I've got a luv-uh-lee bunch of co-cuh-nuts....

Music of the moment: Breaking the Habit - Linkin Park

[...]

It's the "going home" effect. Houston takes all that work and productivity you had planned, and takes a giant shit on it. I think it's because we're so far from campus, and we don't exactly have a high school to go back to, so we feel like it's a vacation. Honestly, who can think about work in that mindset?

Yay, time-killing!! Having friends over gets you a multiplier bonus! Heh.

I'm looking at my little list of things I was hoping to do while I'm under house arrest by the parentals. Only a few lines are crossed off, one being a mandatory court order (it's too boring to go into detail about). To be fair, three involve reading books. The Dip is at 75%, and New Ideas from Dead CEO's is at 60%. I picked up Michael Phelps' book No Limits yesterday, and that's next after these two.

On the bright side, I've actually gained three pounds since whipping my rusty ass into shape, so I'm up to 136 now. I've kept up my diet, about 3000 calories a day, although I need to push past it back into 3500 if I really want to get anywhere. At least I don't have to worry about getting fat.

The rest is in shambles so far. Tonight is another repeat of my nights in Houston. Random reading and surfing. stretching until 4 in the morning, followed by a late afternoon rise. I don't think I've gotten out of bed and seen "AM" on my alarm clock once this entire week. Boy, it's great...

Some random thoughts before I head off:
-Watching the NFL games today, you would've thought the Lions were fighting for a playoff spot, and the Cowboys were 0-16. I kept watching the Cowboys wondering not if, but when they were going to turn the ball over.
-Damn. I need a new water bottle.
-Cocaine may be one hell of a drug, but ZMA is one hell of a supplement.
-Happy birthday to my stepdad. Tonight (Sunday night) we went to Outback to celebrate. Mmmm, cheap steak. I bought him Bill O'Reilly's book, A Bold Fresh Piece of Humanity, since he's a talk radio junkie.
-It's official: 2008 hates the Longhorns. Add the New York Times to the long list of ways Texas has been screwed this year. Or, at the least, Thayer Evans, who is secretly an OU beat reporter in journalist's clothing.
-After witnessing excellent ball movement, and Ron-Ron manning up and making it rain 28 points on the Jazz, I saw T-Slack as expendable for the first time since ever. That's hard for me to say, considering both jerseys I own are his, but you know you need to get your cajones together when people like Jon Feigen and Bill Worrell are starting to call you out.

Only a couple more days until I'm back in Austin.

Epiphany

I'm reading a book called The Dip, authored by Seth Godin. It was recommended to me by my good friend, and I recommend it to anyone who still reads this (Who am I kidding, I'm probably talking to just the one 47 year-old balding guy, still single and living out of his parents' basement in Saskatchewan. Hah!)

The Dip is only 80 pages long, and reads like a blog post, but inspires like Chicken Soup for the Soul books (not that I read those either). If you're feeling depressed or frustrated about anything (like your O-Chem grade, perhaps!), I especially suggest at least skimming through it before you do something crazy. Like rolling a pair of dice to decide how many times you'll go out this semester, in the hopes that it will raise your GPA. The book gives you a fantastic new perspective on life, no matter where you are on it.

In any case, after reading The Dip. I'd like to leave this quote I've come up with. I know, I'm so proud. I'll make it famous someday.

"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, but if you quit at five hundred and go back home, then you've just spent a thousand miles of your life going nowhere."

Going Against the Grain

Whew! What a long night. I've been busy doing all sorts of things. And now that the laundry is taken care of for now, I finally have time to update this thing.

It's starting to look like my decision to stay in Austin is turning out for the better! I had a bit of a slow start, but I definitely feel as if I'm being productive despite having no distractions since everyone's out of town. It's kind of funny, seeing people's Facebook statuses bitching about feeling lazy and unproductive in Houston....

Trying to get stuff done in this atmosphere is actually kind of like practice from this past semester. Hoping to be productive after dropping all my extracurriculars and shying from human contact just resulted in an epic fail for my GPA. The major takeaway lesson from fall semester is that I have to be careful what I isolate myself from, as well as how I expose myself to distractions. It's like I need both to function, but they have to be carefully controlled. Study smarter, party harder, am I right?

Bah! I bore myself. Back to the matter at hand: what did I do this week?

I've actually been getting back into the gym! I've forgotten that feeling of pleasure I get from seeing people's shocked faces when I do dumbbell shoulder presses. (There's no way a little guy like that should be lifting that much!) Of course, I haven't always been going to Gregory at 7:30 AM like I planned to, but I'm getting more consistent. Whatever.

Oh, and dear God, I've forgotten how disgusting casein protein is to swallow. It feels like you're drinking your own vomit. That stuff is so thick, it doesn't completely dissolve instantly in water like whey does; instead, it teases you and partially dissolves, leaving a mixture of super-diluted casein-water and globs of dry, undissolved casein. So, when you knock it back down your throat, it's right at about the same consistency as puke. Delish.

...In other news, I visited a bunch of restaurants downtown, again, and came away with more bad news, and some good news. First, the bad news, since I'm such an optimist!

In addition to the recession's impact on "hire-ability" of new waiters, most restaurants (read: nearly all) aren't hiring now since everyone's getting into the big event of the busy season, the Christmas-New Year's week. Nobody's looking to train a new hire in the middle of the most chaotic part of a biz that's already organized chaos. It's like a wife who holds back from her husband because she's mad at him, and then kicks him out onto the couch, to add insult to injury. Doesn't that suck.

Now the good news. After the chaos (read: tipping spree) period is over, everything kind of settles back into itself, and all the restaurants shake off frazzled employees to announce openings for new ones, all at once. I guess that's when I'll most likely get my job, and hopefully then I'll have a better selection. But that won't happen until about "mid-January", so I'll just be patient.

I really wish I didn't have a court appearance in Houston on Tuesday. I'm really building some momentum here. At least there'll be some good Ultimate to play in Houston....

A Hoot from a Night Owl

Just finished the last of my finals Saturday night, O-Chem. Like the other finals I took during this semester of pre-med hazing, it was mostly one long train of guessing. My GPA is on life support right now. Ugh.

Anyway, as is customary during post-finals periods, my poor sleep schedule is completely reversed. I went to sleep last night at 2 AM and woke up 15 hours later, at 5 PM, feeling extremely confused. (Huh? I thought it was dark BEFORE I went to bed?) Since then, I've mostly been inspecting the post-finals aftermath of what's left of my apartment, and sending out rescue efforts to pick up the pieces.

I've decided to stay in Austin for all except 3 or 4 days out of this winter break. I finally seemed to figure myself out towards the end of the semester, and I guess I just hate having to figure out how to be a student all over again after I spend breaks figuring out how to be lazy. Plus, it's pretty common knowledge that any books you pack when you go back home just end up being extra weight to carry, hah!

Speaking of books, I need to slide down to Half-Price sometime this week and pick up that new Michael Phelps book. I'm especially looking forward to what he has to say about how he dealt with his ADD.

To wrap up this post, here's a long-overdue list of things I'm thankful for, in no particular order, followed by a list of things I wish I could have right now, again, in no particular order.

-My wonderfully fantastic, oh-so-awesome SexyBike. It grants me immunity to gas-station-type Pokemon, but leaves me wide open to super-effective attacks from local-bike-shop-type Pokemon. (http://tinyurl.com/6hgd38)
-My ridiculously-convenient-but-maddenly-inconsistent iPhone.
-My tablet laptop, which I wish I could replace with that new HP TouchSmart laptop that I don't have money for.
-My bumpin' party power tower, which, by night, goes by the name "Logitech Z-2300."
-My luxurious-yet-bedroom-cramped apartment.
-The sexiest Indian motherfucker alive who doubles as a fantastic roommate, Pawan!! (Ladies, he's single, but it won't be for long!)
-My air mattress, which survived being a temporary fix and has since grown to become the most comfortable mattress I've ever slept on, period.
-Unlimited texting! (I'm really not like that, it's just that it's a nice thing to have)
-My family, which, despite being argumentative and frustrating and nagging, has found a way to remain the only one I have, and deserving of some love.
-My JesusBall, a blessed football handed down to me by the football powers that be at UT, who smile down benevolently upon us mere mortals.
-I suppose I can also throw in my health, good looks, and seemingly-unending stream of random talents.
-Did I mention narcissism?
-SNOW IN AUSTIN.

Wish list:
-A new Balisong, of Benchmade or similar branding.
-A waiting job.
-More autographs for my JesusBall.
-Kawasaki Ninja 250R, although I will also settle for a Ninja ZX-6R. =)
-not too much else material stuff, most of what I want is personal.

I'm really looking forward to that Trail of Lights tomorrow.

The Wonder Wall

I hadn't gone to the gym in about 2 months and I was feeling pretty worthless about it, so tonight, I decided to go to the Quarters mini-gym around 7 for a quickie workout, just about half an hour including the trip. I slapped on some shorts, a workout shirt, and left on my bike. It wasn't that bad the last time I had gone out, hopefully it was the same now.

Boy, was that a bad decision. It was freakin' freezing! The weather was a triple threat today: Cold, windy, and drizzling. It felt like someone was shooting little icicle daggers into my entire body. Going 10 mph into a headwind didn't help much.

When I got there a minute later, I saw this guy who was waiting outside of Plucker's (which is right next to the gym), posted up against the wall. He looked a little out of place. He was decked out in a full suit, hair carefully gelled and everything, with his backpack still on his back. He was shifting around anxiously, keeping his head down mostly but perking it up to look left and right expectantly every few seconds. His lips were drawn into his mouth, the way you'd look if you were at a loss for words.

He was nervously rolling something in between his thumb and index finger. I looked closer. It was a rose. No wrapping or packaging, no baby's breath or greens, just one really pretty rose.

