Absence of Intelligence by Association

Confessions of a NW side Salon

2010-06-08T13:40:00.001-07:00

As many of you may or may not know, I am engaged to be married. Thank you in advance for all the congratulatory wishes.

Come to find out, there is a price to pay when planing a wedding, which is money. Unfortunately, no one is truly in a position to pay for the type of wedding that Lydia and I want. We have people literally flying from the other side of the world to attend the celebration.

That being said, we want to do an in-style wedding where people feel they got their monies worth for the price of admission (transportation and possible lodging.)

Therefore, the wedding we are planning, I would say for the price tag, is a good deal.

But let's return to topic of money. There is no one on either side of the family who can help pay for the extravaganza...No one, except for me.

I am currently in possession of three different jobs. The first is my primary job at a local TV station, the second is working at a Northwest side salon as a part-time receptionist and the third and last is working for a company called Games2U. To put it simply, it is a party brought to your doorstep. Hamster balls, laser tag, booger wars (like dodge ball) and two large trucks capable of engaging 30+ people in movies, and/or video games. If you've never heard of them, check them out www.g2u.com

Thankfully, these three jobs are varied enough they keep things fresh. The combination of them should earn me enough in the 17 months to have the wedding paid for and maybe erase some debt. They each have their own perks and their own complications, but I would not trade in a single one of these jobs.

I am currently working at the salon.

It is quiet now and I have the urge to write about where I am, being as it's been a very long time since my last entry. With the salon, I find a bit of free time and feel compelled to start reading and writing again.

I've already forgotten how to do one of them, so finishing this blog will be a bit of a challenge.

There are all kinds of interesting conversations that happen in a salon. Actually, "interesting" is not the word I would use, I don't find them interesting in the least. They are at least gossip and I hear that gossip is all the rage right now.

Like the creepy man who hits on everyt

hing, including the lamp in the corner, or the woman having an affair with her husband's co-worker, there is always a story. Why people feel compelled to share this information in a salon is beyond me. Is a stylist like a bartender? Is it therapeutic to confess all your sins to a burly man named Bubba-Joe who wears a shirt with the sleeves ripped off to show his "I heart mom" tattoo and serves a mean gin and tonic? Or Gabby who doesn't necessarily care about your troubles at home, but will pretend to while she cuts your hair? Is that better than a priest and a confessional booth?

Now I have never worked in a bar but I am a frequent visitor. The good news is that I am in a salon and there is no better time to answer this question. I have my pen and paper ready and will start writing down all little tid-bits of information I come across that could make for good/entertaining/slightly disturbing stories.

Any if I don't find any stories worth posting, at least I'm here earning money for my wedding, I killed half an hour writing this, and you lost 5 minutes of your life reading it.

Phil

Laziness Personified

2009-07-31T11:33:00.000-07:00

As most of you readers know, I have a blog that I don't really keep up with. The trouble is I write at work, then at home as recreation. By the end of the day, I'm so tired from using my fingers (that's what she said) I can't bring myself to write about my life.
Another reason I may not blog as much, is because I have two separate google accounts. Google has their fingers into so many websites, it's hard to tell when you are signing up for something Google related. When I decide to do blog writing at work or at home, I have to log out of one Google account and then into the account that has the blog. On top of this, I am very lazy. Unfortunately you can't merge accounts. I did however find out that you can invite people to write on your blog. So, naturally, I invited myself to write for myself on my blog. So now I can stay logged into my Google account I use for email and everything else, and write as a guest-blogger without ever signing out. This would be the test blog to see how this actually works.

There is nothing about this blog entry that is interesting in the slightest and I feel for those of you who took the time to read it.

Phil

Desk Sitting

2009-05-30T17:19:00.000-07:00

So here I am. It's Saturday evening, just after seven. I'm a young, attractive male who's girlfriend is out of town. Where am I? If you answered, "Out partying with your best buds", you'd be wrong. The correct answer it, "Sitting the assignment desk at KSAT".

Sorry... just got a call for a shooting. Had to delegate and send a photog on it and have our reporter ready to go if case it's live shot worthy.

OK. Things have settled down a bit... for the moment. That was a fun 20 minutes. Listening to a suspect being chased for God knows what, a brush fire, and the shooting. Been a while since I've sat the desk for more than 20 minutes at a time. I feel a bit rusty.

This blog really doesn't have a point yet. I'm kind of making it up as I go along. Can you tell? I didn't bring a book, and while Wipeout is fun to watch, it will be over soon. So I figured...

Whoops. Call for a rollover...

So I figured I would write something to help pass the time. As I stated in my previous random blog, the girlfriend is off with men in India, doing Shiva knows what. So I've decided that now is a good time to get back into my reading/writing regiment. I used to write poems, and stories and read a book a week back in the day. Somehow I've managed to dodge that for two years, but there's no time like the present to get back into it. I've got...

Possibly another shooting...

I've got plenty of stories to tell, original plots and intriguing characters but there is a problem, putting them on proverbial paper. My job requires me to write nearly eight hours a day, so by time I get home, I don't really feel like writing for recreation. I doubt Michael Phelps, after doing laps eight hours a day, hops in the pool when he gets home. I know it's a little different, but if I am to make my first million by the time I'm 30, I really need to start cracking down. Even if it's like Frank Peretti, writing a page a night until the book is finished. Sure, it may take a few years, but at least I put the time for it.
One book I have a plot for is Vampireish. But I came up with it before this whole Vampire craze as of late, so I call "originality" on that. I'm really excited to write it, but I'm having trouble piecing the plot together. It is a story that would be best told over multiple books, and I have trouble being able to connect them all together. It will come in time. Best way is to start writing it.

Someone called 911 for a Headache!? I never get over that call. I laugh everytime I hear it. Take a freakin' Tylenol.

