That's me without the Santa hat on

For those of you who question the veracity of my claims of working in Mission Control here in Houston (who would lie about living in Houston?) I now have undeniable proof! As a testament to the power of Google (let us now bow down to the Google gods) I did a search using the following phrase: "mission control photo". On the first page of image results I came across the following photograph:



It's like a Where's Waldo book. Here's a task for those of you who know me personally. Submit a comment verifying that what I claim is true: that I am indeed in this picture. As a bonus, please point out to all those readers who haven't had the good fortune of meeting me which of these characters is me, using as many adjectives as you feel necessary. Here are some suggestions: handsome, studly, wicked cool, and hunka-hunka burning love. Please, for everyone's sake, do not hold back.

Quote of the day: What's the matter Colonel Sanders? Chicken!?!

Thought of the day: Sometimes I'm at my happiest when I totally submerge myself in my own little world. There's always room for others, it's even encouraged, but only if they can stand the Salvador Dali inspired architecture of my mind.

Puzzle Clues

It occurred to me that I might be throwing you head first into these puzzles. Truth is, they aren't very easy. Only one person has gotten the correct answer for the first puzzle, with one other person pointing out that they are too difficult. I'll split the difference and say they are mildy tough. But, that being said, I will also provide a clue or two to get you rolling. I'd rather have you getting them with help than not getting them at all. To begin with, at least...

Puzzle #1:
Most things you see are not there by coincidence (apart from the occasional red herring). For instance:
a) Why is Spanish being used? Perhaps you can tie that in with what else is in the picture...
b) Why are there ghosts and what are they saying? Is that significant? Maybe.

Lastly, it might be useful to come up with various 10-letter movie titles and work backward from there. Like I said, only one person has come up with the answer and, although she is wicked smart, the puzzle isn't too hard. You can do it!

Puzzle #2

I only got a smattering of responses for the last one. I expect more from everyone. Here's another one:

Ode to a summer's day

A summer's walk I did take
in the park along the lake.
Gravelly trails and flora green,
were among the things I had seen

A squirrel's romp through the trees,
the moist air from the west wind's breeze.
The soil dark and the sky so bright,
made for a very calming sight.

All these things, so summer real,
hid the surprise that made me feel
a feeling that I could not foresee,
I had the crap scared out of me.

Golden spiders with legs of eight
hung from threads in the sun's bright light.
Webs as large as an open umbrella
bodies as hairy as a two ton gorilla.

Their many eyes staring me down
Their many bodies were all around.
My head, my body, my soul just shaking
I've never seen a spider quite so intimidating

These eigth-legged monsters gathered 'round,
my mouth agape made not a sound.
I had thoughts of Bilbo at my side
Because then I wouldn't have to run and hide.

But, alas, good friends, I did escape,
into the clearing with nary a scrape.
With collective voice did the spiders erupt,
they said, "you come back, we'll fuck you up!"

Dedicated to the very nice girl

I had myself a nice long, wet evening down in Rice Village in the company of a very nice girl. I also had ten of my friends with their noses up against the window watching me being in the company of a very nice girl. The very nice girl was also a good enough sport to pretend that she was having a horrible time to amuse the ten of my friends with their noses up against the window. I could tell she was just pretending. Did I mention she was a very nice girl?

On a side note, for once the Houston rain finally came in handy.

Quote of the day: Sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you don't.

Book of the day: Blink, by Malcolm Gladwell. Recommended for those who enjoy learning that what you think isn't always what you really think.

Show me your smarts

I promised it so here you go. I actually got the idea of these from Games magazine. In fact, the example puzzle was stolen from them though I had to recreate the cartoon. Simply put, these are cartoon rebuses. Elements from each of cartoons can be combined to form the desired answer, of which the category and number of letters are given above the cartoon itself. Be warned: not everything you see will be used and some of those things that will be used aren't always intuitive. For example, the answer to the first puzzle:



is Vanity Fair (Van-it-E Fare). If that wasn't clear enough, I'll break it down even further: Van (moving van)-it (the word "it")-E (the letter "E" on the van)-fare (the cost of the taxi). That's how it goes. I'll leave another one for you to mull over. If I get enough responses I'll post a few more. Some of you have already seen this stuff so please refrain from posting the answer. In fact, why don't you just send me an email with your guesses instead of posting a comment though you're welcome to submit a plea for help there. The first person to send me the correct answer (guessing won't cut it, I want the breakdown of the answer) will get a prize of my choosing. Fare enough?

