Hey folks, remember me? The guy with the website? I’m not really sure why I find it so hard to keep up to date, but the site really is living up to it’s name. (the futility part, not the misnomer “ProjectFertility” I heard the other day) Lately I’ve been doing a pretty good job atdestroying everything I come into contact with. Out of my somewhat lengthy 5+ yearstint at my job, I’ve never been so successful at spreading technical carnage throughoutthe organization. While some may argue that power outages, hurricanes, and tornadoesare beyond my sphere of influence, I’m convinced that somehow my unlucky streak hastapped into the forces of nature. And lest I forget to mention that this all startedhappening when I got the damn on-call pager. So far I’ve had the privilege of dealingwith connection pool deficiencies, network errors, broken SQL server replications,web farm idiosyncrasies, power losses, spontaneous server reboots, crashed clientcomputers, 404 errors, and worst of all, non-functioning coffee machines. Aside fromthe world crashing down around me, I’ve also been doing a lot of Paris Planning. Oneof the most important aspects to Paris Planning is Money Saving. Needless to say,finding a Sugar Momma may be more feasible than saving funds at this point. I’m justhoping that I can make it to vacation before I have to drop a grand on new tires.When I get my car out in all the rain we’ve been having, forget it. I may as wellbe driving on ice. I’ve never even thought it was possible to spin your tires shiftinginto second gear, let alone first. Looking back at all that burning rubber and smoke,I guess burnouts weren’t the best way to preserve the life of my tires. But hey, ifyou’re looking for a set of Potenza S-03 Pole Position slicks, I’ll have ‘em barefor you in under a month. I did have one small victory today though. As everyone knows,I have a theory for everything. Although often ridiculed, one of my theories … er… defenses is that the term “metrosexual” actually exists and definitely explainsaway some of my quirks. Thanks to Chris, I now have proofthat metrosexuals exist and although I don’t pass the test, I think I’m closeenough without going overboard. I guess David really did know what he was talkingabout when he informed me of my new social category a few weeks ago.

long time, no post; as usual … here’s what went down last Saturday …I went out looking for a video recommended by a friend. (I’ll get to that later, but mmm Amelie you just may trump Katie) On my way home I thought I saw a plane crash near my house. I went to investigate (think Michael Knight and Kit) and it turned out to be an antique air show at Wings Field. (Apparently dive-bombing pseudo Axis troops is fun on the weekends) I got to talking to this girl there who lives in my complex and out of nowhere she offered me a ride in an airplane. Felling all spontaneous after confirming some silly silly trip to Paris, I accept. A few minutes later I found myself in the cockpit of a Cessna taxi-ing towards the runway. Now the last time I was up in a small aircraft was when I was about 10 years old and flew over Niagara Falls in a helicopter. That pretty much dashed all my dreams of becoming a helicopter pilot. Me and sudden changes in altitude don’t mix very well. But I digress … we’re now on the runway and picking up speed. This sensation is all cool to me cause it feels like my car post red light. (first gear, 6000 rpm if I had to pinpoint it) Then the plane leaves the ground. Go figure. Right about that time I think to myself “maybe this isn’t such a good idea.” What if the engine fails? What if we run out of gas? What if the landing gear doesn’t work? What if we encounter hurricane force winds? What if we crash? I wonder if my company’s Blue Cross / Blue Shield health insurance covers me 1,000 in the air (hey, it doesn’t if I step across the border to Canada). These thoughts pass through my head and all I can think of is that no one took my name or info. They’d have to sift through my charred remains to identify my body and contact my family. Again, silly me thinks that mustering the courage to goto Paris by myself also gives me the right to hop in an airplane with a total stranger.Alas, (yes, I know I misused that word, but people do it in films all the time) … Alas, we didn’t crash. The landing was semi-traumatic though. I asked the pilot about his first solo landing and he replies “yeah, I was nervous as hell so I try to make them nice and smooth for passengers”. FYI: My landing was neither nice nor smooth. It was more like “oh shit, we’re going to hit the ground at 120 mph.” The whole situation was exasperated by the multitude of alarms and buzzers going off during the landing. (Me being the hero and survivor that I am was just about to take the controls … I’ve played Nintendo’s Top Gun enough times to land a Cessna let alone an F-14 on the deck of an aircraft carrier) All I want to know is who’s bright idea was it to spook the pilot whilst descending at 9.8 m/s with flashing lights and “Danger Will Robinson” type sounds. Thankfully we touched down (more than once … think bounce, bounce, bounce, land) in one complete hunk of aluminum.Will I ever fly again, you ask? Of course I have to fly to France. At least I have the solace that the f***ing terrorists are now targeting flights out of Canada and Mexico and not trans-atlantic. (In case you didn’t catch the sarcasm, I’m pissed off at anyone that dare jeopardize my life) I’m just wondering how stepping on that plane will compare to my trip to Boston last year … I literally watched Tom Brokaw inform the nation that the CIA had uncovered plans that terrorists were planning on blowing up rail lines from DC to Boston on the day I was traveling. (Thanks Tom, I assure you I didn’t spend a minute thinking about my immanent doom on that trip)So all’s well in love and air traffic control. Hopefully my upcoming trans-atlantic flight will go just as well.