Hopefully the Vampire story could turn into Spin-Offs of prequels and sequels. Another reason it's taking me so long to start writing. I'm trying to set up this huge lore, with plenty of history leading up to the main story, and characters to continue-on following the end. Again, it all begins with that first step, or in this case, that first letter on paper.

And another thing. When I live in DFW and had my Mother, a free personal trainer, I was in the best shape of my life. But then, I stopped and began producing. Sitting on my duff for eight hours a day. That's when the pounds began to pack on.

Oooh. A structure fire!

Unfortunately, for whatever lame excuse I use over the past year, I have fallen off my work out regiment. But now that I'm settled in my new place, I need to get back in to my routine. So as of Monday, I will head straight to the gym after work. I can't go home, otherwise I won't leave again. My goal, to work out my uppers Monday& Friday, Legs on Wednesday and run everyday except Tuesday/Thursday push myself extra hard because I'm not lifting.

I fear this blog is going to be a long one, because as long as I'm at the desk, I will keep writing. And there's still 90 minutes to go. It's already been two hours since I started writing this. Man, how time flies.

A Robbery in Progress... but where on Perrin Beitel...

I really have to pee, but there's no one to sit the desk while I'm gone. Sure I could sneak away and no one would know, but that's when I miss the hostage situation. Until some one can be my sub, I will wait and think of Waterfalls and flowing water.

Ok...

That was not a good idea.

Have to think of something else...

Ah hour to go until I get my drink on.

If the number of Incidents on the "City of San Antonio Fire Response" webpage is correct, they have had over 9-million indicentses since they began the count on the page. That's impressive. Of course that's everything from people calling about Stomach Cramps to a Full Blown fire.
Still an impressive amount. It seems one comes in every other minute or so.
Pretty sure I have Scanner Brain. Can't really distinguish between the different scanners. They just sound like a jumble of noise.

I think we have a power line down on the road and a Motor vehicle accident on different parts of town and one photog. Not that they are anything to send him out on, just felt like sharing.

We were the only ones at that first shooting! Score. The rest of those incidents turned out to be minor things if nothing at all. So at least we got that shooting. That's what matters.
Two callers have mentioned a two-year-old boy in Natalia hit by a car. Air-lifted here. Hopefully we can check into that.

Ok. At this point it's 10:30. I'm done.WOO HOO. Thanks for sticking with me mover these past 3 1/2 hours. It's been... yeah... It's been.
I'm off to the Saucer.

Quizzical Quandary

2009-05-25T10:45:00.000-07:00

This year has not been a great one for writing. With trying to juggle work, a new girlfriend, laying around doing nothing and frequent naps, it's been difficult to find time to write. So while the girlfriend is out flirting with strange men and frolicking in India for the next five weeks, I figured it would be a good time to start my old read/writing regiment.

Many things over the past week have had me asking questions, as to why things are they way they are, and why events unfold as they do.

For instance, I am driving on the NE side (which may have been my problem to begin with) I was about to turn into the left lane when I see a car behind me weaving in and out of traffic, coming up behind me. I assume they are going to weave into the left lane and continue on past me. So I move back into the right lane (I only had my tires in the left lane) and turn off the blinker, letting them rush around me. Only the driver doesn't speed off. I move in behind him as I make my way to a turn lane, when he moves into the right lane pulls up beside me and begins to show me his middle finger for the better part of a minute. If I sped up, he went with me, slowed down, he followed. I looked at him, and couldn't help but laugh. This only seems to anger him further, but the fact that I received a finger for whatever I did, was unnecessary and the whole scenario, funny.
Odd thing about it, this is the second time this has happened to me on Walzem.
Lesson Learned: Stay off Walzem.

This also happening over the weekend: I felt like a hankering for BBQ so I used this handy program on my BlackBerry Storm called Poynt (pronounced point, clever but unnecessary) and found the closest location to me with and intriguing name. When it comes to BBQ, you don't want a placed just called Barbecue. you want a place called "Al's Best BBQ and Juicy Burger Shack." Now this place doesn't exist, though with generous grants from people like you, it can. Anyhow, I found this place located on my GPS. It said it was located off the service road of 410. ( thought this odd, it being off the service road and not at an intersection on a cross street.)
I decided to follow by blind faith, in the pouring rain no less. When I reach the location I notice it doesn't really look like a BBQ joint. This placed served meat but not of the consumption kind.
This particular meat asks for $20 dollars at the end of every song and wears less clothing than Steve-O from Wildboyz.
The GPS had taken me to the Wild Zebra club for my BBQ! The thought crossed my mind that maybe the BBQ was inside past the cover charge between the midst of smoky haze, loud music and partially clad women. However rather than risk being aroused, I opted to go for Carl's Jr., which wasn't a bad option.
Lesson Learned: Don't trust GPS. It only leads to porn.

Today I tried a bar called XXX Bar. Now I know what you are thinking and no; it isn't a BBQ Trap like Wild Zerba. This was a legitimate, rundown bar with the XXX title to entice men looking for a good time. Only to be dissapointed to see no women on the bar. Those concerns soon forgotten as they see a pint of beer for only a buck! There are two bars within a walk from my house, XXX Bar and Spanky's. Both poorly named bars, both side by side. Names alone, curiosity got the best of me and I walked over to XXX. Beer for a dollar, drunk people at 7PM and a jukebox playing everything randomly from Hank Williams Jr.'s "Family Tradition" to Usher's "Yeah!" Quite the cornocopious collection and the patrons didn't discriminate.
Instead they sang along. The bar was akin to an old watering hole from El Paso.
Lesson Learned: Don't be afraid of the letters XXX, sometime it leads to more than cheap women.

These are just a few examples of how one thing can lead to another for no reason. Also, this is me cutting my teeth, getting back into writing and blogging. I hope to have more observations in the future. Even if it's just me writing them for myself to read in the future.