Puzzle #1:


CLUES!

Out of mind experience

It occurred to me that I completely went astray on what I had intended to be the topic of my previous post, two posts ago. That's just a testament to the magnitude of the head ache I had that night. For those of you concerned, I finally made it to sleep at 3am and made it to work at 9. (this is where you pretend you were concerned).

What I had touched upon, and what I expect to continue here, was that the separation between mind and body is just that, a separation. We've evolved over millions of years, adapting to our environment, developing socialization skills (true for most people), and generally becoming overall good citizens of our respective countries. Over this time our congizance went from "ugh, rock" to "ugh, look, a rock". Admittedly, not a large advancement but enough to bring us such wondrous things such as fire, train engines, and the Slinky. Contrary to what the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy might say, we are far superior to mice in the sense that we don't eat our young though I've never seen a mouse jump on a chair when they saw a human in a room. Dolphins, on the other hand, are definitely giving us a run for our money on aerodynamic sleekness and overall cuteness. Ultimately, though, we trump them all with that ever so important detail that has really let us blossom from our earliest ancestors into the technological masters we are now: the burrito. Opposable thumbs have also come in handy.

What I'm getting to, however, is what is commonly considered the cherry on our sundae, the creamy center of our Twinkie, the chocolate chip in our cookie: our brains. Now, I'm not saying this applies to everyone because, frankly, I've known a few people with, well, a shortage of chocolate chips in their cookie if you get my drift and, although capable of not setting back the species, will not advance us any. On the whole, however, I think we're doing quite well. We've got this incredibly system of nerves bundled up in our heads more complicated than the New York subway system which we may never understand. How's that for a quandary? It's possible that we're being run by something that we are incapable of ever understanding. That would be God laughing at us.

If you're looking for a point to this ramble then keep looking...it's bound to turn up soon.

As I sat on my couch in utter agony the other night I was faced with the realization that I had absolutely control of my body. Usually, I am grateful for this fact since I have no desire to be consciously aware of every breath I take, every eyelid I blink, and heart contraction that keeps me alive and able to write dribble like this. Whoever designed that part was a genius (no, that was not an endorsement of intelligent design...I'll get to my feelings on that another time). What stuck me as, well, annoying (for lack of a better word) is that not only do I have no control over those functions, but we're severely limited elsewhere. I can flex some muscles. Not all of them, just enough to get me from place to place and lift a few heavy weights ever now and then. What I couldn't do was convince myself that the excruciating muscle cramping occuring in my neck the other night was something I could have done about. If my brain is so smart (at least smarter than my phone) then why couldn't I have decided to release whatever muscles were out of whack and let me sleep?

I know enough about physiology to understand that nothing is ever that simple. A muscle cramp isn't just a muscle cramp. It all has to do with chemical imbalances, stress, and over acting nerve fibers (reminds me of professional wrestling). I just don't see why my body couldn't have better resource management and fix that bastard up, or why my brain wasn't able to resolve it.

The moral of the story is this: you have absolutely no control over what your body does. Anything you consider to be free will is just a nerve have a seizure in the inner depths of your brain and your body doing something because of it. That ice cream cone you had the other day: too much seratonin. The car trip you took to Vegas with your best buddies and the one-legged hitchhiker named Misti with the lazy eye and totebag full of nachos? Not enough dopamine. Even everything I write here is just a consequence of something funky going in my body, most likely due to the week old sushi I had for dinner.

So, for those of you go-getters out there fighting to make your own destinies, be warned. Your body has basic driving needs and your life is simply a consequence of that. By no means am I telling you to give up, sit back, and enjoy the ride. Just be aware that what you think is your personality is simply an unconscious construct leading you towards that next chocolate chip.

Contest coming soon!

You heard correctly. I have no idea what it'll be, or what the prize will consist of, but I think it's a nice little scheme to get people to visit my site. I'm thinking that everyweek I'll drop a clue, cleverly coded and adequately misleading, until somebody can figure out exactly what it is I'm talking about. I have no idea what this means, really, but it's guaranteed to be a good time!

Ooh. I just thought of something. I've already produced a few puzzles, albeit totally unrelated, but they might be a good way to get your brains warmed up. I'll have to grab them from work first but I'll send'em your way soon enough. No cash prizes for these but your reward will be the satisfaction of knowing that you're smart enough to be my friend. I have my standards you know...

