online. So she hit Lowe's and got a few bulbs and one of those extender arms to help you replace hard to reach bulbs if you live in a house full of light fixtures that are just too high to make any fucking sense.
So we try this new arm on a couple fixtures that we could reach with a ladder, only to find that it doesn't really work that great. The little grabber/net spring loaded thing only works, I'm guessing, if the bulb is just hanging by a wire several inches away from a wall or ceiling. If the bulb is actually in any mounted fixture, you're out of luck with the grabber, so they included a suction cup and other implements of destruction. None were very useful. Especially for the outside light.
The outside light is a problem. I don't even know what kind of light this is, awning light? You know, there's a garage light, porch light, kitchen light, sconce, torch, table lamp, chandelier, etc. It's a flush mount with a triangle bulb, either incandescent or halogen, but it's about 40 feet above the front door inside a little upside down alcove. I guess it lights the door from above.
So we used the arm with the grabber, but couldn't get a good grip. Next the suction cup but it never got any suction or traction. So we tag out a couple times, arms getting sore from holding this pole for minutes at a time. Eventually, Mrs. A comes out wearing racquetball goggles and a determined look. She was able to get the grabber thing into the mount, but then couldn't get it or the bulb back out. Like the monkey with the hand in the anthill with a hand full of goodies, but with his hand in a fist, he can't pull away. Ok, I'm alone on that analogy.
So now all we want is to get the pole out of there. We find out there's an old nest behind the light and it's starting to drop pieces into our faces. Finally Mrs. A comes in and says, "Well I have good news. The pole's out." The gripper thing is still up there and the light bulb is shoved to one side. I know there's got to be a way to access that light without having to use a long pole, but I think it requires crawling through insulation and hot.
So, screw that light, it doesn't work.
That's the news.
Oh, the name of this post? Apparently Lil Miss A has a few imaginary friends. One named Honey and one named Duke Gardlebean (I'm guessing at the spelling.) She also does a pretty creepy impression of an adult talking on the phone. She answers her little toy cell phone like she's just found a long lost college roommate. Weird.
I won't add bias, listen to the story. It crystalized a feeling I was developing over the last couple days that the Blame Game is in full swing and the 24 hour media did a good job illuminating the faults with our system, but it's all overblown compared to what happens around the world.
Take a listen.
Mrs. Austin and I were relaxin' around the house Saturday morning watching our son slowly turn from a baby into a little kid. Watching him walk and try to talk, I know where the term toddler came from. Yogi has the balance of drunk and the coordination of a newborn calf, but man his resolve to get places is unparalleled. He moves like he's motivated with money or his life.
For the last couple weeks, maybe months, he's started to do things that are showing more and more cognitive development. He knows patterns and anticipates events or tasks to come. Example: When it's bed time and he's had his bath and he's got his milk, he knows that when I'm putting his PJ shirt on he can shift his milk holding hand and stuff the other arm into a sleeve. He knows that after a shower he finds a towel and puts it on his head. He doesn't understand drying off, but he knows that the towel will make it all ok.
A side effect of this new level of thinking is his empathy skills, which are both cute and worrisome. Cute in that he's acting like a person and not a blob of human parts, but it also acts as a mirror to the people he lives with. When someone falls down or seems sad, he really wants to come up and give them a hug. If they hang their head, he bends down and looks into your face and makes a little inquisitive sound like "Are you ok?" He's starting to use spoons and forks more effectively, so much so that cleaning after dinner is become less a chore than in the past. Don't get me wrong, we still have to get Spaghettios out of his ears, but not as many off the floor.
But, he also yells at his sister when he thinks she's in trouble. If she's sitting in her room crying because she was just told by a parent to clean her room and stop crying or she'll get a spanking, he'll stand at her doorway shouting at her like he's doing the scolding. It's concerning to me that this is how he sees me, as a yeller and a punisher. It makes me want to stop, but that's a different topic.
I know I wrote a lot about Lil' Miss Austin when she was a toddler and I feel it's just fair that I pay some props to the little man. He's the cutest freakin' kid I've ever seen. He smiles a lot and laughs and shouts and purses his lips when he thinks really hard. He loves dropping things from the loft into the entryway below. He loves pushing things that have wheels and some things that don't. Even though we worry about his breathing, he does not seem in anyway hampered by ailments.
He's such a great little kid and he and LMA act so well together. It's neat to see them run around and play tag and tackle and watch cartoons together. It's funny to hear them fight over toys, and it's sweet to see them share. I'm really lucky to have them as kids.
This weekend saw some more home improvements. We finally got around to replacing most of the light bulbs. There was one above the dining room that was part of a ceiling fan the previous owner said they had to special order. So Mrs. A went online and looked for bulbs and really only found that it's hard to shop for bulbs online. So she hit Lowe's and got a few bulbs and one of those extender arms to help you replace hard to reach bulbs if you live in a house full of light fixtures that are just too high to make any fucking sense.
So we try this new arm on a couple fixtures that we could reach with a ladder, only to find that it doesn't really work that great. The little grabber/net spring loaded thing only works, I'm guessing, if the bulb is just hanging by a wire several inches away from a wall or ceiling. If the bulb is actually in any mounted fixture, you're out of luck with the grabber, so they included a suction cup and other implements of destruction. None were very useful. Especially for the outside light.
The outside light is a problem. I don't even know what kind of light this is, awning light? You know, there's a garage light, porch light, kitchen light, sconce, torch, table lamp, chandelier, etc. It's a flush mount with a triangle bulb, either incandescent or halogen, but it's about 40 feet above the front door inside a little upside down alcove. I guess it lights the door from above.
So we used the arm with the grabber, but couldn't get a good grip. Next the suction cup but it never got any suction or traction. So we tag out a couple times, arms getting sore from holding this pole for minutes at a time. Eventually, Mrs. A comes out wearing racquetball goggles and a determined look. She was able to get the grabber thing into the mount, but then couldn't get it or the bulb back out. Like the monkey with the hand in the anthill with a hand full of goodies, but with his hand in a fist, he can't pull away. Ok, I'm alone on that analogy.
So now all we want is to get the pole out of there. We find out there's an old nest behind the light and it's starting to drop pieces into our faces. Finally Mrs. A comes in and says, "Well I have good news. The pole's out." The gripper thing is still up there and the light bulb is shoved to one side. I know there's got to be a way to access that light without having to use a long pole, but I think it requires crawling through insulation and hot.
So, screw that light, it doesn't work.
That's the news.
Oh, the name of this post? Apparently Lil Miss A has a few imaginary friends. One named Honey and one named Duke Gardlebean (I'm guessing at the spelling.) She also does a pretty creepy impression of an adult talking on the phone. She answers her little toy cell phone like she's just found a long lost college roommate. Weird.
1.9.05
Is it so hard?
I just don't understand, someone help me.
The media has hundreds of people out there seeing all this tragedy and they have choppers flying around looking at people on houses. Can we not suspend our glut for news coverage and start helping people? Why can't new's people pick up a few stranded folks and ferry them somewhere safe?
Why has it taken four days to help in some places? I know New Orleans is a big place, but surely the amount of resources we have would allow the US to get some help there in four days. I saw a report that the National Guard will arrive in 'days to come.' Isn't that a little late? Are they going to be there to push floating bodies out to sea?
And not to get on the suffering folks in what's left of the city, but if I didn't see a white van with a red cross, or a helicopter or an army humvee in like 2 days, I'd have started walking. In four days some of these folks could have been in Texas. But whose fault is that? We can air drop supplies into Baghdad, but not our own cities?
I'm just frustrated watching all this news about all these poor refugees stuck in their dying city. I've posted that our home is open for people if they need a place to stay, we're rebudgeting so we can contribute to the red cross, but I know it's not enough. It just isn't. I got an email from a friend who works at the ASPCA about how to help with pets...pets. Just think about all the cats and dogs misplaced by this. And the kids and single people and married people and catholics and baptists and voodoo priestesses and old black blues players and middle aged white gardeners and...fuck me, CATS! Fucking cats! Cats hate water! God, man, what are fucking doing about the goddamn cats?!
Meanwhile, NBC is doing it's part, not by giving money or getting down some supplies or transportation, but by organizing a benefit concert, and Leo will make an appearance.
A concert, great. I don't give a shit about a concert. You want to help? Leo? Look what Harry Connick Jr. is doing. Get your famous ass down there and bring some fucking donuts.
Actually, don't do that. Give 20 million to the Red Cross so they can bring the donuts.
Just watched a guy get arrested for taking a car so he and his family WITH LITTLE BABIES can get out of the city. Good thing the police are there to arrest people instead of getting them out of the region. Where are they going to keep him? The prisons are shut down? What happens now to the family? Good god, people. Suspend it all and get those human beings out of there.
Ugh, I can't take this anymore. I have lost faith in humanity for some of the stupid shit we sit through day after day. Benefit concerts, political backspeak. Rwanda, Niger, New Orleans.
Fuck this planet man, I give up.
The media has hundreds of people out there seeing all this tragedy and they have choppers flying around looking at people on houses. Can we not suspend our glut for news coverage and start helping people? Why can't new's people pick up a few stranded folks and ferry them somewhere safe?
Why has it taken four days to help in some places? I know New Orleans is a big place, but surely the amount of resources we have would allow the US to get some help there in four days. I saw a report that the National Guard will arrive in 'days to come.' Isn't that a little late? Are they going to be there to push floating bodies out to sea?
And not to get on the suffering folks in what's left of the city, but if I didn't see a white van with a red cross, or a helicopter or an army humvee in like 2 days, I'd have started walking. In four days some of these folks could have been in Texas. But whose fault is that? We can air drop supplies into Baghdad, but not our own cities?
I'm just frustrated watching all this news about all these poor refugees stuck in their dying city. I've posted that our home is open for people if they need a place to stay, we're rebudgeting so we can contribute to the red cross, but I know it's not enough. It just isn't. I got an email from a friend who works at the ASPCA about how to help with pets...pets. Just think about all the cats and dogs misplaced by this. And the kids and single people and married people and catholics and baptists and voodoo priestesses and old black blues players and middle aged white gardeners and...fuck me, CATS! Fucking cats! Cats hate water! God, man, what are fucking doing about the goddamn cats?!
Meanwhile, NBC is doing it's part, not by giving money or getting down some supplies or transportation, but by organizing a benefit concert, and Leo will make an appearance.
WHAT?
A concert, great. I don't give a shit about a concert. You want to help? Leo? Look what Harry Connick Jr. is doing. Get your famous ass down there and bring some fucking donuts.
Actually, don't do that. Give 20 million to the Red Cross so they can bring the donuts.
Just watched a guy get arrested for taking a car so he and his family WITH LITTLE BABIES can get out of the city. Good thing the police are there to arrest people instead of getting them out of the region. Where are they going to keep him? The prisons are shut down? What happens now to the family? Good god, people. Suspend it all and get those human beings out of there.
Ugh, I can't take this anymore. I have lost faith in humanity for some of the stupid shit we sit through day after day. Benefit concerts, political backspeak. Rwanda, Niger, New Orleans.
Fuck this planet man, I give up.
27.8.05
Garden Spider
I need to get these pictures up, but the most interesting thing that's happened to me in the last week is the giant garden spider in our back yard. Just do a Google image search for argiope spider. For those who don't like spiders, don't do it. I didn't post a picture here because I know there are some Marys out there who run for the hills when they see a little white-spotted jumping spider, so this thing'll scare the piss out of you folks. Me? I ran screaming like a little girl when I saw it, and I like spiders. I was mowing the back forty, head down, focusing on the task at hand. I dodged a pair of crab orb spiders and proceeded along the back fence when I tweaked a web that tied the fence to the ground. What scrambled and gyrated around in the web looked like a fucking helicopter in my peripheral vision. It was so black and so large I feared I ripped open a lesser gate to hell and loosed the Kraken upon the world.
Needless to say after leaving the mower running and sprinting 50 feet, I was able to calm down and assess the situation. I approached the curiosity to find the above mentioned Argiope, or Garden or Writing, or Zipper spider. The more I looked, the more my reptile brain was able to go back to managing the mundanity of everyday tasks and allowing my higher functions to appreciate the grace and beauty of the creature. I still got a small chill each time I got near it, but it was a manageable thing.
You have to understand, this is the biggest spider I'd seen outside a zoo and easily the biggest that didn't have a good inch of Plexiglass between us. It, at any moment, could have dropped into the grass and disappeared, waiting for me to walk barefoot and carefree through the lawn where it could sink fangs the size of my pinky-nail into a fleshy, unwary toe. So yeah, even I was a little spooked.
The days went by, LMA saw it, Mrs. A saw it, friends saw it. It became less and less a monster, and more a guardian of all things leafing. Garden spiders are great things to have in your garden. They eat a lot and are generally pretty docile. They don't see well and just sort of hang upside down all the time. I even contributed to her feeding. While continuing to mow, I disturbed a rather large grasshopper. The bug's bumbling flight took it directly into the spider's web and I was able to witness firsthand the ensnaring and paralyzation of the heedless insect. It was the first time I'd seen a spider wrap up and inject venom into another bug, again, outside of a zoo or the National Geographic channel.
I thought about catching it and calling Texas A&M to see if they wanted a good specimen, but then changed my mind. It's a common spider and does more good for itself and for our yard doing what she's doing that being a preserved curiosity.
Today was Yogi's first haircut. Even though both the parents agreed that his hair was cute when long and saddened when it was made short, we got him a trim and were allowed to keep the locks with a certificate stating that Mrs. Austin is allowed to cry when her little boy gets his first haircut. As if the Hawaiian shirt, jean shorts, playing in mud and constantly falling down aren't good enough boy indications, at least now his hair matches his gender type.