First Blog of the Year (41 Days In)

2009-02-10T08:18:00.000-08:00

Please forgive me readers,

It's been 103 days since my last blog entry. Over the past few months life became complicated, then it wasn't, then it suddenly became complex then evolved into confusing and finally rested on complacent. The turn of events has taken me for a whirl wind of a ride, much like Dorothy caught up in a massive tornado.
Now I sit in front of a computer screen, typing out the recent events of my life and how this year has begun to unfold. Hard to believe we are 41 days into the new year and time trudges on unrelentingly like the back hand of a pimp who was denied his fee.
I feel last year's blogs left some issues unresolved. So, for all you readers who continue to hang onto a thread, let's tie up these loose ends.

The Beard Finale:
A few months ago I made an attempt to grow a beard. It was a foolish decision. Those of you who know me are aware I shave about once a week. So, to grow any sort of facial hair beyond the infamous soul patch, would take patience and dedication. Again, if you know me, these are qualities that I seemingly lack.
The beard grew for almost 7 weeks. Before I finally shaved it. Here is the last picture taken at the end of the experiment showing the full length my mini-beard before it was desecrated by Gillette.

(My parents being supportive of my beard)

52 Weeks of Adventure:
Previously I also decided this year I would do 52 things I have never done or rarely do. I am pretty much on schedule. So far six weeks have passed and I have accomplished five tasks:

Spent the entire weekend in DFW partying with old friends
Saw the King Tut exhibit, the first time it has been in the states in 30 years
Went and looked around a gun show
Visited a firing range and actually shot a gun
Spent the weekend in LA on the backlot of WB studios and at the visited the LA observatory.

I'm revving up to the really big stuff in the Spring and the Summer. Also planned for this month is, going to my very first rodeo and traveling back to El Paso to visit friends.

Now onto more recent events in life. I have taken up bowling as a hobby. The skill is slowly improving. I have my own shoes and my own bowling ball. Just last week I bowled my best game, 188. The average game would be around 130. Okay but there is certainly room for improvement.

Oh and here is a story about my trip to LA, some of you might find intriguing. On the Southwest flight to Phoenix (I connected from there to LA) I sat on the isle as usual. With long legs and knees that cramp up it's nice to have an empty isle to stretch them into. Plus it's always a laugh when unsuspecting flight attendants fail to see my obtrusive appendages. So, a woman moved passed me and sat by the window seat. Little did we both know until a short while later that neither of us spoke the other's language. She spoke Spanish only and I speak English and French (it seemed like a good idea in College, at moments like this, not so much).
It very well may have been her very first time on an airplane. Try as she might she could not buckle her seat belt. She tapped me on the shoulder to show me her predicament. It appeared she was a little too large for the belt to reach across. We contacted a flight attendant and I explained the situation. She ran off to get an extender for the woman. Only to find upon her return that belly size wasn't the issue, the woman simply did not know how to buckle the belt. When I realized this I tried to explain this to the flight attendant but the damage had already been done. They strapped the extender on her and tightened it up. We didn't speak about it but I think she knew how I misunderstood her. From this point on, I won't make assumptions about large people. Otherwise they may get offended and I, embarrassed.

52 Weeks of Adventure

2008-10-30T11:00:00.000-07:00

Talking to an editor this morning, the short one, I came the the realization that time moves by faster, the older you get.
Now I know I'm going to get virtual slapped, and possible physically slapped, by people a few years older than me when I say this:
"I'm already 26 and what do I have to show for it?"

Sure, I have had a few poems published, and I am a Master SCUBA Diver, and have a black belt in Tae Known Do and met Hulk Hogan in a bathroom at the airport.
But days and weekends tend to blur together in an obscure mess to the point I can't tell one weekend from another. I feel like my life is draining in a sea of mediocrity mediocritiness.
So I came up with a game plan to make each week more memorable.
In theory, if I can separate the different between weekends, just maybe, I can cause the forward march of time to slow to a crawl.

Here is my plan:
52 Weeks in a Year
52 Things I rarely do or have never done.

Each week I will do one of these tasks. I will then blog about it and take pictures to remember each moment, where time slowed down just a bit.
Being as I just came up with this idea for a resolution, my list is rather small.

Here are a few things I've been thinking about:

Hiking at Enchanted Rock
Camping at Lost Maples
Touring the San Antonio Missions
Renaissance Festivals
A weekend motorcycle trip stopping at B&Bs.
SCUBA Diving
Weekend at the Beach
Eating at my favorite place for wings in the world, Pluckers in Austin and trying the Cookie Bar up there as well.
Traveling to LA to see my brother
An all day movie marathon at a theater

I know that's only 10 adventures, because I can see the list numbered above, but I'm looking for ideas. Other people may have suggestions of activities I'm not even aware of.
Weigh in, let me know what you think.

Crazy People

2008-10-25T18:41:00.000-07:00

When I am at home in my apartment, I do my best to keep to myself. Let's just say me and my apartment neighbors do NOT mix. I try to be friendly and outgoing but, it seems, no matter where I live I am plagued with people even crazier than I am!
In one apartment, the upstairs neighbor would have parties until 7am almost every night of the week, ignoring my pleas for silence, or an invite.
In another apartment the neighbor across from me was a Car Salesman. That should have been a red flag right there, but I felt bad for the guy. He had been tossed out by his wife who then moved her boyfriend into the home with her. I became a sympathetic friend, offering my assistance in any way. Long story short I gave out hundreds of dollars to help him, not to mention he stole a couple hundred dollars worth of clothing, then tried to guilt trip me that I wasn't helping him enough.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I moved to San Antonio. My neighbors are nice and quiet; despite the fact there is a family of four living next door in the same sized apartment as me. I thought I was free and clear of crazy neighbors... until Thursday.

