It seems that there was significant skepticism about if my tubing story was true. Rest assured, A League of Their Own finally posted the pictures, which can be viewed here.

Then to make matters more interesting, Windows Live Writer decided to stage a fit on Monday night, making it impossible to do my regular update. I have no idea what triggered the problem, but the program has decided to cooperate tonight.

Back on my birthday, I began to investigate the TSA website for any new developments. You, the Transportation Security Administration...who every air traveler must contend with on their journey. The last time I got in an airplane, I got chewed out for not removing my shoes. The TSA enforcer tried to tell me there was a sign...but I never saw it and told him as much. He didn't like that at all, but invariably I tried to cooperate with him after the fact. In any case, most people never really consider the term "reasonable search" when flying, but I do. It's not to be difficult, but instead to avoid the abuse of power, which if you think doesn't happen...Google the term "TSA Watchlist".

I was rewarded for my effort though. As of May 28, 2008 the TSA no longer accepts government issued identification that does not have an expiration date or your age listed on it. My state ID badge, which is official identification has neither, so it meant I had to use my driver's license which was printed incorrectly when I gave up my old one from California. I wanted to change it right away, but going to the Motor Vehicles Division in Alta Sonora can be a hassle. Now I realized I HAD to do it before I left on vacation because I sure as heck didn't want a misspelled driver's license ruining my trip. (See...look how pliant I've become, next thing you know I'll be helping them put the 4th Amendment in the shredder.)

The boss man allowed me to head over to the MVD before work on Friday and get in late. But the things didn't go as planned. The computers went down (their system always goes down) but before that they informed me I needed my passport. The circuitous logic is this: federal law required proof of a passport or birth certificate to change the name. Now, it's true I just turned in my old driver's license from another state beforehand and never brought my passport. But since I had already invalidated that out of state license and never had another old in state driver's license, federal law required them, the counter attendant said, to require a passport or birth certificate. Given though that my state ID is official identification and a driver's license is not...this is when I begin to think about donating to Ron Paul.

Left in a funk, I headed into work around 11am and found no one except Joy. She had bounded into the bathroom and heard someone say something and everyone had abated. Fire drill, staff meeting? Nope. Our big boss, the deputy chief of staff announced to us, with five minutes notice, his retirement party. So I went upstairs with Joy and savored a nice melange of cheese, fruit and the like. Now, the significance is that this may mean changes around the Crunk Factory. But I can't promise you at this point what those changes would be.

The farewell party pushed back my birthday luncheon by about an hour because people were too full to leave right away. Invariably we left for this Iraqi restaurant which I like. Joy didn't come because of a prior commitment, but Duane did. The resident economist saw that I brought my camera with me and began to sample my photos. She noted that I "don't take pictures well" which I had to clarify as a statement of my skill as a photographer, not as to how I look on film. Duane sarcastically embraced that for the first fifteen minutes of the luncheon that the topic was "how awful Thomas is at taking pictures".

That evening, I went over to Chey and Rita's to join them for another A League of Their Own Event, this time an 80s costume ball. I didn't have much time or money to do much cosutmewise. (I folded up the collar on my polo shirt and that's about it.) What made it sort of unique is that it was held in one of Pueblo Grande's most historic homes. Moreover, I was feeling a little dehydrated so I avoided the bar at first. But as the night went on, it just got worse as the dance floor was in a room with a low ceiling. Walking into it felt like entering a jungle.

But wait, there's more. At the end of the night, some girls started talking to Chey and I as a sort of preemptive cockblock of this one dressed in a Star Trek outfit. Now, I felt bad for this guy but in case you are wondering...it was not a Next Generation Suit (TNG) which aired in the 80s, but an Original Series one (TOS) from the 1960s. Hence I felt like saying "dude, was the transporter supposed to take you to the 60s party instead?" He didn't really have to worry, there were some very elaborate costumes, ranging from Ozzy Ozbourne, Slash, Magnum PI, to the Ghostbusters. Yes, five people dressed up in full uniforms wearing their proton packs. Mr. Stay Puft however, steered clear of the party.

