This recipe was adapted from our Cuisinart Frozen Yogurt, Ice Cream & Sorbet Maker’s recipe book [buy ice cream maker from Amazon].

Frosted Sugar Cookie Strawberry Ice Cream

• 1 pint ripe strawberries, stemmed and sliced
• 3 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
• 1 cup suger, divided
• 1 cup whole milk
• 2 cups heavy cream
• 3-5 frosted sugar cookies (frozen)

1. In a small bowl, combine strawberries, lemon juice and 1/3 cup sugar; stir and let strawberries macerate for 2 hours.
2. In a medium bowl, whisk to combine the whole milk and remaining 2/3 cup sugar until sugar dissolves. Stir in heavy cream.
3. Blend macerated strawberries until smooth.
4. Combine cream and strawberry puree in ice cream maker’s bowl.
5. Mix in ice cream maker for at least 30 minutes.
6. Add chunks of frosted sugar cookies and stir to mix in.
7. Pour into freezer safe container and freeze for at least 2 hours.

By the time we found a spot to park and were less than a block from the restaurant, Elise stopped a security guard to ask where the movie theatre was. He told us that it was way off yonder in Phase II of the Domain, which was not within walking distance. He noticed that I had “We are on a dinner and a movie date” written on my forehead, so he said, “you probably won’t have time to eat and make the show. However, the movie theatre does serve food and drinks. You two could have dinner there.”

“You are a fantastic human being, Mr. Mall Security Guard Guy!”

So we walked back to the car and drove to the movie theatre. We had plenty of time, so we walked leisurely to the swanky counter to purchase our tickets. They were sold out for the 9 p.m. show. There were two seats located together for the 9:45 show. So I told the nice young lady that we’d take those two tickets. She told me my total would be $45. I told the nice young lady that I didn’t think she understood.

“You see, it’s just my wife and I that are here to see the picture show.”

“Yes sir.”

“I do not have a bus full of small children that are also here to see the movie with us.”

“I understand. It’s $45.”

Actually, that’s not the way it happened at all. She told me it was $45 and I handed her my credit card. You see, if you told me that a bicycle was $15,000 because it has a derailleur, and you show me a piece of paper with the word derailleur printed on it as one of the features of that bicycle, I will pay because derailleur is a very nice, fancy word.

Elise, on the other hand, would not pay. She said something to the effect of, “OH NO YOU DIDNNNN N’T!” as she pulled off her wig and started swinging.

“What comes with a $22 movie ticket?”

The young lady explained that there are only 40 seats in the theatre, reclining chairs, fresh blankets, pillows, and a private server call button.

I asked if a foot massage was included. She told me “no.” I would’ve had no problem paying $22 for a foot massage and a movie.

So we left, drove back south and bought our movie tickets for the 9:45 show at the Alamo Drafthouse. It was 9 p.m. and Elise was starving at this point, so we walked over to Casa Garcia. They were closed. We walked across the parking lot over to Suzi’s Chinese Kitchen and had 30 minutes to spare. Elise had the seafood combo. I had the scallops. We shared the restaurant with one other table — a couple, probably 30 years our seniors, sitting at the table next to us.

It wasn’t until just now, while I was recounting the events of last night, that I thought about the relationship I have with my wife that I’m guilty of taking for granted. As trivial as making ad hoc plans for a date night, driving all around Austin, finding a place to have a late dinner and going to a movie so close to our bed time is, it reminds me of how lucky I am to have the wife that I have. When I have no problem handing over my credit card and paying $45 for a pair of movie tickets, she steps in as the frugal one. I don’t complain or question her judgement. She fills in in that part where I’m lacking. When I’m stressed and in a hurry, she grabs my hand, holds it and makes us both walk a little slower. When we have dinner at a Chinese restaurant and I invariably tell her, “if I wanted that, I would have ordered it.”, the thought never crosses her mind to reconsider sharing with me. It’s just her nature.

The movie was just okay. The night with my wife was the priceless reminder.

My inclination was to just buy a relatively inexpensive rain barrel on Austin’s craigslist. As of last Thursday night, I couldn’t find a rain barrel that fell within my price range (I don’t recall what my price range was at that point – maybe $50 if memory serves me correctly). And I didn’t want to spend $100+ for a rain barrel at the local Home Depot. And I didn’t want to have to spend $250 at homedepot.com in order to get a rain barrel that I wanted. Although after it was all said and done, I think I would have made out better by just buying a rain barrel at the Home Depot. More on that later. But keep in mind, this is a project — man work!

