Were were just down on the Island in early January and already we miss the ocean and the surf. Not that we want to mix it up with the Spring Breakers, but we do miss it. Plus, all kinds of things like mold, elm, and ash are starting to bloom, giving us sneezing fits of allergies. Oh, and I suppose cleaning and repainting the house could have something to do with it - we didn't have dust bunnies under the bed, we had dust Lions & Tigers & Bears (oh my!). So we're almost ready for the realtor, with our nice beige colors and petunias.
Out thoughts privately turn to the restless sea, churning on South Padre.
At one time I wanted to be a commercial fisherman. I used to run lobster pots when I was a kid, up in Connecticut. They had a deal where if you were under 18 you could have up to 15 pots and not pay a permit. That doesn't sound like much - modern lobstermen run over 150 - but I made a small fortune off those 15 pots and we all got red from eating all that lobster (something to do with iodine?). I seined for bait, used the bait to catch larger fish, ate the flounder, and used the rest, fish heads and all, for lobster bait. My best haul was eight big lobsters in one pot, with the biggest being three and a half pounds. That's rare in Maine and unheard of in Connecticut, now.
Then after college my dad had invested in a grouper boat down in Florida. A grouper boat used long-lines or electric reels called "bandits." Some nasty folks had leased the Miss Texas from dad (a common arrangement) and had trashed it pretty bad, even throwing bably diapers in the bilge, so I showed up to help fix the boat up. I told my dad that I would be interested in running the boat on a percentage deal ... and he gave me one of those cold, eagle-eye, Yankee looks like I was completely out of my mind. Heck, I was safe, lucky, hard working, and a good waterman.
"Sam, great idea, but there aren't any more grouper or snapper," he said. "I only made money two out of the last six years. I'm selling the boat to some damn fool down in Honduras who uses handlines."
Pop went the dream. This conversation was about 1987. The days of big catches were simply over. The few success stories with recovering fish stocks, such as redfish (red drum) in Texas, were completely due to cutting off the commercial market and making it a recreational sport with slot limits. I guess my dad did the right thing. He pushed me to get a master's degree and even loaned me some money to do it.
So if you see me down at the Port Isabelle docks looking forlornly at a crappy, smelly old fishing boat, you'll know were I'm at. Those days, when fishing was an honorable and lucrative profession, are gone forever.
But hey, I can build a little "mullet boat" skiff and play all I want, which is exactly what I intend to do. I even have a big garage to cut up the plywoods and lay down the fiberglass. Like all good watermen, you don't use store-bought plans and you know exactly what you're doing. Design books? We don't need no stinkin' books for that. Lori says it's OK. Mandatory, even, maybe.
Monday, February 28, 2005
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
What I do for a livin'
First said, I am not a professional Internet guru or blogger, and I have no vested interests there. I'm an environmental consultant. I used to work at the Texas Air Control Board, which was renamed at least three times, and put in about 9 years there. I was at a conference in Houston when somebody offered me a contracting position and I think it took one beer and five minutes to call the wife. The guy was rather amazed when I came back for another drink ticket ten minutes later: "Yes, hire me on." Working for the State was getting like going to junior high school every day, although the stress had taken its toll.
Over the years I had done everything from wastewater, landfills, highway emissions, construction equipment, farm crap, shit systems, and policy, but this firm tended to gravitate towards marine port emissions. We have accounts in the larger US ports such as Houston, Beaumont, New York, Seattle, and Los Angeles, which all have real bad air quality problems.
What do I actually do these days? I use computers to estimate air pollution loads, such as how much stuff comes out of a ship's stack. You can see the smoke - that's called particulate matter. There are lot's of invisible gases, too, some toxic. Were talking about engines and boilers that can be 10,000 to 50,000 horsepower. I don't know if you've seen some of them leave South Padre Island but when they fire up their engines, they can smoke half the horizon up, especially the real old boats.
Time will tell if the Port of Brownsville ever becomes a truly international port.
Over the years I had done everything from wastewater, landfills, highway emissions, construction equipment, farm crap, shit systems, and policy, but this firm tended to gravitate towards marine port emissions. We have accounts in the larger US ports such as Houston, Beaumont, New York, Seattle, and Los Angeles, which all have real bad air quality problems.
What do I actually do these days? I use computers to estimate air pollution loads, such as how much stuff comes out of a ship's stack. You can see the smoke - that's called particulate matter. There are lot's of invisible gases, too, some toxic. Were talking about engines and boilers that can be 10,000 to 50,000 horsepower. I don't know if you've seen some of them leave South Padre Island but when they fire up their engines, they can smoke half the horizon up, especially the real old boats.
Time will tell if the Port of Brownsville ever becomes a truly international port.
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Spring Fever Already!
The last few days have been in the 80's, very nice. The birds are chirping, the butterflies are flying, and a few redbuds and pears are thinking about making buds. Yes, that was a robin over there, catching a real earthworm. Hopefully it won't be like the last few years in Austin, when nice weather was interrupted by killer freezes in late February and early March.
False spring is a dangerous time but also one of hope. So far, I've painted two thirds of the inside of the house and almost all the outside, in anticipation of selling this ole house and moving down to South Padre Island - where we've got a contract on a nice bungalow. I'm exhausted but it's a good, clean kind of tired. For those of you following this blog, which is perhaps counting on one hand, the outside color is Monarch "Colonial," a nice cream pukey yellow that realtors seem to like. I think it's an alternative to contractor's beige.
Lori has her pins out of her foot on Friday - screws, I should say. More surgery, and more crappy weather to follow. We sure wish we were already down on Padre and didn't have to do all this hospital and house boogie, but that's life, I guess.
I can't wait to see all the hummingbirds and butterflies when we finally move down there, though, even in the false Texas spring.
False spring is a dangerous time but also one of hope. So far, I've painted two thirds of the inside of the house and almost all the outside, in anticipation of selling this ole house and moving down to South Padre Island - where we've got a contract on a nice bungalow. I'm exhausted but it's a good, clean kind of tired. For those of you following this blog, which is perhaps counting on one hand, the outside color is Monarch "Colonial," a nice cream pukey yellow that realtors seem to like. I think it's an alternative to contractor's beige.