Whatever. Time to go upstairs and work out.

I kicked ass in the weight room for what felt like the first time in forever. I was surprised to find out that even after two months, I hadn't dropped that much in terms of strength. I'm totally gonna go on a lifting spree after finals.

25 minutes later, I got out of there, and when I looked to my right, I stopped for a second. Who did I see but the same rose guy, still leaning on the wall. His nice suit was now glistening with drizzled rain, and yet there he was in the same spot, waiting and looking around expectantly. The little patch of dry sidewalk around his feet stood out as the only place the rain hadn't touched, apparently since he hadn't budged at all. A few pink bite marks littered the rim of his lips. His gelled hair was starting to fall apart, and the rose he still cradled in his fingertips fluttered in the bitter wind.

Poor guy.

I walked my bike past him, and as I looked him in the eyes, I felt a kindred emotion with him. They were a mixture of worry and hope, sadness and excitement. They seemed to say that he had every reason in the world to be anywhere but here, yet he chose to be right where he was. I could only nod my head in respectful understanding as I passed. He did the same.

It's cold tonight.

Move Along, Move Along, Just to make it through...

I didn't make the cut.

I cut my teeth in the restaurant biz waiting tables at Landry's this past summer. It was a brutal place for a first waiting job, and to make things worse I knew nothing about restaurants. I was held to a much higher standard than almost any other place I could have gotten a job at. There was little room for rookie mistakes, and I made quite a few of them trying to survive in that snake pit.

We were expected to basically take care of anything that wasn't managerial or involved actually cooking the food. I put up with shitty customers, some who stiffed me where it wasn't called for, some who complained about stuff that had no standing to begin with, some who lied to my higher-ups to get some stuff knocked off the bill. I put up with some pretty downright dickheaded managers and co-workers too.

But ultimately, my experiences there solidified my foundations as a waiter, and that alone was worth it. One of the last things my GM said to me before I left was, "You won't have trouble finding work almost anywhere else, after working here." I also made some of the best friends I have today, I gained valuable advice about waiting and life in general, and I grew as a person in ways I didn't see coming. Through the fire and flames, I was addicted to waiting.

So, when I moved back to Austin, naturally I looked for jobs as quickly as I could.

I had spent almost every day of the first month of the semester looking for a spot waiting tables in a fancy-pants restaurant downtown. 4 days out of the week, I'd rush home at 2 after classes ended, throw off my clothes and slap on business pro attire, and drive downtown to hit up restaurants. Even after going to more than 30 restaurants (many of them I went to multiple times) and getting no-calls from all of them, I kept my head up. Just one place, that's all I need, I kept repeating to myself.

Eventually though, I didn't have time to juggle everything, and I had to put job-hunting on hold.

Fast forward to last week.

I was back on the prowl again, hoping that some places still had a few openings before the busy season was fully underway. I knew what I was doing wrong before that was driving away managers, and I had fixed it in my resumé. After hitting up 10 places, I finally caught a break. McCormick & Schmick's, a semi-fine dining seafood and steak place, needed a couple of waiters. I knew if I got a job there, I would never have trouble paying for tuition, renting, anything anymore. I threw everything I had at them, application, resumé, even talked to every manager I could find.

They sat me down immediately for an interview. I kicked ass, as I normally do. They seemed immensely interested in me, and wanted a second interview the next day, Friday. Things looked up for the first time in months. I couldn't believe I was moving along so quickly, after so long.

That night, I was looking on Craigslist for more places to apply at, in case M&S didn't work out. In the flurry of 'wanted' postings, I saw an ad for McCormick & Schmick's saying they needed a waiter. It was posted half an hour after I had gotten back home. I didn't think much of it at the time. I already had my first interview done, and my second interview the next day. Screw the rest.

I spent that night, and the entire next morning getting ready for my second interview. That shit had to be airtight. I wanted to walk out of that place with a job in my hands, and I made sure I would do everything to make that happen. Hours and hours of preparation went into making sure every aspect was covered.

Then the interview with the M&S general manager came. He told me I gave an excellent interview. I felt differently. Maybe this is my perfectionist side of sales technique speaking, but when I walked out I didn't feel as if I had done everything I absolutely could have done to sell myself. I was still too vague, too idealist, and not specific enough to tie my answers back to what I could offer him. To be fair, his questions were too general in themselves to allow me to get real in-depth anyway, but I knew I could have done more, and I loathed that feeling.

Richard the GM told me he'd get back to me by that evening or the next morning to let me know about his hiring decision, although he warned it might take as long as Monday. There were 4 or 5 other people who had interviewed that day, after all, and in the 24 hours since the Craigslist ad had been put up, they had received over 30 applications. Nobody had been offered a job straight up. I remained optimistic that they would hire me; there were no red flags and they had already said they were very interested. And only 6 people at most were interviewed, right?

Wrong. I didn't get a single call. I endured the weekend in agony, tortured over the "what if's" and "maybe's". I called my references and made sure they knew they might get a call. After talking to them on Sunday, they said they still hadn't been called. It seemed like hoping against hope. Nevertheless, I was patient.

Monday came and I had to know. I dressed up, went downtown, and asked to speak to Enrique, the first manager who had interviewed me. He was busy, so I had to wait a while.

At the host's station, I overheard the staff talking about some of the new hires. Some of them were straight up terrible. One apparently was lost throughout training, even into his second week, and had trouble pre-bussing his table. That's unacceptable in the restaurant business, especially at that level. It's like going into honors Multivariable Calculus at UT without knowing how to work a derivative. You just can't have that and expect to get anywhere.

I shared a story with them about one new hire I knew at Landry's who went through the same thing, and in the end it seemed like she had BSed her way through the interview. She was always lost and in the weeds, and one busy Friday night, it all caught up to her and she straight up walked out on us, with her 5 tables already in the weeds. It looked like this guy was doing the same thing. They agreed.

When Enrique finally showed up, he gave me the spill. Richard had already made his calls on Friday night and hired not two, but three people. Obviously, I wasn't one of them.

But why?

Heartbroken, I listened numbly as he said my interview was fantastic, my application was solid and I shouldn't change a thing about it. It just came down to the numbers, and although I was great, those 3 were better. "After all," he mentioned, "after we put up that Craigslist ad, we interviewed a total of 15 or 16 more people, not just you. "

Huh? What happened to 5 or 6?

"You applied at a bad time," he continued. "You were so high up in our consideration."

I shot the shit with him for a few more minutes, but I had heard enough. For the first time in my life, Craigslist had actually fucked me over royally. I couldn't believe it all came crashing down to this.

It was a long bike ride home. I kept cursing and kicking myself, and I couldn't keep my head straight. I was so mad and disappointed and insulted, all at once. I almost ran into a few cars because my thoughts were just all over the place.

I went to the only place that could give me consolation at that time: Chipotle. I ate my heart out and simmered there, letting myself come together again. An hour later, I finally left, very much more at peace, and of course, very much full.

The take-home message: I shouldn't let myself suffer because of an outcome that was largely outside of my control. I can't sweat the circumstances. I wish I could have given it my all, despite what others may have told me, but I know myself and I know what to do better next time. The puzzle pieces of life fall as they may, and sometimes they refuse to fit at one place so that others may come together later. My time will come. Now, I will get back to gearing up for finals, and after I'm done kicking ass there, I'll be back downtown, to take what's mine.

The Weirdest Party Ever

1 am on a Saturday night, now Sunday morning, and I'm trying to study for finals.

It's not going well.

The guys next door to me are throwing a loud party, and here in Quarters with the paper walls, I'm feeling the party. Sounds like they're banging on a table. Wtf? I'm cool with the guys who live there, so I kinda just want to let them have their fun. Whatever. Back to pretending to study.

2 am, and I haven't moved an inch. Fuck it, I'm going over to see what's up.

I walk in and it's like I've walked into a frat party. Empty beer cans and empty shot glasses are lying all around, and the floor is glistening wet. Loud music, and the table banging's still going. I run into my friend Alex, who's one of the guys who lives there. He's a big, built guy, but he's swaying like a boat in a storm, with a lowball glass full of rum hanging from his fingertips.

"What's up man, didn't know you drink! I thought you just studied!"

"Hell no man, not anymore!"

"Haha, I see your roommates have corrupted you well bro."

"For sure man, enjoy the party. I'm gonna step out for a second to let some people in. See ya in a bit."

Turns out the noise is called Thumper. Looks like a blast. I watch for a little bit to see how it's played, and figure what the hell, I'll come in in a few minutes. I walk over to the other side of the room to scope the place out real quick, and the next thing I know-

"COPS!!!!!"

This big, 6 foot tall drunk dude comes racing straight across the room, but slipped on some beer and went barreling right into my feet. I look down at him in confusion and some amusement. He scrambles on his hands and knees for a second, lunges for the iPod supplying the music, and pauses it.

"COPS!! EVERYONE, SHUT UP!!!"

The party is dead quiet. Nobody is moving, and some girls next to me have stopped in mid-grind with each other, their mouths open. You could have heard all the hearts in the room, beating like drums. Everyone's head is turned towards the door now.

Aaron, the only guy who lives there left at the party, tiptoes toward the door and peeps into the hole. He turned around and his eyes were wide open. He put his arms in the air, making a "keep it down" sign with his hands. Maybe if we keep it down for long enough, they'll believe we magically poofed away, I think.

The other people there seemed to agree with me, and after a few seconds they start whispering amongst each other. Aaron looks like he's in pain. He's doing the hand-waving thing again. Scattered shushes go around the room.

The longest 5 minutes of my life crawls by.

The cops knock every minute, each time getting louder and angrier-sounding. Aaron's still at the door, refusing to budge. Everyone's looking at each other with that "Aw, come on" look on their faces, occasionally casting nervous glances at the door. Some of these same people still have drinks in their hands.

