It's the little things...

...that piss me off. I don't want to start out the day on a negative note, but I will anyway. As you all know, I work at the Johnson Space Center. Yeah, woo-hoo, I know. This week, like many weeks before, I am pulling a shift in Mission Control. One of the perks of doing this is a reserved parking spot close to the building. We have these reserved parking spots to make it easy for us to, well, find a parking spot. If we're coming in for a shift it's useful if we don't have to waste our time searching for somewhere to put our car. Necessary? Probably not, but we'll take it as long as it's available. As such, this spot allows me the freedom to show up just minutes before my shift and not have to worry about parking a half mile from the building. Yes, it's the small comforts in life that keep me going.

You can imagine my angst, then, when I arrived this morning only to find another car in my spot. Let me repeat that: there was another car in my spot! This meant that I had to waste another five minutes looking for a spot further way and showed up slightly late to my shift. Really, not a big deal, but it's all about principle. The spot is clearly marked as reserved and anybody who's been here for any amount of time knows how sacred that is. If I was any more of a bastard I would've had the car towed or, at least, ticketed. I can do that, you know. Being the nice guy I am, though, I just left a semi-nasty note on their windshield. Let's see if they park there again. If they do they will have found another place to park their car: the impound yard.

"Physics 101"

or
"Action/Reaction"
or
"Next time you decide to have a few drinks don't get behind the fucking wheel, whore."

This post is going to be a lesson in common sense and accountability. It's also going to be a recount of the final hours of the previous Friday night's activities. Events, I should mention, were by all means ordinary and unexciting until some intoxicated bi-otch decided to make my night a little more lively. Normally, you'd a expect a good story to come from a line like that. Not this time.

A guy I know is only days away from heading out of Houston and starting a new life in a far away state. Somewhere up north where there are no cowboys and "y'all" probably isn't a word. Can't say I blame him. As a semi-final farewell, or just an excuse to try out a new bar, someone decided to hit up a little place downtown (midtown?) for a few drinks. The location was sketchy, at best, and the beer was expensive, but the night was pleasant and I got to catch up with some friends I haven't hung out with in a long time. I should mention that because of work I had to show up late and by myself. That is, I drove so I couldn't drink very much. Remember this. I knew that I had to drive home so I was responsible enough to limit my beer intake and prevent intoxication. This will be important later on.

As any good night goes, 2.a.m. quickly came about and we were forced to leave the bar. I decided to head home, others opted to grab some food. This is also important. Remember it. Now, when I say "head home" what I reallly mean is get into my car and roam the streets of downtown Houston looking for the entrance onto the highway. I'm convinced that, much like the streets of Boston during the Big Dig, the entrance is constantly changing. This is the only way I can explain my chronic inability to find the highway that I need at any given time. As expected, I followed the road that I thought would take me to the highway only to end up, basically, as far away from the highway as I could possibly get in a terrestial vehicle. I'm talented, that's all there is to it. And like most nights, I eventually found a road I knew, an intersection that was familiar, or a strip club that I've crossed many times, and the path to the road home was in my sights. Sort of. There was still a traffic light to get through. This is very important. If you're going to remember one thing, this is it. Quick: what were the other two things I told you to remember? You really should start paying attention. It's important.

Traffic light. As far as life goes, one of the more routine nuisances, but one which we obey because, when we don't, bad shit happens. That's foreshadowing. You catching on yet? The light was red at the intersection of San Jacinto and Wellesly when I approached it. So I stopped. Keyword: Stopped. Strangely enough, so did the black BMW behind me, albeit a little too close to me. But this is a city and that's to be expected. I was calm, I was content, I was only moments away from having a really shitty night.

That's when I heard the thud. Everyone knows this sound. It's the sound that causes you to look into your rearview mirror with the horrible feeling that something bad is about to happen. As I looked up into the reflection I saw the passengers in the car behind me lunge forward. Then came the second thud.

Thud.

That was the sound of my car lunging forward. I didn't like that sound.