Lori has her pins out of her foot on Friday - screws, I should say. More surgery, and more crappy weather to follow. We sure wish we were already down on Padre and didn't have to do all this hospital and house boogie, but that's life, I guess.
I can't wait to see all the hummingbirds and butterflies when we finally move down there, though, even in the false Texas spring.
Thursday, February 10, 2005
Glad that Bad Moon Is History
I consulted the Farmer's Almanac you you know, things are going to get better now. Some terrible stuff happened on the 8th and 9th of February but between now and the 23rd, the next full moon, things will start improving real fast. Happens every year with all this Lenten thing, which is a very old, pagan celebration. The ash-marking thing at church is based on pre-Old Testament and Hindu lore. Some folks wore a hair shirt (hair?) and didn't eat meat for the 40 days of Lent, but if you expect me to wear an itchy shirt and stop stuff like drinking and smoking you're out of your damned skull. I've been fighting the flu and bronchitis and I think that'll go away too. Ever heard of Maitake mushroom vitamins? Must be doing something right...
The house is still a "go," after being challenged on some minor BS, only a minor heart attack. I hope nobody else got hurt with all the mental bad weather we've been having. Some kids stole my daughter's baby puppy and she found it today ... and you've never seen such a big smile on someone's face. My baby! Her baby! My baby and her baby! Lots of "oh baby" have been omitted. That dog was so happy he was doing the Eagle Rock, like walking on his back legs and trying to kiss everyone but falling down. Quite a sight. I really do think this puppy dog could do a good impersonation of Bill Clinton.
I'm no freak of the occult or anything, but things will improve until the 23rd of February and, well, hold on because the stars say that Spring Break starts then. Practical booger, aren't I? Enjoy the full moon then. Wish I was there on the beach right now. Cheers, y'all.
The house is still a "go," after being challenged on some minor BS, only a minor heart attack. I hope nobody else got hurt with all the mental bad weather we've been having. Some kids stole my daughter's baby puppy and she found it today ... and you've never seen such a big smile on someone's face. My baby! Her baby! My baby and her baby! Lots of "oh baby" have been omitted. That dog was so happy he was doing the Eagle Rock, like walking on his back legs and trying to kiss everyone but falling down. Quite a sight. I really do think this puppy dog could do a good impersonation of Bill Clinton.
I'm no freak of the occult or anything, but things will improve until the 23rd of February and, well, hold on because the stars say that Spring Break starts then. Practical booger, aren't I? Enjoy the full moon then. Wish I was there on the beach right now. Cheers, y'all.
Monday, February 07, 2005
Mr. Hairy Cane
The last thing I want down here is a Hairy Cane, especially when I'm just buying a new house. Yes, a hurricane, and no, I don't want one. Lori and I actually looked at many places on South Padre Island and we always wanted to be interior, not on the Gulf or bay. That's where the wave action is the worst. We were going to sign on one property that was right in line with a blow-out (land cut) zone and I'm glad it didn't work out. You can see from a map or an aerial picture where these blow-through areas are: there are no dunes in front of the beach and there is wetland channel behind on the bayside created by a former hurricane. We were smart this time, we went with a house constructed with massive pilings and was not in the hurricane blow-out or land cut.
Still, we're only about 4-5 feet above sea level and the water table (interesting factoid: many places on South Padre have a freshwater down there). So of the water raises 4-5 feet we're going to have some issues. I reckon my house couldn't take more than 70 MPH winds, a mere tropical storm, without losing some trim woods and so forth, until I can move in and beef her up good. Fortunately, the bottom story is all garage so flooding is not the bummer issue. The problem is the top story and how to keep it from blowing away. Fortunately, the climatology seems to spare South Texas from major hurricanes and we're counting on that.
I think it was 1967 when Beulah came to South Padre the last Category 4 storm down here. Carla was in 1961. That's it, although Celia (the most damaging ever in Texas) came home to north of Corpus Christi in 1970. That's over 35 years ago since we had anything big. Most hurricanes follow a track to the right towards Houston and Florida instead of to the left into the Rio Grande or the Laguna Madre [more typical for early season hurricanes in June and July, although these three big named storms all came in the Fall]. Some weather folks say South Padre is well nigh due for a Big Hairy Cane. I think not.
Noooo. We want those big hurricanes going to Florida to give us some nice fat waves, while we're surfing in the sun, like always. You just have to remember to be careful of the rip current, which can be quite intense. Flippers do help if you're crazy and into body-surfing, like myself. I've been stuck "in the washing machine" for up to 20 minutes before and beleive me, I come in to the beach to rest for a while. It is truly awesome, the power of the waves. We gladly will welcome any tropical storms below 40 MPH. You wait 12 hours and go, go, go.
Still, we're only about 4-5 feet above sea level and the water table (interesting factoid: many places on South Padre have a freshwater down there). So of the water raises 4-5 feet we're going to have some issues. I reckon my house couldn't take more than 70 MPH winds, a mere tropical storm, without losing some trim woods and so forth, until I can move in and beef her up good. Fortunately, the bottom story is all garage so flooding is not the bummer issue. The problem is the top story and how to keep it from blowing away. Fortunately, the climatology seems to spare South Texas from major hurricanes and we're counting on that.
I think it was 1967 when Beulah came to South Padre the last Category 4 storm down here. Carla was in 1961. That's it, although Celia (the most damaging ever in Texas) came home to north of Corpus Christi in 1970. That's over 35 years ago since we had anything big. Most hurricanes follow a track to the right towards Houston and Florida instead of to the left into the Rio Grande or the Laguna Madre [more typical for early season hurricanes in June and July, although these three big named storms all came in the Fall]. Some weather folks say South Padre is well nigh due for a Big Hairy Cane. I think not.
Noooo. We want those big hurricanes going to Florida to give us some nice fat waves, while we're surfing in the sun, like always. You just have to remember to be careful of the rip current, which can be quite intense. Flippers do help if you're crazy and into body-surfing, like myself. I've been stuck "in the washing machine" for up to 20 minutes before and beleive me, I come in to the beach to rest for a while. It is truly awesome, the power of the waves. We gladly will welcome any tropical storms below 40 MPH. You wait 12 hours and go, go, go.