Now that I think about it, I did meet some Aggies at that party.

I can't help but snicker a little bit. Great. Just my luck that I'd run into trouble with the law as soon as I ditch studying to go party. And just my luck that I'd come in right when Alex left. The sad, twisted irony. Fuck you, Karma.

Finally, the knocking subsides for a bit, and people start to ease up a little. Maybe they're gone.

Then, some more knocking.

By this time, people are like, "Just answer the door already! You're making it worse!" I couldn't blame Aaron for not wanting to. If it were me, I'd say "Fuck yall, there'll be hell to pay if I get screwed up the ass for having all this here." Nobody's going to tell him what to do though, he plays football and I bet nobody there could budge him if they tried.

Finally, he looks into the peephole and his shoulders slack. He opens the door, and everyone draws a collective breath.

It's Alex.

Apparently, the cops had finally left, and Alex had actually just seen him leave in his police car. But were there more of them, and were they going to come back?

The party slowly resumed itself, but it was on life support now. You could barely hear the music, Thumper was thumping no more, and worst of all, no dancing. A tense fear hinted in everyone's eyes. Every conversation was about the same thing. What just happened, and was it safe to stay?

I met the big guy who had careened into me, trying to turn off the music. His name was Hayden, and he had actually cut his hand on the TV stand when he slipped and fell. Everyone was giving him shit for flipping out. Poor fuck.

I chatted with some girls for a bit before I decided it was time for me to exit stage left. It was just too tense and the party vibes were dead anyway. But sure enough, Karma decided to come back for seconds, and right when I got to leave, there was knocking on the door again. Apparently the cops were back. I couldn't even leave to go over to my place next door. Gawd.

Ironically enough, history repeated itself. The knocking went away after 10 minutes, and came back soon after. Aaron opened the door, and this time Ben, the third guy who lives there, popped into the doorway. I didn't hang around for long after that.

It had been an hour since I had ditched homework, and I finally sank into my chair at home, very confused, relieved, and a little humbled. What a night.

The Shortest Blog I've Ever Written

One word: O-conomics. You heard it here first. Coming soon to a nation near you.

Halloweekend, with an iPhone Review

I decided to write this blog during a study break from my unspecified on-campus study spot. Hallo-Weekend is fully underway, and instead of watching the Longhorns losing to Texas Tech, I'm digging my way from being six feet under a homework burial. Boo.

Anyway, so I recently acquired an iPhone (first G, metal one) and unlocked it for T-Mobile. After eagerly wanting one for forever, I was super excited to finally see if idealism would stack up against reality. So without further ado, here is my Joe Somebody's review of the Apple iPhone, free of CNET's and Apple-maniac hype. Four pros, four cons. Warning: Long, but detailed, read.

PROS:
Multi-functionality: The main reason I wanted an iPhone was the same reason you'd buy a Swiss Army knife instead of a switchblade if you needed a knife. Phone, iPod, and I guess, micro-PC with Internet. For the most part, it has done that job wonderfully. I love how the iPhone gently fades out the music when you get a call in the middle of song-listening. There's a sudden "WTF just happened to the music?" moment, which is replaced quickly by an "Oh, someone's calling me" moment. After you hang up, the music fades back in. Beautiful.

For perspective, I used to have a 1G iPod touch, a cell phone, and sometimes a digital camera on me, all at once. Needless to say, I looked like Batman with a utility belt around my waist. With a wallet in my back pocket, all four of my pockets would be used up. Not a good feeling, especially when you're sitting down. I already had enough problems with a fat wallet bulging with cash money, and now this. Seriously though, changing devices was a nightmare. I missed calls all the time listening to my iPod, or wasted battery life on my iPod because I forgot to turn it off. On the flip side, I lost a lot of pic quality with the iPhone's camera since I had a Canon before, but luckily the iPhone cam is actually pretty good.

Interface: For the most part, it is idiot-proof. Everything is spaced out nicely, transitions are smooth, font is easy on the eyes. Love the conversation-style format for SMS. Also, the interface is consistent across most/all apps. The interface you use to pick songs is the same you use to decide which person to call. The ultimate kicker is that no phone's music player even comes close to an iPhone's. Wonder why?

Speakers: The speakers are actually both a pro and a con. The fact that they're there is great, but the quality and loudness could be a lot better, esp considering I use the iPhone to replace my alarm clock. (Unlimited alarms ftw! -I'm a DEEP sleeper)

Hackability: I'm just starting to scratch the surface, but the fact that the iPhone is so smart and yet so hackable is a definite plus. I've already did a few minor hacks, my favorite being the custom-created J logo I used to replace the Apple logo on startup. Sweet. I'll look more into the Winterboard world when I have the time.

CONS:
Battery Life: Sucks!! With the Swiss Army functionality, that would come to be expected, but sometimes it's bad enough to the point of frustration. Maybe I expect too much out of the iPhone, but I constantly find myself having to keep screen brightness at a minimum, turn Wi-Fi off whenever I'm not using it, and keep Auto-Fetch off. Even so, I have to fully charge the iPhone daily or walk around with a brick the next day. I'm still looking for 3PA's to optimize battery life, but so far no luck.

Recessed Headphone Jack: If it wasn't for the fact that I use other inputs besides a iPhone head/mic, this wouldn't be so much of a problem. Unfortunately, I do, so it is a problem. I have to squash the soft rubber surrounding my headphones into the jack to make it fit. Again, not so much of a problem because it stays there. Until I try plugging the iPhone into my wonderspeakers, the Logitech Z-2300. Hard rubber + Recessed jack do not equal a happy iPhone owner. Until I can find a 3.5 mm adapter, and then spend money to buy the adapter, I can't use my speakers.

Performance: The iPhone locks up or temporarily freezes. A LOT. Given that all phones do this, I should cut some slack, but it seems the iPhone does this much more often that its Apple logo should give it credit for. I'll press the home button while listening to music or running a 3PA, and sometimes it takes 10 seconds before it responds, during which I'm furiously wondering why it's taking so long. It's been at its worst while texting. Recently, the iPhone has lagged behind in processing what I type by entire sentences. I'm not a fast typer by any means, so this should not be happening. I wait and watch as the iPhone processes each individual letter that I typed, seconds ago. Not pretty.

Reception: I've heard from many iPhone 3G owners that the biggest difference is in reception because of the casing change. Apparently, aluminum partially inhibits signal from phones, while plastic is more signal-friendly. Maybe this is true, I wouldn't know. I've had a mixed experience. I have gotten signal in some places I've never had it in before (like the bathroom of Welch, Welch is a T-Mo deadzone btw). But 15% of the time I need to make a call, the iPhone says I have no service. This has happened a lot in places where it shouldn't, like in the middle of campus. I have to wait in frustration and hope for the signal availability to come back. This is where the lagging performance combines to make a double whammy. Along with battery life, this might be the biggest negative for me.

OVERALL:
The iPhone's main purpose is a Swiss Army device, and in the bigger picture, it does a great job at that. It is why I will keep using it for as long as I can. Unfortunately, small technical issues keep coming up at the worst times and become like splinters in your fingers, or an ant bite between your toes.

Whew, and only half an hour gone. Back to homework.

10 Hours?!?

So, I don't want to jump to any conclusions yet, but as I lie here in bed typing away on my iPhone, I'm starting to think I may have gotten over the flu in 10 hours! The pain and stiffness in my neck, legs and torso are gone, and it seems I've only go leftover DOMS in my back and biceps from my workout. My stomach isn't tight and empty anymore, and I don't feel nauseous at all.. My throat doesn't even hurt anymore, it just feels a little stuffy, but I haven't coughed at all yet. But that's all I have left. We'll see if I've really beaten this thing after breakfast.

The Battle Plan

Coming to grips with this whole flu thing isn't too bad, now that I think about it.

One, if I was to ever get the flu, this week might just have been the best week. I just finished my midterms hell week the past Thursday, and even though I'll lose some progress by staying in bed the next few days, at least this didn't happen at a less forgiving time, say, my next hell week, or Dead Week.

Two, I've been wanting to go to this epic Paul Van Dyk concert tomorrow night. Before, the only thing holding me back was my finances, and it wasn't doing a good job. Hopefully, if I wake up tomorrow morning completely destroyed, I'll have a good reason not to go.

I guess I was also getting tired of human contact anyway.

Seriously though, I'm not expecting a lot out of the next few days. Last year, I got over the flu in 36 hours. But those 36 hours were drawn out like a bad movie. I spent 32 of those hours in bed. I couldn't eat or drink, or even move. (This was also the first time I had the flu)

I just hope I don't lose a lot of weight like some of those crazy stories I've heard. I don't have much weight to lose.

Hopefully, if you're reading this right now and you're not an idiot, you'll go and get your damn flu shot right now. But if you're already in "PWND" mode, here's some super-dee-duper advice that I've gathered from across the Intarwebz:

-Just get rest. Resistance is futile.
-Vitamin C and water are your best friends. If you must eat, grab some fruit. Apparently, these help in the "detoxification" process.
-The vitamin C in food is actually significantly healthier for you than it is in pill form.
-I did not know this before, but the starving feeling you get when you can't eat anything (fasting, I guess) actually helps get the icky gooey meanie bully flu viruses out of your body faster. Fasting is a detox process. Who knew?
-Nyquil/Tylenol/Whatever resembles meds helps.
-Dairy is a big no-no.
-Caffeine reduces the body's ability to absorb vitamins. I did not know this either. It also dehydrates you much faster.
-Antibiotics are last resort only. They will weaken your immune system. They don't really work anyway.

Now that I think about it, it WOULD be my luck that I get the flu on the day I decide to start my daily workout routine. Awesome.

Someone please call the fire department, my foot's stuck in my mouth again.