I just watched Kirosawa's Yojimbo with Toshiro Mifune. I'm now a big Mifune fan, even though I've seen him before in 1941 and Midway, I didn't realize who he was or that he was such a big name in Japanese film. Of course I've got a ton of Kirosawa movies on Netflix that I have to get through, most of them with Mifune.
House is coming along. All the rooms are done. Now we branch into side projects; planting trees and flowers in the back, finishing the attic space and set up all the Lego sets I have, painting kids and other rooms, etc. We really like and it, luckily, this month we can afford to live here. I'll keep you posted about next month.
I officially quit smoking about 6 days ago. Normally I would tell people I haven't smoked in X amount of days, but it was rationalization lies. Rationalization lies are ones you make that even you believe. I believe I'm a non-smoker because I don't have but 1 or 2 a day, maybe none on the weekends, thus, when people ask, I say I haven't had a cigarette in...blah blah blah . Short of it is, I haven't had a cigarette since Sunday of last week and haven't really wanted one. The hardest part is at work and every couple hours you need a break. Well there's ping pong and foosball and some video games and the net to surf or scripts to write, so I haven't needed distraction. What is needed is to get up and stretch your legs and get some fresh air, as it were. That I haven't found a replacement for.
I can feel the momentum of the Chicago convention slowly but steadily ebb and I'm starting to fear the eventual death of my desire to do another book until it's too close to a convention or show or other arbitrary deadline to use the time effectively. There's a local show in Austin in March for which I'm aiming and I hope to have two books done. However, I'm stuck and stalling and spinning around a frantic and yet stagnant combination of self imposed distractions, actual lack of hours in the day and a general feeling of "Who the fuck cares." That's not to say I need tons of affirmation or I quit, but I was talking to a Canadian friend (I don't think we should hold that against him) and he said that on the comic book message board I go to, more people should have bought it. I'm the second highest poster on the board and I moderate a pretty active forum as well as contribute to two or three other major projects on the board. I'm always available for a critique or advice or help, and when I announced my book was done and how to buy it, 7 people bought it online. That includes my father-in-law.
Now, again, I don't need accolades or tons of cash or the false words of millions, but 7? Actually, come to think of it, it was less. Another board I go to (all the Harvey Turnbolt guys) came through great. There's only about 10 of those guys and I think 5 bought something. Leaving just 2 or 3 on Penciljack.
Reason I think that's crap is because there are people on that board who were there in the dark times, before the Empire. They got their start there and owe a lot of their success to the fan base they generated on that site. And now, they talk of independent artists and writers like they're the life blood of the industry, but when push comes to shove, they don't support those who supported them.
That's what makes me upset. That and somehow, after "selling" maybe 15 books officially, I only have some thirty odd books left and very little feedback.
So, if you're reading this (and you aren't, cuz you don't waste your time with folks like us), for shame. For shame at not giving a small guy a chance by just reading his book. It doesn't make me want to rush out and by yours, I don't care how large the divide in production value.
Battlestar Galactica kicks ass.
Carry on.
Needless to say after leaving the mower running and sprinting 50 feet, I was able to calm down and assess the situation. I approached the curiosity to find the above mentioned Argiope, or Garden or Writing, or Zipper spider. The more I looked, the more my reptile brain was able to go back to managing the mundanity of everyday tasks and allowing my higher functions to appreciate the grace and beauty of the creature. I still got a small chill each time I got near it, but it was a manageable thing.
You have to understand, this is the biggest spider I'd seen outside a zoo and easily the biggest that didn't have a good inch of Plexiglass between us. It, at any moment, could have dropped into the grass and disappeared, waiting for me to walk barefoot and carefree through the lawn where it could sink fangs the size of my pinky-nail into a fleshy, unwary toe. So yeah, even I was a little spooked.
The days went by, LMA saw it, Mrs. A saw it, friends saw it. It became less and less a monster, and more a guardian of all things leafing. Garden spiders are great things to have in your garden. They eat a lot and are generally pretty docile. They don't see well and just sort of hang upside down all the time. I even contributed to her feeding. While continuing to mow, I disturbed a rather large grasshopper. The bug's bumbling flight took it directly into the spider's web and I was able to witness firsthand the ensnaring and paralyzation of the heedless insect. It was the first time I'd seen a spider wrap up and inject venom into another bug, again, outside of a zoo or the National Geographic channel.
I thought about catching it and calling Texas A&M to see if they wanted a good specimen, but then changed my mind. It's a common spider and does more good for itself and for our yard doing what she's doing that being a preserved curiosity.
Today was Yogi's first haircut. Even though both the parents agreed that his hair was cute when long and saddened when it was made short, we got him a trim and were allowed to keep the locks with a certificate stating that Mrs. Austin is allowed to cry when her little boy gets his first haircut. As if the Hawaiian shirt, jean shorts, playing in mud and constantly falling down aren't good enough boy indications, at least now his hair matches his gender type.
I just watched Kirosawa's Yojimbo with Toshiro Mifune. I'm now a big Mifune fan, even though I've seen him before in 1941 and Midway, I didn't realize who he was or that he was such a big name in Japanese film. Of course I've got a ton of Kirosawa movies on Netflix that I have to get through, most of them with Mifune.
House is coming along. All the rooms are done. Now we branch into side projects; planting trees and flowers in the back, finishing the attic space and set up all the Lego sets I have, painting kids and other rooms, etc. We really like and it, luckily, this month we can afford to live here. I'll keep you posted about next month.
I officially quit smoking about 6 days ago. Normally I would tell people I haven't smoked in X amount of days, but it was rationalization lies. Rationalization lies are ones you make that even you believe. I believe I'm a non-smoker because I don't have but 1 or 2 a day, maybe none on the weekends, thus, when people ask, I say I haven't had a cigarette in...blah blah blah . Short of it is, I haven't had a cigarette since Sunday of last week and haven't really wanted one. The hardest part is at work and every couple hours you need a break. Well there's ping pong and foosball and some video games and the net to surf or scripts to write, so I haven't needed distraction. What is needed is to get up and stretch your legs and get some fresh air, as it were. That I haven't found a replacement for.
I can feel the momentum of the Chicago convention slowly but steadily ebb and I'm starting to fear the eventual death of my desire to do another book until it's too close to a convention or show or other arbitrary deadline to use the time effectively. There's a local show in Austin in March for which I'm aiming and I hope to have two books done. However, I'm stuck and stalling and spinning around a frantic and yet stagnant combination of self imposed distractions, actual lack of hours in the day and a general feeling of "Who the fuck cares." That's not to say I need tons of affirmation or I quit, but I was talking to a Canadian friend (I don't think we should hold that against him) and he said that on the comic book message board I go to, more people should have bought it. I'm the second highest poster on the board and I moderate a pretty active forum as well as contribute to two or three other major projects on the board. I'm always available for a critique or advice or help, and when I announced my book was done and how to buy it, 7 people bought it online. That includes my father-in-law.
Now, again, I don't need accolades or tons of cash or the false words of millions, but 7? Actually, come to think of it, it was less. Another board I go to (all the Harvey Turnbolt guys) came through great. There's only about 10 of those guys and I think 5 bought something. Leaving just 2 or 3 on Penciljack.
Reason I think that's crap is because there are people on that board who were there in the dark times, before the Empire. They got their start there and owe a lot of their success to the fan base they generated on that site. And now, they talk of independent artists and writers like they're the life blood of the industry, but when push comes to shove, they don't support those who supported them.
That's what makes me upset. That and somehow, after "selling" maybe 15 books officially, I only have some thirty odd books left and very little feedback.
So, if you're reading this (and you aren't, cuz you don't waste your time with folks like us), for shame. For shame at not giving a small guy a chance by just reading his book. It doesn't make me want to rush out and by yours, I don't care how large the divide in production value.
Battlestar Galactica kicks ass.
Carry on.
18.8.05
It's alive! IT'S ALI-IVE!
Our web sites are back up. We ended up not needing the Call-a-Nerd service and they didn't call us back after the first visit anyway. Between myself, Mrs. A and Mr. IG, we got it up and running. We even got the new laptop into the mix. Both sites are up, all machines are up and current. The office itself is shaping up nicely.
I'm going to try and learn myself some database functionality and maybe some ASP or PHP so I can set up a message board for my little book. It'll be dead for the next year, I'm sure, but it'll give me a place to post updates, art and what not. Yeah, I have a Live Journal account and this place and the site to post artwork, but I'm thinking I'd like something where people can talk to me about the story specifically and not just wait to see a new post about it. Plus it'll help me learn some technical skills I can use on my job.
Yeah, that's it.
I saw a thing on TV today about The Passout Game. Apparently a boy was found dead, hanging from a tree after doing this. For those not in the know, this "game" is a childhood activity in where you basically strangle yourself or otherwise cut off oxygen to your brain until you passout. When you come to, you get a small rush and tingle.
So I was watching this and I told my coworker that I had done this as a kid and I thought everyone did it. Turns out, according to law enforcement, it's something today's parents may not be aware of. I'm going to call bullshit on that. I think as soon as you find out that you can do this as a kid, you try it. And since there have been kids around for, um, ever, it's been pretty common. I also think you grow out of it pretty quickly, but that may just be my experience with it.
I haven't done crack or meth or coke, but I have held my breath until I passed out and then come back with a bit of euphoria. I remember several instances where I did it standing up holding onto the bathroom sink only to have crumpled up and hit my head as I fell.
Now, I don't think I'm a deviant because of this, but honestly, it may be why I'm not an Ivy League graduate, or why I didn't relate the gymnastic move the cartwheel with an actual cart wheel, or any number of similar intellectual faux pas.
I just think it's funny that the media has glommed onto this. Yes it's sad and dangerous, but this coming from the same people that gave us "Paris to dump her dog." Aren't there any real stories out anymore? I was waiting for the Shark Attack Summer, but I guess I'll settle for "Shit parents did as kids and are now shocked their kids are doing it."
Yeah, don't hold yer breath.
I'm going to try and learn myself some database functionality and maybe some ASP or PHP so I can set up a message board for my little book. It'll be dead for the next year, I'm sure, but it'll give me a place to post updates, art and what not. Yeah, I have a Live Journal account and this place and the site to post artwork, but I'm thinking I'd like something where people can talk to me about the story specifically and not just wait to see a new post about it. Plus it'll help me learn some technical skills I can use on my job.
Yeah, that's it.
I saw a thing on TV today about The Passout Game. Apparently a boy was found dead, hanging from a tree after doing this. For those not in the know, this "game" is a childhood activity in where you basically strangle yourself or otherwise cut off oxygen to your brain until you passout. When you come to, you get a small rush and tingle.
So I was watching this and I told my coworker that I had done this as a kid and I thought everyone did it. Turns out, according to law enforcement, it's something today's parents may not be aware of. I'm going to call bullshit on that. I think as soon as you find out that you can do this as a kid, you try it. And since there have been kids around for, um, ever, it's been pretty common. I also think you grow out of it pretty quickly, but that may just be my experience with it.
I haven't done crack or meth or coke, but I have held my breath until I passed out and then come back with a bit of euphoria. I remember several instances where I did it standing up holding onto the bathroom sink only to have crumpled up and hit my head as I fell.
Now, I don't think I'm a deviant because of this, but honestly, it may be why I'm not an Ivy League graduate, or why I didn't relate the gymnastic move the cartwheel with an actual cart wheel, or any number of similar intellectual faux pas.
I just think it's funny that the media has glommed onto this. Yes it's sad and dangerous, but this coming from the same people that gave us "Paris to dump her dog." Aren't there any real stories out anymore? I was waiting for the Shark Attack Summer, but I guess I'll settle for "Shit parents did as kids and are now shocked their kids are doing it."
Yeah, don't hold yer breath.
15.8.05
The Mundanity
Welcome back to regular updates, selectively tailored for friends and family, guaranteed to bore random readers into such a stupor that they may be unable to find the Back or Home buttons and end up becoming our next great fans.
First off, the oil change guys have a new sign and new cardboard cut-out. Darth Vader is most displease with your apparent lack of oil changes. I'll try to get a crappy cell phone picture.
So Mrs. A's birthday was Saturday. She turned an undisclosed age. Let's just say it starts with TH and ends in IRTY. That's right. Three decades ago, Mrs. Austin was brought into this world and the doctors didn't have the sense to warn the rest of us. Her birthday was spent jumping out of a plane. If you've already checked Flickr, you've seen the pictures. A very calm, very mellow Mrs. A went up some 2 miles before leaning out of a plane and calmy decending back to Earth at 120 mph. Chute opened, landed on her butt (to save her bum knee) and everything was right with the world. She would later describe it as "...the most peaceful five minutes of my life." She also said it was the best sex she ever had, which made me flinch a little, but that's a different entry that starts with D and ends with IRTY.
That evening we went with Mr. and Mrs. Invincible Girl, aka Mrs. A's brother and sister in law, to the Melting Pot and proceeded to get hammered while eating fondue. It's always a blast to go there because you have to sit and eat slowly. It makes for good conversation. No wonder the 70's Swedish swingers loved it so much. It's deliciously decadent and everyone should experience it at least once. Not the swinging part, the fondue, you sickos.
The remains of the weekend was spent swearing at our home network setup. After constant rebuilds of machines and (I'm sure) annoying calls to Mr. IG, we ended up calling a service. I won't say who because they haven't finished yet. It was a little disconcerting when after a couple hours the guy said it was a difficult issue to resolve and he'd have to call a bigger geek. As if I wasn't a big enough geek, now I have to hire geeks to help me in my geekness.