Friday, February 04, 2005
Real Estate Beige
Lord, I have a confesion to make. I thought I would never do this, but our realtor we have to sell out house in Austin suggested that "the house will sell easy" if we painted it beige. All over, inside and out. No accents colors, maybe a wee little white trim. That's what sells.
So on her recommendation, I go down to the local Monarch paint store, the cheapest crap you can get, and buy a few five-gallon buckets of Model Home Beige. If you buy Monarch, this color is called "Summertime," its only saving grace. Summertime! It is about 70 bucks for a big huge pail but I weasled a contractor's discount - probably because he felt bad about me. "Oh, man, dude, lemme see if I can do discount something for ya here." Wink, wink. I think I lost a little soul just then.
So nobody says this kind of thing but if you paint a lot of ceilings and walls, you're basically wearing a lot of that lovely shade of beige. I think I actually ate some of the stuff. It was all in my hair, too. You've heard of "Burning Man" and other wierdness, but I became "Beige Man." How does that paint get in places like THAT?
I'll have to admit, it took some real hard work some cover over the interesting colors I had before, like minty, purple-ish, pecan brown, scarlet red, and some "antique" white that was basically recycled latex from whatever - antique means lots and lots of yellow, I think. Not sure. It's brand new beige now.
Hey, it covered up the dirt and smelled good, everything a realtor could want. I just can't wait to be over Summertime and move down to South Padre. Give me some colors. Happy Semana Santa, y'all! Happy Easter.
So on her recommendation, I go down to the local Monarch paint store, the cheapest crap you can get, and buy a few five-gallon buckets of Model Home Beige. If you buy Monarch, this color is called "Summertime," its only saving grace. Summertime! It is about 70 bucks for a big huge pail but I weasled a contractor's discount - probably because he felt bad about me. "Oh, man, dude, lemme see if I can do discount something for ya here." Wink, wink. I think I lost a little soul just then.
So nobody says this kind of thing but if you paint a lot of ceilings and walls, you're basically wearing a lot of that lovely shade of beige. I think I actually ate some of the stuff. It was all in my hair, too. You've heard of "Burning Man" and other wierdness, but I became "Beige Man." How does that paint get in places like THAT?
I'll have to admit, it took some real hard work some cover over the interesting colors I had before, like minty, purple-ish, pecan brown, scarlet red, and some "antique" white that was basically recycled latex from whatever - antique means lots and lots of yellow, I think. Not sure. It's brand new beige now.
Hey, it covered up the dirt and smelled good, everything a realtor could want. I just can't wait to be over Summertime and move down to South Padre. Give me some colors. Happy Semana Santa, y'all! Happy Easter.
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
The Idiot Tax
Gambling, the idiot tax. Many folks just can't see why gambling on Keno and other video gambling games would make any sense - especially here on South Padre Island. Sure, there have been rumors that a lot of the structures such as t-shirt shops were constructed just for such purposes. And yes there are folks that want big-time gambling in Isla Blanca and new developments ... perhaps with Tigua indians running virtual craps down by the Schlitterbaun ... gambling shacks on every corner ... there's lot's of hooey out there on the books. The last straw the broke the camel's back was a newspaper report that bills would be filed next week to do exactly this. What the heck would you think if the town you just were moving to just went berzerk for gambling?
So I got all in a dither and called my brother Matt over in Shreveport. Matt manages a good part of the Isle of Capri and has been in the casino business over 20 years. So I asked him for the straight skinny.
Basically,he says, a major casino will not move into a region unless it has full gambling, from 25 cent one-arm-bandits to unlimited stakes poker. Nobody [a big international casino] would ever come in for just Keno and some off-track betting, which are two of the really big losers. You need the rooms, the shows, the food, and the floor, says Matt. It's a big package deal, and there's nothing in between.
Then I popped the question: "Well, is your company considering a big move here in Texas?"
"Hell yeah," he sez, "I'd give us about 2-4 years unless you guys get a state income tax."
This about floored me. If we don't get a state income tax we'll end up with what Matt calls "the Idiot Tax." We talked about us moving down to SPI, the new house, and him coming down with his 24-foot boat for some fishing and then rang off.
Then I started to think about previous conversations I have with the old boy. Apparently the industry (as he calls it) used to be run by questionable mob influences but is now pretty much a straight-laced MBA thing. The problem are the politicians and lobbyists and developers who want to make tons of illegal kickback money on the deal, which can be over a hundred million dollars. In fact, these sorts are a continuing source of embarassment in places like Tahoe, Louisiana, and Atlanta. The inference was that the casino industry is pretty darned honest by itself; small operators such as bingo, Keno, and OTB "shacks" were the most likely to be corrupt. He didn't mention anything about his contacts in Texas, though. Smart guy, my bro'.
I tend to believe Matt in all these ponderings. It's a different perspective. What he told me was that either way, gambling would totally ruin the island.
So I got all in a dither and called my brother Matt over in Shreveport. Matt manages a good part of the Isle of Capri and has been in the casino business over 20 years. So I asked him for the straight skinny.
Basically,he says, a major casino will not move into a region unless it has full gambling, from 25 cent one-arm-bandits to unlimited stakes poker. Nobody [a big international casino] would ever come in for just Keno and some off-track betting, which are two of the really big losers. You need the rooms, the shows, the food, and the floor, says Matt. It's a big package deal, and there's nothing in between.
Then I popped the question: "Well, is your company considering a big move here in Texas?"
"Hell yeah," he sez, "I'd give us about 2-4 years unless you guys get a state income tax."
This about floored me. If we don't get a state income tax we'll end up with what Matt calls "the Idiot Tax." We talked about us moving down to SPI, the new house, and him coming down with his 24-foot boat for some fishing and then rang off.
Then I started to think about previous conversations I have with the old boy. Apparently the industry (as he calls it) used to be run by questionable mob influences but is now pretty much a straight-laced MBA thing. The problem are the politicians and lobbyists and developers who want to make tons of illegal kickback money on the deal, which can be over a hundred million dollars. In fact, these sorts are a continuing source of embarassment in places like Tahoe, Louisiana, and Atlanta. The inference was that the casino industry is pretty darned honest by itself; small operators such as bingo, Keno, and OTB "shacks" were the most likely to be corrupt. He didn't mention anything about his contacts in Texas, though. Smart guy, my bro'.