I've been putting off updating this blog for the longest time. I don't really know why. All I can really say is, I never would have guessed the reason why I came back.

It started when my roommate Pawan started sniffling last Thursday. He was talking like someone had put a clothespin over his nose. Me being the asshole that I am, I thought it was fantastically hilarious at the time.

Too bad I forgot Karma is a two-headed bitch. If it had a best friend, its name would be Irony.

I guess the red flags really started popping up when he coughed a couple of times before he left for Houston on Saturday morning. How was I to know though? Dude smokes a pack and a half a day, what else am I supposed to think when he coughs?

At least emphysema isn't contagious.

Actually, I haven't been entirely honest. My roommate doesn't actually smoke a pack and a half a day. He smokes two. He doesn't smoke at all. Anybody who knows Pawan would be shocked if this was true.

Anyway, so shit really started to smell when I came back after the UT-OSU game. My throat felt really, really, sore. I overlooked it, since I yell so much at games that it's a given anyway.

But then it kept hurting the next morning. And when I went to sleep that night.

The next morning I was coughing. Not like, dry heave coughing, or that annoying raspy old man coughing, but like, little girl coughing. WTF?!? I never do that.

Then my friend Tiffany treated me to lunch at Kinsolving. Normally, I go crazy over Kin's All Ving, since they're the only legit on-campus place to eat, and I usually finish several plates' worth of food. I didn't even get seconds. My rosemary chicken thigh was thrown away, sad and half-eaten. I was racking up clues like Sherlock Holmes, but I hoped I was wrong, just this once.

By the time the periodic nausea set in tonight, it was too late. The all-over soreness, which I thought was just DOMS from a brutal back-and-bi workout the day before, became actual pain and stiffness. My stomach seized up after I tried taking my usual dose of creatine. I got nauseous at the sheer thought of even mixing a protein shake.

It can only mean one thing.

I think I might have the flu.

Back and Better Than Ever / Playing to Not Lose?

Back in UT and man, it feels like that first breath of fresh air you get after you've been underwater for too long. Not to rag on Houston too much because I do have positives to draw from there, but nothing compares to the feeling I get knowing I'm in Austin. The atmosphere is buzzing, there's always something going on, the parties are bumping, there's no family to hold you down, and there are friends on every corner. Even the air feels cleaner.

I'm living in an apartment now. I'm rooming with my friend Pawan, so the first thought on my mind every time I open the door and walk in is, "Man, this place smells like Indian." At least his mom makes damned fantastic curry.

The apartment is plush and loaded, but since we're splitting a one-bedroom pad, the catch is that room for furnishing is kind of, how do i say this, lacking. Our dining room, living room, and study room are all consolidated into one room, and right now we haven't quite moved everything out yet. So, past the curry smell and light switches that either don't work or are placed in places of nonsense, we have random boxes of stuff lying everywhere and it kinda smells like curry when you come in.

Curry jokes aside, all the sophomore pre-med stuff is getting set up pretty legit so far. I've all but locked up a volunteering gig at a medical center surgery center, it's only a matter of time before my fine dining job calls me in for an interview, and I'm finally getting started on the research path. Even my classes seem damned interesting. Except for that physics class. Someone please tell me why, at the University of Texas, the physics professor has to spend the first two days of class explaining dimensional analysis, scientific notation, and basic graphical analysis. Please. I almost fell out of my chair out of pure boredom. Or insult.

On a last note, I found this New York Times article on the psychology of losing, pretty interesting.

/////////////////////////////////////////

http://www.docsheadgames.com/2008/08/cerebral-matter_29.html

“There is a huge amount of social and psychological forces keeping people from quitting,” Ori Brafman said. He gave an example of an experiment by a Harvard professor who auctioned off a $20 bill. The catch was that while the winner got the $20, the bidder who came in second had to pay the amount of his bid, but got nothing in return.

The experiment was done repeatedly with a variety of participants, and most bidders dropped out at about $12, usually leaving two to fight it out, Mr. Brafman said.

“They didn’t want to be a sucker, paying $12 for nothing,” he said. The record? A bid of $204 for a $20 bill.

“Rather than thinking about winning, they’re playing not to lose,” he said…

… “It is as important to teach someone how to quit as staying committed,” he said. “Lots of times people just stop showing up, and that’s wrong.” Rather, he suggested, say something like “ ‘I tried to work it out, and this not a good match for me.’ Do it in a responsible manner.”

The truth is, it sometimes shows more courage to leave than to stay. (NYT)

Life with Landry's: A Public Service Announcement (Sponsored By Your Friendly Neighborhood Waiter)

It could be worse. At least you're not owing money.

No, it should be better.

Why is it turning out this way?

No, I deserve better.

Don't I?

These were the arguments and rebuttals that flew around in my head as I poked along down Westheimer, another long day at Landry's behind me. After all, I had good reason to debate. What did I have to show for 12 straight hours of grueling restaurant labor? 40-something bucks of tip money. I didn't even break 50.

All day long, I was starving for tables. I watched, with confused bewilderment, as other sections filled up left and right, and my co-workers "complaining" about being double or even triple-sat. Boo hoo. I would look at the one occupied table in my 3-table section, and wonder, what the hell was going on?

Meanwhile, I had nothing much else to do, so I tended to my tables like they were royalty. Same way I always do. And man, how the compliments flew.

"You're spoiling us."

"Flawless service."

"Everything is perfect."

"What was your name again? We're asking for YOU next time."

"Don't you dare let him go." (That one was to Mike the GM, and right in front of me)

Compliments sound great. I love hearing them. They help keep me going.

But here's the snag in the line: Compliments don't pay the bills. They don't build up your tuition savings. They can't fill up your gas tank. You can't take a "You're the best waiter I've ever had" and order a Double Meat Whataburger and medium Dr. Pepper with it. Come to think of it, you can't even wipe your butt with it.

So, instead, here's what I heard all day long:

"You're such a great server, and because we love you so much, we're going to tip you 10%. Hope that isn't too much."

End result: An insultingly small earning.

This isn't the first time I've had days like this. Rather, it's more of a recurring trend. Not just myself, but for others as well. For whatever reason, when it comes to tipping, so many people nowadays choose to hang on to their money the way mother bears hang on to their cubs. And waiters, for all the trouble they go to, to make customers happy and full, have to "suck it up". Even if they do get stiffed, they have to smile and somehow force out a "Thank you very much" between their teeth.

That isn't to say I haven't had people who saw the light and tipped me as generously as I served them. I've had many Guests tip me even better than I thought I deserved. But my fight is against the undyingly faithful 10-percent-er's (or lower!), the people who tip based on the discounted price when they bring in coupons, and people who lie and bitch and complain to intentionally knock things off the bill. People who stay (read: SUFFOCATE your section) for 4 hours and tip 10% for their time. And people who come in to order half the restaurant and then walk out on the check? You are the scum of the earth. I hope your souls burn forever in the seventh circle of hell, torched with the fury of a thousand suns.

I had no idea about this kind of stuff before I started waiting tables. And now, to say the least, I'm much more experienced and opinionated about the subject of tipping. I just wish it didn't have to come at the expense of my wallet.

So where does rant end, and "lesson learned" begin?

Here goes: Even though you go out to eat to have a good time, have fun with friends and family, or whatever, remember that your waiter is a person too. Even though he may have his own priorities for being there with you and the way you're treated, remember that he controls 99% of what goes on to make your experience the way it is, regardless of how much (or little) you tip him. Okay, maybe 99% is a slight exaggeration. But you know what I mean.

Waiting is a tough job. Sometimes, you feel like you're on top of the world. Other times, you have to pick yourself up and force a smile after you've been slapped in the face and knocked down to the ground.

The thing is, people who wait tables don't do what they do, to be met with the short end of the stick. For most, their entire livelihood rests on the number you put above the dotted line. They could care less about the way you treat them. They could be elsewhere, at more rewarding (or consistent) jobs, leaving you with the REAL cream of the crap. But instead, here they are, sacrificing their time, dignity, and sanity, braving bitchy managers, burning-hot plates, slippery floors, near-spills and revolving double doors, to make sure your only job is enjoying a worry-free meal. Bottom line: We take good care of you, you take good care of us. Simple. Everyone wins.

So, the next time you're out eating, and the person serving you food is doing a good job, let them know! Even if they're not doing so great, be a little understanding and encouraging. It'll help in more ways than one. Of course, if they slap you in the face and call you a ho, there might be just a little cause for concern...

And one thing above all: Tip well, if they deserve it. Even toilet paper costs money.

Houston: Where Nonsense Happens

I was driving back home from Landry's today, angry, frustrated and disappointed at myself. Mike the general manager had sent me back home again for being late. Again. This time, by 45 minutes. Ugh.

For me, getting places is definitely half the battle. I kick ass at work, but getting there on time is a different story. I think I might have been on time or early 5 times in the entire month I've been waiting tables. If CP time was a real disease, I should be hidden away in some hospital's terminal ward. If it were a crime, I'd probably be serving 13 life sentences. Call me a con. Or a cancer patient.

I couldn't get Mike's parting words out of my mind. They scurried, gnawed, splintered away in every recess of my thoughts. Like a rat.

Strangely, it wasn't that the threat of losing my job was bothering me. I had just heard another chorus of the same song I've been hearing my whole life. It felt like when you hear one of those crappy tracks they put out on the radio nowadays, and after the umpteenth synthesized repeat, you think, "Okay, this song's definitely gone on long enough," and you change the station.

Why?

How?

When?

Screeeeech. I was yanked out of my thoughts. I looked around, realizing I had ridden 10 feet past the crosswalk line of a red light.

Reversing and shaken, I wondered how, in my distraction, I was somehow able to realize the light had changed without even paying attention. Or how I had driven several blocks down an empty Westheimer in the same lane, perfectly straight. Maybe I've been in autopilot for too long.

