Leavin' on a Jet Plane.

The next few weeks (maybe even months) will be filled with more travel than usual.  I'm headed out to our headquarters in California for one last meeting in my old role, and will likely be back out there for training in my new one come January.  Couple that with travel for Christmas, and you've got me up in the air.  If I had Photoshop, here is where I'd insert a picture of me seemingly flying through the air.  Instead, I'll just allow everyone to imagine that for a few seconds.

Okay, you can open your eyes now.  I'm still safely on terra firma.  For a few more hours, anyway.

We (read: KB) have done a lot of our Christmas shopping, and are nearing the last few, hard-to-buy-for folks.  I have never understood what exact quality makes someone hard to shop for, but it has always seemed like one of those "know it when you see it" kind of things.  I was told that I'm hard to shop for, and I've allowed that worm to work its way into my brain.  I think it may have something to do with me being rather practical, and gifts being inherently extravagant, no matter the actual size or cost.  It's the distillation of a few things, all wrapped up with a bow.  It's how much someone loves you, what they think of you, what they think you like, and what they think you need.  So pretty much a gift can be seen as the sum total of a person's thoughts on you, and wow...that's a lot.  When someone gives me something, I'm always appreciative, but I'm so humbled that I am not effusive.  That may sound like a lot of BS (I like to call it philosophy), but I think it's how I really feel.  When confronted with such an emotional thing, my practical side tends to take over, and I get all stoic and quiet.  Maybe I need to work on being more ebullient when receiving a gift.  I mean, smiling until it hurts isn't so bad and a few fist pumps in the air might do me good.

So watch out, Christmas, I'm going to get all kind of happy this year.  Brace yourselves!

Jay Oh Bee.

I was informed by my Cambridge readers that it had been three weeks since my last post, and that this was not acceptable.  To them, and to the other, let's say, three of you, I apologize.  The slide into Advent has become a whirlwind, and I vow to be more diligent in keeping my reader(s) up to date on the inner workings of my inscrutable mind.
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When KB and I first began the discernment process, we were entirely unsure what the job situation would be like.  If we went to Virginia, maybe I'd get a government job.  I'm sure the BLS is always looking for nerds analysts.  If we went to Sewanee, I could...buy a seersucker suit and become a gentleman of leisure?  And if the choice was Austin, well...that was more difficult.  I have a good job at Chevron, and the commute is a little on the long side, and where would we live, and blah, blah, whine, blah...

Long story short, that decision got made for us, and we live in Austin.  Boomtown: population, us.  I continue my work here in Houston and get to live in guests rooms thanks to the most unbelievably wonderful friends a guy could ask for.

I recently got a new assignment, so I get the joy of learning something new.  I'm very excited, because I really do like to learn, and the acquisition of skills is something I have not gotten to focus on much in the last few months.  I'll be working in the product development group, working with customers to meet their product needs.  I'm a decent talker, so the sales aspect should be easy to pick up; the chemistry perhaps less so.
Since I know that LMGK and PCEK read this, I feel like this is a good chance to impart godfatherly advice to all my darlings, and it is this: learning is always fun.  Never stop.  Find something that you like, and learn as much about it as you can.  (I'll save the rest for another blog post, mainly so I am assured of something to write next time).

I am really looking forward to new opportunities, some travel, learning new things, and growing more in my professional career.  It means a little more time at the office for the near term, but I can handle that.  Most importantly, it enables me the resources and leisure to spend time with the ones I love; that to me is the most important aspect of any job.

This post is a little scatter-shot, but I'm rusty...cut me some slack.

On the reading of books.

I have never, never, never been a self-conscious reader.  I generally read what I want, enjoy it, and move on to the next book.  Lately, though, I have been a little self-conscious.  I am ashamed to admit that when people ask what I'm reading, and I have to 'fess up that I am enjoying the latest in the "No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency" series.  Not the manliest or most challenging read, but whatever; they're good.  But I cringe a little when I say it.  Why?  I honestly have no idea. 


Maybe I feel like I have an image as a smartypants to maintain.  While I do consider myself a fairly smart person, I've never had a problem making a grade-A fool out of myself.  Seriously.  Just ask any of my high school friends or anyone that knew me when I was a youth minister.  They will tell you that I seem to be lacking the part of my brain that defines shame and/or self-respect.


If that's the case, I may have over-corrected.  I am currently reading The Gulag Archipelago by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, and this was clearly a case of not knowing what I got myself into.  I know what it's about, I understand the allusion the title makes, and I know the historical importance of this work.  When KB brought me a copy, I noted its length (600 pages!) and figured it would take a while to get to the end.  Then, upon reading the title page, I realized that this was Parts I & II.  The rest of the book is contained in two more volumes.  I may have indeed bitten of more than I can chew from a strictly volumetric standpoint.