I tend to believe Matt in all these ponderings. It's a different perspective. What he told me was that either way, gambling would totally ruin the island.
Saturday, January 29, 2005
Things I Won't Miss About Austin
To tell the truth, the weather is cold and wet, and we're burned out on all the cleaning, so hey, let's take a break. I just checked the Island websites and it's 72 and partly sunny (sounds better than partly cloudy, right?). Anyhoo, what will I not miss about Austin?
Well, the traffic, for starters. Dallas and Houston might seem worse, but in generally what we have here is a rolling parking lot. Because of years of no planning, the old highways are being ripped up and they're putting in new super-duper flyover systems, which adds to the problem because of the construction. To pay for all this discomfort, of course we really need those tollways, toll booths, and one-armed bandits to lighten our pockets from all that spare change. And, because the ozone is getting worse from all those cars stuck in traffic, we'll have those vehicle smog checks within a year or so. I'm all for clean air but I don't see the need to give my car the prostate exam every year.
How about allergies? Austin is the allergy capital of Texas. Every season is dominated by evils plant that all decide to poof their pollen up your nose. The worst is what we call "cedar fever," which is really from the male Mountain Juniper bushes. The cedar season is also the longest, from November to mid-February. The flu season was not bad around this year here but everyone has a nasty cough from the cedar, some with bronchitis. I think the folks who make Claratin should give us a little rebate because we're spending hundreds of bucks on it, at twenty bucks a wop.
[Brief interlude while I talked on the phone with my parents on Abaco in the Bahamas. I mentioned that South Padre Island was maybe a "poor man's Bahamas." This would be like saying Vermont is a poor man's Colorado. My dad said "You're wrong, Sam. Everything is a mess from all the hurricanes and you don't get any big ones down there, for some reason. Everything here is double expensive and then the Bahamian Customs charges seven percent on top of that. The dock fell down again and we patched it back up but the pile drivers are only working on big commercial jobs. The ants have gone nuts and bite everything. The poisonwood is taking over everything. We are quite envious of you."]
The growth around here is nothing short of astronomical. When we moved to our little burg of Leander, northwest of Austin, it has a population of maybe 2,500. Now we have about 10,000 residents, ten years later. The average size of the new developments is about 100 to 500 acres. Little places like Jonestown (my favorite), Dripping Springs, Liberty Hill, and all the way out to Marble Falls are being bulldozed in two ways: checkerboard or completely flat. The creeks all run brown now. It is quite depressing.
Finally, nobody can agree to anything around here in Austin. It is quite frustrating. You think you have a compromise and someone files a lawsuit, lobbies a bill in Legislature, and hires a PR firm to do some major airing of dirty laundry. Even on good things, like having a commemorative party with music and food, people will fight to the death over agonizingly trivial details.
'Nuff said.
Well, the traffic, for starters. Dallas and Houston might seem worse, but in generally what we have here is a rolling parking lot. Because of years of no planning, the old highways are being ripped up and they're putting in new super-duper flyover systems, which adds to the problem because of the construction. To pay for all this discomfort, of course we really need those tollways, toll booths, and one-armed bandits to lighten our pockets from all that spare change. And, because the ozone is getting worse from all those cars stuck in traffic, we'll have those vehicle smog checks within a year or so. I'm all for clean air but I don't see the need to give my car the prostate exam every year.
How about allergies? Austin is the allergy capital of Texas. Every season is dominated by evils plant that all decide to poof their pollen up your nose. The worst is what we call "cedar fever," which is really from the male Mountain Juniper bushes. The cedar season is also the longest, from November to mid-February. The flu season was not bad around this year here but everyone has a nasty cough from the cedar, some with bronchitis. I think the folks who make Claratin should give us a little rebate because we're spending hundreds of bucks on it, at twenty bucks a wop.
[Brief interlude while I talked on the phone with my parents on Abaco in the Bahamas. I mentioned that South Padre Island was maybe a "poor man's Bahamas." This would be like saying Vermont is a poor man's Colorado. My dad said "You're wrong, Sam. Everything is a mess from all the hurricanes and you don't get any big ones down there, for some reason. Everything here is double expensive and then the Bahamian Customs charges seven percent on top of that. The dock fell down again and we patched it back up but the pile drivers are only working on big commercial jobs. The ants have gone nuts and bite everything. The poisonwood is taking over everything. We are quite envious of you."]
The growth around here is nothing short of astronomical. When we moved to our little burg of Leander, northwest of Austin, it has a population of maybe 2,500. Now we have about 10,000 residents, ten years later. The average size of the new developments is about 100 to 500 acres. Little places like Jonestown (my favorite), Dripping Springs, Liberty Hill, and all the way out to Marble Falls are being bulldozed in two ways: checkerboard or completely flat. The creeks all run brown now. It is quite depressing.
Finally, nobody can agree to anything around here in Austin. It is quite frustrating. You think you have a compromise and someone files a lawsuit, lobbies a bill in Legislature, and hires a PR firm to do some major airing of dirty laundry. Even on good things, like having a commemorative party with music and food, people will fight to the death over agonizingly trivial details.
'Nuff said.
Friday, January 28, 2005
Resolved: More Sportz
I don't believe in New Year's resolutions but it had crossed my mind I could be in better shape. One of the reasons to move down there was not only the great beach lifestyle but also that I might crawl out from behind the computer and actually get some exersize. I have to use the computer for my environmental consulting business, and when not working I'm doing proposals, waiting for an email with work in it, or during the meantime fooling with blogs and webs and ordering on-line. There's nothing like a big move to make you come out of your shell, so to speak.
Beach walking, building a deck, body surfing, and swimming sound good for starters. Easy, low-impact stuff. After slow-walking a mile for a while I'll probably pick up the pace and start speed walking for two; never know, I might break into a slacker jog or something. That'll help give me those sexy calf muscles that all the locals seem to have down there.