My apartment complex backs up against another. The two are separated by a black wrought iron fence. I leave my bike under a parking canopy that sits next to the fence and park my Durango beside that.
Oh Thursday, I started taking the cover off my bike so I can go for a ride, crazy neighbor free, then I hear him speak. I look through the chipped iron fence and see a man, disheveled hair, shoeless, shirtless, standing there staring at me. Here's a bit of the conversation that followed:

Me: Excuse me?
Hippie: Hi.
Me: Hi.
Hippie: That your bike? (He points to the bike that I am removing the cover from)
Me: ...yes.
Hippie: So where's your boat?
Me: I'm sorry?
Hippie: I see you gots a trailer hitch, where's ya'lls boat?
Me: No boat, just the trailer hitch to tow things.
Hippie: How big is that bike?
Me: 1500CC (maybe goes 90mph)
Hippie: I used to ride motorcycles. Take my friends bike out for a spin. He wanted me to buy it. I didn't wear a helmet or nothing. One time I got that bike up to 200 on the freeway, even did a wheelie. But power on a bike like yours will kill you.

He then proceeded to talk to me about his brother who works on motorcycles and for Jesse James, the West Coast Chopper dude. Then he started running off to grab an article about motorcycles to show me. I told him I was actually running late to meet friends, which was true.
We said our goodbyes then I ran the cover inside and grabbed my helmet. I get on the bike and he shouts at me again, I look back and he is thrusting the article through the fence pointing at his brother then at Jesse James, side by side. I told him I really had to go and said goodbye again, then he told me one more story about how he almost bought the bike made for Jesse James. I managed to escape and revved my engine peeling out of the parking lot, glad to escape the onslaught of crazy.
When I returned a few hours later he was still there, sitting on a set of stairs by the fence. He stood up and anxiously faced me, to talk more about Jesse James I imagine. I picked up my cellphone and took my helmet off. My girlfriend thankfully called, giving me a reason to talk on the phone, ignoring him standing there. So far I haven't seem him again, but I know he will pop up when I lease expect it!

Beard Update

2008-10-25T17:28:00.000-07:00

As you person, or persons, may or may not know, I am working on a futile attempt to grow a beard. This is probably the longest amount of time I have ever gone without shaving. Now many of you may not be able to tell, but there is a different over time. I have been taking pictures, cataloging my seemingly vain attempt.

The picture below is 14 Days without shaving.

Now you can see, hair in the front and along the side. Due to my Cherokee blood, my hair grows painstakingly slow. Typically hair doesn't fill in on my cheeks, just down the sideburns and underneath the chin.

18 Days:

21 Days:

As you can see there isn't much of a different in a week, unless you look closely. But there is plenty of time to see if my facial hair doesn't suddenly sprout and give me a wooly, albiet sultry, beard.

Only time will tell. I won't shave it until I leave for Los Angeles, but that is in a month.

The Beard Issue

2008-10-14T16:46:00.000-07:00

The idea may be laughable, improbable and, dare I say, impossible.
I have given this a lot of thought and have been persuaded by many a friend. The whole thing could end up a disaster. But like every great step in life, you never know until you try.
The decision has finally been made: I'm growing a beard.

(Preferably, not like this one)

Now stifle those giggles and don't think I didn't see you roll your eyes. It is possible for me to have facial hair. From 16 to 22 I had a goatee. From 22 to 24 I was clean shaven, then from 24 on I have had a very nice soul patch.
It occurred to me that I have never attempted a beard. I know I have some Native American in me and therefore facial hair grows extremely slow, to the point of agony. I'm itching like crazy!
A group of friends encouraged me to try growing a beard, "just see what happens."
It has been a week and a half now without shaving. Many of you probably haven't even noticed. My 10 days without shaving looks like some guys after 24 hours. Will I be able to grow a full beard or will it come across stalkerish/rapist? Not exactly the look I'm going for. I do know though, that if I just grow a mustache, I look like a white guy trying to be Hispanic.

So, let's all watch along and see how these "beard" thing works out.

Goodbye Gum, Sweet Gum

2008-08-20T09:24:00.000-07:00

As many of you know, up until yesterday I had a pack of gum. Now, this wasn't your ordinary pack of chewy delight, it came with the name "Big e Pak" (name and grammar intentional for effective marketing) and had a total of 60 pieces of gum. I bought one before but it was so popular, I decided to get another on Sunday.

Most people might call me weird, a nerd or even (on the occasion) a jerk, but I would like to think of myself as a nice guy. For example, I generously share my wonderfully tasting gum with anyone in the newsroom who would like a piece. Mario (who prefers to be called Reuteger in blogs like these) usually saves everyone the trouble of having to ask me and simply removes the gum from my bag and casually passes it around to everyone, who in turn thank him for his generosity.

You may think it sounds a wonderful time, sharing gum and talking about life, the universe and everything but all that came to a screeching halt yesterday. Mario took the gum from my bag, as usual, and passed it around to everyone who wanted some delicious flavor.
Julie had gotten herself a piece and tossed the pack to the intern. During it's mid-air flight, the pilot of the "Big e Pak" hit some turbulence and announced they were going down and all passengers should jump from the confines of the plastic pack and take their chances free-falling to the ground. Like complient sheep all 50+ pieces of gum remaining, burst through the opening and spilled out all over the ground.
Many around the room chuckled and laughed... but they couldn't feel the pain welling up inside of me. They were so young, I didn't even get to chew on all of them and put them back for my unsuspecting coworkers.

(Spearmint August 17 - August 19, 2008)

Though our time together may have been brief, I will never forget the tragedy of my latest "Big e Pak." We had become close over the past two days, I even named it. Spearmint.
Goodbye dear Spearmint. We will miss you.

