Clark Howard’s blabbering away on the telly (imploring folks to refrain from giving out their social security number) while a toddler’s irrepressible cadence of cries resonate in the background of Gate 29 at the William P. Hobby Airport in Houston, TX.
I am headed back to the A after spending another week in the Boondocks for a site startup in the wonderful, glamourless city of Franklin, TX.
I, momentarily, am back from a nearly 6 month hiatus from this blog. I know, I know…6 months. Wow. I’ve gone a month or two before without blogging nary a syllable, but I can’t recollect the last time I spent 6 months away from my blog. As I’ve mentioned before, in one of my previous feeble attempts to justify my literary absence, I’ve become the deadbeat daddy of this blog. I haven’t paid a single dime of viral alimony during my absence.
You must be repeatedly slitting your wrists wondering what the root cause of my hiatus has been, huh? My reason is painstakingly trite and abundantly cliche. The reason for the neglect of this blog has been my job. The last 6 months of my professional career have inhibited my versatility as a human being. I’ve become one dimensional. I’ve become so inundated with work that I’ve had little time to devote to anything else. 15, 16 hour work days no longer intimidate me. I’m not exactly sure if that’s a good thing or not. My initial analysis is that I don’t ever want to grow accustomed to burning the midnight oil…literally. How folks work these crazy hours for decades is beyond me. With as much time as I’ve spent bent over the past 6 months, KY should make me their new spokesperson. Work has diluted my literary inspiration to an incomprehensibly low level. I haven’t felt motivated to blog in months. In the sparse moments where random thoughts playfully tickled my brain stem begging for written exaltation, I found myself too exhausted to even put the effort forth to open up my laptop. I’ve become a slave to my job. I never thought that day would come. Never. I always swore to myself that I wouldn’t become “that overworked guy”. Things cannot continue this way…and believe you me…they won’t. The professional okie doke is looming. I ain’t saying…but I’m saying…is alls I’m saying.
Anyways, random thoughts are droppin’ ‘bows on one another in my mind fighting for space in the forefront. Enough with the depressing job talk. I’m not the first to be dissatisfied and I won’t be the last…
Washington, D.C. I’ve been there 3 times in the past 6 months. Let me preface the following by stating that I’m a big fan of the city and will probably return again several times (2 of my close friends will be residing in the DC area for the next few years). D.C.’s a great city…but…but…why does everything close so damn early? At 2 o’ clock, clubs and bars shut down. Literally. I’m sure there are a few exceptions to the rule, but the majority…no…all of the places that I’ve been to in my past 3 visits have closed at 2am (or earlier). They don’t even consider having the decency to allow you to meander around for another half hour or so afterwards. Nope…that hat isn’t in their wardrobe. They want their joints completely empty at 2am. There must’ve been a massive gang rape/drive-by/mass homicide that’s sculpted the nightlife circumstances of D.C. to where they are now. And to think…the city has so much potential to be a legendary party town.
We were at a spot last weekend that turned on the lights at 1:40am. 1:40am! Are you kidding me? That’s ridiculous. New York…it ain’t. Shit…Atlanta…it ain’t. We got spots that close early-ish…but most joints in The A will perform last call at 2am and officially close at 2:30am or shortly thereafter. Moreoever, there are more than a couple of spots in the city that allow you to party past 3. Besides that shortcoming, overall, D.C. is pretty dope. Thumbs up from me, mon frere. D.C. can be on the expensive side, but the plethora of diverse establishments that exist in such a small area compensate for that. Like any town, cheaper options can always be found. I might spend some time in B-More the next time I’m out there. My boy swears by all porn sites considered holy to him that B-More is worth visiting.
The Pacific Northwest. More specifically the Northern Oregon-Southern Washington area (think Portland). Stunning. Unequivocally the most beautiful area of the United States I’ve ever seen. Ironically, the Pacific Northwest has been the site of my 2 worst startup experiences over the course of the past 6 months. Those 2 professional experiences have contributed greatly to the fact that I feel burnt out. So, even though I was in this beautiful part of the country, I could barely enjoy it…besides the half hour drive I had from my hotel to the plant. However, with all that being said, that area of the country is as scenic as anything you’ll find anywhere else in the States. Evergeen trees and mountains. That’s a simplistic way of describing that are of the country, but…essentially…that’s what it consists of. It is a sight to behold, trust me on that. Massive Evergreen trees are everywhere (Washington is know as “The Evergreen State”). Everywhere. I even saw a couple of homes that had Evergreen trees on their front yard…ON THEIR FRONT YARD! Unbelievable. I’ve never seen anything like that. The major…major downside of that area is the weather. The rumor that “it always rains out there” holds more merit than you’d believe. For much of the year, cloudy and rainy conditions are an everyday thing. I’m not joking. I was out there for nearly 3 weeks total and it probably rained or was cloudy for 80% of the time. Although, locals swear that the summers are amazing. When the sun did make a guest appearance or two, the sunlight would illuminate the natural beauty of the area…only to be immediately shrouded again by ominous clouds and perpetual precipitation. Another thing I learned about Oregon was that they don’t utilize a sales tax on any good. Even on food. So, if you order a 79 cent bean burrito…you pay 79 cents. Now that, mon frere, popped the canister of my thermos. Genius. Genius, I tell ya! It may just be a ploy to get folks to move out there…but still…mad respect to the political representatives of Oregon who decided that. Mad respect.
Of all the places I’ve been over the years, I’ve never once step foot in Las Vegas. Times a changin’, though. Next month, the weekend before Memorial Day, a group of friends and I are headed to Sin City to celebrate a cousin’s bday/bachelor’s party. I’m curious to see what all the fuss about Vegas is. Will it be as opulent as described to me by several friends and associates? I don’t know. I’ll reserve judgment until we step foot in our hotel. However, I am excited about seeing what the Vegas experience will be like. The good, the bad, the crazy. All of it. Believe you me, my friends and I are not jonesing to live it up and ball out of control. I am in a financial position where I can let loose a little and spend decent money…but…why? After all, as if the Honda Accord wasn’t proof enough, I’m Guju. Why pay hundreds of dollars to get VIP into a club when I’m more than comfortable with waiting hours in line with bootleggers and scallywags to have a minimal shot at getting in free? Shit…I always take my chances. Nightclubs in Vegas even advertise “cut line” tickets that you can buy in advance for $60 (or more). Basically, you can buy these tickets so you don’t have to wait in line. However, you’ll still be partying with the minions and peasants who waited in line for general admission (your present company included). $60 to cut a line? Yo, on the real, I done been to my fair share of hip-hip aka “were gonna make your ass wait for hours in the balls hibernating cold to get in only to double the price of admission when you get to the front door” parties. Waiting ain’t but a thang to me. Word on the street is that the club called XS in the Encore hotel is one of the dopest clubs on the surface of the Earth. I can already foresee us waiting for 2+ hours to get in only to be denied admission because we’ve got more sausage amongst us than an Italian deli (Baldino’s anyone?). Regardless, we trudge on optimistically with faint hopes of limited complications and minimal rejections.
I swear uncommitted allegiance to doing a better job at keeping this blog updated.