I sat and stewed at the intersection. A few seconds later, a ray of sunshine hit me right in the eyes. Squinting, I reached up and flipped down the sun covers, and looked outside.

It was a beautiful day. White, happy clouds. Nice blue sky. A gentle breeze licked my cheek through the open window. A Frisbee and a buddy would have been perfect then.

Rain hit my arm.

Wait, rain?

A few seconds later, and my windshield was completely drenched. Wtf?

Somehow, for all of one wacky minute, it was raining like Rita all over again. Then it stopped completely, gone as quickly as it had come. In the middle of a perfectly normal day. It didn't make any sense at all.

I laughed.

Only in Houston.

Tired of Waiting, Gone Clubbing

Wow. I haven't written in here in nearly a week.

My ears hurt. They're still ringing and slightly numb from the speakers at the club. I actually just got back about an hour and change ago, around 4:30. Going clubbing alone was weird at first. And I definitely felt the cost more. I had to come in coupled with a girl I was waiting next to outside so we could both skip the 50-odd-person line, and having to tip the bouncer $20 was icing on the cake. Bad icing.

I spent some time just chilling at first and scoping out the venue, because I haven't been to Rich's in a while. Once I got started on the dance floor and the heavy house rhythms got pumping, though, everything got way better. Especially when they made the lights strobe-flash to the beats when they hit a crescendo. God, that stuff gets me so pumped up. But I think dancing is a lot better if you do it with your eyes closed, or at least a little. Distracting visuals disappear and you're swallowed in a sea of thumping bass and electronic melody. Then you just let your body carry to the rhythm. Great stuff. I kind of wish I had stayed longer.

Didn't get to see my 4th of July fireworks this year because of Landry's, but I got my lights and sounds show anyway. Sweet.

Life with Landry's: Stranger Danger

Ever been to a community or campus event, and a religion fanatic will try to convert you to Jesus Christ, or Scientology, or iSlam? Usually, by a person you don't even know?

It happens in restaurants too.

A lady at one of my tables today tried to convert me to Christianity. Foreally.

With a great big goofy smile on her face, she promised me stores of wealth and glory and fulfillment. Great. Just a few minutes beforehand, same woman was arguing fervently with me about something so nit-picky and stupid I won't even bother going into it. Well, the sermon was great stuff, but....after the first 5 minutes, I had to look for a way out. We don't hold Wednesday services at Landry's. There's no God in that place anyway. He gave up a while ago.

As I stood there, tenderly holding up a heavy stack of dirty plates and silverware, pretending to pay genuine attention to what she was saying, I could see a look of something close to amused pity slowly dawning on her husband's face. "She's from Mexico," was the only safe explanation he could give me. I shook my head. I didn't know who to feel more for, myself or this guy.

And with that, I ran my dishes back into Hell's kitchen.

Me N0 Can ReEd

I was heading to an Ultimate game tonight, up by where 610 and 290 cross, and I missed my turn. So I had to make a U-wey under two highways to get back. Lame.

Instead, I found something that totally made my week. I only wish I had my camera on me.

An eighteen-wheeler was stuck shut in the U-turn lane. In the worst possible way. It was almost completely overturned on its side. The truck and the cargo box were at a wild 90 degree angle, threatening to come apart. The driver was arguing with officers from the two squad cars parked there. Not 10 feet from them was a big sign that clearly said, "NO TRUCKS IN U-TURN." Lawl.

Could it get any better?

As I sat at the red light to make my U-wey the long way, another truck, a pickup, tried to round the same turn. It got to halfway through before the hick driver finally realized he was totally fucked. He tried to quietly reverse out of the lane with as little dignity lost as possible. Too bad a cop sneered over the megaphone: "Yeah, I guess you didn't see the big 18-wheeler in your way."

I almost died laughing.

Life with Landry's: Out of the Holding Tank, Into the Kitchen

The 2 weeks since I've last written in here has been a shitstorm. I could go into the grueling hours, endless mental juggling, and long nights I've spent working at Landry's.

But that's not what I thought about writing today.

Just something simple.

I was the closer tonight and had checked everyone out. As closer, naturally I would only be followed by the managers as the last person out the restaurant. So there I sat, waiting at the bar for Paul the manager to finish and unlock the doors to freedom. 11:00 dragged by. 11:15 inched its way onto the digital clock. 11:30...

Something caught my eye. The lobster tank, a fews days before occupied by only 3 lobsters, was now loaded with the grimy-colored shellfish. And jousting back and forth with useless rubber-banded claws were two fairly large lobsters, although the one that was kicking ass was clearly much larger than the other one.

Back and forth, they charged each other. The smaller guy was losing ground. He hesitated. The larger lobster saw his advantage and pressed it like an iron to a button-up shirt. Did I really just say that? I really need a day off. I've been working every day since training, even weekends.

Anyway, Junior gave way to Big Claw Bob, and the chase was on. Unable to push his opponent back, he scuttled backwards frantically, running over about 5 other smaller lobsters as he tried to escape Bob. The trampled lobsters lazily lifted their claws in half-hearted protest.

Meanwhile, I watched all this with some kind of sadistic primal fascination. It sure wasn't on par with anything on Discovery Channel, but whatever. It beat the hell out of standing around.

Junior's troubles were far from over. Big Claw Bob's buddy, Larry the Lobster, joined in the chase. Larry was in between Junior and Bob's size, but with Bob hot on his tracks, all Junior could do was try to avoid them both. I stared, mesmerized, as Bob cornered Junior from one side and Larry blocked an escape at Junior's right flank. Inevitability had sunk in.

Junior, realizing his pocket aces were no good against a full house, did a scuttling about-face and desperately tried to scale the glass wall of the holding tank that was his prison. Futile. Checkmate. Bob and Larry lobster-jumped Junior, pounding their rubber-banded claws on his grimy exoskeleton with the wild glee of a schoolyard bully. Every terrified move Junior made to try and escape screamed, "Help me! Someone, please! I don't want to be here! Let me out! Save me!"

"Time to go," said Paul.

Shaking myself away from the spectacle I had just witnessed, I let myself out of the restaurant and said good-bye to Paul for the night. It was 11:40.

As I walked to my Escape, I was gripped with a tickling thought: If Junior thought the world he lived in was hard and shitty, he had no idea what awaited him in the world outside the holding tank.

But I knew.

It was a world that had no pity for his clashes with Bob and Larry. First, he would be shown to a table of people for inspection and approval. Being the right type, he would be taken to the kitchen, confused and dazed. Then, just as he came to terms with his new environment, he would be flipped onto the back of his shell, then cut vertically with a knife from his tail to his mouth as his flippers flailed uselessly. His muzzled claws would be broken mercilessly with a sickening crunch. The rubber bands would be taken off, only for Junior to find his nerve endings controlling his claws were severed completely by the crack. If he was unlucky enough to still be alive by this point, his misery would find peace at the bottom of a pot of boiling water. Junior's tail, the only desirable part of him, would eventually be devoured by some hungry person, and the rest of his sad red carcass would be thrown away with the rest of the day's garbage.

I wondered, what kind of a holding tank was I in? And what kind of kitchen awaited me if things should somehow get worse?

I laughed and started playing "Learn to Fly" off my Foo Fighters CD. It had been a long day.

Life with Landry's: First Day

So, in the past few days, many things have happened.

Thursday, I went in and took my written final exam. It. Was. A. BEAST. It took me nearly 4 hours, 5 glasses of Dr. Pepper and Sprite/Lemonade, 2 garlic bread loaves, and 10 cracker packages to sit through it and finish it. It must have been at least 20 pages long. It took me so long to finish it that I couldn't do my server audit that same day, so I had to come back in on Friday (my first day) and take it. Good thing. My brain might have set off the fire alarm at that point. I hope I did all right though. If I didn't get at least a 90, I have to take that sucker all over again.

Friday, I came in for my first day of official waiting, although I had to get through my server dry audit first. Mike the GM was going to be auditing me, and was already at a table in the corner. No pressure. Or so I thought.

As I turned the corner, sitting next to Mike was - Surprise! - Paul the floor manager. "Oh great," I thought. "Any mistake Mike isn't going to catch, Paul is going to pick it up in a heartbeat. I better get on top of my shit." I mentally looked over the cheat sheets I had come prepared with and took a few deep breaths. And in I went.

Turns out, I knew my stuff, but I think I had placed too much importance on one audit and in my nervous tension, started leaving out stuff in my script. Like forgetting to pull in the condiments during my opening welcome, or mentioning that I would bring a salad with the entree, or taking the opportunity to suggestively sell (up-sell) during scripted pauses. And I'd always know what I did wrong, immediately after I left Mike and Paul for the server's station. I smoothed out my mistakes as best as I could, and I did hit a lot of positives, but the 75% of positives I ended up with weren't enough to pass. So I'd have to retake my audit the next day. Awesome.

But was I still going to be serving? Paul and Mike were really understanding and forgiving, and stationed me two tables for the night. Oh boy. I looked with envy at the "normal" stations with 4 or 5 tables in the nice areas. Oh well, it's all I had to work with on my first day.

A few hours later, I was kind of glad they did only station me two tables. I worked one table first, and I had a few nit-picky mistakes again with them, the same kind I had with Mike and Paul. Gotta remember that for next time, I kept thinking. I got it right with the next table, but then my first table left and within seconds a new table was sat. So I had two tables sat within 10 minutes and suddenly I was in a slight "shook" mode. I was running things back and forth, within 10 minutes of each other, and I was consolidating tasks wherever possible. But it got kind of crazy at some points where I would be finished tending to a table and so I'd pause to chill, thinking I was safe for a moment, but then remember, Oh great, I forgot to grab that other table another glass of wine and some more dressing. And then I'd have to run back out.