The Wedding

2008-08-14T11:28:00.000-07:00

*I forgot to post this blog last Monday, so this is a week late referring to the weekend of August 8, 9. Thank you for your time*

I am back from the wedding. I took tons of pictures but apparently my camera is kind of crappy, so most didn't turn out. It was a very busy weekend, what with the wedding and Shannon's birthday and all.
The bachelor party was simple. Trey isn't the kind of guy who wants adult entertainers and drinks until you can't walk. He wanted a Christian party, so that's just what we threw.
It began at Speed Zone (imagine go-karts, but for adults) throw in a couples of beers and some video games and you got yourself a party. Which was great because that was exactly what we were trying to throw.
From there we went to Papasitos for fajitas and drinks. Then finally we went to Trey's sister's house for the rest. His sister was at the bachelorette party, so it was her husband and us in a 3,000 Sq Ft House. It was nice. They are obviously living the American dream: Having everything you could ever want in exchange for massive, massive debt. We drank beer and played poker for about 4hours. I'm not that experienced in Texas Hold 'Em but I managed to hold my own, even coming in second in our mini-tournament against guys who make a killing when they hit Vegas.
The next day was the wedding rehearsal and dinner. Not much to say here, lots of joking around. No one took it seriously. The bachelor and the rest of the guys went to Oklahoma to gamble, I however stayed because it was Shannon's birthday weekend. We went to a showing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show at a movie theater in Ft. Worth. Beneath the screen, performers acted out the film. It was... unique.
Then it was the wedding day. We made some last minute adjustments to the positions of groomsmen and bridesmaids on the stage, then us men went in the back and got dressed. The Groom himself, Trey, seemed pretty calm right up until the point when we had to leave. Then it hit him, that this was really happening.
The bride was feeling the same, as the wedding was delayed until she could catch her breath. It was a pretty ceremony, they both looked incredibly happy.
The reception was just as fun. 5 course meal, dancing, wine. Then came my toast. They let me know about 5 minutes until Go Time. I had to make one at the same time as the Maid of Honor. She was way too nervous to go first, so manned up and broke the ice. Surprisingly, I managed to make the wedding guests laugh. From what I hear, it was a nice toast.
Finally the night ended with Trey and his new bride Jen hopping on a Gondola instead of a car and being rowed down the canal for a nice relaxing romantic trip as man and wife.

(Here's a picture of Shannon and I at the wedding)

Last Minute Toast

2008-08-05T11:10:00.000-07:00

My buddy Trey is getting married. When it comes to most things in life he tends to wait until the very last minute to do anything. Thankfully, his bride is the exact opposite and has had everything set in place weeks before the big day. Trey and I have known each other since we were little nerds at the age of 12; I knew without a doubt I would be part of the wedding. Being best man or not was something that remained to be seen. The decision was made and I was not chosen, which is fine. The best man is a guy who as known Trey since he was nine, dude's got three years on me.

In any case, Trey and his best man, Aaron, are very similar in waiting until the last minute. The wedding is this Sunday, August 10th. I have been trying to call Aaron for weeks to get info on the bachelor party. It wasn't until Sunday when he finally returned my call. Come to find out, he hadn't made any plans and decided to pass the bachelor party planning over to me. Great, that means I have exactly a week to plan a party I have never planned before. Sure, I've been to the drunken adventures with many of my buds the night before they go off to the slaughter. Many forgotten memories of, driving go-karts drunk, or drunken cow-tipping, or even the occasional drunken knife fight. Still doesn't mean I know what I'm doing. Yes I drive a car, that doesn't mean I know how it works. I usually play such things off as witchcraft.

Toast?

On top of planning the party Trey calls on Monday, yesterday, and asks me to be one of the four people giving a toast at the reception. Don't get me wrong, it's an honor to give a speech about my best friend. Then I realize I also don't know how to do that. Granted, I got A's in all my speeches for all my college courses, but this is different. It's not for a grade, this will have meaning and substance. Plus everyone including Trey, his wife, my girlfriend, my parents, his parents and all our mutual friends will be judging me. If I make a mistake one by one they will disown me until I'm left with that awkward cousin no one wants to talk to but invited him anyway because you'd never hear the end of it if you didn't.

or Toast?

Two items dumped on me at the last minute that I don't really have an iota of how to do. I will do my best without hesitation because this is Trey's one and only wedding... I hope. If he can manage to find a second woman that would be willing to put up with him, I will eat this blog. Don't ask me how.

Any tips or suggestions would be greatly appreciated.

Best Beer in the World, A Tasting of

2008-07-14T11:06:00.001-07:00

If you have read my blog, you probably saw the entry where I paid a ridiculous amount of money for a beer. I know it's been awhile but I finally got around to acquiring some editing software. The occasion of trying the beer for the very first time was actually caught on camera. I tried to add some production value and make it fun.
This is me trying the uber rare, Westveleteren 12.
Enjoy. Or, you know, try to.

What the Crap?

2008-07-09T10:59:00.000-07:00

We have been in a little bit of a drought here in San Antonio, so the past two days of rain have been a welcome surprise. I know some people hate rain, or sunshine, or snow, or snowy rain or rainy sunshine, but not me. I love all the changes mother nature throws at us. The only time I am not jovial about these naturally occurring curve balls is when I'm driving.
Case in point, I get off of work yesterday and head home. As my trip began there was a slight sprinkle, nothing that would bring us out of the drought, but enough to be satisfied we are seeing rain. As I get on I-10 and pick up speed the rain begins to fall heavier. Traffic slows well below
the speed limit as the rain continues to pummel our horseless carriages. As I near my exit, traffic from the middle rain begins to swerve into the right or left lanes, dodging an object in the middle. Through the downpour I could see the object slowly approaching.
What was it? It was large, coming up to the hood of my Durango; it also had a pale color on one side.
"What the crap?" I said outloud. Seconds later I found out how right I was.