The bigger issue at play here is that I can only read so much at once because this book is not only dense, but it is intense.  People are getting arrested and killed left and right, and because of the (frankly, brilliant) way the author frames everything, you feel as though the NKVD is coming  for you (fun side note: the acronym for Russia's counterintel group was SMERSH.  Best, most fun name for a terrifying group of thugs and spies).  Seriously, after ten pages I am emotionally drained because of the investment the author elicits through his prose.

But I'm determined to finish this volume.  I have started too many books and left them aside because they were difficult reads (I see you waving, Yiddish Policemen's Union; settle down).  I'm so emotionally invested in this book, I feel as though I owe it to the people sent to the Gulag.  Perhaps not the most healthy way to get through a book, but I'll make an exception for this one.  So if you see me reading this tome and I look overly worried, concerned, or exhausted, maybe tell me to put the book down and take a few cleansing breaths. 

In Soviet Russia, books read YOU!!

Sea Legs.

First of all...geeze, what a slacker I am.  I had a post 75% complete, but it languished in development so long that it was no longer relevant.  When I say "in development", I mean I just never finished it.  But nevertheless, I press onward.

So we're almost three months into the Austin lifestyle, which as far as I can tell involves heretofore unknown but brutal allergies, tacos, and the presence of UT football.  I have no problem with the tacos.  Football,I'm uninterested in 85% of the time, and the sudden onset of allergies has been debilitating.  So.  Much.  Sneezing.  It's kind of ridiculous, and I feel like the "Before" segment in a Zyrtec commercial (Dear Zyrtec, I love your product, please give me an endorsement deal. Sincerely, Me).

KB and I are, however, figuring out how to make this work.  We're getting very good at maximizing our quality time together, have done some cool stuff already (specifically, this and this), and are making great friends with the folks in her class.  We've already had house guests and they were fantastic.  If you haven't come to stay in Austin with us, you should.  If you already have, come back anytime.  We like visitors.

It's funny how our outlook on a situation can change depending on the day or week.  Just a week and a half ago, I had started a post that was much more whiny and complain-y.  Now, having spent time with wonderful friends and family, I have the perspective needed to understand just how fortunate I am.  There's a trend on Facebook wherein people are having some sort of Thanksgiving "Advent calendar" and counting days until Thanksgiving by saying what they are Thankful for.  I dislike the way the Advent calendar has been co-opted, but if it gets people to put their lives in perspective, I'm all for it. 

So what am I thankful for?  KB, my family, my friends, and you, dear reader.  Chances are better than excellent that you fit into one or all of these categories.  My life is enriched from knowing you, and I know it will continue to be so enriched.  As we grow together in friendship and faith, I hope you know that I am thankful for you every day.  Especially if you have some Zyrtec on you.

Furniture? Furniture.

"Objects are made by men, and used for many purposes...but we never love objects." - James Franco

KB and I love having people over, especially when sharing a meal.  Even though it sounds slightly pretentious, we really do love to entertain.  It's fun, it builds friendships, and it's always a good excuse for making an over-the-top meal.

When we got married, I did not actually own a table.  As a bachelor, I just chose to hold my plates steady what shoveling food into my mouth with the other hand.  Once KB and I got married, she first introduced me to the concept of "manners", something I had obviously long since forgotten.  Through her diligence and patience, seven and a half years later I can honestly say that my manners are somewhat marginally better.  Kudos, KB!  Hard work pays off!

But I digress.  One thing she brought to the marriage (other than brains, culture, and Clancey) was her awesome table.  She had a great 2-4 person table from Crate & Barrel, and I was in awe.  On one of our first nights in our Houston home, we decorated the table, set out the fine china we got for our wedding, and had grilled cheeses (two youth ministry salaries gets you that level of gourmanderie, if that is in fact a word).  Since then, it has been a workhorse.  And a sawhorse, for that matter.  It's been used for crafting, so it's still got glitter on it.  It's got footprints on it.  It's been used, abused, and has hosted some (frankly) awesome parties.  We always found a way to cram more people around it, and it never let us down.  Now it gets to retire, and will likely be used as a desk, which I think is the equivalent of being put out to stud.  I'm sure at least one food story will be written on it, so you know...circle of life and whatnot.  It's a fantastic, well-loved table. 

Our new table and chairs arrived on Friday, and they are for sure the new hotness...

For God's sake, use a coaster!

Leaves!  Matching chairs!  Appropriate size!  I'm proud of us for making the leap into the early 20th century.  There will be many more happy meals around this table, so stop on by anytime.  We'll eat hot dogs off the fancy china.

Signage.

One thing that my weekly commute affords me is the time to notice signs along the highways I drive.  Most are forgettable enough, but one this morning made me think of two other signs that have stuck in my mind for the better part of a decade. 

This morning, I passed a Ramada Inn outside Giddings, and their sign read "You are in our prayers."  Insofar as I did not see it last week, I know it went up recently.  It is addressed to no one in particular.  I wonder what prompted this outward display of...what?  Faith?  Love?  Concern?  Does the motive even matter?  Of course not.  At 65 mph, its message is simple: Someone, somewhere is praying for you.  It reminds me of two other signs I've seen around Texas freeways.