By the end of the night, I had waited 4 tables and made almost $40 in raw tippage. But everything stopped with this one jerkwad Middle Eastern guy and his way un-hot date. I'll just say she was one of the largest catches I've ever seen. If I had to reference anything, it'd be like Captain Ahab pulling in to dock with Moby Dick. But the way the guy carried himself, you'd have thought he was a high roller. Just the opposite. Coming in acting like he was the shit, he and his date ordered two sodas and two entrees. No drinky-drinks, appetizers, specials, add-ons, desserts, or anything else. And they sat there, chatting away for a whole hour past the time I closed their check, for a grand total of two and a half hours, and left ten minutes before closing time. I tended to their every need and more, the entire time. The tip on a $50 bill and more than 2 hours of agonized waiting? A Lincoln. Asshole.

Besides that, my other tables were really nice and had tipped me pretty well. My first table gave me more than 20%, despite my slight mistakes. I averaged about 18% my other 3 tables, but Asshole went and single-handedly destroyed the average. And left me more than an hour behind on my sidework. Thanks to him, I was supposed to leave around 11:30, but couldn't even finish until after 1 AM. If he ended up laying out Moby Dick in bed that night, I hope her sheer fattage crushed his frugal little Middle Eastern balls.

I worked tonight (which went fantastically better) and I'll be working tomorrow night, but it's 3:30 in the morning so I'll leave my stories for another day. Sidework is poop.

Life with Landry's: A Small Hurricane

Whew! It's been exactly one week since I last made contact here. And what a week it's been.

To be completely honest, my life for the past 7 days has consisted of jumbo-sized work, boiled in the shell and garnished liberally with boot camp, served on top of a heaping bed of crushed studying, then accompanied with small sides of fresh eating and sleeping. I might have also forgotten parsley.

Training-wise, the last 4 days boiled down essentially to shadowing fools around the restaurant, mostly JW. I did help put finishing touches on food and do other grunt work with Mama Rosa y el kitchen (aka Cafe Mexico). But for the most part, I got eased into the whole waiting bit until yesterday, when I basically waited my own 3 tables with Charlton as my safety net. Him and JW are two pretty awesome dudes. They've bailed me out a lot with all the leaks my boat of waiting skills kept springing.

The best part is when my customers "get it" early on and throw me extra hard curveballs. Or the occasional gyro. Like my first-ever table, which had 4 Landry's corporate VIPs, no less, who told me (very jokingly) they were going to be "really tough" on me, then proceeded to order a bevy of ridiculously specific dishes. Ha ha, very funny.

Anyway, they told me at the start that it'd be a lot to learn, and I was expecting a lot, but what I got wasn't a lot. It wasn't even a flood. It was a small hurricane.

Beef and fowl. Flavorings, cuts, and preparations of fresh fish. Sanitation protocol. Appetizers, hot and cold. Beers and wines and mixed drinks to no end. Corny acronyms up to my ears. And my personal favorite, Professional Service Standards. That's our script we have to follow with Guests. (Yes, that's Guests with a capital G)

And it's all in preparation for a 2-4 hour-long beast of a final exam, encompassing every area from my brick of a training manual and the 32 pages of menu items to meticulously memorize. Which is then followed by a private, dry audit with none other than Mike the general manager. Nothing less than an A on both obstacle courses tomorrow will get me the job.

Thanks to Hurricane Landry's, my room, which I spent a whole day mercilessly cleaning when I moved back in, is now a pigsty again. My table, which before only featured a lone desklamp, has also disappeared into oblivion, forgotten under a heavily blackened markerboard and a wrinkled blanket of note packets and menu item descriptions. Plus, I haven't showered in days.

Just kidding. About that last sentence, anyway.

I wish I was kidding that I've also had to sedate and cage my inner gym rat for the past eternity. My chest, shoulder and tricep group nags constantly, refusing to let me forget the neglect. My body begs for weights and basketball. And my fingers are starting to forget the feel of molded plastic. I thought muscles only got sore when they were building. Apparently, mine get sore from not being used, too.

And the worst part? "Trainee's tab" doesn't exist. Not anymore. There was actually a pretty funny mix-up involving me trying to convince another manager that it really did exist. It didn't end too well.

The strangest part of all this, though?

I like it.

Deep down, at the end of the day, the jumbled ingredients of a thousand dishes ringing in my ear as I collapse into bed, I smirk a little. Just a little. Here I am, in the eye of a small hurricane, doing something I used to know nothing about, in an industry I've never worked in, at a job I thought I could never do. The adrenaline rush of keeping up with a packed house, the wafting aromas of the kitchen, the rudely inappropriate jokes we crack on each other to keep ourselves sane, it's all starting to get kind of addictive. Even the lame robot/jerk customers who sometimes wind up in my section. Actually, no, not them. I don't even know why I included them in there.

But yeah, I think I'm gonna be alright.

Life with Landry's: Part One

I've decided to record the numerous escapades and misadventures I'm bound to have slaving away at Landry's into a blog mini-series.

For the past two days up until today, it was just boring stuff. Sign these forms. Give us these ID's. This is what you will wear. This is your server's Bible. This is how to welcome people. This is how to answer the phone. (We have to say "I can help you!" instead of "How can I help you?" when we do this. It's supposedly to make us appear assertive and make the customer feel comforted knowing someone knows what they're doing. But it's actually pretty ridiculous. I had to brush my tongue several times that night.) This is how you mix drinks. This is how we seat people. This is how you spit in customer's food. That kind of thing.

Anyway, today exploded into exciting mode. I followed JW around the restaurant as he waited tables. Everything is so tedious yet so awesome at the same time. Working the touch screen order machine, filling drinks, bringing food, regurgitating the menu, cleaning up, et cetera. Fortunately, thinking smartass wisecracks about the customers helped keep me sane. Like the time this one table couldn't decide what dessert they wanted, so after an eternity of waiting I said half-sarcastically, "Maybe you should just order them all and ask questions later." They loved it. I think I'm going to be alright at this waiter thing.

It also kind of helped that JW is kind of a badass. I was half-expecting a lame robot waiter who would recite what I'd already been learning: "This is how you do this. This is how you do that." Lucky for me, he made the whole experience pretty fun with jokes and harassing other waiters. Like the time we were going through the points system, and I asked what would happen if you cussed at a manager, since cussing in general got you docked points. J-Dub immediately flagged down Paul the floor manager.

JW: "Hey Paul. Come here."
Paul: "What? What is it?"
JW: (smiling)"Fuck you."
Paul: "Sorry, you're not my type."

So I plan on doing a lot of cussing. And smiling. But at the same time.

The best part, though, wasn't until I found out about "trainee's tab."(my word.) I get whatever I want, whenever I want, free! It's gotta be below $12.99, of course, but it's free! Not even the 50% Employee Discount. It's free! Gotta love that F word.

Once I heard about this policy from heaven, I then proceeded to order, and subsequently destroy, a fully-loaded Po-Boy dish, complete with fries and onion rings. The thing was the size of my thigh! I helped myself to three glasses of iced mouthgasm - I mean, Dr. Pepper. A small child may have also gotten in the way between my food and my mouth. I'm not sure. I was pretty hungry at the time. In any case, nothing but a few crumbs were left in the aftermath of the Po-Boy Massacre. And there I sat, satiated like a tiger that has just enjoyed its first kill.

Today was a much better experience than almost getting thrown into prison yesterday when I went to West Oaks. I hope it only gets better from here. If it does, I don't think this summer is going to be so bad after all.

The Other Side

For some reason I can't sleep tonight, but I'm sure I know why.

Living life recently kind of feels like watching a movie. I hate it when there are so many conflicting voices of my brain telling me different things, kind of like a bratty audience that won't shut up and let me enjoy. Makes me sound kinda psycho, but usually I'll act on one of the random thoughts and it feels like I'm just passively watching it happen. Then my mind will go, "Did I really just do that? Is that really what you wanted to do?" Past, present, future, too often I wish I could just get all the thoughts out of my head and just be.

Reminds me of the feeling I get in Ultimate when I lay out for a disc, in perfect form. My only goal flying in front of me through space. I zero in on that and nothing else; without thinking, I explode every ounce of my being through the air, towards clutching plastic. No regrets about past mistakes, no agonizing over future decisions. No heartache or worry. The three tenses and all other forces of the world become erased from existence altogether.

For one single, wonderful, glorious moment, it's just me and what I want.

And then you have to come back down to earth and play the game.

Is it possible to be too aware of a situation? Too analytical, too calculating, too obsessive over the dynamics of what's happening, as it's happening? To the point where your understanding and desire to control disrupts a perfectly natural process? Politics, science, economics, art, love? Wouldn't it be interesting if we could all just exist in one singularity, flow through one frame of mind and time? Manipulation and greedy desire begone. Maybe it would make people more honest.

I wonder what it's like on the other side. Ignorance is bliss? Would that make cognition and awareness equal pain and suffering? If knowledge is power, and power corrupts, then knowledge is corruption? Lame syllogism, but it's something to turn over.

You know...this would be hilariously funny to talk about if I were high.

Summer Cleaning

After an eventful Saturday yesterday, I'm doomed to spend the last truly free day of my summer cleaning up the dumpster that is my house. I'm writing this as I finish up the last of my one-hour break.

Can't wait for Landry's orientation tomorrow.

It was that good.