I have a mixed view of my role as tech support for Mrs. A. To me it's been a year long struggle to setup and keep up multiple machines on different operating systems, different network interactions and different purposes. When you have to restart all machines because the laptop can't get online, it's a problem with your setup.
Mrs. A seems to think that the glass is more than half full. I was able to keep the site up and the network stable enough for her to earn some money and be able to pay for the upkeep and the eventual overhaul. Very optimistic, but I still feel impotent that we had to bring someone in. It's all that Alpha Geek Male hormones I guess.
But, good news is the house is coming together. Got all the home theater stuff worked out, sort of. I still can't record TV, but I got it back to the way we had it at the old house, plus it's in a smaller room so the sound is a little better. Lord of the Rings is pretty awesome to watch now. We still have to set up the office, a task to which I'm not anticipating with anything but trepidation. (That was a terribly passive sentence, sorry writers.)
The kids are unchanged since we last spoke. Gregory is still having breathing issues. They've changed his medicine a couple times and he's had a few visits to the Pediatrician. He'll have to see a Pediatric Pulmonary and Pediatric Cardiologist for his little murmur and his breathing and in the meantime he's on steroids and some medicine in a nebulizer. For those who remember the first go round with the nebulizer, as you can see it's been a good year long fight with this and we just want him to be better. He wakes up every morning coughing, he starts wheezing if you play with him too much. It's just sad that he's not even a year old and he has breathing problems. It just doesn't seem that fair.
Well, I won't get mopey about it. I'm sure he'll grow out of it given time and proper treatment.
Oh, by the way, I hate computers.
First off, the oil change guys have a new sign and new cardboard cut-out. Darth Vader is most displease with your apparent lack of oil changes. I'll try to get a crappy cell phone picture.
So Mrs. A's birthday was Saturday. She turned an undisclosed age. Let's just say it starts with TH and ends in IRTY. That's right. Three decades ago, Mrs. Austin was brought into this world and the doctors didn't have the sense to warn the rest of us. Her birthday was spent jumping out of a plane. If you've already checked Flickr, you've seen the pictures. A very calm, very mellow Mrs. A went up some 2 miles before leaning out of a plane and calmy decending back to Earth at 120 mph. Chute opened, landed on her butt (to save her bum knee) and everything was right with the world. She would later describe it as "...the most peaceful five minutes of my life." She also said it was the best sex she ever had, which made me flinch a little, but that's a different entry that starts with D and ends with IRTY.
That evening we went with Mr. and Mrs. Invincible Girl, aka Mrs. A's brother and sister in law, to the Melting Pot and proceeded to get hammered while eating fondue. It's always a blast to go there because you have to sit and eat slowly. It makes for good conversation. No wonder the 70's Swedish swingers loved it so much. It's deliciously decadent and everyone should experience it at least once. Not the swinging part, the fondue, you sickos.
The remains of the weekend was spent swearing at our home network setup. After constant rebuilds of machines and (I'm sure) annoying calls to Mr. IG, we ended up calling a service. I won't say who because they haven't finished yet. It was a little disconcerting when after a couple hours the guy said it was a difficult issue to resolve and he'd have to call a bigger geek. As if I wasn't a big enough geek, now I have to hire geeks to help me in my geekness.
I have a mixed view of my role as tech support for Mrs. A. To me it's been a year long struggle to setup and keep up multiple machines on different operating systems, different network interactions and different purposes. When you have to restart all machines because the laptop can't get online, it's a problem with your setup.
Mrs. A seems to think that the glass is more than half full. I was able to keep the site up and the network stable enough for her to earn some money and be able to pay for the upkeep and the eventual overhaul. Very optimistic, but I still feel impotent that we had to bring someone in. It's all that Alpha Geek Male hormones I guess.
But, good news is the house is coming together. Got all the home theater stuff worked out, sort of. I still can't record TV, but I got it back to the way we had it at the old house, plus it's in a smaller room so the sound is a little better. Lord of the Rings is pretty awesome to watch now. We still have to set up the office, a task to which I'm not anticipating with anything but trepidation. (That was a terribly passive sentence, sorry writers.)
The kids are unchanged since we last spoke. Gregory is still having breathing issues. They've changed his medicine a couple times and he's had a few visits to the Pediatrician. He'll have to see a Pediatric Pulmonary and Pediatric Cardiologist for his little murmur and his breathing and in the meantime he's on steroids and some medicine in a nebulizer. For those who remember the first go round with the nebulizer, as you can see it's been a good year long fight with this and we just want him to be better. He wakes up every morning coughing, he starts wheezing if you play with him too much. It's just sad that he's not even a year old and he has breathing problems. It just doesn't seem that fair.
Well, I won't get mopey about it. I'm sure he'll grow out of it given time and proper treatment.
Oh, by the way, I hate computers.
8.8.05
Chicago, Chicago, not a toddler town.
We're back. That had to have been one of the worst trips I've ever taken. It's no one's fault, just a crappy string of things that happened. It was like every stand-up comedian's routine was played out for us in the 4 days we were there. I don't even want to recap, there was so much.
I'll talk about the convention a little, but only just. It wasn't much better than the travel.
I printed 100 books thinking that in previous years I'd done a minibook, black and white, kinko's special and sold maybe 15 books. This year, I'll have a fully realized script, color cover, professional printing...nothing. Zip. I sold one book at the convention. Mrs. A says I sold three, but I must have been away for the other two.
But shit, I'm arguing over two books. Out of 100. I sold a few online to some of my buddies at Penciljack, and traded books with PJers at the con, but strangers buying my book? One. I sold one piece of art, did two requests and sold one sketch. All this is the paying stuff. I think I drew about 40 pictures the whole time, other people's sketch books, just stuff to keep busy, but sales were freakin sad.
I'm off major conventions. I'm off them until I'm at the signing end of a huge line or have a fan base that would facilitate paying for my trip with the sales of the books. Other than that, there's no reason for me to go.
And here's why:
The numbers haven't come in yet, but I know when I was there two years ago, there were 65,000 people in attendance. That may break down differently for visitors or merchants, but leave it at "fuck-load of people."
The problem is, everyone is there to get noticed. It's like a young writers convetion with no publishers and only writers all hoping to make some kind of break or get some notariety or make some money, but only having other writers around doing the same thing. So, you end up buying some book because you support the small guy, but you as another writer are not the small guy's target.
I met some of my online people and that was nice, but the whole event was tainted by the fact that I'd spent a ton of money to go sit in a loud, crowded, weirdly lit cavern surrounded by questionable people for three days, doing nothing but draw for my own amusement.
So I'm off big cons. I'm not there to get signatures, or go to panels by people I don't know with 3,000 of my closest friends, or by books and toys and shirts. I want people to read my book and aside from maybe 10 people, 9 of which I gave the thing to in exchange for their book, no one has or will.
Maybe I'll write something when I'm not having to rebuild a webserver that's been down for who knows how long.
I'll talk about the convention a little, but only just. It wasn't much better than the travel.
I printed 100 books thinking that in previous years I'd done a minibook, black and white, kinko's special and sold maybe 15 books. This year, I'll have a fully realized script, color cover, professional printing...nothing. Zip. I sold one book at the convention. Mrs. A says I sold three, but I must have been away for the other two.
But shit, I'm arguing over two books. Out of 100. I sold a few online to some of my buddies at Penciljack, and traded books with PJers at the con, but strangers buying my book? One. I sold one piece of art, did two requests and sold one sketch. All this is the paying stuff. I think I drew about 40 pictures the whole time, other people's sketch books, just stuff to keep busy, but sales were freakin sad.
I'm off major conventions. I'm off them until I'm at the signing end of a huge line or have a fan base that would facilitate paying for my trip with the sales of the books. Other than that, there's no reason for me to go.
And here's why:
The numbers haven't come in yet, but I know when I was there two years ago, there were 65,000 people in attendance. That may break down differently for visitors or merchants, but leave it at "fuck-load of people."
The problem is, everyone is there to get noticed. It's like a young writers convetion with no publishers and only writers all hoping to make some kind of break or get some notariety or make some money, but only having other writers around doing the same thing. So, you end up buying some book because you support the small guy, but you as another writer are not the small guy's target.
I met some of my online people and that was nice, but the whole event was tainted by the fact that I'd spent a ton of money to go sit in a loud, crowded, weirdly lit cavern surrounded by questionable people for three days, doing nothing but draw for my own amusement.
So I'm off big cons. I'm not there to get signatures, or go to panels by people I don't know with 3,000 of my closest friends, or by books and toys and shirts. I want people to read my book and aside from maybe 10 people, 9 of which I gave the thing to in exchange for their book, no one has or will.
Maybe I'll write something when I'm not having to rebuild a webserver that's been down for who knows how long.
3.8.05
Project: Gemini #1
Well, it's official. Mrs. A went to the printer yesterday and picked up a box of 100 copies of my comic. If you've never had a bunch of literature you've worked on come back from a printer, imagine that scene from Back to the Future when the later, cooler, George McFly opened a box with his first science fiction novel. It's just like that. A brown box, with some packing material inside and a small stack of copies of your baby.
So, for all you folks who'd like to buy a copy, you can go here and plunk down your hard earned couch change for a copy of a small press comic book.
And now the fun begins. I plan on doing this as much as I can. The work was arduous but the result is a triumphant reward. I accomplished something I've wanted to do for almost 15 years, and it's taken me that long to do it. By myself, I've written and drawn a comic book. I still can't believe it.
But I can't sit on my laurels. I have at least 5 more to do with just this story before I can move on. Next time, I'll have better art, less printing costs, and maybe even distribution. Instead of 100 copies, maybe I'll get 200, or 500. Maybe I'll distribute online and have a few hundred people buying it. By next year's Chicago convention, I'll have 2 more books to sell, maybe 3.
It's stuff like this that makes me happy. That's a really weak and poorly constructed statement, but it's exactly how I feel. Mrs. A's photography makes me feel the same way, each time she gets a new booking I get a little smile.
Plus, I have to keep up with the Joneses. Mr. Darn Tootin himself just got an agent for his book. Good news again from Central Texas. He's a talented writer with a pretty pointed wit and I'm pretty happy for him. (I'll be happier when it's written, Rob.) ;)
So tomorrow we head to Chicago and spend three days immersed in total geekdom. I know Mrs. A has seen pictures and heard stories, but I still don't think I've been able to paint an accurate picture of the level of dork and nerd and freak that will be seen on Friday, Saturday and Sunday. I write and draw my own books and I'm impressed with the abandon with which people fling their inhibitions. It's almost a cathartic release from the 362 other days of suppressing their inner geek and they are given ample time and space to don small skirts and alien antennae and proton accelerators and mandalorian armor and capes and bone bustiers and walk around like it was Tuesday afternoon at the local grocer. The conversations will all be about comics. The lectures, the movies, the guests, the merchandise. It will all be about the dorkiest of the dork.
I hope she still respects me in the morning. Who am I kidding, I don't think she respects me now.
See you on Tuesday with pictures.
So, for all you folks who'd like to buy a copy, you can go here and plunk down your hard earned couch change for a copy of a small press comic book.
And now the fun begins. I plan on doing this as much as I can. The work was arduous but the result is a triumphant reward. I accomplished something I've wanted to do for almost 15 years, and it's taken me that long to do it. By myself, I've written and drawn a comic book. I still can't believe it.
But I can't sit on my laurels. I have at least 5 more to do with just this story before I can move on. Next time, I'll have better art, less printing costs, and maybe even distribution. Instead of 100 copies, maybe I'll get 200, or 500. Maybe I'll distribute online and have a few hundred people buying it. By next year's Chicago convention, I'll have 2 more books to sell, maybe 3.
It's stuff like this that makes me happy. That's a really weak and poorly constructed statement, but it's exactly how I feel. Mrs. A's photography makes me feel the same way, each time she gets a new booking I get a little smile.
Plus, I have to keep up with the Joneses. Mr. Darn Tootin himself just got an agent for his book. Good news again from Central Texas. He's a talented writer with a pretty pointed wit and I'm pretty happy for him. (I'll be happier when it's written, Rob.) ;)
So tomorrow we head to Chicago and spend three days immersed in total geekdom. I know Mrs. A has seen pictures and heard stories, but I still don't think I've been able to paint an accurate picture of the level of dork and nerd and freak that will be seen on Friday, Saturday and Sunday. I write and draw my own books and I'm impressed with the abandon with which people fling their inhibitions. It's almost a cathartic release from the 362 other days of suppressing their inner geek and they are given ample time and space to don small skirts and alien antennae and proton accelerators and mandalorian armor and capes and bone bustiers and walk around like it was Tuesday afternoon at the local grocer. The conversations will all be about comics. The lectures, the movies, the guests, the merchandise. It will all be about the dorkiest of the dork.
I hope she still respects me in the morning. Who am I kidding, I don't think she respects me now.
See you on Tuesday with pictures.
1.8.05
This old house.
Well, it's been over a week since the move and things are progressing better than the cable installation fiasco belied. We're finding that things in the new place just seem to fit. Weird objects, previously under appreciated photos, junk, tools, knick-knacks, rugs, they all seem to have a home.
I mentioned I was going to count outlets and light switches, and I will do so. It's hard to be taken seriously by Mrs. A while walking around with a notepad making tally marks every 10 feet. She knows what I'm doing and it's frankly embarrassing for both of us, so I try to do it when no one's around.
37 power outlets on the first floor, not counting the garage or outside.
The photo staircase project is at an end. We had some 60+ black and white 5x7's that needed to be hung and hang them we did. Mrs. A did most of it, I was brought in for the top row. It's a stunning display.