A porta-potty lay on its side right in the middle lane of I-10. The door had even been jarred open from the fall off the truck. I couldn't help but laugh and I wish I had a camera on me at that moment.

Phil & Ryan's Excellent Adventure

2008-06-19T10:53:00.000-07:00

Nerd Alert:
This entry is me boasting about my nerdiness. So if nerds, geeks, dorks, dweebs, twerps or goobs make you uncomfortable, it's probably best you stop reading this, for own safety and to salvage what self-respect I have.
Generally, my weekends are pretty uneventful, save for the occasional weekend when the girlfriend comes down from Dallas. I spend my Saturdays and Sundays sleeping in, ordering fast food, watching movies, going to Sea World and perfecting laziness to an art form.
This particular weekend was a bit different. It took me and my buddy Ryan on a wonderful journey that any nerd, and other thesaurus related terms mentioned above, would appreciate.
Saturday, I casually woke up around 10AM, after a hard night of playing video games. The current games I'm addicted to: Indiana Jones Lego: The Original Adventures and Metal Gear Solid 4: Sons of the Patriots. After styling my infamous hair and dressing to the nines in my baggy shorts and wrinkled shirt, I decided to run a few errands.
Spontaneity is a rare form for me, but I suddenly got the urge to visit Sea World. I have a season pass so it's no biggie. Got myself a drink, saw the sharks, the penguins and a dolphin or two. There may have been an man dressed as a penguin... but I can't remember because I was swept up in all the excitement. During my time at Sea World, my buddy Ryan gave me a call.
His baby mama went to the river and he had nothing to do.
I drove over and we played video games for a bit then got to talking about how we would spend our day.

I have a Sega Genesis, it's an old school gaming system from the late 80's to the early 90's. When I was in Dallas to see Shannon, I found an old game that I loved to play, NBA Jam and picked it up.
So while Ryan and I were brainstorming, I got the idea to go old school video game shopping. We decided to hit up local pawn shops. Store after store, we had no success. On our way to yet another pawn shop I decided to check the white pages on my phone and began calling all the game stores that I did not recognize.
I called one and the owner told me "We are unlike any other store in the world."
Naturally, I was intrigued. "Go on," I told him.
They are a retro gaming, arcade, card game and Role-Playing Game center. Just the night before they had received a massive shipment of old retro games. Jackpot!
When we arrived we were greeted my a man named Cliff. We were shown back to the dozen or so boxes that Cliff had not had a chance to look through since the man who sold them to him dropped them off.
Ryan and I took it upon ourselves to go through the boxes and began putting items in sections. NES with NES, SNES with SNES, Sega to Sega, Atari to Atari, the list went on and so did the hours.

(NES)

(SNES)

(Sega)

(Atari)

An undetermined amount of time later, we had gone through every box and even set aside stuff for ourselves. I got a wireless controller port for the NES controllers, Link 1 and 2 in the original gold cartridges with a few other things.
Their gaming guru, the man who fixes and cleans all the retro stuff that comes in, just happened to pop in. The man with the gut and the Aussie accent spent the next stretch of undetermined amount of time telling us about the history of video games.

Fun Fact:
Did you know that Nintendo originally was designing a CD based gaming system to compete with the Sega Saturn. Nintendo was working with Sony on developing this system when they screwed Sony over and the deal ended. Sony sat back and decided they had all this hardware, why not add a few more things and create their own system. Thus Nintendo's folly led to the birth of the Playstation.

We slowly worked our way to the door after making our purchase, and getting a few items for free, since they had free labor from us arranging all the items from the many boxes.
During the Aussie's incoherent babbling, we did hear him mention a retro gaming store in New Braunfels that was an impressive sight. It was about 10PM at this point, the D-Pad in NB was open until Midnight. We looked at each other and yelled "Road Trip!" The rest of the journey was in silence because Ryan then yelled "Jinx."
After getting lost, then having to call and find directions because they weren't were Google said they were, thanks for that, we found our way to D-Pad.
Inside, it was like a mini-mecca for those who love retro games. Walls of Sega, NES, SNES, Saturn and the like. We perused and gawked I think I loitered for a while in the corner. I decided to buy a few games, for the NES (which I don't have) and for the Sega (I do)
We drove home and I played my newly purchased Sega games. Since I have been on a retro kick. I went a bought an original Nintendo. I didn't work so I took it back and had Shannon buy me a system that plays both NES and SNES games. She's bringing it down this weekend. I'm excited.
There is the full-extent. I hope you aren't blind due to the severity. It was a fun day. Now I'm going to go home and play "Zombies Ate my Neighbors."

Awkward Scenario: Episode 1

2008-06-17T10:56:00.000-07:00

This blog will deal with an awkward scenario I encountered a week ago. I debated about whether or not to blog about this, but I was given the OK by a certain middle party.
I was in Dallas over June 6th - 8th, visiting friends and family. This particular event happened Saturday night.
Shannon, the girlfriend, and I went out to a bar called Cape Buffalo. There we met her parents to celebrate their mutual friend, Jennifer's, birthday.
To begin with, I asked Shannon all day, What time does it start?"
She kept shrugging off the question, saying "We'll get there when we get there."
We settle down to watch Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. About an hour into the flick, we get a call from Shannon's mother Cathee asking where we were.
The party started at 8PM and it was currently, 9:45PM. Shannon's parents had already been there for over an hour. The birthday girl was turning 30, so I guess she decided her friends couldn't stay out as late and started the party 8PM instead of 11PMish.
We rush to the bar where everyone has already been drinking. Jennifer is trashed and spouts profanity at me, a person she just met.