There's an interesting article out recently about Barack and Michelle on "Good Morning America". Barack had this to say to GOP ads targetting his wife: "Lay off my wife. "

One of the interesting commenters had this to say on the subject:

"I urge all of you to consider the possibility that we could actually change how politics are practiced in this country - that perhaps Obama is right and spouses shouldn't be attacked as political fodder but that instead we could and should focus on the issues facing this country. Issues that are enormous, with a profound impact on our future - and that of our children and grandchildren.I don't want to see any spouse dragged through the mud - it's got nothing to do with solving our problems and adds to the negative feel so many have about politics. Just because it's been done that way before doesn't mean we have to continue - this is the United States of America, after all, the country pioneered so much that is good in this world and has always been at it's best when reaching for what is higher and better!We can and must continue to demand better not worse - and this is why I agree with Obama and don't want to see attacks on any of the spouses (Bill, Cindy or Michelle). I hope many of you will consider this possibility - and recognize that we, as consumers and voters, can make a difference.Obama is raising the bar - and challenging all of us to do the same. I'm ready...........and hope you'll join us. "

To add extra spice, the commenter's name was "brighterworld".


Here was my response:

"brighterworld, I understand where you're coming from....but was the crack that good?

"pioneered so much that is good in this world"..."has always been at it's[sic] best when reaching what is higher and better"..."I don't want to see any spouse dragged through the mud." Would you listen to yourself for a second? You sound like you just came out of a PG-rated movie. Welcome to the United States in the 21st friggin' century.

While it's true that dragging unidentified spouses through the mud won't address any of our problems in North Korea, Iran, or anywhere else, the fact is that she opened her mouth and she should be held responsible for what she said. Like it or not, this is politics. If she can't handle the heat, she should get back into the kitchen. You make it sound as if right-wingers have only been focused all this time on attacking poor, helpless wives dressed in sheepskin. Wrong.

Whether or not Michelle is Obama's wife is irrelevant now. Where she could have had her privacy and immunity, she decided to step into the limelight, become her own political being and make her own political attacks on others. Not to mention her entire anti-American history. You should look into it sometime. And when she gets her own criticism in return, is it fair for her husband to step in and say, "No, you can't attack her, leave her out of this" just because she can't handle what she should have expected? Or is it all because she's black and any kind of criticism against her gets the "helpless against racism" card?

Even more importantly, when Obama gets this kind of criticism from foreign states, will he play the "Don't attack me, I'm not a part of this" card? Michelle and Barack need to take responsibility for themselves if Barack intends to have any kind of credibility in this race. If he can't be held responsible for his campaign in the picture of Washington politics, how will he fare as President, dealing with foreign nations?

As for you, find a better name. "Brighterworld" doesn't make you any more right than the rest of us.

Next batter up."

On Barack Obama

Read an interesting comment today on the Washington Post blog of the 75,000-person crowd Obama drew yesterday in Oregon. It basically sums up my entire view of his campaign.

Obama will help me find a job.
Obama will feed my family.
Obama will bring change.
Obama will bring hope.
Obama will lead me out of the darkness.
Obama will pay my rent.

How? Well he really doesnt say how he will do it but I believe him because he looks like a very nice man. He speaks well. Also he smiled at me and shook my hand at a rally. That's good enough for me.

Summer Limbo

It's only my second day back in Houston and I already feel it. The vacuum. The strangling, suffocating, relentless feeling of "Blah...I really don't feel like doing anything right now." It envelops me like an ominous cloud, a cloud of Houston smog, to be exact, spinning faster and faster, growing larger and to more gargantuan proportions of sloth. Clawing its way through the very essence of my being, threatening to devour me and all exciting, reckless things I stand for. Whispering, like a Siren, temptingly in my ear, that an afternoon spent in bed might not be so bad after all.

Maybe it is something in the air.

In any case, the entire situation bothers me. Summer is suddenly here, but it doesn't feel like it. It feels like only yesterday that I was scrambling around my room, frantically throwing everything I could into a luggage case. Only two days ago that I was sleeping in the study lounge with friends, preparing for finals. Only a week ago that I first stepped foot into my Jester dorm. And only two weeks ago that I crossed the stage at graduation. If summer is really here, it should have sent me a memo.

In any case, there's a house to be cleaned, forms to be filled, luggage to be unpacked, jobs to go get, and a mountain of other things to do that seems so tempting to ignore right now. Is this what a vacation feels like? I can't believe I'm saying this, but if that's the case, I can't wait to get back to work.


I feel like not.

My Fortune Faded

6 AM. I spring awake to Lil Jon screaming "Let's Go" as if I had been shocked with a defibrillator. It was time to get back on track for studying Genetics. My final is at 2 PM today (so 2.5 hours from now), and after going to bed at 3 AM my plan was to get as much studying as I could in from then on until the final.

No problem now. I was wide awake. Time to get working.

9 AM. I'm still lying in bed. Huh?! 9 AM??? Where did the time go?

"Oh, FUCK ME," I groan. Face held in my hands, I realized I only had 5 more hours to study instead of 8. My time had been cut almost in half. I was going to fail Genetics now, for sure. I spent a while cursing myself and wondering why couldn't I just get up and stay up like I was supposed to. Why did I have to cut my sleep time short? Why did I cut my study time in half? If I had just gotten up, I would have had a chance.

But then, it hit me. Did I really have that much of a chance? Would 3 more hours really have helped me that much more?

I already knew the answer. I had a snowball's chance in hell that anything at this point would have made any substantial difference.

The truth was, it wasn't my oversleeping 3 hours that brought about all this. It's been my approach and execution of what I did every day of my life this semester, up to this moment. At the beginning of the semester, I thought fall semester had taught me my lesson. I had everything planned out. Yet here I am now, remembering so many wasted days and nights, so many counterproductive hours doing stupid things for no reason whatsoever. So many times I turned down offers to even go out and party, and in the end wasted the night doing nothing. I could have executed studying for Genetics. I could have executed hanging out with friends. Instead, I haven't learned a thing.

Bruce Lee once said, "To spend time is to pass it in a specified manner. To waste time is to expend it thoughtlessly or carelessly. We all have time to spend or waste, and it is our decision what to do with it. But once passed, it is gone forever."

The sum total of your life and its quality amounts to the sum total of all the decisions you have ever made. Over the course of the semester, I decided to put things off. I got nothing. And it's not until now, at the end of the semester, that I realize how small of a total I've built up. I have repeatedly made the choice to compact all my stresses more and more into one apocalyptic time period, to try to make up for that total. While I made the conscious choice "No, I'll just do it later," the real decision I made unconsciously was "Yes, I want pain. I want suffering. I want to fail." I refused to listen to the real message. I have sealed my fate. I have chosen to fail, and I will fail.

A professor of mine also once said to me, "There is no magic to how people succeed. It's only that you do what you set out to do. Give a successful person an hour, and at the end of the hour, the successful person will have something to show you for what they did. An unsuccessful person will take that hour, and at the end have nothing to show for it. Which type of person are you?"

So, it's really no longer that I will fail. Regardless of whatever grade I end up with, the final result is, I have already failed. I failed to learn discipline. I failed to learn daily execution. I failed to build the skills and mindset that sticking with my classes would have taught me. I even failed to party my ass off as hard as I could, whenever I could. I failed to make this semester worthwhile. Over and over, and over again, I have failed where I could have succeeded.

So divine, hell of an elevator
All the while, my fortune faded.
Never mind the consequences of the crime this time,
My fortune's faded.

So, the past is done with. But what about the future? I wish I could say that I will no longer fail. Ease the pain and reassure myself that next semester will be better. After all, I've learned my lesson, right? But right now, what control do I really have over that? Worrying myself and creating anxiety over a future I can't control is suffering. And I've done enough of that.

I like an Albert Einstein quote that reads, "I never worry about the future. It always comes soon enough."

So sure, somewhere in the near future, I plan to straighten myself out, but the truth is that the future comes when it comes. It doesn't matter at all how you plan to do something in the future. Doesn't that sound ridiculous?

But it's true. The fact is, regardless of how much I plan to do something, I haven't done it yet, so I'm still the same person. Only the present matters. That's what Einstein realized, and that's what I have failed to make a part of my life.

The past is dead. The future is unborn. Only the living moment matters.

So, as I try my best to quiet the pit of snakes in my stomach (the butterflies are long gone), all I can do for now is forget the exam is 2 hours away, and my life at present is all about spending each second slowing the bleeding from a wound I've kept open all semester.

I am who I choose to be.

Happy Mother's Day.

I was just sifting through a few sports pages and thought these were pretty interesting, on the topic of mothers and family.

http://sports.espn.go.com/nba/news/story?page=Andersen-080511

An incredible story about Chris Andersen and his mom raising him from backwoods Texas. Apparently, despite her bending over backwards to raise him out of destitution, he rejected her as soon as he entered the NBA, leaving her only with empty promises. Pretty sad.

http://sports.espn.go.com/broadband/video/videopage?videoId=3387106&categoryId=2459788

I was not a CP3 fan until I watched this video. I had respect for his fantasy stats, but this changed my mind. His grandpa is murdered the day after he signs with Wake Forest, and the next game he scores 61 points, one for each year his grandpa lived. The intentionally missed foul shot at the end is touching too.

I am

Unshakeable.

Unbreakable.

Untouchable.


Some words of strength I can use for the next few days.

I'm Dead

...Days. FINALS SUCK. And I have four of them. Gross.

Went to a Dulles prom this past weekend. Hate to admit it, but I had a blast. It was much better overall than my own Westside prom last year, but not really because of what they did do. It was more of what they didn't do that made it so much fun. Like not having Deans filter through the dance mass with oversized Fun Police flashlights, separating people who were dancing too close. Or not having the dance floor lights on blaringly bright. Or not hiring DJs who played crap rap-hop beats that even I didn't know. Or not hiring Brazilian strippers that gave us free on-site services.

Just kidding.

But point being, there's just a fine line of people's bullshit I can take before even I have to say "Enough already!", and sadly, Westside's prom started off a mile past that line. Seriously, I think the Westside folks just sat down one day at a meeting and said to themselves, "Okay, what can we possibly do to make prom as much of a disappointment as possible? We're way short of meeting our 'SUCK' quota."