Tired, but dry, I wound up spending the night on Rita and Chey's couch. The next day, I was really tired, but had promised Ed from Ag that I would go to a fundraiser of his in Pointy Rock. Rita was eager to go, Chey instead decided at the last minute he wanted to join us. (There was free food, and only a request for a donation.) Rita actually enjoyed going because she agreed with Ed's campaign platform. Moreover, she pointed out to Ed that many of her fellow Rockford Peaches live in his district. (She and I don't, though.) Ed was happy to her willingness to talk about him and promote him to them. Otherwise, I spent most of my time talking to this one guy who is a page for the Legislature. Rita began to think he might have been interested in me, but he never revealed himself to be gay.

Back at my apartment, the three of us decided to get some food and alcohol at my local supermarket. (The fundraiser had free booze as well.) We manage to do all that and start making drinks with me being the most sober person. But somehow, Chey and Rita get into a small fight and he decides to drive home by himself in the middle of night! That left me to take Rita back in the morning on my own. This ended up wiping out my Sunday too, and ensuring that I was conspicuously late to work on Monday.

At least birthdays only come once a year....

The monsoon made a comeback on Sunday night. A huge evening storm dumped flooded one of the freeways and stranded hundreds of motorists. So what did I do? Yeah that's right I headed out to my favorite rib joint under suddenly calm skies. I made it home safe and sound.

Monday morning, I noticed my feet were still swollen so I called my doctor. Usually I wait for his assistant to rely a message, but this time she called my bluff and told me I would need to come in. I did, but as it turned out the doctor reassured me that the swollen ankles were "part of the body's inflammatory response" and nothing to worry about. I believed him, but I had been sitting in such a position in the tube beforehand that I didn't want to write it off before talking to someone about it. (In case you are wondering, sitting for long periods of time can cause a blood clot. It's wasn't my first suspicion, but I had an episode of nerve damage from sitting too long already. The nerve grows back like new, btw.)

I had left work early as a result and stopped by afterwards at the Costco to buy English muffins. See, at the Office the person who has a birthday has to buy breakfast for everyone but they can bring anything they want. Naturally I thought at first about something ambitious. But then of course, I decided to be cute and go with Thomas's English Muffins painted with apple butter and some quality fruit spreads. (As opposed to say, marmalade.) More on this later.

Tuesday I had to attend a training course. Not for me of course, but because Marcel wanted me to get some experience teaching one of our budget training courses. Marcel, my supervisor, originally though this was the easiest class we offered but as it turned out it was the hardest. The instructor was my team member under Marcel, Lew Rockwell. Ol' Lew (that's not his real name) is a twelve-year veteran and might be the most intelligent person in our Office. It has been alleged he's turned down numerous times to be a supervisor or "team leader" and as such, sits on Marcel's team with me.

I already had the PowerPoint slides and I wanted to take note of Lew's pedagogy. But then I noticed that he sort of bounced around, nevertheless in total command of the material. I decided to make my own slides. Marcel is going to kill me, but I realize that Lew had the presence almost of a grad school seminar professor hulking through community college. He agreed that he saw "lots of furrowed brows" but I didn't want him to feel criticized. The class took all afternoon, so I went home postulating what to do.

Wednesday saw me try to finish the slides after a site visit, but it's taken me much longer. Instead I came to work today with my English muffins to find something completely unexpected. No, not the huge birthday poster we put in everyone's office or the streamers...instead I found a donut...sitting on my chair. A regular old glazed doughnut with chocolate icing on type. I ate it, decided instead not to have any of my muffins. Then at some point, the Director noticed someone had taped one of the "Thomas's English Muffin" labels on the box to my nameplate outside my office. Duane later put it over the name plate. (Wait until I take a picture of it.)

The majority of people in the office wanted to know what I was doing for lunch. However, there was a significant problem. There was a training class on the software I was going to explain in my lecture too. That left me to suggest pushing it until Friday. Everyone agreed, though Joy had apparently promised to have lunch with one of her friends outside work already. In any case, we went to the training class and it was over very quickly, taking only 70 minutes out of two hours.

That gave me more time to work on my lecture, which still isn't finished. In case you are wondering, the class is next Wednesday.

The end of the work week was punctuated by the news that the Federal National Mortgage Association (also called Fannie Mae) had seen its stock collapse by 50%. At that point, Washington had yet to admit it would rescue the government corporation from insolvency. Word of IndyMac's failure in California was old news by this point. Of course, I usually have lunch on Friday with some coworkers, including our resident economist. We had an excellent discussion, but as I told them I was going to get my ass kicked for a different reason. I had promised to go with Rita to the Sonoran Ganges with her friends in A League of Their Own. Unlike in India, adherents choose not to walk in the sacred river, but rather take intertubes and navigate it. This doesn't mean though, you stay dry.