Make it go away

Greetings little Rubineers. It is now 1:40am on a Tuesday morning and I see no signs of me drifting off to sleep in the near future. That also means there is very little chance of making it into work at a reasonable hour tomorrow morning. As some of you may know, my job can sometimes involve odd hours, keeping me chugging along at all hours of the night. Not this week. No, I'm cruising along in my normal 7:30-4:30 time zone. If this was any other night I would be past out with a pillow under my head and a dream within it. Unfortunately, the excruciating tension in my neck and head are preventing me from attaining sleep-filled zen.

This is one of those times when it becomes painfully obvious (no pun intended) that, as possibly the most intelligent forms of life on the planet (I have my money on dolphins), we have such little control over our bodies. For instance, I know that the ball of pain consisting of muscles and tendons and quite possibly at least one hemisphere of my brain is simply due to over-acting, bitch-ass neurons in the upper part of my body. This happens every now and then and I look forward to none of it. Sometimes it's just a matter of stress. Occassionaly (read: tonight) it's due to a little too much wine. Regardless of the cause, the symptoms are the same: everything that goes into keeping my head upright and my face centered on my head tries to contract itself into a space the size of a quark. (For those of you unfamiliar with particle physics, 'quark' is Latin for 'something really f'ing small.) After a few sessions of this ridiculousness I've learned that my best but is to just get comfortable on the couch and wait the bastard out. That, and over medicate myself on naproxen. Typically, after an hour or so I can relax enough to get back to sleep. It's almost two in the morning and I'm writing in my blog. Need I say more?

This is really my last hope for the night before I call it a bust and start making plans for ways to stay awake at my desk tomorrow. If my calculations are correct, and they always are, writing this will provide an avenue of escape for all the tension currently nesting itself in the soft tissue of my body. It will travel from my shoulder, through my arms, into my wrists (maybe taking a little carpal tunnel syndrome with it) and out the ends of my fingers. It should look something like the scene from Return of the Jedi where Luke is getting his ass kicked by the Emperor ("Now, young Skywalker...you will die.")
But I promise I'll use it only for good and not evil. It is now 2am. I'm going to try this sleep thing one more time.

One by one they go up

You may have noticed that I installed a hit counter on my blog. It's not that I'm really concerned over how many people view my mental ramblings. I'm just interested to see how fast that sucker can shoot up. Come on people! Let's see that baby soar!

The irony is that the only reason it's incrementing now is because I keep checking my site to see if it's gone up since the last time I checked...

Movie quote trivia for the day (you get this and I'll be impressed, very impressed):
"Stay away from women, that's my motto."
"But I can't."
"Neither can I. That's my trouble."

Stupid, stupid technology

I'm convinced I have the dumbest phone in existence. I'm not saying crappy, because, feature-wise, it fuctions properly. It just has the unfortunate tendency of not ringing when someone is calling me. As it is, I have a legion of friends who think 1) I screen my phone calls, 2) never have my phone with me or 3) I just don't want to talk to them. Although sometimes numbers 2 and 3 are actually the case and 1 is an just an unescapable consequence of cell phones having caller ID, the reality is that I just don't know half the time that people are calling me.

Of course, this could all be due to the fact that I'm using what is, in essence, a free phone. Like they (whoever 'they' may be) say, you can't get something for nothing. In this case, I traded my confidence in the fact that I'm receiving all correspondances in a timely manner with a piece of crap cell phone which is probably cooking my brain everytime I put it next to my ear. The easy course of action is to assume that it all has to do with the nebulous ether we call cell phone reception and ignore the fact that, according to the phone itself, I'm just overflowing with airwave signal. I'm not one for choosing the easy course of action.

For now, I'm going to assume that my cell phone is just plain dumb. It simply just doesn't understand what it's supposed to do when it notices that I have an incoming call, if it notices it at all. I have the Forrest Gump of phones, but without the lucrative shrimping business.
I only bring this up because I was sort of expecting/hoping for a call tonight. It turns out I got it...an hour ago. So, if the person who called me just happens to read this before I get a chance to speak with them, rest assured that neither 1, 2, nor 3 represent the situation tonight. What I need to advertisement to everyone I know is that there actually is a 4th option: phone being dumb. In fact, that should be the default assumption.

The next time you call me and you hit my voice mail just chuckle to yourself and say out loud "That phone of Daves...it can be just so dumb sometimes!" in your best June Cleaver tone of voice. Maybe shake your head while doing it to complete the look (slapping of the thigh is not necessarily recommend as it might make you look absolutely ridiculous in front of your friends).
And please leave a message at the beep.

Do I look like I'm under 17?