Not to mention that crazy-unnecessary little side adventure I had to take with Chino and Yolanda before we got there.

But luckily for me, Dulles' prom was actually....normal. Good location. Good food. Organization. No fights. Good people. Good mix of music. They even had techno. Except for the times where they messed up and played Avril/Fergie songs. But it was all a great vibe. Plus, there was the fact that nobody there knew me. I therefore took the opportunity to go as uninhibitedly wild as I could.

I recklessly broke into the black people's Soulja Boy ring to show them how UT boys crank it.

I waltzed with my date to a freaky song. (To be fair, I had to be creative because grinding was a big no-no with her.)

I started my own dance circle and Crip-walked like nobody's business.

And I absolutely, positively FLIPPED OUT when Sandstorm came on.

I also snuck away for a few minutes to dance with this smoking hot Hispanic chick in the middle of a grind song, but that's another story.

I mean, if I'm going to spend $100+ on a tux rental, $33 on bus tickets, $20 on dinner, AND miss out on the half dozen drinky-freaky parties I was invited to that weekend, I gotta make it worth it. As an afterthought, I suppose agreeing to prom a year in advance and missing half the prom events because my bus rolled into Houston late also factors in there somewhat.

The company I was with wasn't bad, either. My date told me they were anime geeks, so I went in figuring they'd be kinda lame and I'd awkward my way through the night somehow, but they ended up being kinda cool. Even "pedo-bait." Except for the one other guy in our prom pool. I'll give him credit because he had a snazzy cosplay tux (even though my white-black inverted tux was way better), but dude needed to man up in the worst way. Like, going to the girls' bathroom with the rest of the girls, kind of worst way. I kinda felt bad for his date, because she was pretty cute and looked like she wanted to dance a lot more than she actually did.

But, overall, the dance, dinner and after-party were pretty good. The last two were by no means wild, but at least they all didn't suck like last year. And I haven't seen Lion King in a while. All in all, one of the best non-alcoholic ways I could have ended my school year before the Dead Days grind.

Had a Bad Day, Taking One Down...

Shit day. Shit shit shit. Gay gay gay.

Weekend consumed by studying. ID lost. Shitty Chemistry exam. iPod stolen.

That was the third MP3 player I've lost.

Spent most of tonight fuming about my iPod and exam grade, and basking in angry metal ambience. I guess things overall could be going much worse, but that's no excuse for the way things have been going.

Is that selfish thinking? Can you really be happy with any failures or shortcomings in your life, just as long as you're not a unnamed teenager in Sub-Saharan Africa dying of AIDS? I don't think so. You can't constantly compare yourself to the people who have stations in life below yours. That's why I'm not convinced whenever somebody gives that familiar sermon. Where does your perspective go to if you're always looking over your shoulder? On the flip side, you'll never be happy if you compare yourself to people above and out of your league. The only person you can justify yourself against is you. Man, I'm on fire with these cliches.

In any case, things could be better, could be worse. But they suck something fierce right now and that's life. I guess the key is to suck it up and spit it back out the next time life hands you lemons. Like Mr. Chamillionaire says, this is going to be one rocky road.

Enough Philosophy - Here's Real Life For a Change

What a weird world we live in.

Two girls, one cup. Enough said there.

But that's not all, folks. Porky can stay backstage for a little longer.

I actually laughed at my worries about grades and making it into med school for a second when I read this article. I guess when and if all my goals in life are shattered like Britney Spears' PR, I can devote all my money from the sperm bank to buying HGH and working a club door in Vegas. I don't think Sin City club owners test like George Mitchell does.

I'm glad the Patriots didn't win the Super Bowl, even more so than before. Turns out, after further investigation, that they might have been taping other teams ever since Belichick became head coach. Assuming it's true, of course, it makes them no better than Barry Bonds or Marion Jones. Asterisk, anyone?

This is just gross. The guy in the article should meet Marco Fiorito. I think they might have some common interests to work out.

In other news, Hillary and Barack debated at campus today. I missed the showing because I was at the gym, but hopefully I'll catch a rerun of it online somewhere. The parts of it I caught online, however, kinda worried me. Although I haven't been keeping up with every detail of the race, it seems like it has taken a turn for the worse. Hillary's looking like a desperate critic, instead of showing with evidence how her policies will be more effective than Obama's. The smug grin on her face doesn't help her case much, either. It looked like much of her focus was on the small unimportant issues at hand, such as the who-what-where of Barack's speeches, and attacking Obama the way she did will lower her image, ironically.

But on that note, I don't trust Obama, either. Dude just gives me a bad feeling when I listen to him and read about him. Call me a cynic, call me a conservative old-fashioned Republican McCain supporter, whatever. Most of his arguments and statements seem to appeal to emotion rather than logic, and sound way too idealistic to work for a country as complicated and messed-up as us. (See previous references if you don't know what I mean) He's barely had a run as senator, yet he promises to change -and we're assuming for the better here - pretty much every aspect of this country. I mean, socialism is a change too, if you want to think about it.

All you hear from his campaign is, hope and change, hope and change, hope and change. Sounds like stuff you would want to happen, but ultimately won't. It's like spam. That's it. Barack Obama is the political equivalent of a spambot. Good god, I sound like such a cynical pessimist right now.

References and analogies aside, I also highly disagree with his standing on foreign policy. I do agree with what he thinks is wrong with the world, but he seems to base his entire arguments on the assumption that he can just nice his way through everything. Maybe he got it from this article. In any case, the world is not a safe place and never has been. Sure, we can take our troops out (which would be a huge waste of the past few years), but what will we do if the enemies of the U.S. come after us? How would Obama handle that? It would be ironic if his handling of the situation was even worse than Bush's.

And although essentially it has nothing to do with Obama, look at who he has for a wife. The woman says she is, for the first time, proud of her country. That's some good ole patriotic support when you need it. McCain, on the other hand....the dude spent 5 years being tortured daily for information, and the most he divulged was the names of the Green Bay Packers offensive line. Too bad Hill can't use that as her "experience."

It's going to be a very interesting election.

No Time Unless You Make It

I swear, I really wish sometimes that I could just drop out of college. Take right now for example. After this week, I have 5 exams and 4 quizzes in the following 2 weeks. Then in between that and my next barrage of paper torture, 3 weekends of tournaments. Uy.

Then I give myself a mental slap in the face.

Take this food for thought: Theoretically, you could while away your time every day, watching every minute-by-minute update of ESPN, reruns of old movies, and playing video games and such. But at the end of the day and after all the weeks and weeks of sitting around, what does it amount to? And who would care? Nobody cares about a life of mediocrity. I think that to run away from a challenge now, or ever, even, would be the ultimate bitch move.

After all, things could definitely be much worse.

I realized the full meaning of this lesson when I was riding the bus back from practice one day. An elderly man, homeless probably, with scraggly, wild hair carrying what seemed like his whole life on his back and years of hardship in the lines of his face, hobbled onto the bus, leaning on a old wooden cane like a third leg. He had no trouble finding a seat on a bus that was standing-room only a minute before. I imagined what life must have been like for this poor guy for the past few years. Instead of worrying about his next test or scholarship application, he'd probably been spending every day worrying about how to get his next meal, or if he'd have to spend another cold night laying on unforgivingly hard pavement. I thought, I don't know how this guy got to this point, but that doesn't matter. It was far too late to make any kind of change or improvement in his life. He looked 60 years old and was by himself, homeless and hopeless. And that's how he'd probably spend the rest of his days.

It seems kind of cruel to justify myself by saying, "I don't want to end up like that guy," but the fact remains that it's true. Every second you waste could lead you closer to that end. And although the case of the homeless guy on the bus seems a bit extreme, it serves as a good example. When you're off to face your next academic obstacle course, and you wonder why you weren't prepared, you can't say you didn't have the time. Because you had the time all along. Wishing for one more day, or even one more weekend wouldn't change anything. Even if you have a fully loaded schedule and are holding down a full-time job, you can make time. The President of the United States can negotiate a three-country peace treaty, meet with executive advisors to decide on changes to domestic policy, give a State of the Union address, and still ask his children how their day at school went at dinner. Unless you are willing to make time for what's truly important in making yourself better, you're just another slob on the couch. And that's the mental giant I'm trying to take down.

A Minute to Think

So this weekend, I thought I'd take the time to not go out and really consider what's important to me and what I don't need. More importantly, I've been thinking about what I've been doing wrong and what I need to start doing to get where I want to go. Luckily, at least now I know where I want to go.

But, none of this makes any difference unless I can prove it and get an A on the two exams I'm having this week. College is great. School sucks. (not really, but you know what I mean)

Last Night Before the First Day

So it's 1:33 in the morning right now and I start my spring semester at UT tomorrow. I'm kind of excited, kind of feeling unprepared. It's cool though. I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be.

The First Tidbit

Perfectionism is bad. Know why? Because it leads to writer's block. That's probably why it took me almost 15 minutes to come up with these first few sentences. Fifteen wasted minutes, watching a cursor blink on a blank screen. So much for being perfect. I love the little ironies of life.

I really wanted my first words on this blog to make a bold statement. I was wondering how I'd announce the start of this blog to the world. Maybe like, "Look out world, here comes Jeddy!" Not really. I was actually going to say why I decided to start this blog in the first place, or that the jerk who occupies my first pick for a blog address, jeddy.blogspot.com, posted once in 2004, and should clear it out so I can use it instead.

Then I had a pessimistic thought. Nobody's really going to care about my first entry. It's not like throngs of people have been waiting to act upon my every move and judge the quality of this entry. And in the grand scheme of things, the first post doesn't really matter so much. After all, it's not about how you choose to start something that's important. It's how you choose to finish it.