I must say I have a love-hate relationship with sports, though, so count me out. I played tennis and got tennis elbow. I swam in the summer league and whacked my head doing the backstroke. I ran track in high school and got shin splints. I played soccer and got kicked real bad in the "technicals." I played football as a 125-pound tackle and got whacked by green giants from a 5-A team. I tried wrestling but got beat up by skinny bantam boxers. I got to hate all organized sports such as football, basketball, baseball, volleyball, and even bowling. Even today, just don't ask me to play those kinds of hooey. You can't blame me entirely; I was getting steam-rolled every time.
Sailing, now that wasn't even a sport but I sure liked that one.
This isn't to say I wasn't fit, at least there for a good while. I used to have a fancy 10-speed bicycle and could out-run the cops anywhere downtown by UT; I could pull a "wheely" for at least five strokes; I was Lance in cut-off pants. I could row like the devil in a real rowboat, although these new skinny "shells" seemed dangerous to me. I was in construction for years and could hang a 4 x 8 sheet of 5/8 sheetrock on the ceiling by myself - and put up a stack of about 75 to 100 a day, at that. Oh, and I guess being a pretty darn-tootin' tuba player did something for me, too.
What happened, Sammy
Well we all know the answer to that. Some night between age 40 and 45 your bod says "I wanna go this direction" and boom, there's a tummy sticking out like a stranger in a strange land. You wake up one morning and say "what da ... who are you?" At least the good Lord lets you sleep when it happens. Can you imagine being awake when it happens? Fooom!
Be it resolved ... to get down to the beach every day I can.
Beach walking, building a deck, body surfing, and swimming sound good for starters. Easy, low-impact stuff. After slow-walking a mile for a while I'll probably pick up the pace and start speed walking for two; never know, I might break into a slacker jog or something. That'll help give me those sexy calf muscles that all the locals seem to have down there.
I must say I have a love-hate relationship with sports, though, so count me out. I played tennis and got tennis elbow. I swam in the summer league and whacked my head doing the backstroke. I ran track in high school and got shin splints. I played soccer and got kicked real bad in the "technicals." I played football as a 125-pound tackle and got whacked by green giants from a 5-A team. I tried wrestling but got beat up by skinny bantam boxers. I got to hate all organized sports such as football, basketball, baseball, volleyball, and even bowling. Even today, just don't ask me to play those kinds of hooey. You can't blame me entirely; I was getting steam-rolled every time.
Sailing, now that wasn't even a sport but I sure liked that one.
This isn't to say I wasn't fit, at least there for a good while. I used to have a fancy 10-speed bicycle and could out-run the cops anywhere downtown by UT; I could pull a "wheely" for at least five strokes; I was Lance in cut-off pants. I could row like the devil in a real rowboat, although these new skinny "shells" seemed dangerous to me. I was in construction for years and could hang a 4 x 8 sheet of 5/8 sheetrock on the ceiling by myself - and put up a stack of about 75 to 100 a day, at that. Oh, and I guess being a pretty darn-tootin' tuba player did something for me, too.
What happened, Sammy
Well we all know the answer to that. Some night between age 40 and 45 your bod says "I wanna go this direction" and boom, there's a tummy sticking out like a stranger in a strange land. You wake up one morning and say "what da ... who are you?" At least the good Lord lets you sleep when it happens. Can you imagine being awake when it happens? Fooom!
Be it resolved ... to get down to the beach every day I can.
Thursday, January 27, 2005
Zero-Scape
Time for some clean-up. Literally, that's the first one. Not too bad, either.
Second, I signed the original house papers and yes we have a deal. If you can remember, you're basically signing papers forever, in this case some amendments and then ... oh, we're moving and that is that, even if we have to lease our house near Austin. As a funnier moment, does anyone recall the following: "Sign zee papers, old man, sign zee papers." It was on a record or something ... I don't think it was Monty Python but maybe it was. A little foggy back then, it was.
Third I wanted to talk about Global Warming and what it meant for SPI and, bless my wife Lori's heart, she said "Get over it, Sam. Be happy."
She's right, you know. The House Detective (love that name) we hired found a few minor things but we can catch those later. I haven't quite approached the age where people would call me a "piddler" that has nothing to do but fix the house. In fact, the word can become a verb, as in "Hey Sam, whatchya piddlin' on?" As long as you don't say "My feet" any answer is basically acceptable.
One thing we want to do is build a big back porch, which would hang precariously off the north end of a south-facing house. I figure for less than $1,800 I can build a wooden deck over the existing concrete slab and make it semi-hurricane proof. No steel or iron allowed, so I'll have to find good but cheap fasteners (the salt air eats metal for lunch).
The last thing I want is pronounced "zero-scape" but the word starts with an "X". Xeriscape? Anyway, it means low or no watering and where now there is pure mowed carpet grass in the back yard I'm putting in plumeria, firewheels, salvia, lantana, passion vine, and all kinds of flowering schtuff, hopefully more native than not. Naturally I'll have to "Call Betty." Have y'all called Betty lately? That's the number for getting folks to mark your underground pipes and wires and such. They put down some really cool spray paint and you don't dig there - at least that's the concept.
Oh, and I have a digging bar I should put on eBay. What is a digging bar, you ask? Well, you'll have to guess - but let me tell you, I needed to resharpen it twice and then I slightly bent it, I mean customized it! Pure cast and fullered iron, it is. Something like $25, if you need one. I truly look forward to getting rid of the Some Beach.
Zero digging bar scape, that is.
Second, I signed the original house papers and yes we have a deal. If you can remember, you're basically signing papers forever, in this case some amendments and then ... oh, we're moving and that is that, even if we have to lease our house near Austin. As a funnier moment, does anyone recall the following: "Sign zee papers, old man, sign zee papers." It was on a record or something ... I don't think it was Monty Python but maybe it was. A little foggy back then, it was.
Third I wanted to talk about Global Warming and what it meant for SPI and, bless my wife Lori's heart, she said "Get over it, Sam. Be happy."
She's right, you know. The House Detective (love that name) we hired found a few minor things but we can catch those later. I haven't quite approached the age where people would call me a "piddler" that has nothing to do but fix the house. In fact, the word can become a verb, as in "Hey Sam, whatchya piddlin' on?" As long as you don't say "My feet" any answer is basically acceptable.