I couldn't tell if she was an angry drunk or just plain drunk. I talked with one man who works for Texas schools. He travels from district to district checking up on them. He was really boring.
I talked to Greg, Shannon's step-father, about Horse Racing, because Big Brown just had a disappointing loss.
To be honest, I don't know a thing about horse racing. Here's what I do know:
Horses race each other around a track. The small people that ride them around this track are called Jockies. They wear brightly colored outfits so people can tell them apart from all the other little people. Spectators bet money on this sport. One of the horses is named Big Brown.
That is the extent of my horse racing knowledge, but Greg had a few drinks before I got there and I was able to fool him about what I did not know.
From there Shannon's parents, Shannon and I all drove to a place where everyone knows their name, The Apple...

It's a small dive tucked away in between a restaurant and a gas station.
Now all this is leading up to the awkward scenario.
After a few drinks at the Apple, Greg settles into his chair with an unknown liquored drink. He leans forward staring at me from across the table and in his low guttural voice asked a question that completely blindsided me, "When are you going to make an honest woman out of my daughter?"
Considering Shannon is not caring child nor will she, unless we decide to make that life long commitment called marriage, this question came as quite a shock.
He continued, "You two have been dating almost seven months, don't you think it's about time you settle down?"
Now, seven month to me, is almost like a grace period. I get to know you, you get to know me. That is nowhere near my safe zone, of the "marriage talk." For me that's a minimum of two years.
"When we are both ready," was my reply.
"Because I have eight shotguns." He said taking a swig of his drink.

How on earth do you respond to that? Is he serious? Or is this his attempt at a joke? So, I responded with the only words that came to mind, "I have nine bulletproof vests."

This made him smile and the two ladies laugh nervously. The whole time, they are looking as red as the fruit in the bar's title.

He pressed again and this time I decided to answer truthfully.
"We both have goals we would like to accomplish before settling down. The final decision will be mine and Shannon's. Neither of us are ready just yet. When and if we are, we will go from there, but ultimately the decision should be hers and mine. There is no reason to rush into anything."
About that time, Cathee decided that was enough probing of their daughter's boyfriend. Luckily my name was called for karaoke a short time later, and I was able to escape from such an awkward scenario. Honestly, I didn't know how to respond, so I flew by the seat of my pants. Wrong or right, can't change it now.

The Itch of the Ear

2008-05-29T11:20:00.000-07:00

My right ear itches. It's clean. I know because I clean it at the beginning of every month. So it can't be that. I scratch it again and it still itches.

(This is not my ear)
I cough because maybe it is my throat itching going up into my ear canal; it still doesn't help.
Am I going to die? Reason I ask because I've been doing this "Living" thing for the past 25 years and I kind of like it. I would like to keep doing it on account of liking it.

A Pricy Beverage

2008-05-26T17:24:00.000-07:00

I have a query for my faithful readers: How much do you spend on a bottle of beer? On average I'm sure it's probably anywhere from $2 to $5 depending on what bar or grocery store you purchased said alcohol. I used to be a Budweiser or Miller Lite kind of guy, so my 6-pack price was relatively cheap. Recently I have been upgrading my taste in beer. As usual, this story must first be setup with a second story that I begin after starting the first story.

When my buddy Marcus moved to San Antonio around a month ago, he and I fell back into our old college ways of hitting up a bar a few times a week. Normally I have a beer at night right after a shower but before I cry myself to sleep in a fetal position. The benefit of having an old college drinking buddy back in town is we can relive the old days and drink like old times back in the old days, though our alcohol tolerance isn't what it used to be… not by a long shot. We were, like, the beer kings. Well, more I was the Beer Prince and Marcus was the Beer King. That boy could drink.

So we began to look for a good watering hole, settling on Flying Saucer. Because:

1: It is real close to my apartment. Worst case scenario I could walk home.

2: Their UFO Card.

Essentially their UFO card is a rewards program for drinking beer at their establishment. It is card that encourages you to drink, and the more you drink, the better the rewards. The goal is to try 200 different kinds of beer. When the 200 mark is reached you get your name printed on a Saucer. So Marcus and I decided it would be a fun goal to try for. Since I simplycouldn't drink 200 Budweiser, it forced me to expand my horizons.

Now when I go to the grocery store to buy beer, my 6-pack costs significantly more than before. There are so many other good beers I have discovered that put the generic stuff to shame. That began research into other facets of beer. Such as which beer is generally liked and which beer is generally spit out at the bartender who is then beaten for serving such a bitter brew?

After a little research, this led to the ultimate question:

What is the best beer in the world?

At first thought, I assumed this would be a relative question. After all, everybody loves something different and hates what his neighbor loves. So finding the world's best beer would be next to impossible to determine, right? I agree… or did.

Upon my quest to discover the world's best brew, I found that it wasn't that difficult to find what was widely accepted to be the best.

That title goes to Westvleteren 12.

(This is what the beer would look like if I took a picture)

Haven't heard of it? That's not surprising; it is brewed in a Belgium monastery. The monks do not export the beers. Literally the only way you can get a bottle is to travel there yourself and buy them from the monks. Or if you are lucky, find some one who did travel there and is willing to part with one. Now it may be the curiosity of the best beer ever or it may be that I simply cannot go up to HEB and pick one up… but I wanted to try it, bad.

As luck would smile down on me, I managed to find a single unopened bottle on sale on eBay. The guy recently returned from his trip to Belgium with his girlfriend and had one he wanted to part with.

I put in the bid, which was a bit high for my taste, and won!

The guy had a solid eBay rating, so it is legit… I think.

My bottle of Westvleteren 12 should arrive by Friday and I can give the ultimate beer, a taste. I just hope with the shipping costs, it will arrive in one piece. I can't tell you how excited I am to try what is called the "Best Beer in the World." This may be the and only time I get to try this. Hopefully it lives up to the expensive hype!