At first, I was very enthusiastic about the idea since this is one of those activities best done in a group. But as the weekend drew closer I realized there was a greater and greater risk of being caught in a thunderstorm. Starting on Thursday storms began to rip through the area, and the forecast that day didn't look promising. Given that tubing it is far from a short outing, (five hours on average) I figured we might as well call it off and reschedule even though I had bought reef shoes and everything. But the group's leader Kathleen...would have none of it. We were going, hell or high water (literally).

At first I thought it would just be Kathleen, Rita, myself, and Kathleen's husband, Drew. But then we found out another couple was joining us as well as Kathleen's housekeeper. At first, things looked headed for ruin as the cooler with Rita's stuff and mine appeared to be falling apart. But Drew astutely knew it was designed to fit inside a tube, so he used our rope that we had bought for just this purpose to tie it to our tubes, the other group members. Kathleen, Drew and the housekeeper brought their own tubes which had cordage already attached to the vessels, allowing them to just use clips to attach themselves.

Of course, no sooner do we set sail then Rita began to sound miserable. (It was hard for her to maintain the right posture in the tube.)While the river was hardly packed, pilgrims of all stripes passed by us. Some attached pirate flags to their crafts. Others opted for the old stereo blasting out tunes. The early course of the river is the most shallow and scenic I'd argue. But this isn't as great a thing as you'd envision, because when the river gets shallow, that means rapids occur. So we managed to get quite a ride as our flotilla hurtled it's way downstream. At one point, Rita fell out of the tube and had to be rescued...but this was altogether minor and more a product of her being unable to kick herself free from the sheet she had used to cover the tube.

The first portion ended with Drew having to pull us across a doldrum into the second half of the course. I would have gotten out to help him, but I wasn't as familiar with the depth and didn't want to lose my balance in tube. In any case, Drew was particularly aware of what to expect in terms of rapids and courses, so it made it very easy to anticipate what was next and batten down the hatches. What proved tougher, I learned, was drinking enough fluid and putting on enough sunscreen.

Towards the end, we actually rescued a person who had trouble staying upright in her tube. She wasn't alone, but was stuck because the river shifted course quickly before she could adjust. Soon afterwards we reached the Narrows, where cliff diving and college kids playing the loud stereo are the norm. Kathleen wanted me to get out and swim a little, but I didn't want to make Drew save me given that the Narrows are the deepest part of the streambed...at over ten feet. (In case you are wondering, I can swim, but only recently have been able to get back in the swim of things.)

Last but not least with mere minutes left on the river, Kathleen got out of her tube and soon Drew tried to stop the flotilla...but it was impossible. She ended up catching a ride with another group but not before the entire contents of their cooler almost ended in the water. I managed to grab some of it, and prevent total ruin. Within moments, we back at the beach below the bus depot where we had started five hours before, dry, excited, and much more pale.

Rita admitted finally that she had enjoyed herself. I certainly did, though it Drew's expertise contributed to that and I am eternally grateful. The other couple seemed to have a good time...and we know Kathleen did. As you can imagine though, given that it was an aquatic activity, I didn't take my new camera. Well, wouldn't you know, Kathleen brought her waterproof digital camera and had me take some shots on the float down. I don't know what photos she will keep, but I did take lots of nature pictures. I tried to avoid taking pictures of other tubers in case they didn't like it, and I was positioned so that I was facing the rear of our flotilla.

It didn't occur to me at the time to take a picture of my badly sunburned ankles. But then last night as they began to swell, I realized I had a photo op on my hands. So rest assured, even if you see none of my desert landscapes, you will get to see my really swollen feet.

Kathleen was suggesting we go again in August. As long as I can buy some spray on sunscreen, I think I'm there.

It's been a .... slow week.... at the ol' Crunk Factory. Some people never returned from the 4th of July weekend (like Duane) leaving it very quiet around them parts. I have doing some site visits as a result to get ahead of the next budget cycle in the fall.

So I regret to inform you that I don't have much to talk about. You are just going to have to entertain yourself some other way. Well...almost.

See, one of my coworkers took a picture of me wearing my new hat in the break room. This guy and I rarely talk, so I was a bit surprised by this. (He used his phone to talk the picture. You can see what my hat looks like here.) In any case, I never got an explanation what the photo was taken. Moreover, this just isn't something you want to get confrontational over.