The rest of this story is as you would expect it to be at a random intersection at 2:15 in the morning. Some girl in a late model Toyota failed to notice the red light and not one, but two, cars stopped at that light. As she stumbled her way out of her car she apologized profusely and said she would take care of everything and that I really shouldn't call the cops because she didn't want to go to jail. Did Imention that she had already mentioned that she had been drinking? Apparantly not all of us are responsible. Right. So, after she got through apologizing and promising us that she would pay for everything I informed her that, much to her chagrine, I had already called the cops and they were on their way to take care of everything. Oh, I'm sorry, that might mean you're going to jail tonight because, guess what, you fucked up and now you have to pay the consequences. What's that? You're sorry and you don't think the cops are necessary? Perhaps I didn't mention that you FUCKED UP and now you're going to pay for it. Now, I'm not a vindictive person, but I believe strongly in accountability and when you drive drunk you're going to eventually end up buying me a new bumper.

And lest you think I'm a total asshole, I'm not the one who threatened to beat the crap out of her. No, those were the girls behind me. Their BMW was in much worse shape than my Jetta and they were Pisssed (yes, that's with a capital "p"). Fortunately, they had enough sense not to act on it.

To put all your minds at ease, no one was injured and my car had, at worse, some cosmetic damages to the rear bumper that will be replaced by the drunken whore. The BMW was in bad shape and had to be towed (a moment of silence, please), along with Drunky McDrunster automobile. And what happened to Tipsy O'Drinksalot? She was given a ticket for what I image was reckless driving. Turns out the cops didnt' want to take her in because she wasn't drunk enough. By the time they could've administered the test she probably would have been sober enough to pass and, at that point, they couldn't give her a ticket. So, they decided to just stick her with the ticket up front. I would've prefered to see her in the back of the black and white but the cops know what they are doing so I trust they did what's best.

I feel a little better now. Trust me, this could have gone on forever but I wanted to write something you'd actually make it through and believe that I'm not a total a-hole.
Like most things in life there is a moral to this story. I wouldn't have bothered writing if there wasn't. Don't drink and drive. Yes, it's a universal truth and one that I wish more people would heed. But perhaps, more importantly, there's this one: if it's 2am and your friends decide that it would be a good idea for the bunch of you to head out and grab something greasy (and probably Mexican) to shove down your gullet, do it. It could save you a whole lot of trouble.

I told you that would be important.

When I finally take a photo of my bumber I'll post it here. Perhaps not as interesting a standard Rube photo, but an important lesson to all the inebriated fuckheads and Sloshy Sloshbergs out there.

Religion is dead

Of course, I'm being facetious. Anyone who lives in Houston can tell you that religion is alive and well and currently resides in mammoth churches roughly the size of a professional sports stadium. You think I'm joking, don't you? The expression "everything is bigger in Texas" isn't just an empty boast. If you don't believe me, come down and check it out yourself. On second thought, don't. Houston really isn't worth the trip.

The reason I brought this up, suprisingly, is because of something I saw on everyone's favorite gameshow "The Family Feud". (Maybe it's everyone's second favorite game show...hard to beat Bob Barker and his Barker's Beauties.) Working the evening shift I have the luxury of watching an immense amount of bad TV while taking care of many things at home during the day. It's a guilty pleasure, but when there's work to be done at home I have no issues with keeping the TV on in the background. But I digress. As the two lovely ladies walk up to the podium with the big red buzzers and platform for the idle, yet waiting, hand, our pleasant and witty in that daytime TV kind of way host announces with a smile that the top nine answers are on the board for the following category: Name something you'd find on the front of a Christmas card.

Now, any idiot can probably come up with all nine answers, which is to say that neither of these families was able to do so. They definitely aim for a target audience with these shows and the contestants really aren't allowed to be too smart. As the round goes on they ramble off those things you'd imagine would be on the front of a Christmas card: Santa Claus, a christmas tree, presents...Jesus? Yes, of course, Jesus. It's only fair since he's the guy that put the Christ in Christmas. Remember, this was a survey of 100 ordinary people. Take a guess where Jesus fell on the list. That's right, number 8, which amounted to something like 9 people out of 100. Sad to say, when thoughts of Christmas float around the heads of this representative (I hope not) sample of the American population, only 9% actually associated Christmas with the man (god?) for which the holiday is intended.

Of course, I am by no means a religious man and don't claim to be a good Christian (or any type of Christian at all...us Jews are funny that way) but even I associate Christmas with Jesus. Maybe it's because I'm not Christian and I haven't been brainwashed by our American commercial culture to believe that the holiday is all about buying and, well, more buying. That's not to say, of course, that there's no one left who believes in the sanctity of the holiday but, like most aspects of American life, we tend to forget the origin of thinks and look forward to the sales at Target.