One thing we want to do is build a big back porch, which would hang precariously off the north end of a south-facing house. I figure for less than $1,800 I can build a wooden deck over the existing concrete slab and make it semi-hurricane proof. No steel or iron allowed, so I'll have to find good but cheap fasteners (the salt air eats metal for lunch).
The last thing I want is pronounced "zero-scape" but the word starts with an "X". Xeriscape? Anyway, it means low or no watering and where now there is pure mowed carpet grass in the back yard I'm putting in plumeria, firewheels, salvia, lantana, passion vine, and all kinds of flowering schtuff, hopefully more native than not. Naturally I'll have to "Call Betty." Have y'all called Betty lately? That's the number for getting folks to mark your underground pipes and wires and such. They put down some really cool spray paint and you don't dig there - at least that's the concept.
Oh, and I have a digging bar I should put on eBay. What is a digging bar, you ask? Well, you'll have to guess - but let me tell you, I needed to resharpen it twice and then I slightly bent it, I mean customized it! Pure cast and fullered iron, it is. Something like $25, if you need one. I truly look forward to getting rid of the Some Beach.
Zero digging bar scape, that is.
Sunday, January 23, 2005
House Contract Signed!
Well I guess all this blogging is not for naught - the real estate guru called to say the contract was signed for buying a house on South Padre! Now all I need is to sell this ole house, make sure I have oodles of cash, get Lori a job down there in the school district, and don't go completely bonkers before June 17th. It will be a close race ...
Lessee, its an older two-level house on stilts with all garage underneath and lots of remodeling done up top, 2 BR 2 BA. What sold us was the living room and kitchen. The kitchen has one of the fancy-schmancy island thingies with built-ins and what's that called, Corianne instead of formica, something like that? Duh, I'm so happy I'm brain dead.
Oh yeah, and roof beams and a big fat ship's light in front, the real thing like off a 100-year old ship. The house detective does his thing early this week, and will inspect the roof, electrical, A/C, etc.
Horray!
Lessee, its an older two-level house on stilts with all garage underneath and lots of remodeling done up top, 2 BR 2 BA. What sold us was the living room and kitchen. The kitchen has one of the fancy-schmancy island thingies with built-ins and what's that called, Corianne instead of formica, something like that? Duh, I'm so happy I'm brain dead.
Oh yeah, and roof beams and a big fat ship's light in front, the real thing like off a 100-year old ship. The house detective does his thing early this week, and will inspect the roof, electrical, A/C, etc.
Horray!
Pitstops on the Road to Padre
Most folks have a good idea about how to get to South Padre Island - coming from the north, you'd hook up the Highway 77 south of Corpus Christi and drive forever, hit Route 100 south of Harlingen and San Benito, and you're there. Coming from Austin, you could follow I-35 to San Antonio and then take #37 to Corpus Christi, although we always take the route from San Marcos to Seguin, Karnes City, Kennedy, Stockton, and then #37. Less traffic, more fun ... and importantly, some great pit-stops.
OK, you're not going to see panaoramic views of the Grand Canyon or the Shenendoah Mountains, but we like the back way. The drive from Austin to Padre is a little over 6 hours if you stay less than 4 miles over the speed limit. Chances are you're going to get thirsty and, if logic holds, you'll be needing a pit-stop after a couple bevvies - and if you're traveling with ladies, they will let you know, if not in English then with international distress signals.
The first rule of thumb is that all McDonalds and Dairy Queens are handy candidates. Watch out for the McDonalds in Robstown just south of Corpus Christi - it might turn you around towards McAllen if you're not careful. The first fast-pee joint we hit on the way down from Austin is the one in San Marcos. Not too bad, although the food has been an issue sometimes (which is why we pack snacks now).
We usually make it through Seguin although they have some fairly good BBQ there from what I've heard. Our next stop is a little Chevron convenience store in Karnes City. As far as convenience stores, this one is good, with clean facilities and some great fried chicken in case you have the munchies too. You could go further to Kennedy (the two towns are intense rivals) where they have a "sawsage farm," a roadhouse and a Walmart with a McDonalds in it.
There aren't many places from here south to Beeville, except for a Shamrock in Pettus. The facilities in Pettus get an "A" but the muchie bags we bought there have all been stale. Beeville used to be "Pee-Ville" to us until they closed the one on Charco road and another closer to town on the access road; the guys at the exit to the main drag were surly last time so I avoid it like the plague now.
I also avoid Skidmore, the next town to the south, unless you're desperate - in that case, check out the Dairy Queen and don't look the manager in the eye. Mathis, on the corner of #37, is only about 20 miles further. The station at Mathis was really upgraded to a full Shell station but last I checked the rest rooms were the same-o-same-o "art dreco." I'd give it a C-.
It's a relatively short haul to Robstown, which has a giant truck stop on the south side. Now this place is good, safe, and clean. You're over half way to Padre now. I'd refrain from talking with the truckers, though, since they're a tough bunch.
From here going south your pit stop potential goes way down. Get some gas soom if you lave less than a half of a tank, since it takes about 80 miles to get through King Ranch County, where there's nothing but cows. Bishop, Driscoll, and Kingsville are acceptable but watch out, the cops seem to like the revenue from speeding tickets along here.
There's one mention of note in Kingsville, the L&M Superette. The cops go here; the post office trucks stop here; and Border Patrol stops here; the truckers stop there. But this place had the most god-awful restrooms I have ever seen. People were running out the front door with the hands over their mouths. Hopefully, the new owner is fixing up the poor place.
We always stop at the Department of Transportation rest stop south of Sarita, which is a few miles north of the Border Patrol check-stop. You'll see a lot of people stopping there after going through the check-point on their way north ... and trying real hard to look cool! Some were pretty darned close to being deported or busted. Just remember YOU have to go back through the same check-point if you drive back from the beach. Fortunately, you get a bye and there's no K-9 Border Check headed south. Sorta needed to stop, didn't, and need to turn back? I'd suggest it because this place, while it has high traffic, is very clean and there's nothing until Raymondville, unless you do the boy-thing along the side of the road (not recommended). Use the turn-arounds, which were built for silly people just like you and me.