For the record, I'm NOT under 17. And since most of the people (if not all) who take a minute or two out of their already busy days to glance over any new additions to my blog know this already, you can probably foresee a story coming.

It all started (and ended immediately soon after) Friday night at the movies. Yes, I know I already have a post that describes my movie going experience. Get over it. I'm going to touch upon something here that I haven't discussed already. Something original from The Rube? Just sit back and enjoy....

Before I begin I will first digress (bet you didn't think that was possible). Seeing how my use of time isn't the most economical I once again found myself with little time before the movie but with a lot of hunger tugging at my stomach. My solution: pick up a sandwich and shovel it down while waiting for my friends to arrive at the theater. The only other option was to smuggle the sandwich into the theater and eat it during the movie, but I had no good way of sneaking in a 12" roastbeef sandwich (ok, I had one good idea but I didn't want to scare the ticket girl).

As I stood outside the theater consuming my happiness is sub form (complete with grilled onions and peppers with a side of dill pickle), I came to a very important decision: Never will I do this again. It was a pleasent Houston evening, with only a small chance of scattered showers. There was also a 100% chance of an enormous flock of over-hormoned teeny boppers doing there little social thang as the caravan of parents slowed down enough to let the kids out of the minivans and into the world of teenage socializing.

I really don't remember the girls I grew up dressing up like hookers when we hung out. Don't get me wrong, I wish they had because it would have made my high school years more interesting. But I really don't see how these parents let their daughters (double standard? Maybe...) go out in public like this. I know my daughter (if she ever exists) will be wearing a poncho 24/7 until she's out of college. It wasn't really the clothing that bothered me, though. It was the way they acted. Now, I'm sure that you all know what I'm talking about so I won't go into it. I will say, however, if either I or any of my friends acted like that at that age then I need to apologize to every adult I knew when I was a teenager. And that's all I have to say about that.

Anyway, onto the real story. I was walking with a female friend of mine in the theaters when we reached the ticket checker. The girl collecting tickets asked us if we were going to the movie together. A strange question from the person whose job it was to collect tickets. Was she also in charge of documenting all dates that occur within the theater? (For the record, it was not a date. She's married and we were there with a bunch of people). A little confused, I replied with something along the lines of "well, we're going to see the same movie, yes". I made it two steps past the ticket girl when she turns around and asked me, and this is where it gets good, if she could see my ID. Huh?

The last I checked you only had to be 17 to get into an R-rated movie. Only being a few months from turning 28 I can honestly say that it's been a very long time since I've had someone ask my age at a movie theater. The only thing I could do was look in her eyes and say "excuse me?" But it wasn't just an "excuse me?". It was one of those "excuse me?"s that could easily be confused with "are you shitting me?" if you didn't know English but only heard the tone in my voice. I couldn't believe I was being carded at the movies. Throw me a frickin' bone here. Either way, it only took one more look at me for her to either realize that I was clearly old enough or the wild look in my eye wasn't good for her well being. I was free to enter the theater.

It's a much funnier story when I tell it in person because then you get to see my facial expessions. The moral of the story is simple: I still have my boyish good looks.

Warning of the day: If you're going to post a comment on my blog don't make it an adverstisement for a get rich quick scheme or discount drugs. It's hard enough avoiding this crap as it is and I don't want to see it here.

Quote of the day: "Yes, but no sprinkles. For every sprinkle I find, I shall kill you." - Stewey from the Family Guy

Holy fucking shit.

I don't consider myself a movie buff. I don't consider myself a fair movie critic. And I'm the first to admit that I can be pretty hard when it comes to judging movies. HOWEVER, I just came back from watchin The 40 Year Old Virgin and I can honestly say I haven't laughed that hard, that much in a long time. Now, apart from demonstrating how unfunny my normal life is, it's also a testament to how great a movie this was. I'm not saying it's going to win an Academy Award for best screenplay, but it's guaranteed to make you so close to pissing yourself from laughing so hard that you're not going to mind pissing yourself because you're laughing so hard. If any of you have seen Steve Carroll's other movies (always bit parts such as Anchorman and Bruce Almighty) you know that he has a certain way about him. His humor comes not so much from the words he speaks but in the manner that he delivers them. That is to say, although the content might lack in originality, the comic expression is truly his own. This is easily going to ranked up there with such classics as Office Space and Clerks. Tonight was the opening night so if you haven't seen it yet, I'll understand why. But, if you're a fan of stupid comedies with less than tasteful humor, you owe it to yourself to see it as soon as possible.