Somehow my belittling the people on the Family Feud turned into an attack on American Christians. Didn't see that coming...sorry, didn't mean to offend anyone, unless you were on Family Feud.

Today there was a category asking what store married women wished their husbands owned. Two contestants said Target and Walmart. Ugh. People have no taste anymore...

Still can't upload photos.

Enough already

In case any of you are getting sick of the bitching and moaning from my previous entries, here's a little good news for you all. As you might have noticed, in addition to my desire to spread my views across our fair planet to anyone who might listen, I spend a little time with a camera in my hand capturing what I like to think are snapshots of that same fair planet. It recently came to my attention that one of the local art centers was having what's called a juried exhibition. This is fancy talk for an art show in which absolutely anyone can submit their respective pieces of 'art' for review by a jurist or jury. Yes, it's a way for us to be judged and either vindicated or shot down by someone we don't know and, before today, cared nothing of their opinion.

After so many pieces of questionable creative and skillful works are submitted, this jury reviews them all and decides which deserve wall space and which should be chucked out into space. I saw some of the submissions. Like most art galleries, some make you question your existence and some make you question their existence. I won't say which one my stuff fits into.

I submitted three photographs with no preconceived notion of how well they'd do. In fact, being the undying optimist I am, I assumed they would all be rejected. So, you can only imagine how shocked I was when I found out that two of them had actually been accepted! Granted, this isn't exactly the MOMA, but it was my first attempt at being an actual photographic artist and I'm very happy with the results. It's just good to know that I'm not the only person who thinks my photos kick ass :)

I highly recommend you drop by The Arts Alliance Center of Clear Lake sometime starting next Thursday and check out all the accomplished artists that had their work submitted. But, if anybody asks, you like mine the best.

These are the two I submitted. I think you've seen them before but you can't experience greatness too many times, can you? Oh, and before I forget, a special Thank you very much goes out to Sleepybear who helped me pick out these photos. On the other hand, I hold her personally responsible for choosing the third shot that did not get accepted. She has great taste in art, but only 2/3 of the time.

Just a few thoughts

I promised you this post and I try not to disappoint. This is my moment of reflection, introspect, and wisdom. Or, at least, an attempt at all three. The events, or lack thereof, of the past couple of weeks have showed me once again how fragile the human condition is despite our belief otherwise. Self-image is only as reliable as the mirror we look into, and often times the reflection is distorted by our hopes of what we'd like to see. I thought I was a strong person. No, that's not the right term. I thought that I had set up a rather solid emotional wall, protecting myself from those powers that exist to hurt us on a personal level. I'm not completely closed off, of course, but I'm usually very careful as to who and what I open my doors to. Vulnerability was not even considered and for some time now I let myself think that I was impenetrable. I was wrong.

My thoughts last week had been for from comforting. Keep in mind, however, that what sparked all this was not unique or earth shattering. On the surface it was rather mundane in the grand scale of things (though enough to shake me up a bit). But isn't that how life usually works? We look out for major changes and it's the small ones that end up kicking us in the proverbial nuts? I think it's because the big stuff is obvious. We're expecting it. We've planned for and if or when it comes we're ready. When we don't see it coming, that's when it hurts the most. Especially since I haven't quite figured out what actually happened. Seriously, it's like it faked with the left and punched with the right and through in an ass kick for good measure. Didn't know where that came from....

Nothing is ever easy. If it is, you're doing it wrong. I think someone great once said that. Or maybe it was someone ordinary who had a little more insight into the world around him than those of us who sometimes forget certain inalienable truths. Sometimes you open your heart, even just a crack, to let something in and, well, sometimes it just never comes. That doesn't mean it needs to close. Perhaps it just means it wasn't open nearly enough. Or maybe it means those punk ass kids from down the street are ringing the bell and running again...Really, though, what we invite inside doesn't always want to come, as difficult as that might be to come to terms with. That doesn't mean you stop sending out invitations. Or stick a pissed off Doberman in the front yard. You know, the one with the big teeth that barks all the time? We're all told that, growing up, that one day we'll find our perfect match, regardless of whether or not we know it at first. What if we never do? But we will. And we'll keep believing that because it gets us out of bed in the morning.

Enough already. I know that's what you're thinking. I gotta stop harping on this thing. It's true, but I'm good when it comes to analyzing a situation beyond any reasonable necessity. Deal with it. For now, just do your best to refrain from making jokes about the size of my crack.