Yup, there's the McDonalds in Raymondville and the further south you go the better the options get. The construction on #77 is real bad so be careful, stay on the main road (don't end up going to McAllen), drive slow, and keep going if at all possible. When you see the Valley Distribution Company on the right, the purveyors of most all the local beer products (hee-haw!), it is time to hook up with Route 100.
Just as you hang a louie (a left) you'll see a citrus fruit stand. Now this place is good and we usually make it all the way to the Island from here. Very clean. Plus, they have beer, ice cream, and ... oh I forgot, tons of oranges, grapefruits, lemons and fresh juices. Hey, a little vitamin C isn't going to hurt you. Try mixing their fresh juices with the booze of your choice and you'll notice the difference right away.
You'll be passing Los Fresnos and some other town with OK pit-stop potential; we always plug further on down the road watch that speedomoter like a hawk. Yes, this is Speed Trap City. Sometimes we get so excited after leaving Los Fresnos in the rear-view mirror we crack open some brewskies ... so by the time we get to Port Isabelle, mama's bladder if doing the wild thing again. There are plenty of alternatives but our favorite is B&A Seafood, on the left just before the bridges. We really like B&A and to their credit, this restroom is consistently the cleanest of any we have ever seen on any of our trips. Get freaky and buy a pound or two of shrimp - ya gotta be pretty lame if you can't boil water, right? Head up the towards the bridge and smile. Relax: you're on the island now.
I hope you liked my little pit-stop guide. Over the years, many have gone out of business and you'll see their dinosaur bones on the side of the road. It is almost like time-traveling.
OK, you're not going to see panaoramic views of the Grand Canyon or the Shenendoah Mountains, but we like the back way. The drive from Austin to Padre is a little over 6 hours if you stay less than 4 miles over the speed limit. Chances are you're going to get thirsty and, if logic holds, you'll be needing a pit-stop after a couple bevvies - and if you're traveling with ladies, they will let you know, if not in English then with international distress signals.
The first rule of thumb is that all McDonalds and Dairy Queens are handy candidates. Watch out for the McDonalds in Robstown just south of Corpus Christi - it might turn you around towards McAllen if you're not careful. The first fast-pee joint we hit on the way down from Austin is the one in San Marcos. Not too bad, although the food has been an issue sometimes (which is why we pack snacks now).
We usually make it through Seguin although they have some fairly good BBQ there from what I've heard. Our next stop is a little Chevron convenience store in Karnes City. As far as convenience stores, this one is good, with clean facilities and some great fried chicken in case you have the munchies too. You could go further to Kennedy (the two towns are intense rivals) where they have a "sawsage farm," a roadhouse and a Walmart with a McDonalds in it.
There aren't many places from here south to Beeville, except for a Shamrock in Pettus. The facilities in Pettus get an "A" but the muchie bags we bought there have all been stale. Beeville used to be "Pee-Ville" to us until they closed the one on Charco road and another closer to town on the access road; the guys at the exit to the main drag were surly last time so I avoid it like the plague now.
I also avoid Skidmore, the next town to the south, unless you're desperate - in that case, check out the Dairy Queen and don't look the manager in the eye. Mathis, on the corner of #37, is only about 20 miles further. The station at Mathis was really upgraded to a full Shell station but last I checked the rest rooms were the same-o-same-o "art dreco." I'd give it a C-.
It's a relatively short haul to Robstown, which has a giant truck stop on the south side. Now this place is good, safe, and clean. You're over half way to Padre now. I'd refrain from talking with the truckers, though, since they're a tough bunch.
From here going south your pit stop potential goes way down. Get some gas soom if you lave less than a half of a tank, since it takes about 80 miles to get through King Ranch County, where there's nothing but cows. Bishop, Driscoll, and Kingsville are acceptable but watch out, the cops seem to like the revenue from speeding tickets along here.
There's one mention of note in Kingsville, the L&M Superette. The cops go here; the post office trucks stop here; and Border Patrol stops here; the truckers stop there. But this place had the most god-awful restrooms I have ever seen. People were running out the front door with the hands over their mouths. Hopefully, the new owner is fixing up the poor place.
We always stop at the Department of Transportation rest stop south of Sarita, which is a few miles north of the Border Patrol check-stop. You'll see a lot of people stopping there after going through the check-point on their way north ... and trying real hard to look cool! Some were pretty darned close to being deported or busted. Just remember YOU have to go back through the same check-point if you drive back from the beach. Fortunately, you get a bye and there's no K-9 Border Check headed south. Sorta needed to stop, didn't, and need to turn back? I'd suggest it because this place, while it has high traffic, is very clean and there's nothing until Raymondville, unless you do the boy-thing along the side of the road (not recommended). Use the turn-arounds, which were built for silly people just like you and me.
Yup, there's the McDonalds in Raymondville and the further south you go the better the options get. The construction on #77 is real bad so be careful, stay on the main road (don't end up going to McAllen), drive slow, and keep going if at all possible. When you see the Valley Distribution Company on the right, the purveyors of most all the local beer products (hee-haw!), it is time to hook up with Route 100.
Just as you hang a louie (a left) you'll see a citrus fruit stand. Now this place is good and we usually make it all the way to the Island from here. Very clean. Plus, they have beer, ice cream, and ... oh I forgot, tons of oranges, grapefruits, lemons and fresh juices. Hey, a little vitamin C isn't going to hurt you. Try mixing their fresh juices with the booze of your choice and you'll notice the difference right away.
You'll be passing Los Fresnos and some other town with OK pit-stop potential; we always plug further on down the road watch that speedomoter like a hawk. Yes, this is Speed Trap City. Sometimes we get so excited after leaving Los Fresnos in the rear-view mirror we crack open some brewskies ... so by the time we get to Port Isabelle, mama's bladder if doing the wild thing again. There are plenty of alternatives but our favorite is B&A Seafood, on the left just before the bridges. We really like B&A and to their credit, this restroom is consistently the cleanest of any we have ever seen on any of our trips. Get freaky and buy a pound or two of shrimp - ya gotta be pretty lame if you can't boil water, right? Head up the towards the bridge and smile. Relax: you're on the island now.