This really isn't blogworthy either, but that's how slow it's been. The truth IS out there I suppose, but didn't we establish those lights were a hoax anyway?

After the game was almost over, Duane commented how surprised he was to see me not taking any Imodium. It's a inside joke from the last time he and I watched a baseball game together, which also happened to be the last time his wife and kids were out of town. Somehow or another I got sick from something I ate and he wound up having to drive me back to the apartment at very high speed to avoid me losing my lunch in his car. But as it were, this time things were going a bit more smoothly.

Well almost. We had been invited to a staff party across the street from the stadium downtown, but he wasn't really interested in going. (There was a $10 cover, but there was food served.) So we instead wandered around looking for somewhere that was open. Despite that there were tens of thousands of people around, we soon found out downtown still closes awfully early and had to eat at A Place Owned by an Former Professional Athlete (POFPA). It cost us slightly more than $10 per person and Duane was hanging his head in defeat.

Nevertheless, we couldn't argue...the tickets were free. One of our coworkers is a season ticket holder and was out of the country for a while so he gave away his seats. Duane pounced. What was a little surprising is that we were surrounded by a ticket holders despite being on the upper level. So imagine our surprise when some errant fans for the visiting team....Milwaukee's Brewers sit down in front of us. Now don't get me wrong, I had a blast going to their spring training games and really understand why one can be a Brewer fan. In fact, the thing I liked about them the least was Bud Selig, who is now out of the picture in Wisconsin.

The guys in question were young and loud, but one in particular wore a sleeveless T-shirt to compliment his mullet, mustache, and sunglasses. As the game began to slip away, the expletives began to flow as he talked on his cell phone. This upset the wife of a couple sitting next to them. But as Duane duly noted, both of them began to mention how they were using "profound" language apparently unaware it's "profane" language. Walking out that night was among the most miserable experiences of my life. It had been hot in the ballpark despite being indoors. But with the humidity rising, it was still close to 100 F at 10pm.

The following night we again were back at it, this time sitting in the lower level. We had bought tickets as part of a state employee charity event which gave us a significant discount to where we were sitting. It was much cooler down there, and our view was better. But because our seat abutted the aisle, Duane decided to move back a few rows which hadn't sold and were completely empty. I obliged him by buying some "famous" garlic fries. We had already eaten dinner, this time at a semifamous diner which supposedly sold the best fried catfish in town. He wasn't sold on it, but this time we took a few more pictures being so close to the field. We ran into yet more Brewer fans, but this time they were hot girls with some guy. As you know who had to leave early the next morning, there was no way to try and introduce ourselves beyond a simple hello...but nevertheless...at least we got a nice picture out of it.

The humidity ramped up as the work week wound down. More and more people began their annual leave, plunging the Office into a sort of monastic silence. I had nothing planned for the Independence Day weekend, though Rita asked me if I wanted to join her and the family at a fireworks display in the Silicon Desert. She also had half a mind to invite another friend of hers to join us for drinks afterward.

But wait...it gets better. See, I had rented some movies over the weekend now that I was pretty much guaranteed to leave around 5pm each day. I had to return them by Friday, I thought, so I spent Thursday night watching "The Constant Gardener" before planning to head out and return the movies and get something else. I'd tell you all about "Gardener" and great it was except I was really unimpressed. Granted, it's good that someone decided to make a movie about the developing world. But the film wallows in such cynicism that it draws comparisons to Jonathan Swift's A Modest Proposal. Of course, the latter also happened to be satire...but in any case....

As soon as the movie was over I opened my front door and saw a huge bolt of lightning rip through the sky. It was awfully close so I decided to head back inside and turn on the news. As luck would have it, a huge storm cell had wandered its way down from the mountains but was set to pass in an hour or so. So imagine my three day weekend delayed by...weather. Around 11:30pm the cell passed...but it was too late to go to Blockbuster.

I had decided earlier in the week to make sure and visit the pool on the 4th. Rita informed me that her friend had something else to go to, so I would just be joining her kids and Chey if I went with them to the fireworks display. I didn't object, but I figured the pool would be empty and I'd be back in a hour. Instead, it was decently busy with people almost immediately complimenting me on my hat. Also in the water was none other than my neighbor who was already chatting it up. It turned out that this crowd was a tad older, and therefore more suited to me. There was yet another beautiful gal in aviator sunglasses, but this one, astonishingly, was married and in town on business. However before I got a chance to talk to this one who used to work in the Temple City's Sheriff's station about the ills of urban development, an episode of MTV True Life broke out.