I also got some chairs for the "media room" or "tv room" or whatever we're going to call it. They're red. Yeah I know, red furniture. Well poo poo convention, I say. Live large, live bold, buy red chairs. Mrs. A gave me free reign to furnish that room and I wanted something different. It'd mod, baby. It'll go great with my pinstripe suit and mascara. (Ok, too much Velvet Goldmine.)
We also got a dog house for Chimaera, after two horrendous rain storms. We're such good owners.
We also wadded through the morass that is the Home Owners Association documentation; a three ring binder divided into roughly 12 categories totaling over 500 pages. Most of it talked about who does what and where the money goes and office hours and locations and stuff. We were worried about the restrictions. Man, this reads like a manifesto of Eastern European origin. I realize it's just to cover basis and if you don't like it, you can leave, but man, they're talking about lawns in inches and hedges to exceed certain heights and you have to get approval to plant a tree and playscapes or trampolines must not be seen from the street and you can't leave a car on the road for more than 24 hours and on and on. Don't get me wrong, it's a lovely street and I'm sure the neighbors are nice (we met one already, he seemed...excited) but when I was cutting the grass yesterday I felt like people were looking out their windows wondering why on Earth I hadn't hired a service.
But, no Tejano music at 1am, so that's good.
Oh, if anyone is good with Audio Video stuff, like specific hookups given a fixed number of components in order to make certain functions available, give me a shout. The red chair room is alive with cables.
This week is also Chicago, so we'll have pictures and such from the convention as well as surrounding attractions if time permits.
I mentioned I was going to count outlets and light switches, and I will do so. It's hard to be taken seriously by Mrs. A while walking around with a notepad making tally marks every 10 feet. She knows what I'm doing and it's frankly embarrassing for both of us, so I try to do it when no one's around.
37 power outlets on the first floor, not counting the garage or outside.
The photo staircase project is at an end. We had some 60+ black and white 5x7's that needed to be hung and hang them we did. Mrs. A did most of it, I was brought in for the top row. It's a stunning display.
I also got some chairs for the "media room" or "tv room" or whatever we're going to call it. They're red. Yeah I know, red furniture. Well poo poo convention, I say. Live large, live bold, buy red chairs. Mrs. A gave me free reign to furnish that room and I wanted something different. It'd mod, baby. It'll go great with my pinstripe suit and mascara. (Ok, too much Velvet Goldmine.)
We also got a dog house for Chimaera, after two horrendous rain storms. We're such good owners.
We also wadded through the morass that is the Home Owners Association documentation; a three ring binder divided into roughly 12 categories totaling over 500 pages. Most of it talked about who does what and where the money goes and office hours and locations and stuff. We were worried about the restrictions. Man, this reads like a manifesto of Eastern European origin. I realize it's just to cover basis and if you don't like it, you can leave, but man, they're talking about lawns in inches and hedges to exceed certain heights and you have to get approval to plant a tree and playscapes or trampolines must not be seen from the street and you can't leave a car on the road for more than 24 hours and on and on. Don't get me wrong, it's a lovely street and I'm sure the neighbors are nice (we met one already, he seemed...excited) but when I was cutting the grass yesterday I felt like people were looking out their windows wondering why on Earth I hadn't hired a service.
But, no Tejano music at 1am, so that's good.
Oh, if anyone is good with Audio Video stuff, like specific hookups given a fixed number of components in order to make certain functions available, give me a shout. The red chair room is alive with cables.
This week is also Chicago, so we'll have pictures and such from the convention as well as surrounding attractions if time permits.
24.7.05
Move Over.
When we last left our team, they were on the brink of devastation. Time and options running out, funds depleted, hope lost.
Or was it?
Our intrepid family never gave up the fight. Rather, they soldiered on, remaining stoic, agile, adaptive and patient. In the end, triumph would shower its splendor on the family and once again prove that good things happen to good people.
Yes, we have our new house.
Things did not go as smooth as we'd hoped, but it is now the Sunday following and we have a great deal unpacked and tomorrow starts our lives again from our shiny new domicile.
As our regular readers already know, Tuesday was stressful. It was the day before closing and we didn't have a number to put on a check to bring to the meeting to pay for the house. The story about Mrs. A's brother and his wife waiting in front of the bank the day of the closing would come to pass for us as well. On Tuesday it was told to us that we'd have to push closing back a couple days, maybe even next week. On Wednesday we were a wreck because all our utilities were switching over and the new people would be in our house on Friday. More on that later.
So on Wednesday I get a call from Mrs. A saying we have to be ready at a moment's notice because we may very well be closing today, but we still don't have a number. After asking if she should just bring her cell phone and wait in front of the bank for the call, Mrs. A was told that wouldn't be a bad idea. For real. These people do this for a living. So 30 minutes before close, they call her and say just bring X amount and the title company will cut you a check for whatever amount over you've paid.
That's right. Change. We got change for our purchase, like we were at Diamond Shamrock buying a Watchamacalit and a bottle of Disani.
Anyway, so Mrs. A has some bank problems on top of that, namely that the amount she required needs a manager's approval and the manager wasn't going to be back until 2:30, half hour after our close. So we ending up getting two checks to break it up so the teller could do it sans approval.
10 minutes to close.
Mrs. A drives as fast as she can to close and when we get there, there's our broker and realtor ready to go, but not the title company. They're still getting things ready. So the broker checks her watch and announces that she can't really wait, she's got to get back to her office so she starts the proceedings.
I'd like to take a break and talk about these two people. First, the realtor was a very nice guy. He did a lot of back and forth and helped us out a lot when we knew nothing about our situation. Toward the end, he went to bat for us quite a bit and got lower prices when needed and dates extended if we were having problems. The broker is a lady we've worked with before, and will again. I think the problems from this go 'round stemmed not from her actions but that of an associate who handled our case right up until the end. At the end, she took the time to come to closing, knocked a bunch of stuff off, waved a bunch of fees and said that when we refinanced she'd do it for free. It almost felt like she was trying to cover for some mistakes that were made.
Because let's face it, if two months isn't enough time to shop around for a lender and insurance and get a good rate locked in, then I'm in the wrong line of work.
So we sign all the papers, but no key. The key is still in the hands of the owners. But we'll get back to that. Time for the big move.
The movers show up at 9:07 am on Thursday, July 21st. We have exactly that day to be completely out of the house, hence the hiring of a moving company. We figure with all the house packed and moved into the garage and most of the furniture already broken down, the move should take maybe 4-5 hours. I'm surprised we thought that. We've done this before and it takes days. That's why you rent a U-Haul for the weekend. Actually, it probably wouldn't have taken that long, but we ran into trouble. The new house people were still in their house. They had to wait for the closing to get money for their new place, so they waited till the 21st as well. Their movers got there at 7, which meant, and they said as much, they'd be out before noon.
Well, everyone was behind a bit. By 11:30 we had our first truck load ready, but the new house wasn't vacant, so we sent the movers to lunch. We had lunch as well then went back to clean a little. At about 1:30 we checked the new house, there was no one in it, but no key and there was a handful of stuff inside. A call to the realtor and he pauses for a moment as says, "You know what? The accounts funded, it's your house now. Do whatever you want. You don't have to wait for that guy." So we were going to have the realtor come out and give us a key when the old owner showed up with his cleaning crew. He was an ok dude I guess, a bit removed and stuffy, but decent. He showed us the speaker system in the house and had some diagrams drawn up for the hookups. Left the garage door openers and all the HOA and manuals in a drawer, like you do. We did the same thing, we left keys, openers, hardwood cleaner, oh and some trash.
But we'll get back to that.
So we unload the first load and head back to get the second, which is all boxes this time. On the estimate, Mrs. A said we had 100 boxes, because really, after about 40-50, who's counting anymore. The moving guys say they stopped counting at 250. So, we're going to get charged more. That's fine. Plus we didn't mention the trampoline, the 2nd fridge, the freezer and a host of other smaller bits. But the movers were great guys, totally took it in stride and were very polite the entire day.
Second load done, movers are sent home. It's about 6pm. There is still a half of a garage full of things at the old house that I have to go back for and fit into one of our SUVs. I get one load done before I'm completely exhausted and have to call it a day. The next morning we get coffee and Mrs. A takes the kids to school while I get the remaining items, including a 3' x 4' x 4' work bench and tool hanging board. Somehow I managed to get all of it into the car. We leave behind two very full trash cans, about 15 flattened empty boxes and a shelf that we didn't want in the garage. The house itself is immaculate inside.
Finally done. All items in the new house, in the garage or in some cars. We give the new owners a call to say congratulations, if you have any questions call us, hope your move is going well. They try to give us the "well you weren't out by the 21st so we're only going to give you $900 of your $1000 deposit back" at which point Mrs. A says, "What are you talking about? We were out last night? You guys aren't moving in yet?" Totally snows him. She's great.
So we're in the new place. First off, there's no gas yet. We don't know this until last night when we're trying to make dinner and the range just clicks repeatedly with no fwoomp sound. Gas company's closed on Sunday unless it's an emergency, so we're fucked for a hot shower until Monday. So Mrs. A calls up and says she tried the stove and saw a shimmer in the air like a puff of gas, but there's no ignition and she's worried. Hey, sudden emergency. Sunday a guy comes out and sets us up.
That wasn't the biggest problem. The biggest issue, the most stress inducing event came from the cable install. First off, the cable company has contractors that do the installations. Not all the time, but some times. Enough that you know it works like that. So our install guy comes out between 8 and 12 on the day of the move, calls first, and we say go ahead if the people moving out will let you in.
They won't, assholes. So he has to come back later when his route is done. He does, works till about 9pm and has to call it a day and come back tomorrow.
Now, when you leave a job and it isn't finished, when do you think you should start on in the next day? Right away or after your shift? I know how these guys work and they put all their crap jobs at the end of the day so they have good numbers for installs. That way they can push off all the problem children till later and still make good numbers. But that's a weird line of work and I'm glad the rest of the world doesn't work like that. "Sorry boss, I know I didn't finish that heart surgery before 5, but I'll get to it first thing tomorrow, after I do 3 kidneys, a bladder and a liver."
So the guys comes back out on Friday in the evening and tries again to get all our stuff hooked up. It's really becoming obvious there's something going on that's preventing him from finishing his job. Either we have the most fucked up pre-wired cable system in the western world or this guy's a giant mook brain. Mrs. A is getting pissed because every hour she's not online she's losing money. She just sent out emails to brides and they have no way to contact her. Her brother was nice enough to put our web server on his network so her site stayed up, but no email. She was getting really out of sorts.
So they tech wraps up Friday saying we have a few options, blah blah blah, he can't make what we want work, even though the previous owners apparently had no problems with it. We say we'll take option A, whatever it was, and he says he'll be back out tomorrow with the needed equipment for that plus his supervisor to assist. So goes another night without access for poor Mrs. A whose about to come unglued. Luckily we had some company and some liquor so she was ok for a while.
Saturday comes around and about noon or so the supervisor shows up and inside of about 15 minutes figures out the problem and in about an hour has us up and running. He does mention that there were a lot of problems and a lot of splits that were screwing up the signal and what not, but I'm still convinced the first guy didn't know beans from bollo ties when it came to cable.
But, we got access, she got her server back, we got it up last night and set the rest of the home LAN up this morning. It's like it was at the old house.
I know, that doesn't really give you an idea of what the house is like, but be patient. It's not like we're moving soon, we've got a 30 year mortage to pay for. I will say that we got the space we wanted and needed and everything just seems to fit really well. Tomorrow after work, Lil Miss Austin and I are going to walk around the house counting light switches, cuz there's a freakin ton of them.
Or was it?
Our intrepid family never gave up the fight. Rather, they soldiered on, remaining stoic, agile, adaptive and patient. In the end, triumph would shower its splendor on the family and once again prove that good things happen to good people.
Yes, we have our new house.
Things did not go as smooth as we'd hoped, but it is now the Sunday following and we have a great deal unpacked and tomorrow starts our lives again from our shiny new domicile.
As our regular readers already know, Tuesday was stressful. It was the day before closing and we didn't have a number to put on a check to bring to the meeting to pay for the house. The story about Mrs. A's brother and his wife waiting in front of the bank the day of the closing would come to pass for us as well. On Tuesday it was told to us that we'd have to push closing back a couple days, maybe even next week. On Wednesday we were a wreck because all our utilities were switching over and the new people would be in our house on Friday. More on that later.
So on Wednesday I get a call from Mrs. A saying we have to be ready at a moment's notice because we may very well be closing today, but we still don't have a number. After asking if she should just bring her cell phone and wait in front of the bank for the call, Mrs. A was told that wouldn't be a bad idea. For real. These people do this for a living. So 30 minutes before close, they call her and say just bring X amount and the title company will cut you a check for whatever amount over you've paid.
That's right. Change. We got change for our purchase, like we were at Diamond Shamrock buying a Watchamacalit and a bottle of Disani.
Anyway, so Mrs. A has some bank problems on top of that, namely that the amount she required needs a manager's approval and the manager wasn't going to be back until 2:30, half hour after our close. So we ending up getting two checks to break it up so the teller could do it sans approval.
10 minutes to close.
Mrs. A drives as fast as she can to close and when we get there, there's our broker and realtor ready to go, but not the title company. They're still getting things ready. So the broker checks her watch and announces that she can't really wait, she's got to get back to her office so she starts the proceedings.
I'd like to take a break and talk about these two people. First, the realtor was a very nice guy. He did a lot of back and forth and helped us out a lot when we knew nothing about our situation. Toward the end, he went to bat for us quite a bit and got lower prices when needed and dates extended if we were having problems. The broker is a lady we've worked with before, and will again. I think the problems from this go 'round stemmed not from her actions but that of an associate who handled our case right up until the end. At the end, she took the time to come to closing, knocked a bunch of stuff off, waved a bunch of fees and said that when we refinanced she'd do it for free. It almost felt like she was trying to cover for some mistakes that were made.