I hope you liked my little pit-stop guide. Over the years, many have gone out of business and you'll see their dinosaur bones on the side of the road. It is almost like time-traveling.
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Skeptical Mama Relents
Well. My wife did not like the first page at all. We made up and she went to bed. See here's the deal. She wants to move to South Padre Island like a duck after a june bug. I'm like 50/50, stuck in the middle, like hangin' my goolies on the barbed wire fence. So I say "yeah OK" and we get notice of a possible contract on a house down there in South Padre and all is cool. We make up. She still thinks my blog thingy here sucks for air, though.
As a Gemini "air sign" I think I'm always sucking for air. So let's cut to the chase. Why would I, as a normally rational person, want to leave a town having so much cool art, food, and music to go to a backwater that doesn't have dookie? No Strauss, no Greater Tuna, no Willy, no Vietnamese, no nothin'? What really sucks is that South Padre Island itself doesn't even have a real taco joint - it is all fake Mexican plop. To add insult to injury, the selection of fine wine and beer is like "hey, like Bud Lite?" Surely, a nice guy like me would die down there without any jones.
The answer, my friends, is that I am slightly insane. Not a bad kind of insanity or a clinical kind; more like a Willy Nelson kind of craziness. I figure that 50 percent of the US voters voted for George Bush, so about 50 percent of the US is completely off their bonkers already (you could have said the other way around too, think about it). This here Internet thingy comes in handy for ordering things, too. I can rationalize about everything I'm going to do except for getting in a big honking hurricane. You're not all that crazy if you're worried about protecting your family against hurricanes. Nuts, yes; mack-daddy crazy, no.
So the move is still on and if the weather holds, Lori's storm clouds will clear out to sunny skies and slightly over 70 degrees. Do all girls think boys are doing kinky things on the web? Ewww. Maybe that was it.
As a Gemini "air sign" I think I'm always sucking for air. So let's cut to the chase. Why would I, as a normally rational person, want to leave a town having so much cool art, food, and music to go to a backwater that doesn't have dookie? No Strauss, no Greater Tuna, no Willy, no Vietnamese, no nothin'? What really sucks is that South Padre Island itself doesn't even have a real taco joint - it is all fake Mexican plop. To add insult to injury, the selection of fine wine and beer is like "hey, like Bud Lite?" Surely, a nice guy like me would die down there without any jones.
The answer, my friends, is that I am slightly insane. Not a bad kind of insanity or a clinical kind; more like a Willy Nelson kind of craziness. I figure that 50 percent of the US voters voted for George Bush, so about 50 percent of the US is completely off their bonkers already (you could have said the other way around too, think about it). This here Internet thingy comes in handy for ordering things, too. I can rationalize about everything I'm going to do except for getting in a big honking hurricane. You're not all that crazy if you're worried about protecting your family against hurricanes. Nuts, yes; mack-daddy crazy, no.
So the move is still on and if the weather holds, Lori's storm clouds will clear out to sunny skies and slightly over 70 degrees. Do all girls think boys are doing kinky things on the web? Ewww. Maybe that was it.
Some Background
My Dad went to Yale; George Bush went to Yale; John Kerry went to Yale. They all turned up different, that's for sure. One thing all three would agree is that the Yale Glee Club was the "big mack daddy" back then. Yup, the Wiffenpoofs, an all-male singing club, a capella, barbershop-style. Quite a history there.
Well I went to University of Texas in Austin and then Southwest in San Marcos for my master's and no way am I fixated on Yale. I can't sing worth a hoot either and frankly I don't like their swag. I just liked the transposition of Wiffenpoofs to "Poof'n'whiffs." If you have a nose for detecting bullshit or genuine nugets of occassional spastic truth, well maybe Poof'n'Whiffs might be a cool place to stop by every now and then.
Over the next year or so I'll be making - just maybe - the transition from Austin down to South Padre Island in Texas. That ought to be fun, although I'm not looking forward to painting, cleaning, packing, driving 6-7 hours several times, unpacking, and so forth. But I'm no mountain man, I'm more of a surfer dude, and I liked what I saw down there. Hey it's one of the last semi-unspoiled beaches in America.
As Frank Zappa once said in his 'Mudshark' song, you can open your window and catch fish at the proverbial Edgewater Inn. If you don't like artists like Zappa and like the Wiffenpoofs better, well, I tried. Poof'n'whiffs don't do politics, sex, sports, national commentary, satire, and humor, but when mixed all together in one big melting pot it ought to be sorta fun.
OK, exaggeration is good sometimes but there's no window fishing on South Padre and Zappa was a little tough to digest, but having fun along the way is exactly what I intend to do. I see a bongo band in the future, too. The Poof'n'Whiffs, of course.
Dark Clouds on the horizon: the wife is whiffing skeptical!
Well I went to University of Texas in Austin and then Southwest in San Marcos for my master's and no way am I fixated on Yale. I can't sing worth a hoot either and frankly I don't like their swag. I just liked the transposition of Wiffenpoofs to "Poof'n'whiffs." If you have a nose for detecting bullshit or genuine nugets of occassional spastic truth, well maybe Poof'n'Whiffs might be a cool place to stop by every now and then.
Over the next year or so I'll be making - just maybe - the transition from Austin down to South Padre Island in Texas. That ought to be fun, although I'm not looking forward to painting, cleaning, packing, driving 6-7 hours several times, unpacking, and so forth. But I'm no mountain man, I'm more of a surfer dude, and I liked what I saw down there. Hey it's one of the last semi-unspoiled beaches in America.
As Frank Zappa once said in his 'Mudshark' song, you can open your window and catch fish at the proverbial Edgewater Inn. If you don't like artists like Zappa and like the Wiffenpoofs better, well, I tried. Poof'n'whiffs don't do politics, sex, sports, national commentary, satire, and humor, but when mixed all together in one big melting pot it ought to be sorta fun.
OK, exaggeration is good sometimes but there's no window fishing on South Padre and Zappa was a little tough to digest, but having fun along the way is exactly what I intend to do. I see a bongo band in the future, too. The Poof'n'Whiffs, of course.
Dark Clouds on the horizon: the wife is whiffing skeptical!
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