This one gal, christened "Harry Potter" by the guys hanging out there for the book she was reading was having a gay old time getting attention from everyone until she realized her cell phone had landed in the water. Now...I don't even bring my cell phone to the pool for fear of it getting wet. But "Harry" decided to leave it close enough to the edge so that this other guy (who seemed like a nice guy at bottom) kicked it in after having a bit too much to drink. Now to be fair, everyone had been drinking (except me thinking I'd be leaving in an hour) so as you can imagine this was all a bit too much for us. "Harry" was screaming that her holiday was ruined and on and on it went, (she had no other phone line and no way, she thought to get her numbers back). And this guy, who had one of those "Schmidt" style tattoos on his ribs and abdomen, no desire to just give her money to buy a new phone. (Remember, all the stores were closed for the holiday.)

Of course, as we all...all ten of us tried to adjudicate the matter we learned lots of unfortunate details about both of them and by the end people were joking that in fact they were going to end up married to each other. But as Aviator Girl II found herself running for cover and my neighbor did too...it was amazing to hear the poor gal tell us how desperate she was because he ex-boyfriend wouldn't believe her story. (Nevermind the fact, she dumped this dude for nailing some other chick.) Or how she had already used her insurance coverage once and was worried about doing it again...and on and on it went.

Eventually she left, and I got to talk to the guy who used to the work at the Sheriff's station and hear how he and his girlfriend were moving to Chicago so he could get a PhD.  Aviator Girl II also turned out to be from SoCal, though her coworker lived in the complex and was based here as she continued to live in the 714.  Some other guys also introduced themselves, and they were both originally from New Orleans, but they at least live in the complex.

Finally, around 7pm, Rita was wondering what was going on. I was supposed to drive up to North Cougar Country around 6pm and eat dinner with them. Of course, I hadn't brought my phone for its own safekeeping but also had no way to know what time it was. So I hoped in the car and made my way up the highway. The sky looked so ominous it felt like I was in "The Neverending Story" or something. Huge gusts of winds blew across the road and knocked me into the next lane. No sooner did I pull into their apartment complex and the rain began to drench the ground and leave me with no option but to soldier up to their door, wet. Chey and the kids were standing on their balcony watching the show...as lightning careened across the sky. I should add that the monsoon season doesn't produce "usually" storms which cover the whole metro area. Instead powerful cells rip across town in waves, leaving some areas totally dry and other soaked.

For that reason Rita went to check the computer to see if the fireworks show would be canceled (since it wasn't nearby) as I ate some of their leftovers she set aside for me ever so generously. The kids meanwhile changed out of their rain gear waiting to see what would happen. The rain abated, and we headed south to the Silicon Desert. However the traffic and crowds were huge, and we ended up parking in a private dirt lot to the north of the display. Rita was pooped and didn't want to walk into the public grounds. I didn't really mind standing and watching the display, but we happened to be buttressed by a very bright floodlight. So Chey went into the trunk and got out some folding chairs they use. The kids were all too eager to sit outside with me and wait for the show the begin.

Instead, the show scheduled for 9:30pm never materialized and Rita began to get frustrated. She told us that if the show didn't begin by 10pm we would be out of there. But I knew that with the weather, it was possible that the show was merely delayed or had to be canceled all together. And then as if on cue, the fireworks started. But hilariously it was above the floodlight making the whole thing less than photogenic. (I tried taking pictures, but I realize I'm not that good.) As the show wound down, I told Rita at least it was good were already in the parking lot and could leave and beat the crowd. Chey immediately started to break things down as I soon as I said this, knowing Rita too was headed to the bathroom.

When we got back to their place we ended up talking for so long I spent the night. In the morning I played indoors with the kids as Chey and Rita slumbered. Eventually we had brunch at Denny's and went with them to the store. Chey and I began to talk sports after the kids fell asleep and I knew I needed to get home to do my laundry. But nevertheless, I still didn't make it home until around midnight.

I slept until the afternoon on Sunday, then forced to hurriedly do my laundry in preparation for the week ahead. But it was nice to have a few days off and finally catch my breath.