So how much did I spend on a single bottle of beer? I guarantee it's more than you have spent on a single bottle. Are you ready? For a single bottle of Westvleteren 12, dubbed the "Best Beer in the World" I paid $40.00.

And now you know.

Not So Safe

2008-05-26T17:21:00.000-07:00

This is a blog I wrote for MySpace but I'm bringing it over to add to my blog postings. Gotta get those numbers up!

Let me ask you a question: Do you know how much a locksmith costs? I don't know off the top of my head either. However, I did come precariously close to finding that answer out for myself. This incident took place last weekend. No, not as in yesterday, I mean the weekend before that. For those of you who still might be confused, let me give out date of these happenings. May 10th, 2008 (Saturday) around 7pmish. Hey, it's a word, look it up.
The girlfriend, Shannon, and I were running a few errands, doing a little shopping. She's a girl, she likes to do those things. I play the role of good boyfriend; I follow her around, huff, sigh and roll my eyes.
To move on in this story we must first go back a few hours. That Friday night we found out Stone Temple Pilots is coming to the Alamo City. Shannon was so excited we got up early the very next day and purchased the tickets the moment they went on sale. To save a couple of bucks, we opted to pick them up at a local Ticketmaster outlet, instead of mailing them or printing them for a fee.
Being the airheaded couple we are, we left to run those errands without the confirmation number that allowed the person behind the counter to find and print our STP passes.
After running around finishing our errands, we ran back by my apartment. I had the bright idea of taking the apartment key off my key ring and giving it to the girlfriend, so we wouldn't have to kill the engine (which I hear uses up 7 minutes of gas everytime)
So Shannon runs inside, grabs the confirmation number and comes back out handing me the key, or so she says.
We run to HEB, get the tickets, grab liquor from the nearby liquor store that's close to and not too far away from HEB were we grabbed the tickets.
Shannon and I get back to my apartment and I go looking for they key she gave me, only to not find it. Anywhere. We emptied the bags, searched our pockets, under the chairs, in her pockets again, even in the glove compartment. Nothing.
Trying to remain calm, we trace our steps back to the HEB to the ticket counter all over the parking lot and even to the nearby liquor store that's close to and not too far away from HEB were we grabbed the tickets. Again, Nothing.
So I call my apartment complex's answering service requesting some one to come out and open the door. Surprise, there is a $25 dollar charge to do so. Despite one of the employees lives the next building over. The 5 minutes of her time it would take for her to walk over to the office, get the back-up key, unlock my apartment, return the key and go back to her place is worth the $25 fee.
I agree to pay the fee, but they can't get ahold of the manager, so we had to wait.
After a minute or two of sitting around, Shannon's light bulb went off above her head, which let me tell you is brighter than most people's. She knows stuff. Running around my building she said "I have an idea."
i followed as she jumped my back railing and went straight to my sliding door.
"It's locked" I said in dispair. When suddenly the door slide open. She told me, all you have to do is jiggle the door and it opens. My rush of relief was followed by terror. Holy Crap, anyone could have jiggled that door and taken everything in my place! Needless to say now I have a 10,000LB security bar. It sucks I lost my key, but it was good because who knows who might have broken in.
Thanks sweetie for losing my key, I know you say it was me who lost it, but I know the truth. You lost my key to show me how vunerable my apartment was to thieves. Thank you for taking the fall.
Word to the wise, if you don't have a security bar for your sliding door, get one!

The Donation that Keeps on Giving

2008-05-23T19:11:00.000-07:00

I wear clothes. Now I know that is a generic statement and would automatically be assumed. Let's face it though, not everyone does. There are some freaky cultures out there saying it's ok to walk around in the buff.
Being part of modern society we must invest in clothing for various occasions to be socially acceptable in public. While a three-piece suit can get you into an exclusive restaurant the same can't be said for a swimming suit.
This pointless intro brings me to my story. I was at work last week sitting with my fellow producers. It was business as usual as we prepared for our respective shows. I looked over at Mario, a co-worker, and noticed his shirt. I kept thinking to myself "Boy that shirt looks familiar. Where have I seen that shirt before?"
I finally came to the realization that I had a shirt exactly like that one. I also remembered that I hadn't seen my shirt in a few months... otherwise I would have worn it.
So I turned to Mario and jokingly asked "Are you wearing my shirt?"

(This shirt looks nothing like the shirt in this story)

He told me "No," that he bought this shirt months ago. Still I couldn't get over the fact that it looked so similar to mine own.
So I asked him where he bought the shirt and he replied "Goodwill." Then it came back to me that I dropped three bags of clothing off at a goodwill destination a few months ago. I asked which Goodwill and it was the exact store I donated mine to. Everything was matching up... except one crucial piece of evidence.
"That can't be mine," I told Mario "My shirt had a stai..."
As he turned around, I spotted the final clue that would unwrap this mystery; a stain.
It was my shirt. I gave it away simply because I couldn't get over the stain... however Mario didn't seem to mind it staring people back in the face. Kinda like that bleach pen commercial where the stain talks over the guy in the interview.
We both got a good laugh that I donated a piece of clothing and my co-worker bought it. From this point on, we decided to take out the middle man and I will give all my hand-me-downs to him.

The Beginning

2008-05-23T15:41:00.000-07:00

So this is it; the beginning of my blogs. Don't get me wrong, I've blogged before. I'm a good blogger. People get excited when they see I've posted a new entry. This is the first time I have had a website dedicated to transcribing my thoughts into word onto a computer screen to travel through the internet, through your eyes and into your brains.
It’s quite the process and I don’t pretend to know how it works. What I do know is that I have succumbed to peer-pressure and thus begins my blog.

Testing

2008-05-23T11:32:00.000-07:00

This is a test of the emergency broadcast system. If this were a real emergency, you would have heard something like ."SSSSSSSCCCCRRRRREEEEAAAAACCCCCCCCHHH!"