Because let's face it, if two months isn't enough time to shop around for a lender and insurance and get a good rate locked in, then I'm in the wrong line of work.
So we sign all the papers, but no key. The key is still in the hands of the owners. But we'll get back to that. Time for the big move.
The movers show up at 9:07 am on Thursday, July 21st. We have exactly that day to be completely out of the house, hence the hiring of a moving company. We figure with all the house packed and moved into the garage and most of the furniture already broken down, the move should take maybe 4-5 hours. I'm surprised we thought that. We've done this before and it takes days. That's why you rent a U-Haul for the weekend. Actually, it probably wouldn't have taken that long, but we ran into trouble. The new house people were still in their house. They had to wait for the closing to get money for their new place, so they waited till the 21st as well. Their movers got there at 7, which meant, and they said as much, they'd be out before noon.
Well, everyone was behind a bit. By 11:30 we had our first truck load ready, but the new house wasn't vacant, so we sent the movers to lunch. We had lunch as well then went back to clean a little. At about 1:30 we checked the new house, there was no one in it, but no key and there was a handful of stuff inside. A call to the realtor and he pauses for a moment as says, "You know what? The accounts funded, it's your house now. Do whatever you want. You don't have to wait for that guy." So we were going to have the realtor come out and give us a key when the old owner showed up with his cleaning crew. He was an ok dude I guess, a bit removed and stuffy, but decent. He showed us the speaker system in the house and had some diagrams drawn up for the hookups. Left the garage door openers and all the HOA and manuals in a drawer, like you do. We did the same thing, we left keys, openers, hardwood cleaner, oh and some trash.
But we'll get back to that.
So we unload the first load and head back to get the second, which is all boxes this time. On the estimate, Mrs. A said we had 100 boxes, because really, after about 40-50, who's counting anymore. The moving guys say they stopped counting at 250. So, we're going to get charged more. That's fine. Plus we didn't mention the trampoline, the 2nd fridge, the freezer and a host of other smaller bits. But the movers were great guys, totally took it in stride and were very polite the entire day.
Second load done, movers are sent home. It's about 6pm. There is still a half of a garage full of things at the old house that I have to go back for and fit into one of our SUVs. I get one load done before I'm completely exhausted and have to call it a day. The next morning we get coffee and Mrs. A takes the kids to school while I get the remaining items, including a 3' x 4' x 4' work bench and tool hanging board. Somehow I managed to get all of it into the car. We leave behind two very full trash cans, about 15 flattened empty boxes and a shelf that we didn't want in the garage. The house itself is immaculate inside.
Finally done. All items in the new house, in the garage or in some cars. We give the new owners a call to say congratulations, if you have any questions call us, hope your move is going well. They try to give us the "well you weren't out by the 21st so we're only going to give you $900 of your $1000 deposit back" at which point Mrs. A says, "What are you talking about? We were out last night? You guys aren't moving in yet?" Totally snows him. She's great.
So we're in the new place. First off, there's no gas yet. We don't know this until last night when we're trying to make dinner and the range just clicks repeatedly with no fwoomp sound. Gas company's closed on Sunday unless it's an emergency, so we're fucked for a hot shower until Monday. So Mrs. A calls up and says she tried the stove and saw a shimmer in the air like a puff of gas, but there's no ignition and she's worried. Hey, sudden emergency. Sunday a guy comes out and sets us up.
That wasn't the biggest problem. The biggest issue, the most stress inducing event came from the cable install. First off, the cable company has contractors that do the installations. Not all the time, but some times. Enough that you know it works like that. So our install guy comes out between 8 and 12 on the day of the move, calls first, and we say go ahead if the people moving out will let you in.
They won't, assholes. So he has to come back later when his route is done. He does, works till about 9pm and has to call it a day and come back tomorrow.
Now, when you leave a job and it isn't finished, when do you think you should start on in the next day? Right away or after your shift? I know how these guys work and they put all their crap jobs at the end of the day so they have good numbers for installs. That way they can push off all the problem children till later and still make good numbers. But that's a weird line of work and I'm glad the rest of the world doesn't work like that. "Sorry boss, I know I didn't finish that heart surgery before 5, but I'll get to it first thing tomorrow, after I do 3 kidneys, a bladder and a liver."
So the guys comes back out on Friday in the evening and tries again to get all our stuff hooked up. It's really becoming obvious there's something going on that's preventing him from finishing his job. Either we have the most fucked up pre-wired cable system in the western world or this guy's a giant mook brain. Mrs. A is getting pissed because every hour she's not online she's losing money. She just sent out emails to brides and they have no way to contact her. Her brother was nice enough to put our web server on his network so her site stayed up, but no email. She was getting really out of sorts.
So they tech wraps up Friday saying we have a few options, blah blah blah, he can't make what we want work, even though the previous owners apparently had no problems with it. We say we'll take option A, whatever it was, and he says he'll be back out tomorrow with the needed equipment for that plus his supervisor to assist. So goes another night without access for poor Mrs. A whose about to come unglued. Luckily we had some company and some liquor so she was ok for a while.
Saturday comes around and about noon or so the supervisor shows up and inside of about 15 minutes figures out the problem and in about an hour has us up and running. He does mention that there were a lot of problems and a lot of splits that were screwing up the signal and what not, but I'm still convinced the first guy didn't know beans from bollo ties when it came to cable.
But, we got access, she got her server back, we got it up last night and set the rest of the home LAN up this morning. It's like it was at the old house.
I know, that doesn't really give you an idea of what the house is like, but be patient. It's not like we're moving soon, we've got a 30 year mortage to pay for. I will say that we got the space we wanted and needed and everything just seems to fit really well. Tomorrow after work, Lil Miss Austin and I are going to walk around the house counting light switches, cuz there's a freakin ton of them.
19.7.05
It can happen to you.
My brother in law and his wife recently moved into a new house. They moved about 3-4 months ago. They told us horror stories about sitting out in front of their bank mere hours before closing, waiting for the call from the mortage company to give them their closing number. They were on the phone with them that morning while the company said they were still working the numbers.
Oh my god, we exclaimed. That's horrible. I bet that was totally stressful. That company is a bunch of jerkholes.
Yes, don't use them.
Now it's our turn. Our house sold in less than 12 hours, we got full price and the buyers were already approved. The place we were buying was priced to sell and was not taking contigency offers. They wanted to move and move quickly. We'd been house hunting for 3 months previous and had already started working with the mortgage company two months before even finding a house.
It is now less than 24 hours from our appointed closing time and our mortage lender hasn't given us a number. You heard right. They've had almost two months to work on this and yet it's the 11th hour and still no official number. Well, there is a number, but it changes with the wind and could threaten to push our closing date back a day or more.
Our utlities will be cut off in two days. Our phone number will change. Our mail will go to the new house. There will be cable and phone people at the new house in two days. We will have movers at the old house at 9am on Thursday. Our temporary lease to the new buyers runs out on the 21st.
And the mortgage company doesn't have a number for us.
Our entire house is in the garage or in boxes.
And the mortgage company doesn't have a number for us.
Apparently, our PMI has changed. Mortgage insurance. It's changed. What they thought it was, isn't. It's going to be more. More. On the day before closing it jumped by $200, making our mortgage exceed the limit of our income just enough to where we can still afford it, but only if we don't eat.
I'm super pissed. Mrs. A is sick on top of all of this. These guys had two months. We gave them everything they asked for within 12 hours of them asking. Sometimes on the same day. We were originally going to close on June 30th, shouldn't they have been ready by then?
This whole process has been one big clusterfuck. We waited and waited and waited for various parties to contact us with anything they'd need; paperwork, signatures, deposits. All we asked is that they keep us informed. I feel like no one in this situation has had our best interest at heart, they only want their points or percentage or money.
Had our realtor told us that our buyers had already closed, we could have told the mortgage company and got them to start sooner. Had the mortgage company asked for all the paperwork they needed up front instead of one piece every week for 5 weeks, they'd be done by now. Aren't we paying these guys? Aren't we giving them several hundred to several thousand dollars to make this work? We have decent credit, we pay our bills on time, we only have one paid off credit card. We own a home, we make good money. Why is this so fucking difficult to figure out?
It's the DAY BEFORE CLOSING!!! We're sitting in front of a bank waiting for you to call and give us a number, the number you said you'd have a month ago. Not a number that's three times what you promised us, not a number as we walk into the title company office. What's wrong with you people?
If I did my job like this, I'd be fired.
And I can't understand it. The first time we bought a house, it was a snap. Loan went through great. We got an awesome rate, all we had to do was fix a few things on our credit. So now, we've had a mortgage for three years AND have fixed part of our credit and yet we're having problems. So, the next time (and trust me, there won't fucking be a next time) my guess is that we'll have owned the home for 20-30 years and refinanced or paid it off and we'll go to buy a boat and it'll take 7 years to get a loan and it'll cost 175,000 dollars. That's apparently how the system works. The more you work, the harder you have to work next time.
Sunsabitches!
Oh my god, we exclaimed. That's horrible. I bet that was totally stressful. That company is a bunch of jerkholes.
Yes, don't use them.
Now it's our turn. Our house sold in less than 12 hours, we got full price and the buyers were already approved. The place we were buying was priced to sell and was not taking contigency offers. They wanted to move and move quickly. We'd been house hunting for 3 months previous and had already started working with the mortgage company two months before even finding a house.
It is now less than 24 hours from our appointed closing time and our mortage lender hasn't given us a number. You heard right. They've had almost two months to work on this and yet it's the 11th hour and still no official number. Well, there is a number, but it changes with the wind and could threaten to push our closing date back a day or more.
Our utlities will be cut off in two days. Our phone number will change. Our mail will go to the new house. There will be cable and phone people at the new house in two days. We will have movers at the old house at 9am on Thursday. Our temporary lease to the new buyers runs out on the 21st.
And the mortgage company doesn't have a number for us.
Our entire house is in the garage or in boxes.
And the mortgage company doesn't have a number for us.
Apparently, our PMI has changed. Mortgage insurance. It's changed. What they thought it was, isn't. It's going to be more. More. On the day before closing it jumped by $200, making our mortgage exceed the limit of our income just enough to where we can still afford it, but only if we don't eat.
I'm super pissed. Mrs. A is sick on top of all of this. These guys had two months. We gave them everything they asked for within 12 hours of them asking. Sometimes on the same day. We were originally going to close on June 30th, shouldn't they have been ready by then?
This whole process has been one big clusterfuck. We waited and waited and waited for various parties to contact us with anything they'd need; paperwork, signatures, deposits. All we asked is that they keep us informed. I feel like no one in this situation has had our best interest at heart, they only want their points or percentage or money.
Had our realtor told us that our buyers had already closed, we could have told the mortgage company and got them to start sooner. Had the mortgage company asked for all the paperwork they needed up front instead of one piece every week for 5 weeks, they'd be done by now. Aren't we paying these guys? Aren't we giving them several hundred to several thousand dollars to make this work? We have decent credit, we pay our bills on time, we only have one paid off credit card. We own a home, we make good money. Why is this so fucking difficult to figure out?
It's the DAY BEFORE CLOSING!!! We're sitting in front of a bank waiting for you to call and give us a number, the number you said you'd have a month ago. Not a number that's three times what you promised us, not a number as we walk into the title company office. What's wrong with you people?
If I did my job like this, I'd be fired.
And I can't understand it. The first time we bought a house, it was a snap. Loan went through great. We got an awesome rate, all we had to do was fix a few things on our credit. So now, we've had a mortgage for three years AND have fixed part of our credit and yet we're having problems. So, the next time (and trust me, there won't fucking be a next time) my guess is that we'll have owned the home for 20-30 years and refinanced or paid it off and we'll go to buy a boat and it'll take 7 years to get a loan and it'll cost 175,000 dollars. That's apparently how the system works. The more you work, the harder you have to work next time.
Sunsabitches!
14.7.05
Geek Stuff
First, I had a shirt design approved to be voted on over at threadless.com.
Next, I did some coloring for a shirt for the guys at Poorboy Comics. They should be selling them at San Diego Comic Con. You can see that here.
Next I got all my stickers and shirts in the mail for the Chicago convention. If you'd like a Polaris Comics shirt or a Project: Gemini shirt, please go here.
Finally my comic is completely drawn. I need to letter it and do a cover. Then print. I'm pretty psyched but I'm not out of the woods yet.
Carry on.
Next, I did some coloring for a shirt for the guys at Poorboy Comics. They should be selling them at San Diego Comic Con. You can see that here.
Next I got all my stickers and shirts in the mail for the Chicago convention. If you'd like a Polaris Comics shirt or a Project: Gemini shirt, please go here.
Finally my comic is completely drawn. I need to letter it and do a cover. Then print. I'm pretty psyched but I'm not out of the woods yet.
Carry on.
6.7.05
OLN
It's that time of year again, when addicts like me tune to cable channel 470 to watch the Tour de France. I love the Tour, I've been a fan since Jr. High School. In high school I did some training with the idea that I'd try out for the University of Colorado cycling team. My heros back in the day were Greg Lemond and Stephen Roche. I've always know about Miguel Indurain and Jan Ullric (von Lichtenstein) and I'm pretty sure I remember hearing about Lance Armstrong even then. CU is in Boulder, CO and is a prime mountain training area for world class cyclists. Moving to Austin and hearing he was a local boy, I was a bit torn. I thought he was local to Colorado. Maybe somewhere, a small city in Idaho also claims him as their own.