On another note, I'm touched by the massive outpouring of support I've witnessed over the past few days. My readership has exploded from a handful of people to at least two handfuls, and it appears I owe some of it to my friend Drew Volturo who has graciously added a link to my blog off his own. I would wish that my readers would extend the same courtesy and check out Drew's blog (the link was on my blog until it was cleared for some reason, an omission soon to be corrected) except that I really don't have any readers. But if I did, I'd send them straight there to catch up on the latest going ons in the Delaware beach scene.

Truly, you don't know how excited I am to know that people are reading this. It's just icing on the cake if they actually enjoy it. So, please, keep reading and keep up those comments. I know my speciality is in the general rambling of nothing in particular but if you have any topics that you'd like to get my opinion on I'd be happy to share. Otherwise, it's just going to be one big blogging free for all and it's anybody's guess how it'll end up.

Thought of the day: G.I. Joe told us that 'knowing is half the battle'. Does that mean that not knowing is the other half? Was that little plastic action figure really telling us that ignorance is, in fact, bliss?

If my hamburger could talk, it would say "Moo"

Let me preface this by saying that I just enjoyed a homemade pizza covered with ground pork. A little seasoning, some parmesan (pronounced parm-a-san, not parm-a-jian) cheese and a crap load of mozzarella. Now my belly is all bloated and my appettite is satiated once again. The key phrase here is "ground pork".


Why do I care so much about chopped up pig product? It all comes down to the book I'm currently reading called Fast Food Nation. From what I hear it was a rather popular book when it first came out but I apparantly missed the boat at that point and it wasn't until recently that I discovered. Now, I've read a lot of books, but this easily tops the list of books that make me want to vomit which, coincidently, is only currently populated by two books. The other book, coincidently, also involves food and goes by the name The Jungle, by Upton Sinclair. To be fair, though, I've never actually finished The Jungle because it was too intense and it made me feel absolutely horrible, but only slightly nauseous which I why I'm keeping it as number two on the list.

Anyway, I'm about halfway through FFN right now and just when I think what I'm reading couldn't get any worse, it does. Right now I'm at the section involving the total lack of federal oversight in the area of meat inspection and the prevention of the spread of potential lethal organisms in the form of dangerous strains of E. coli. This is only slightly more shocking than the section on how fast food restaurants are changing the face of this nation and it's work force.


That's all I say about the book for now. If you haven't read it, please do. I'm thinking that if you currently don't give a rat's ass (which you might actually find in your next Whopper) about the quality of meat being used in fast food then this book won't have any effect on you other than a slight feeling of discomfort which will last until the next time you super size something already oversized. For the rest of you, this book will only back up your feelings about the lack of quality and overabundance of processed food in this world.

What really gets me, however, is that so much of what I read in the book about how fast food joints are virtually geniuses about coming into small (and large) towns and totally changing the face of the economy and culture is epitomized in my current city of residence: Houston. At the risk of alienating all Houstonians I want to say a few words about this city. I live in a section of Houston that has a walmart every five miles, a gas station every 3 blocks, and a McDonalds, Jack in the Box, Sonic Burger, Whattaburger, and Burger King on every corner.

When my friends from back home ask me how I feel about Houston I usually respond with the same answer every time. It has it's positive aspects but, as a city, it has no style. No uniqueness. It's overrun by chain stores and mass production. I know of only a handful of pizzerias that aren't called Domino's, Pizza Hut, Papa Johns, or Little Caesers, and I'm only calling those pizzerias for the sake of this argument. I grew up outside of New York, a city overrun by individuality and governed by the next best thing. I spent a few years living in Boston, a city with history that overshadows anything other place in this nation and which still shows it's face in so many things. Houston just doesn't have the character to stand up to my standards.

In it's defense, Houston isn't a total loss. It has an incredible museum district, it's fair share of parks, enough sports teams to satisfy anyone, and easy access to the beach, however questionable the beaches may be. The weather is always warm (if you can stand the humidity) and the people are among the most cordial in the nation. Wonderful people, can't say anything bad about them except their inability to operate a motor vehicle properly.

I know people who have grown up in Houston and think it's the greatest thing in the world. When asked if they would ever consider living outside of Houston I'm usually confronted with the same response: "why would I?" It's not difficult to believe that most people are in love with the town in which they grew up. I'm not saying that the little suburb of my childhood is the greatest place ever, but I was close enough to New York City to believe that it could never be beaten. To each his own, as the saying goes. When I first moved to Houston I spent a lot of time and energy trying to convince native Houstonians (and Texans in general) that there is more out there than the Lone Star State, but it turned out I was preaching to no one who really wanted to hear it. They didn't want to be convinced because they already knew where their allegiances lay. It was some time before I realized the futility of my actions and stopped. There will be plenty of time to tell people how I felt about Houston once I lived somewhere else. If you're going to preach to the choir, it helps to be in the correct congregation.