Dear izzy and izzle,Please get off the end of words!Appreciate it,Comedy Centralha! fo shizzle my bizzle!

As stupid as he is,I really feel for this guy. In case you haven’t seen it, he’s the star of the JoeSchmo Reality TV show. The catch is that he thinks the whole Big Brother/SurvivorTV show he’s playing is real, but in reality he’s just an ignorant guy placed in ahouse of actors. This has to be the most evil show on TV, and it’s compounded by thefact that he’s terribly stupid. As my brother put it, he’s gotta be LD. I felt sorryfor him in the beginning cause it just isn’t fair being led into a situation whereyou have no idea that you’re the brunt of a huge joke, but now that the “actors” can’teven remember their character, you can’t help but realize that he’s dumb as a boxof rocks. It’s sad that the actors surpass even his stupidity when they can’t remembertheir roles. You’d think that if a show rested upon your ability to play the partof a character, you wouldn’t screw it up, but leave it to the chick who was supposedto be an only child to go on and on about her two brothers. And after the “underweartrade game” the old dude is lamenting over a pair of boxers that were supposed tobe his. dumb dumb dumb. This whole show is a train wreck that I just can’t stop watching.Aside from the mentally challenged cast, the show is an amazing parody. In Big Brotherthey remove your key from the memory wall, in Survivor they extinguish your torch,and in Joe Schmo, they toss a commemorative plate of your likeness into thefireplace. It really doesn’t get any better than that. Oh wait, it does … the actorwho has gained immunity from eviction for the week gets to wear the pimped out featherboa lined robe. Oh, and in survivor they have the endurance game where you have tokeep your hand on the totem pole, in Big Brother it’s who can last in the cage thelongest, but in Joe Schmo, they play “who can keep their hand on the naked hookerthe longest”. Ahh, it’s all too funny to watch.

So while we’re on the topic of Paris, I’d like to take the time to thank my one friend who knows exactly what this trip means to me. Actually she’s the only one who understands. I’d venture to say that she knows me better than anyone else, and really understands what I’m after. She knows exactly why I’m going and exactly what I’m looking to accomplish. Your enthusiasm encourages me :) Your understanding and ultimate approval makes me feel so much more secure in my decision. Thank you. cafes et vin here I come :)

Long time, no post. Things here have been really boring, all the while I’ve been occupied every waking minute of my days … I’ll explain in a bit.So I’ve finally done it. Yep, last Friday. For anyone that knows me, they know that I’ve been trying to muster the courage for a month now to book my trip to Paris. And I did. And now I can’t stop thinking about it. My feelings ebb and tide from “oh shit, I really am crazy going to a foreign country all by myself where the only foreign phrase I know is ‘may I go play in the toilet?’” (for the record that would be: est-ce que je peux jouer dans la toilette?) to utter excitement. Yeah, I’m excited about cafes, monuments, churches, and all that jazz, but mostly it’s the prospect of French Kissing a French Girl.In all seriousness, I am really looking forward to going. I’ve felt stagnant lately and I think I really need a journey of some sorts. An accomplishment. Or at the very least, something to add to my infamous “social resume”* I’m not even really sure where this yearning came from. I definitely know that it was a whim. I think I was watching the second-to-last episode of Dawson’s Creek on TiVo for the umpteenth time after finishing off my umpteenth beer when I came upon the idea. It’s that last scene where Joey’s waking through cobblestone streets and then the camera pans to find her standing in front of the Eiffel Tower. (and yes, they did a terrible superimpose job for that scene) Anyway, I had some random thought like “wow, that would be such an adventure to go to Paris by myself”, and look at me now … holding airline tickets for October 11-18th.*see, in my odd warped world I worry about fictitious “social resumes” and “first interviews”. I’m hoping that if I use professional jargon some of my business luck will spill over into my social life. And if you’re thinking “probably not until you quit using business jargon to describe social situations”, to you I say “to each his own”.