At any rate, it's that time of year again for OLN to gain a marked increase in viewership for a couple weeks. I love watching cycling and always have, but it's like having a love for rugby or jai-alai or fencing, it's just not something the average joe sports fan is rabid about in the States, unless you're from Austin.
There are Go Lance tags all over the roads here. The yellow wristband is an epidemic, was since this time last year. You can't go 10 feet without hearing news about Lance, not The Tour, but Lance. I'd like to know who won each stage, who's wearing the white, green and polka-dot jersey, not just the yellow. I want to watch each stage unfold. I want to watch the heartbreaks and triumphs and falls and sprints. I want to see the speedy time trials with the post modern futuristic helmets. I want to see the peleton swallow up the leaders.
I don't want News 8 Austin and NPR to give away the endings before I can get home to watch it. Time delay or not, people, there are fans that would like to watch this stuff. Talk about it tomorrow.
So anway, the viewing in our house now is OLN and Futurama and that's about it. Besides, I should be drawing.
Page 15 is done.
At any rate, it's that time of year again for OLN to gain a marked increase in viewership for a couple weeks. I love watching cycling and always have, but it's like having a love for rugby or jai-alai or fencing, it's just not something the average joe sports fan is rabid about in the States, unless you're from Austin.
There are Go Lance tags all over the roads here. The yellow wristband is an epidemic, was since this time last year. You can't go 10 feet without hearing news about Lance, not The Tour, but Lance. I'd like to know who won each stage, who's wearing the white, green and polka-dot jersey, not just the yellow. I want to watch each stage unfold. I want to watch the heartbreaks and triumphs and falls and sprints. I want to see the speedy time trials with the post modern futuristic helmets. I want to see the peleton swallow up the leaders.
I don't want News 8 Austin and NPR to give away the endings before I can get home to watch it. Time delay or not, people, there are fans that would like to watch this stuff. Talk about it tomorrow.
So anway, the viewing in our house now is OLN and Futurama and that's about it. Besides, I should be drawing.
Page 15 is done.
5.7.05
Happy Birthday, America!
My brother turns 29 and the country turns 229. Isn't that weird.
Little story about my brother and America. He was born on June 29th, 1976. Bicentennial Baby. If I remember correctly, his due date was July 4th, 1976. I don't think he would have gone through life without any ass-kickings had he been born on that date, but damn that would have been cool.
This is all heresay because I was just turning 3 myself so what do I know. I'm pretty sure my mom (if she'd ever comment on this) would set the record straight. I know I was supposed to be born in August but came out about five weeks early weighing in at a scrawny 5 lbs. 6 oz.
So, it's America's birthday. I'm writing this a day later, but you get the idea. Last night was the first night in a long time that Mrs. A and I didn't have to call the cops because our neighbors were firing off firecrackers at two in the morning. In fact, it was a relatively calm evening. Kids went to sleep pretty well, dog didn't freak out. There were a few pops and what not, but overall I think it was quiet by about 10:30. Mrs. A had a wicked headache, but after some drugs and some readin' to, she passed out. And, AND, Yogi slept all through the night!
I thought he was dead.
Most parents do that. First time a baby sleeps through the night when they're infants especially, you get that mindset in the morning of, "Oh, God! They've got a blanket wrapped around their head!" Now it's just a relief. He's over a year old and the likelihood of him not being able to breath is greatly reduced, so it's a blessing and nothing to panic over. In fact, tonight he'll wake up at 2am again.
Last night was also the first time in a long time that we actually had fireworks to light ourselves. Yes, they were sparklers. Yes we got some pictures. Yes someone got burned a little. I remember back to my days as a kid when dad would come home with a box of stuff from across the county line and we'd spend the evening in the backyard with the black cats, bottle rockets, sparkler tanks, pinwheels, roman candles, smoke worms and punks. We'd have a few friends or family over and do a bar-b-que or order pizza and just have a blast, pun intended.
The height of the gun powder frenzy was the pop-bottle rocket fights I'd have with my friends when we were in high school. We'd stand in the cul-du-sac and light a PBR and wait till the fuse was almost out, then we'd throw it at a friend. Ah, yes. Nothing like the possibility of digit loss or blindness to make an afternoon more enjoyable. We had a neighbor when I was growing up that made his own fireworks. Everyone had this guy as a neighbor growing up. He had 7 fingers, a but of pet turtles and snakes. He invented a lot of things. He also had a pick-up truck and smelled of tobacco and dirt. He had a great backyard, very lush and jungular. Anyway, he'd always put on a great show. But the 7 fingers is why Mrs. Austin won't let me play with fireworks now. Even though I'd never actually deal directly with powder and fuse assembly, the danger of blowing my hand off or one of the kids eyes out is just too much.
I'd love to find a friend who owns a farm. I had a friend in CO who lived occassionally with his grandma on the family farm and we'd go up on the 4th to have a bon fire and dinner and firework shooting party. Man that was great. That was in college when we could drink too.
I'm making a great case for myself, aren't I? Drinking and blowing your fingers off. Yee haw!
Little story about my brother and America. He was born on June 29th, 1976. Bicentennial Baby. If I remember correctly, his due date was July 4th, 1976. I don't think he would have gone through life without any ass-kickings had he been born on that date, but damn that would have been cool.
This is all heresay because I was just turning 3 myself so what do I know. I'm pretty sure my mom (if she'd ever comment on this) would set the record straight. I know I was supposed to be born in August but came out about five weeks early weighing in at a scrawny 5 lbs. 6 oz.
So, it's America's birthday. I'm writing this a day later, but you get the idea. Last night was the first night in a long time that Mrs. A and I didn't have to call the cops because our neighbors were firing off firecrackers at two in the morning. In fact, it was a relatively calm evening. Kids went to sleep pretty well, dog didn't freak out. There were a few pops and what not, but overall I think it was quiet by about 10:30. Mrs. A had a wicked headache, but after some drugs and some readin' to, she passed out. And, AND, Yogi slept all through the night!
I thought he was dead.
Most parents do that. First time a baby sleeps through the night when they're infants especially, you get that mindset in the morning of, "Oh, God! They've got a blanket wrapped around their head!" Now it's just a relief. He's over a year old and the likelihood of him not being able to breath is greatly reduced, so it's a blessing and nothing to panic over. In fact, tonight he'll wake up at 2am again.
Last night was also the first time in a long time that we actually had fireworks to light ourselves. Yes, they were sparklers. Yes we got some pictures. Yes someone got burned a little. I remember back to my days as a kid when dad would come home with a box of stuff from across the county line and we'd spend the evening in the backyard with the black cats, bottle rockets, sparkler tanks, pinwheels, roman candles, smoke worms and punks. We'd have a few friends or family over and do a bar-b-que or order pizza and just have a blast, pun intended.
The height of the gun powder frenzy was the pop-bottle rocket fights I'd have with my friends when we were in high school. We'd stand in the cul-du-sac and light a PBR and wait till the fuse was almost out, then we'd throw it at a friend. Ah, yes. Nothing like the possibility of digit loss or blindness to make an afternoon more enjoyable. We had a neighbor when I was growing up that made his own fireworks. Everyone had this guy as a neighbor growing up. He had 7 fingers, a but of pet turtles and snakes. He invented a lot of things. He also had a pick-up truck and smelled of tobacco and dirt. He had a great backyard, very lush and jungular. Anyway, he'd always put on a great show. But the 7 fingers is why Mrs. Austin won't let me play with fireworks now. Even though I'd never actually deal directly with powder and fuse assembly, the danger of blowing my hand off or one of the kids eyes out is just too much.
I'd love to find a friend who owns a farm. I had a friend in CO who lived occassionally with his grandma on the family farm and we'd go up on the 4th to have a bon fire and dinner and firework shooting party. Man that was great. That was in college when we could drink too.
I'm making a great case for myself, aren't I? Drinking and blowing your fingers off. Yee haw!
29.6.05
Happy Birthday, Joe!
My brother Joe, or Mr. Denver or Manservant Hecubus, turns an unspecified age today. Let's just say it's not quite 30.
So on this day, please join me in wishing him the best. We'll raise one for ya, mon frère.
So on this day, please join me in wishing him the best. We'll raise one for ya, mon frère.
28.6.05
Hallelujah
I don't plug places very often. If I deem it worth my time, it'd be part of the links section. However, my Livejournal page and my comics page all have different links catered to the type of viewer I think will be trapsing across the cyberwalk.
Anyway, I've read PVP for a good many moons. Scott Kurtz is in Dallas, so there's some sort of weird "I have to put up with it too" feeling, even though I know him not, and he knows me less. His stuff always makes me chuckle.
Add it to your bookmarks, haters.
27.6.05
Arkham Asylum
So I sat down to write about how crazy it's been here the past week, how everyone is sick and tired and overworked and crabby and in serious need of a break, then I read back a few paragraphs and realized I sounded like a complete ass and I'm pretty sure no one wants to read Life In Assville.
So with my malicious diatribe behind me I can focus on things of a more banal nature; just the facts, ma'am.
Fact one: This house is bat-shit crazy. I mean it. I know my parents moved from a duplex to a house when I was about four and my brother was one. What the hell were you guys thinking? This is complete and utter, gibbering monkey, fiddling fish, insanity. So...so you know what I did to help matters? I built a fort. That's right, a fort for Lil Miss Austin. Seemed like a good idea at the time. She was sick and had to stay home so I built her a little fort with blankets and chairs. THAT WAS THREE DAYS AGO! For some reason, the fort has yet to be taken down. You know why? If I do, she'll cry until she's twelve and I can't take anymore crying. So, the fort stays up until the Mexicans come after our canon.
Fact two: This house is sold. We signed the papers today. We're officially homeless. We paid the new owners the lease money and we will close on our new house n the 20th of July and move the following weekend. No more lock box, no more sign out front, no more trying to keep the place liveable. It's moving time. The boxes have been broken out and taped up. The items that haven't been touched in a year are shivering with anticipation at being kept in a warm box in the garage for another month. My Legos are going to kill me.
Fact three: This house is one sick puppy. Just when we think we've seen the end of the Stomach Bug that Ate Cleveland, I get it. Friday night, at the movies with Mrs. Austin, I start to feel like Violet Beauregarde. Could it have been the soda and licorice combination? Surely not. I know, I'll spend 2 days in the john just to test my theory. Ah HA! Stomach Flu! Brilliant! So I walked around like a zombie for two days. Yogi cried incessantly, LMA flamed on with a week's worth of fevers and now Mrs. A's stomach is starting to cramp. I've already emailed HR explaining that there's little I can do with sick kids when daycare won't take them, luckily they're very understanding.
Fact four: This house is busy. Did I mention we're packing? And hosting a couple sick parasites disquised as children? Well, we're also drawing slowly for a convention in just over a month and staying up with tech support till 3am fixing new laptops and almost losing months of art and photos. I told Mrs. Austin that I would feel much better offloading all this hosting stuff to a company. I mean, it was cool and all when I could say, "Yeah I have my own web server." But let's face it, I did very little work to set it up, and I've done even less work to keep them running. I don't know enough to make her business run the way she wants. I don't even know enough to allow one machine to talk to the other for more than a day. Plus her laptops just aren't working. (That's right. Plural. She bought another refurb to replace the damaged one. It's a business tool, not a plaything. Unfortunately.)
Did I mention I did away with the old entry for this one? I must have been crazy.
So with my malicious diatribe behind me I can focus on things of a more banal nature; just the facts, ma'am.
Fact one: This house is bat-shit crazy. I mean it. I know my parents moved from a duplex to a house when I was about four and my brother was one. What the hell were you guys thinking? This is complete and utter, gibbering monkey, fiddling fish, insanity. So...so you know what I did to help matters? I built a fort. That's right, a fort for Lil Miss Austin. Seemed like a good idea at the time. She was sick and had to stay home so I built her a little fort with blankets and chairs. THAT WAS THREE DAYS AGO! For some reason, the fort has yet to be taken down. You know why? If I do, she'll cry until she's twelve and I can't take anymore crying. So, the fort stays up until the Mexicans come after our canon.
Fact two: This house is sold. We signed the papers today. We're officially homeless. We paid the new owners the lease money and we will close on our new house n the 20th of July and move the following weekend. No more lock box, no more sign out front, no more trying to keep the place liveable. It's moving time. The boxes have been broken out and taped up. The items that haven't been touched in a year are shivering with anticipation at being kept in a warm box in the garage for another month. My Legos are going to kill me.
Fact three: This house is one sick puppy. Just when we think we've seen the end of the Stomach Bug that Ate Cleveland, I get it. Friday night, at the movies with Mrs. Austin, I start to feel like Violet Beauregarde. Could it have been the soda and licorice combination? Surely not. I know, I'll spend 2 days in the john just to test my theory. Ah HA! Stomach Flu! Brilliant! So I walked around like a zombie for two days. Yogi cried incessantly, LMA flamed on with a week's worth of fevers and now Mrs. A's stomach is starting to cramp. I've already emailed HR explaining that there's little I can do with sick kids when daycare won't take them, luckily they're very understanding.
Fact four: This house is busy. Did I mention we're packing? And hosting a couple sick parasites disquised as children? Well, we're also drawing slowly for a convention in just over a month and staying up with tech support till 3am fixing new laptops and almost losing months of art and photos. I told Mrs. Austin that I would feel much better offloading all this hosting stuff to a company. I mean, it was cool and all when I could say, "Yeah I have my own web server." But let's face it, I did very little work to set it up, and I've done even less work to keep them running. I don't know enough to make her business run the way she wants. I don't even know enough to allow one machine to talk to the other for more than a day. Plus her laptops just aren't working. (That's right. Plural. She bought another refurb to replace the damaged one. It's a business tool, not a plaything. Unfortunately.)