In the meantime, I will continue to enjoy the work that I do, knowing that I play some role in the space program, a lifelong dream of mine. I couldn't ask for anything more. In the meantime, I'll dream ahead to days of living somewhere that better suits my lifestyle and temperament. As a great man once said, as an American I have the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of a good pizza joint.

Comic strip transcript of the day:
Calvin: Hobbes, what do you think happens to us when we die?
Hobbes: I think we play saxophone for an all-girl cabaret in New Orleans.
Calvin: So you believe in heaven?
Hobbes: Call it what you like.

Quote of the day: Stupidity is not what you don't know, it's what you refuse to find out.

One more...

I forgot to mention in the previous post the one musician that you really need to see. Her name is the future Mrs. Rubin. Ha! Ok, it's actually Tristan Rubin. No? How about Tristan Prettyman? Yeah, that's it. I will admit, though, that this is the most in love I've been with someone I've never met before. Actually, that's not entirely true. I have met her before. It was a night I'll never forget...

I went to see G. Love & Special Sauce perform at a club called Numbers here in Houston. This incredibly attractive little lady with the sexiest voice I've ever heard starts playing her acoustic guitar and singing on stage. Damn. It was a struggle hearing her songs over the din of a crowd doing their best to ignore the unknown opening act. But I listened. Now, I am definitely not the sappiest person in the world and, well, I'm probably one of the last people to listen to overly obvious love songs but she just makes me do the craziest things. She has one of those smokey, deeper, sensual voices that makes you understand that what she sings is what she feels. And then she makes you feel it.


After the show I went to the back of the club to pick up one of her CDs and she just happened to be there chatting it up with her new fans. I couldn't pass up this opportunity and stuck around to tell her how much I loved her music. There's no doubt I sounded like a bumbling fool but cute girls with rockin' guitars do that to me :)

Now, for all I know, she may be a dime a dozen (though I wouldn't say so). I can't say I'm very knowledgeable of the folksy-acoustic scene. If it is true, I've got my dime and you can keep the other eleven.

Request from the blogger

This is just a short entry as I've found a few free minutes at work (aka Mission Control Center at the Johnson Space Center). Go figure. Even here in the MCC we get some slow times...

I just want to encourage my faithful reader(s) to leave as many comments as you'd like. I have no illusions that my fan base is larger than the number of bumps on a horses ass (that's almost good enough to be a real Texas saying...) but I do appreciate it when people give me feedback on my postings. That's not to say that I think my fans resemble or have the brain capacity of bumps on a horses ass, it's just an expression that no one down here uses but sounds authentic enough to be real. Moral of the story: comments: good!

And, if it isn't too much of an incovenience, I'd really like it if you set up a link to my blog from your own personal blog if you have one. I'm a sucker for searching through random blogs and it would make me very happy if others like me were able to stumble upon mine in the course of reading yours. Incoherent Thoughts and other Hints of Insight (www.alwaysgoodtimes.blogspot.com). Guaranteed to satisfy. Or was it satisfyingly guaranteed? If that doesn't draw you in, don't forget about the free pizza every Thursday night...

What's wrong with your eyes?

You can stop rubbing them now. It's true, the blog has changed colors, but have no fear! You'll still be getting the same crappy content as always. I try not to disappoint my loyal fan. Er, fans. I think there are at least two of you out there.

Here's an observation I've come up with (though I know I'm not the first to think of it): Why don't all the lonely people in this world just get together and screw? I mean, it sure would solve a lot of the loneliness, don't you think? Now, I'm not saying I'd do it because I consider myself one of the better looking of the lonely people and I'm not about to lower my standards and screw an ugly, lonely person.

That was humor. If you don't get it you probably fit into the ugly, lonely, stupid person category. In that case, I definitely won't screw you.

That was all pretty random. What I actually intended to talk about was a recent concert I went to. A couple of weeks ago I saw Jack Johnson perform at the Verizon Wireless theater which, despite having the unfortunate tendency to be located in Houston is actually a really great venue for a concert. It's large enough for a relatively big name act but still small enough to get close to the stage. Anyway, if you haven't heard of Jack Johnson then it's about time you did. However, what I really wanted to write about are his opening acts. I think JJ is big enough now where he doesn't need my help to spread publicity. However, the opening acts are still struggling artists and I'd be more than happy to help their careers.