The first (and second, actually) was a changeable roadwork sign.  It simply said "God bless you."  There's no commentary I can make on this.  Again, it's a simple message, just trying to bring a ray of hope or joy into some passing motorist's life.  The second, however, rattled around in my brainbox for weeks...really, still to this day.  It read "This Is Your Life."

My first thought was that is was a message of empowerment...this is your life.  Take control of it, make it yours, don't allow others to dictate what you think or feel.  Of course, being me, that optimism passed quickly and lead to an overwhelming sense of dread.  I was sitting in my car (at the time, my Altima with a broken turn signal and no AC).  On the freeway.  Stuck in rush hour traffic.  That sign was not empowering my to anything.  It was mocking me. 

"THIS is your life.  This, right here.  Traffic.  Smog.  Not moving forward.  Just look at me!  I sit here for a few days, send out a message that informs people of a construction zone, and then roll on to my next task.  I'm useful!  I'm changeable!  I'm not only solar powered, but look how slender I am!  What is that you're eating?  A doughnut?  Nice.  I'm out in the sunshine, and you're sitting in your car, eating a doughnut in traffic."

Once I finished accusing the sign of plagiarising L.A.Story, I then realized that I was having an argument with a highway sign.  It obviously couldn't hear me.  1) It's a sign, thus no auditory function, and 2) I was in the left lane, too far away to be heard (though with no AC, my windows were down). 

I have often seen both versions of that sign scroll across my mind at various points in my life.  Sometimes the sentence ends in a question mark, sometimes an exclamation point.  Who knows how it will look today, but having passed by the Ramada, it will undoubtedly be a little more hopeful.

You are in my prayers.

Thanks For That, Steph.

So for anyone that is not already aware, my first year of college did not go so well.  One could even say it was...well terrible, frankly.  My GPA didn't matter so much as the fact that the few credits that I could transfer were still not that great.  It was not a banner year for yours truly.  I returned home to Beaumont in a depressed daze, but eventually made it through to greener pastures (namely, Houston).

Flash forward to now-ish, and I live mere blocks from The University.  I'm also considering pursuing my MBA.  Because of sheer proximity, it makes absolute sense to try for enrollment at UT's business school.  Thus, I perused their website to sign up for an information session.  To do this required an electronic ID for their system.  No problem; I sign up for things very well.

Oh wait...problem.  It seems that the University of Texas, in their wisdom, had converted my old UT email account into their new IT system.  This would be fine if I had any idea whatsoever what my old password was.  So I went through their process of calling the helpdesk, only to find that as a "former student" I would have to verify my identity to the supervisor on duty.  Since this all happened before the days of "security questions", I would have to answer questions about my time at UT.

In The Lord of the Rings, when The Fellowship descends into the Mines of Moria, Gimli is eager to see his kin that owns the Mines; upon finding the remains left by orcs he lets out a painful wail of mourning.  When I was told I'd need to answer questions about my academic career, my brain let out a similar wail upon viewing the decayed visage of my pride. 

I wish I could say that I partied an appendage off, or was just up to my eyeballs in pretty ladies, but I can't.  I went to a few awesome concerts, went to exactly one (1) party (and hated it, for the record), and got a lot better at playing the guitar.  I don't really remember anything about that year, because I have tamped those memories down.  The only thing I really choose to remember about my time as a Longhorn is the sole A that I earned, in a class that I would gladly revisit on any given day: The History of Rock Music. 

It followed the same basic structure every Tuesday and Thursday; come in, listen to a weird or unique cover song, listen to our professor lecture about something totally awesome, listen to more music, leave.  It was great, I made an A, and I got exposed to some amazing music.  If only my Chemistry and French classes had been the same!  So I flunked out, went home and licked my wounds.  I also tried very, very hard to forget the entire ordeal.  For the next thirteen years, I did a pretty good job of that.  That is, until Stephanie decided to give me the third degree.

"What was your first and last semester?"

A sigh, and then "Fall '97, Spring '98."

"Were you ever on academic probation?"

"Obviously."

"Did you ever receive a degree from The University?"

"OK, clearly I did not."

"What was your address?"

"Ummm...dorm room in Jester...ground floor...I don't really remember"

"How about your mailbox number?"

"Seriously, are you just screwing with me here?"

And on it went.  Five of the most mortifying minutes of my life.  Not because of anything other than it was something I was not proud of.  I hadn't spoken much of this out loud in the better part of a decade, and now I was considering a graduate degree form the same university that dumped me.

But that's over with now, and maybe I can move on fully.  Maybe trying for a graduate degree from UT will help close that circle.  As long as I can top my first semester GPA, I'll be fine.

For the record, my first semester GPA was 1.466.  I honestly cannot remember how I ended the year.  I challenge anyone to top that!