Did I mention I did away with the old entry for this one? I must have been crazy.
22.6.05
The Good, The Bad and The Sick.
Have some slices of life.
There is a mechanism in your brain that shuts off all voluntary muscle activity when you sleep. It’s to prevent you from hurting yourself when you dream. Your body and brain apparently haven’t worked out that signals sent from the brain during sleep shouldn’t be interpreted, so nature created this stop gap.
This manifests most commonly when you wake from a nightmare and can’t move. It’s not because you’re paralyzed with fear, but that your brain forgot to turn the body back on. It’s also not entirely full proof and occasionally you can tell when your dream state performs a physical action and your body responds, usually jarring you awake.
As you get older, this mechanism, like all others, breaks down. Some of the most common injuries of elderly women are due to their husbands reliving a wartime scenario in their dreams and acting them out on their sleeping spouses. It’s pretty frightening and wonderfully intriguing at the same time. Not the old wife beating part, but the part about the brain having this valve to activity in the first place.
Why all the info? Well, my switch was left in the on position the other night when I was having a dream about adopting a new dog. All I remember is the dog running up to me and me giving it a good lovin’ on it’s head; i.e. furious petting and scratching. The next thing I know, Mrs. A is shouting, “Get the fuck off me! What am I a dog?!”
Uh, well, you were for a split second.
There is a new trend now for grease monkeys to hawk their trade on busy thoroughfares, waving, giving thumbs up, and carrying balloons. (Incidentally, do you actually carry balloons? Aren’t you really restraining them?)
Anyway, there they are, always happy at 7am to stand under your dirty car, pumping it full of fluids and lubricant. I’ve written about this already, so I won’t delve to far.
The fact of the matter is, I drive by one on my everyday route to take Lil Miss Austin to school. I almost wrecked the car when I saw a cardboard cutout of Chewbacca holding up the sign and wearing the company’s hat.
Apparently, times are tough for the wookie.
Cars are metallic colors for a reason. The reason is, people don’t wear metallic colored clothing. If you have a yellow car, you must never wear a yellow shirt. If you do, you’ll end up looking like you’re selling something or part of a cult.
On to the house front.
Yesterday I was home with two evilly sick children and trying my best to network into the office and do some work. I didn’t get a lot done, what with the constant pooping and puking and fevers and aches and potty accidents.
What I did get done is some cluster-fucking with our realtor. And now it burns when I pee.
For real. We’ve been kind of in a holding pattern over New House International Airport while we wait for other parties to figure out loan paperwork and find new houses. The whole time our agent has been MIA. He made a big deal about contacting us twice a week with updates, that hasn’t happened.
So the last we knew before yesterday was that the buyers of our new house had just past their option period during which they could back out. The sellers of the other house had yet to find a place so that closing was still unknown.
Yesterday afternoon, I called the realtor. I needed info on closing dates for our loan company so they could process the paperwork and be ready. Our agent said that the buyers had already closed and were waiting to move and the sellers found a place and could close any time. In a 10 minute conversation we went from being the waiters to being the bottleneck.
So, our closing date for both is the 27th of June, but we can’t move until the 21st of July, which means three weeks we have to pay a lease to the buyers, a sum that equals 3 times what our current mortgage is. They have reasoning behind it, and the sellers have already signed a contract saying they won’t pay for any time they live on the property after closing, so we’re out a couple grand.
Why is this? Well, the first problem was the timing. We thought selling our house in one day was a wonderful thing. If the sellers had a house ready to go, we could have closed and move next week. But because they didn’t, we had to wait. Not our fault.
Second, the realtor didn’t tell us shit. Every conversation was initiated by us. If I hadn’t called them yesterday, we’d still be waiting to hear when all this was going to go down. I mean, the buyers of our house already closed weeks before and were waiting for us to move! Isn’t that something, as a realtor, you would tell your clients?
This relationship with this agency has gone really sour. I don’t trust them anymore to speak for me, I don’t like them anymore for not having my best interest at heart. When I told them that we couldn’t afford and extra 4x our monthly payment for the lease, their response was, “The buyers won’t budge.” Well, then, what the fuck do you want me to do? This is your fault we didn’t know about it, and if we’d have known, we would have found a vacant property and moved in right then. But because we hadn’t heard from them, now we’re out money.
It’s not fair and unfortunately we have few options.
Not to totally burn all my bridges, and Mrs. A has been just as stressed out about this and other things as I have, but we also haven’t agreed on much of this lately. I think we’re being screwed and am stubborn about not paying anything extra due to no fault of our own, and she is wanting to bluff them into thinking we’ll walk away from this whole deal while at the same time saying that she’s going crazy in our house and needs to move.
Add to that the following factors: Mrs. A’s laptop died, with a wedding full of pictures. I’ve got 42 days until Chicago and I need 12 more pages drawn, then lettered, then a cover (colored) and back page material. Both kids have been out for 3 days with stomach viruses. Both our jobs have major personnel and project-oriented problems.
And there was no hockey this year.
Surprisingly we’re not complete basket cases, but neither of us have had 8 hours sleep in months and you can tell. I don’t want to jinx this home buying endeavor with negative thoughts, so this is the last you’ll hear of them. I still like the house, and I still would like to move there. I think selling our house in one day spoiled us. The house we’re in now we didn’t have to go through and agent and we didn’t have to sell the place we lived in, so it was a breeze. This is probably just par for the course.
Still, Chewbacca wants you to get your oil changed, life can’t be that bad.
There is a mechanism in your brain that shuts off all voluntary muscle activity when you sleep. It’s to prevent you from hurting yourself when you dream. Your body and brain apparently haven’t worked out that signals sent from the brain during sleep shouldn’t be interpreted, so nature created this stop gap.
This manifests most commonly when you wake from a nightmare and can’t move. It’s not because you’re paralyzed with fear, but that your brain forgot to turn the body back on. It’s also not entirely full proof and occasionally you can tell when your dream state performs a physical action and your body responds, usually jarring you awake.
As you get older, this mechanism, like all others, breaks down. Some of the most common injuries of elderly women are due to their husbands reliving a wartime scenario in their dreams and acting them out on their sleeping spouses. It’s pretty frightening and wonderfully intriguing at the same time. Not the old wife beating part, but the part about the brain having this valve to activity in the first place.
Why all the info? Well, my switch was left in the on position the other night when I was having a dream about adopting a new dog. All I remember is the dog running up to me and me giving it a good lovin’ on it’s head; i.e. furious petting and scratching. The next thing I know, Mrs. A is shouting, “Get the fuck off me! What am I a dog?!”
Uh, well, you were for a split second.
There is a new trend now for grease monkeys to hawk their trade on busy thoroughfares, waving, giving thumbs up, and carrying balloons. (Incidentally, do you actually carry balloons? Aren’t you really restraining them?)
Anyway, there they are, always happy at 7am to stand under your dirty car, pumping it full of fluids and lubricant. I’ve written about this already, so I won’t delve to far.
The fact of the matter is, I drive by one on my everyday route to take Lil Miss Austin to school. I almost wrecked the car when I saw a cardboard cutout of Chewbacca holding up the sign and wearing the company’s hat.
Apparently, times are tough for the wookie.
Cars are metallic colors for a reason. The reason is, people don’t wear metallic colored clothing. If you have a yellow car, you must never wear a yellow shirt. If you do, you’ll end up looking like you’re selling something or part of a cult.
On to the house front.
Yesterday I was home with two evilly sick children and trying my best to network into the office and do some work. I didn’t get a lot done, what with the constant pooping and puking and fevers and aches and potty accidents.
What I did get done is some cluster-fucking with our realtor. And now it burns when I pee.
For real. We’ve been kind of in a holding pattern over New House International Airport while we wait for other parties to figure out loan paperwork and find new houses. The whole time our agent has been MIA. He made a big deal about contacting us twice a week with updates, that hasn’t happened.
So the last we knew before yesterday was that the buyers of our new house had just past their option period during which they could back out. The sellers of the other house had yet to find a place so that closing was still unknown.
Yesterday afternoon, I called the realtor. I needed info on closing dates for our loan company so they could process the paperwork and be ready. Our agent said that the buyers had already closed and were waiting to move and the sellers found a place and could close any time. In a 10 minute conversation we went from being the waiters to being the bottleneck.
So, our closing date for both is the 27th of June, but we can’t move until the 21st of July, which means three weeks we have to pay a lease to the buyers, a sum that equals 3 times what our current mortgage is. They have reasoning behind it, and the sellers have already signed a contract saying they won’t pay for any time they live on the property after closing, so we’re out a couple grand.
Why is this? Well, the first problem was the timing. We thought selling our house in one day was a wonderful thing. If the sellers had a house ready to go, we could have closed and move next week. But because they didn’t, we had to wait. Not our fault.
Second, the realtor didn’t tell us shit. Every conversation was initiated by us. If I hadn’t called them yesterday, we’d still be waiting to hear when all this was going to go down. I mean, the buyers of our house already closed weeks before and were waiting for us to move! Isn’t that something, as a realtor, you would tell your clients?
This relationship with this agency has gone really sour. I don’t trust them anymore to speak for me, I don’t like them anymore for not having my best interest at heart. When I told them that we couldn’t afford and extra 4x our monthly payment for the lease, their response was, “The buyers won’t budge.” Well, then, what the fuck do you want me to do? This is your fault we didn’t know about it, and if we’d have known, we would have found a vacant property and moved in right then. But because we hadn’t heard from them, now we’re out money.
It’s not fair and unfortunately we have few options.
Not to totally burn all my bridges, and Mrs. A has been just as stressed out about this and other things as I have, but we also haven’t agreed on much of this lately. I think we’re being screwed and am stubborn about not paying anything extra due to no fault of our own, and she is wanting to bluff them into thinking we’ll walk away from this whole deal while at the same time saying that she’s going crazy in our house and needs to move.
Add to that the following factors: Mrs. A’s laptop died, with a wedding full of pictures. I’ve got 42 days until Chicago and I need 12 more pages drawn, then lettered, then a cover (colored) and back page material. Both kids have been out for 3 days with stomach viruses. Both our jobs have major personnel and project-oriented problems.
And there was no hockey this year.
Surprisingly we’re not complete basket cases, but neither of us have had 8 hours sleep in months and you can tell. I don’t want to jinx this home buying endeavor with negative thoughts, so this is the last you’ll hear of them. I still like the house, and I still would like to move there. I think selling our house in one day spoiled us. The house we’re in now we didn’t have to go through and agent and we didn’t have to sell the place we lived in, so it was a breeze. This is probably just par for the course.
Still, Chewbacca wants you to get your oil changed, life can’t be that bad.
19.6.05
Years One and Four
I just got done scanning their "school" pictures and I thought I'd share. I'm actually drawing as much as possible this weekend, but while I was in the computer room doing some tech support for my wife's photography site, thought I'd scan some photos. I'm sure these will go on the flickr site soon enough.
I'm biased, but I think they're pretty cute.
I'm biased, but I think they're pretty cute.
15.6.05
Ah, normal life. How I've missed you.
Amidst the hullabaloo of house buying and selling and business running and comic book making, it's hard to remember that you have to deal with normal things in life.
Normal thing one: Traffic violations.
That's right, three Austin Police were waiting for scofflaws like me at a bottle neck where a road dead-ends onto a feeder and you have to stop and wait for traffic. Perfect place to be yanked out of line and told your stickers expired, two weeks ago.
Really, I got a ticket for a two week old expired tag, the other tag is current. For those living outside Texas, we have two windshield stickers: One is the vehicle registration (current) the other is the safety inspection (expired). In Colorado, your "tags" were on your rear plate so cops could bust you from behind (naughty, don't go there) but in Texas, they're both on the windshield. I'm not sure if emissions and safety inspection are the same thing. Mrs. A seems to think they're not, but I'm too lazy to follow up.
Normal thing two: Sick kids.
Man, these kids are ill, and not like the Beastie Boys. Lil. Mr. Austin just keeps finding new ways to make his mom freak out. Yesterday we thought he had pink eye because his eyes were gooey and he was running a little fever. I took the day off, ran to the Doctor and found out he was fine...
...except for that ear infection that hasn't gone away...
...and that heart murmur.
That's right, heart murmur. Now don't panic, it's not a major deal. The doctor said she's not a train pediatric cardiologist so we'll have to get Yogi checked out, but she said it was enough to cause her to tell us about it.
That and his ears are keeping up awake at night. Lord, let it be his ears and not some crazy sleep pattern. He's on antibiotics, still, for his ears. He's up every hour until about 4am and then you have to grab him by his ankles and swing him around till his head hits a door before he wakes up...because he's exhausted from staying up all night.
Man.
Normal thing number three: Sports.
To me, there are no sports until hockey comes back, so I have to watch basketball. I just wanted to point out that just because I live in Texas, doesn't make me an automatic Spurs fan. I like the Spurs if they're playing anyone else, but I like the Pistons better. I'm glad they won last night.
No new house info as of yet. We had another appraiser come by last night which made me a little nervous. How many of these things are required? I sure hope nothing bad happens.
Normal thing one: Traffic violations.
That's right, three Austin Police were waiting for scofflaws like me at a bottle neck where a road dead-ends onto a feeder and you have to stop and wait for traffic. Perfect place to be yanked out of line and told your stickers expired, two weeks ago.
Really, I got a ticket for a two week old expired tag, the other tag is current. For those living outside Texas, we have two windshield stickers: One is the vehicle registration (current) the other is the safety inspection (expired). In Colorado, your "tags" were on your rear plate so cops could bust you from behind (naughty, don't go there) but in Texas, they're both on the windshield. I'm not sure if emissions and safety inspection are the same thing. Mrs. A seems to think they're not, but I'm too lazy to follow up.