The first act was called ALO (animal liberation orchestra).Really just a kick ass kind of jam band with incredibly talented musicians. I don't even know how to describe them since I'm usually not a big jam band kind of guy. But they are definitely worth checking out.

The other guy, though, is just balls to the wall good. Seriously, if you're the type of person who's willing to expand their musical taste and try something new then this is the first guy you should run to. Of course, if you're set in your Kid Rock and Limp Bizkit ways then I suggest you read someone elses blog because we're just not going to get along. This guys name is Matt Costa and you can find him at A friend of mine described him as 1960's folkly rock. She nailed it right on the head. I'd say he's got a bit of Dylan in him but is contemporary enough not to be a total hipster. He's got some seriously great stuff and I recommend you all go out and buy his album now. NOW!

Quote of the day: I'm at least a 15 percentile female!
That gem actually came from my mouth today. I'll let you ask if you want to know the whole story...

Dating update!

It's official! I've been blown off. I really didn't see it coming. It's the girl that I described in the previous post. Like I said, we had a good time during our little date and I truly believed there would be another one. I'm going to describe the series events that followed the first date, however short they were, and let all of you out there tell me if I totally missed something or if i'm right to be confused.

The date was a Sunday evening. I called her on Tuesday night. She was out with her friends and told me that she would call me back later on. About an hour later, roughly 9:30 my phone rang but I was, let's just say, indisposed at the moment and wasn't able to answer it. I called her back no later than ten minutes after she had called me and I got nothing more than a few rings leading into her voicemail. I left a message: "hey, this is Dave, I guess I just missed your call. Why don't you give me a call back when you get this?". Simple enough. I must have said something wrong because there was no call back that night.

Hey, no problem, it was getting late. Perhaps she would call me back the next night. Negative-o steve-erino. Granted, I was busy the whole night so I couldn't have talked to her regardless but it was the thought that counted. Being the gentleman I am, I called her again on Thursday night. I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt and try one more time to make contact. I was greeted with my good friend voice mail again and proceeded to leave another message, similar to the first voice mail.

Now, I have my pride (I keep it in a shoebox in the back of my closet) and I'm not about to look like the pathetic loser desperate for a date. I think I made all necessary effort to make contact and after this series of events I've come to accept the fact that I've been blown off. It's definitely not a unique story in the history of dating but like all things seated in reality, it's never as clear as you want it to be. My only question is that if she was intending on blowing me off to begin with, why would she have bothered calling me back the first time? It's a simple question, confusing at worst, and one that will most likely never be answered. However, if I want to look into this occurance, this blip on the flat line I call my love life, there is a very important and eternal lesson to be learned: rejection sucks.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not sitting at home by the phone with a tissue in my hand, a tear streaming down my face, and sappy love songs playing on the radio. It was one date and although I'm a little disappointed seeing how I found her attractive in many ways, it's not the end of my world. No, far from it. In fact, it's been a while since I've been on a date and now I'm remembering how interesting and exciting it can be. Dating isn't always the dreaded thrashing it can sometimes be depicted as. Some great things can come out of it, the least of which being a little loving in the early hours of the morning. I'm just a sucker for understanding my situtions and having closure and to be left high and dry like this leaves me in a quandary.

I will survive, I will move on. Strike that. I have survived and I moved on moments after I left that second voice mail. I may be a bit naive about the mental workings of the female persuasion, but I'm not stupid. All things considered, I more or less gave up hope at that point. That's just one of the down sides of dating, love it or hate it. Fortunately, there are plenty of other ladies out there who are looking for a piece of the Rube and there's plenty to go around.

(a long overdue) Quote of the day: I once read a book in which the words were little animals dancing and singing amongst fields of white and it made we realize that happiness isn't found in words or the people that write them, but the emotions that those little creatures imprinted on my heart as they frolicked their way across my soul.

Blind dates

Two posts in one night? Yes, it's true. I just had a bit more to write but that last post was so long I just couldn't bear to make it any longer.

I had my first official blind date tonight through JDate, the finest online dating service for Jewish singles around the world. If you told me years ago that I would be doing this I would have laughed at you. Truth is, I still laugh at myself when I think about the fact that I am doing it. But I have to meet people somehow and I'm not doing such a great job at it presently. I must say, I had a good time.