Normal thing two: Sick kids.
Man, these kids are ill, and not like the Beastie Boys. Lil. Mr. Austin just keeps finding new ways to make his mom freak out. Yesterday we thought he had pink eye because his eyes were gooey and he was running a little fever. I took the day off, ran to the Doctor and found out he was fine...
...except for that ear infection that hasn't gone away...
...and that heart murmur.
That's right, heart murmur. Now don't panic, it's not a major deal. The doctor said she's not a train pediatric cardiologist so we'll have to get Yogi checked out, but she said it was enough to cause her to tell us about it.
That and his ears are keeping up awake at night. Lord, let it be his ears and not some crazy sleep pattern. He's on antibiotics, still, for his ears. He's up every hour until about 4am and then you have to grab him by his ankles and swing him around till his head hits a door before he wakes up...because he's exhausted from staying up all night.
Man.
Normal thing number three: Sports.
To me, there are no sports until hockey comes back, so I have to watch basketball. I just wanted to point out that just because I live in Texas, doesn't make me an automatic Spurs fan. I like the Spurs if they're playing anyone else, but I like the Pistons better. I'm glad they won last night.
No new house info as of yet. We had another appraiser come by last night which made me a little nervous. How many of these things are required? I sure hope nothing bad happens.
11.6.05
House Update and fun things.
It a twist of fate, the people we're buying the house from won't be able to close on June 30th because they haven't decided on a new house yet.
Let me remind you that these were the same people who didn't want to wait until July 22nd and so we had to remove the contingency portion of our offer. Their reasoning was they didn't want to have to wait for our house to sell.
The realtor's words were, "They can't agree on a house." So they have a couple in mind, but are being finicky.
It makes me want to hurt people.
Here are the reasons why this makes me nervous and upset. First, most people will close close to the ends of the month. Since June 30th is out, it's now July 31st. June 30th, other than being my birthday, would have been perfect due to the following three day weekend. Good time to move.
Second, the Chicago convention is the 4th of August. Let's say we now close on the 31st, which is Sunday. That means we have to move Mon, Tuesday and Wednesday, days we have to take off of work, because Thursday we're leaving town. When we get back, it'd be to a house that's not unboxed.
Now, if they are cool and decide that the original close date of the 22nd works out better, then we have a good week buffer before things get crazy.
The final reason being, these guys were so anxious to sell their house they wouldn't entertain a contingency offer AND the price was so low as to almost ensure a quick sell BUT they didn't have a new house lined up yet. I don't think they planned this well, I don't.
So, not moving on my birthday probably unless they find a house tomorrow, and even then it's not likely. Plus now we have to pay a months mortgage to our buyers as rent, if they fly with that. Knowing how things are progressing, I wouldn't be surprised if our buyer said, "Nope, sorry. My place out. Hit the skids, people!"
So we're in the computer room sorting through documents, when Mrs. A opens up an old envelope from my last company. After looking and looking and several explatives, she hands the check -that's right, the check- to me and says, "We should open the mail more often." Turns out I had two checks sitting in a pile of tax information. They totaled roughly $1,300.
I don't know why they were sitting there. I had direct deposit and the pay stubs I received were handed to me. These came in the mail, at the end of Janurary. I probably assumed they were tax documents. Low and behold I think I was just cashed out of my vacation. Had I opened those earlier I wouldn't have had to sell my body back in April.
Yeah, I didn't raise any money with that.
So with our new found liquidity, we got a new washer and dryer and a Dyson Ball. The washer and dryer were a must. We'd been clinging to a dryer Mrs. A's brother lent us over 5 years ago and a washer we got at a scratch and dent from Best Buy. It was time to trade up. The dryer didn't run well if we vented it outside (like you're supposed to) so it just blew lint everywhere. Aside from being a huge fire hazard, I think we had a few unwanted guests using the little outside entrance.
The vacuum is amazing. First off, the color scheme is wonderful. I may use it to revamp my web sites. Next, it seems very well put together. Finally, it could suck the chrome off a tail pipe. We filled the damn thing up just going over a rug. It should be a wonder in the new place with all that carpet. It's a very exciting purchase. The wonder-hoover we have now couldn't pick up anything larger than a proton and smelled of burning dog hair, so I'm glad, again, we were able to trade up.
Moral of the story, open your mail.
Let me remind you that these were the same people who didn't want to wait until July 22nd and so we had to remove the contingency portion of our offer. Their reasoning was they didn't want to have to wait for our house to sell.
The realtor's words were, "They can't agree on a house." So they have a couple in mind, but are being finicky.
It makes me want to hurt people.
Here are the reasons why this makes me nervous and upset. First, most people will close close to the ends of the month. Since June 30th is out, it's now July 31st. June 30th, other than being my birthday, would have been perfect due to the following three day weekend. Good time to move.
Second, the Chicago convention is the 4th of August. Let's say we now close on the 31st, which is Sunday. That means we have to move Mon, Tuesday and Wednesday, days we have to take off of work, because Thursday we're leaving town. When we get back, it'd be to a house that's not unboxed.
Now, if they are cool and decide that the original close date of the 22nd works out better, then we have a good week buffer before things get crazy.
The final reason being, these guys were so anxious to sell their house they wouldn't entertain a contingency offer AND the price was so low as to almost ensure a quick sell BUT they didn't have a new house lined up yet. I don't think they planned this well, I don't.
So, not moving on my birthday probably unless they find a house tomorrow, and even then it's not likely. Plus now we have to pay a months mortgage to our buyers as rent, if they fly with that. Knowing how things are progressing, I wouldn't be surprised if our buyer said, "Nope, sorry. My place out. Hit the skids, people!"
So we're in the computer room sorting through documents, when Mrs. A opens up an old envelope from my last company. After looking and looking and several explatives, she hands the check -that's right, the check- to me and says, "We should open the mail more often." Turns out I had two checks sitting in a pile of tax information. They totaled roughly $1,300.
I don't know why they were sitting there. I had direct deposit and the pay stubs I received were handed to me. These came in the mail, at the end of Janurary. I probably assumed they were tax documents. Low and behold I think I was just cashed out of my vacation. Had I opened those earlier I wouldn't have had to sell my body back in April.
Yeah, I didn't raise any money with that.
So with our new found liquidity, we got a new washer and dryer and a Dyson Ball. The washer and dryer were a must. We'd been clinging to a dryer Mrs. A's brother lent us over 5 years ago and a washer we got at a scratch and dent from Best Buy. It was time to trade up. The dryer didn't run well if we vented it outside (like you're supposed to) so it just blew lint everywhere. Aside from being a huge fire hazard, I think we had a few unwanted guests using the little outside entrance.
The vacuum is amazing. First off, the color scheme is wonderful. I may use it to revamp my web sites. Next, it seems very well put together. Finally, it could suck the chrome off a tail pipe. We filled the damn thing up just going over a rug. It should be a wonder in the new place with all that carpet. It's a very exciting purchase. The wonder-hoover we have now couldn't pick up anything larger than a proton and smelled of burning dog hair, so I'm glad, again, we were able to trade up.
Moral of the story, open your mail.
8.6.05
In Russia, he'd be called Grigori.
Amidst all the chaos that is New Home Buying and Old Home Selling, our fine readers should not forget the fact that there are two kids involved in this Life we call Austin. Mrs. A would contend there are three children in our house, but that's for the therapists to decide.
I officially started LIA when LMA was about 14 months old, having missed most of her "firsts," a fact I'm not particularly proud of. But what we lacked in quantity at that time, we made up for by having another kid.
I realize I haven't talked much about Little Mr. Austin much and that got me thinking that I also haven't given him much. I haven't spent every second with him while he figures out how to use his hands or plays with his toys. The evening hours are spent just trying to get him to be quiet and placid. Not having a written record of what LMA was like at one year, it's hard to go back and say, "Huh, well, crap. He's just like she was," or "Yeah, she never did that." Mrs. Austin and I agree that both kids are vastly different both physically and mentally, but it's hard to go back just a couple years and make a spot on comparison.
It's also terribly unfair to him.
Gregory, and I'll just use his name here, because that's who he is, is a wonderful little kid. He's a pain in the ass sometimes, but none-the-less a fabulous mini-human. He's sweet and funny and cute. I see in him a lot of what makes me who I am, kind, gentle, friendly but tempermental and prone to outbursts. In fact, I'm probably more like a little kid than I am an adult in that respect. He head butts things a lot -things like floors, cabinets, people's faces- and he still cries a lot at night. One of the reasons I've gone back into the archives is to find out when LMA started sleeping through the night. Like a scientist checking the logs for anomalies against a control, I've been unsuccessfully researching when we can expect Yogi to finally just say, "You know what, I'm fuckin' beat. I'll see you cats tomorrow."
An example, last night he went to sleep around 8:30. He was awake at 11 at which point he was changed and given a small bottle of water. At 3:30 he was awake again, another small bottle of water. At 5:30 he was awake again but was left to fall asleep on his own. Each time he wakes up, Mrs. A and I lay in bed, grumpy and awake, waiting for the other to get up or make some kind of deal. "I'll get the bottle if you change him."
The problem is, we've done both coddle and ignore and neither work real well. We've let him cry for almost an hour at times, we've picked him up immediately others. Neither seems to work well for any given length of time. Plus, even though this is #2, we're still running into the age old baby questions: Is he hungry? Sick? Wet? Lonely? Probably a combination of each, plus a dash of Pissy Baby.
(Man this entry has to be boring for you guys.)
But he's not a baby anymore. Last week his daycare officially moved him to the toddler room. He wears shoes, walks around with other kids, eats big people food and no longer requires that we bring formula or milk. He's off breast milk and formula at home and we're slowly moving away from bottles. He can walk...pretty well. Sort of like a drunk at a fun house, but there are still steps. He doesn't have any real clear words yet but "hi" and "achoo" are really close. I think he even knows what "hi" means. He can wave, point, grab small things and use a fork to come Spaghettios into his hair. He can crawl up into a chair and lower himself off the couch.
He crawls like his pants are on fire.
Lord o' mighty I've never seen a kid crawl that fast. One of my favorite things to do is wait till he's going full tilt then start stomping and teasing from behind and watch as that extra gear kicks in and he leaves little flaming marks on the floor.
For all the sleep and crying crap we give him, he loves to hug people, namely his big sister, and he's just about the cutest kid I've ever seen. He loves to smile and play and squeal. He's a good kid.
For now.
I officially started LIA when LMA was about 14 months old, having missed most of her "firsts," a fact I'm not particularly proud of. But what we lacked in quantity at that time, we made up for by having another kid.
I realize I haven't talked much about Little Mr. Austin much and that got me thinking that I also haven't given him much. I haven't spent every second with him while he figures out how to use his hands or plays with his toys. The evening hours are spent just trying to get him to be quiet and placid. Not having a written record of what LMA was like at one year, it's hard to go back and say, "Huh, well, crap. He's just like she was," or "Yeah, she never did that." Mrs. Austin and I agree that both kids are vastly different both physically and mentally, but it's hard to go back just a couple years and make a spot on comparison.
It's also terribly unfair to him.
Gregory, and I'll just use his name here, because that's who he is, is a wonderful little kid. He's a pain in the ass sometimes, but none-the-less a fabulous mini-human. He's sweet and funny and cute. I see in him a lot of what makes me who I am, kind, gentle, friendly but tempermental and prone to outbursts. In fact, I'm probably more like a little kid than I am an adult in that respect. He head butts things a lot -things like floors, cabinets, people's faces- and he still cries a lot at night. One of the reasons I've gone back into the archives is to find out when LMA started sleeping through the night. Like a scientist checking the logs for anomalies against a control, I've been unsuccessfully researching when we can expect Yogi to finally just say, "You know what, I'm fuckin' beat. I'll see you cats tomorrow."
An example, last night he went to sleep around 8:30. He was awake at 11 at which point he was changed and given a small bottle of water. At 3:30 he was awake again, another small bottle of water. At 5:30 he was awake again but was left to fall asleep on his own. Each time he wakes up, Mrs. A and I lay in bed, grumpy and awake, waiting for the other to get up or make some kind of deal. "I'll get the bottle if you change him."
The problem is, we've done both coddle and ignore and neither work real well. We've let him cry for almost an hour at times, we've picked him up immediately others. Neither seems to work well for any given length of time. Plus, even though this is #2, we're still running into the age old baby questions: Is he hungry? Sick? Wet? Lonely? Probably a combination of each, plus a dash of Pissy Baby.
(Man this entry has to be boring for you guys.)
But he's not a baby anymore. Last week his daycare officially moved him to the toddler room. He wears shoes, walks around with other kids, eats big people food and no longer requires that we bring formula or milk. He's off breast milk and formula at home and we're slowly moving away from bottles. He can walk...pretty well. Sort of like a drunk at a fun house, but there are still steps. He doesn't have any real clear words yet but "hi" and "achoo" are really close. I think he even knows what "hi" means. He can wave, point, grab small things and use a fork to come Spaghettios into his hair. He can crawl up into a chair and lower himself off the couch.
He crawls like his pants are on fire.
Lord o' mighty I've never seen a kid crawl that fast. One of my favorite things to do is wait till he's going full tilt then start stomping and teasing from behind and watch as that extra gear kicks in and he leaves little flaming marks on the floor.
For all the sleep and crying crap we give him, he loves to hug people, namely his big sister, and he's just about the cutest kid I've ever seen. He loves to smile and play and squeal. He's a good kid.
For now.
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