And since one date isn't really big news and, truth be told, there really isn't much to talk about, I'll leave it at this: She's a cute, smart, Jewish girl with a nice personality. Not so bad for a blind date. I'd like to see her again and I hope she feels the same way about me. It's just a matter of time before I find out if it happens.

I'll keep you posted ;)

You ask for it, you get it.

My new favorite photo 

I dedicate this entry to my good friend Drew Volturo who apparantly is the only one on God's green Earth who has not had enough NASA talk from me over the past month.

Seriously, though, this entry will be a nice little discussion on the future of NASA's manned space flight program and, more importantly, my job security. As you must know by now, the Space Shuttle launched last week and had experienced a few, let's say, anomalies that were discovered upon close inspection.

This would be a great time to interject a side story and a reminder to everyone who reads that of how freakin' cool my job is. As you can imagine, there are a number of people who sit in Mission Control, myself being one of them from time to time. Before the Shuttle can launch, every flight controlling discipline has to give a "go" to launch which is the equivalent of say "I see nothing wrong with my particular system and I'm giving the thumbs up for the bird to fly." Normally (and probably obviously) only the space shuttle mission controllers go through this ceremony. However, since this mission involved the shuttle docking with the space station, the station mission controllers also had to give a go, indicating that we were ready for the docking to occur. It just so happened that I was sitting console that day. The Flight Director started at the front of the room, passing from the thermal systems people to the attitude people to the computer people and so on. When she reached the back of the room she looked at me and I had the honor to say "BME is go for launch." Now I can tell people that the shuttle could not have launched if it wasn't for my permission.

Truth is, I would've gotten my head ripped off and probably lost my job if I didn't give a go. Not that NASA looks down upon people screwing up their plans, but my group has so little to do with launch that I would've needed an incredible reason to give a thumbs down for launch. So, although it was mostly ceremonial, I'm still really proud of the fact that I got to play such a pivotal role in the launch of the shuttle :)

But I digress. The shuttle is expected to touch down in just about 5 hours from now at 3:45CST on the 8th of August. Like everyone else around here, I won't be breathing my sigh of relief until the crew is out of that thing. There's a lot of talk about the shuttle being an unsafe vehicle with too many modes of failure. It helps to put this in perspective. The shuttle has over one million parts. Yes, that's 1,000,000 (or, if you're European: 1.000.000). Even if the vehicle had a 0.0001% failure rate, that still 100 things that will break. You won't find anything on Earth with that kind of reliability (apart from police radar guns which, apparantly, are never wrong...). So, I don't want to hear about unreliability because it's expected, if not guaranteed.

I think Michael Griffin, the NASA administrator, put it best when he said that the shuttle was built as an experimental aircraft designed to reach low earth orbit every few weeks and, frankly, it's failed it's objective. As a project, it has failed. No denying that. That doesn't mean it hasn't done incredible things for both science and man's dreams, but it's not doing what it was intended to do. What better reason to try for second generation vehicle? Unfortunately, I read an article which said that NASA is being smart about this and will be 1) using all it's existing contractors and 2) using existing technology from the shuttle to build the next generation craft. Can you understand why my money is with private industry?

I have an idea. I'm going to build something that works, but not really the way I want it to, and with a significant amout of flaws. Then I'm going to use a lot of the same technology (which includes a lot of the flaws) and build it's replacement. If you ask me, this is the fundamental problem with NASA. Because it is a government agency it's hands are tied when it comes to ingenuity and safety. If it's worked before, use it again because the amount of money and time it'll take to develop and certify something else is totally unreasonable, and potentially unsafe. As opposed to current technology, which is, well, potentially unsafe. My chair is potentially unsafe but that doesn't stop me from sitting on it. Yeah, unfair comparisons, but space travel is inherently unsafe and only by pushing the limits of technology and taking those risks are we ever going to make significant progress.

Did I say chair? I meant soapbox...

As for my job security, I'm good to go as long as the space shuttle is flying. Granted, I work for the station, but if the shuttle stops, forward work on the station stops and well, that's when the fun also ends. Truth is, I don't expect to be working here anymore at that point but you can never tell around here.

All things aside, though, my best wishes go out to the brave men and women currently on board the space shuttle. They've done some incredible things and have witnessed the Earth as I'll never see it. They are our under-recognized heroes and I'll be right there with them as they land. We'll never forget what happened to the Columbia crew, along with the Challenger crew and the men on Apollo 1, and I give thanks to the current crew for showing us that we can continue our dream.