After some research, I found Barrel City USA down south in Buda, TX. They sell 55 gallon food-grade barrels. So Maly and I got up early on Friday morning and headed down to Barrel City USA and good ol’ Philip sold me a big blue barrel for $18.

We stopped at the Home Depot (what project doesn’t involve a stop at the HoPot?) for some lumber, deck screws, mesh screening, water spigot, downspout attachments and a gasket kit.

After a stop at Starbucks, a blood letting and lunch, we headed home and the rain barrel project commenced. First I had to clean the dead Russian hooker parts out of the barrel. I jest, but seriously, good Lord that barrel stunk. It didn’t really smell like dead Russian hooker parts, but more like an industrial dead Russian hooker parts cover-up scent. If you’ve ever smelled the scent that’s emitted from the Flamingo Casino & Hotel in Vegas, or spent more than 30 seconds in a truck stop bathroom, then you know 1/10th of the potency of this smell. There was a pink gelatinous goo smeared amongst some industrial grime about the interior and exterior of the barrel that required copious amounts of dishwashing soap, elbow grease and the business side of an abrasive dish sponge.

First I built a two-foot tall table on which to place the rain barrel. The table would elevate the rain barrel enough so gravity would lend me some water pressure, and so we can get a watering can underneath the spigot.

Next I drilled the bung hole. Yes, bung hole. I didn’t have a bung hole bit (The Bung Hole Bits would be a great name for a band), so had to make a quick trip to Home Depot for a set of spade bits. I used a 7/8″ spade bit to drill my hose approximately 2″ from the bottom of the barrel. I used a PVC female adapter and a gasket that I made from the purchased gasket kit to ensure the spigot was water-tight.

It’s worth noting that if you buy a barrel for your rain barrel, make sure there isn’t a top to your barrel, otherwise you’ll have to saw the top off to install your spigot. Philip gave me a clamp for the top rim so I could cover the top with a mesh screen.

Next I used my jigsaw to create a 3″ hole for overflow. A 3″ hole is too big. Another trip to Home Depot to get some PVC parts and my rain overflow was complete.

Next I painted my downspout attachments to match the house. I already had paint from another downspout project some 5 years ago.

So, building a rain barrel is a relatively inexpensive ($99 if my math is correct) and fun project. Here are the parts that I purchased and their approximate prices:

• 1 – 55 gallon dark colored plastic barrel (I’ve read that white barrels promote UV penetration which will foster faster algae growth.) ($18)
• 1 – treated 8′ 4×4″ (cut into 2′ sections for the legs of the table) ($6)
• 2 – treated 8′ 2×4″ ($6)
• 1 – box 2″ deck screws ($7)
• 1 – 3/4″ water spigot ($6)
• 1 – rubber gasket kit ($5)
• 2 – 18″ accordion downspout attachments ($6)
• 2 – 60″ accordion downspout attachments ($20)
• 1 roll of mesh screening* ($5)
• PVC parts & glue** ($20)

* 55 gallon barrel had a 22″ opening at the top, so make sure your mesh screening or lid is at least 22″ in diameter.
** You could probably get away with just using 3/4″ or 1″ tube for your overflow. Or PVC and gutter attachments that will let you tap back into your original downspout.

And it just so happened to rain late in the afternoon on Saturday, just after I’d pieced together my overflow downspout. We got 4/10″ of rain and the rain barrel was full (and watertight)!

Today I’ll paint the barrel so it matches the house. And I’d also like to get a trash can lid with a cutout for the downspout to cover the top of the barrel. I don’t like the wire mesh hanging over the sides of the barrel.

Photos of the project can be seen here.

Now it’s a concrete jungle strip mall. Wal-Mart, Target, PetsMart, a store dedicated exclusively to popcorn, among thousands of other retail chain outlets.

Here is a Haiku I wrote about today’s Southpark Meadows:

Southpark Meadows is
a place for you to consume
things. All of your things.

Just this morning I transplanted a jade pup plant to a new pot for my office. And this afternoon I potted a newly-acquired desert rose with some ice plant clippings from our front yard. Six months ago these moments would have seemed trivial. Now I take a moment to focus on what I’m doing and appreciate what will eventually, with patience, be “explosions of beauty” in the near future.

As I type this I’m looking at my little jade pup plant that sits atop my desk where I spend most of my time. It’s a pup from the big jade in the pot in our backyard. It started out as a pup as well. It was from the original jade plant that my mom gave me 16 years ago when I moved to Austin for college. When I first moved here, the plant-concious part of me that is all mom hadn’t surfaced. I think she gave me the jade plant because it’s relatively tolerant of neglect. And I gave that plant plenty of neglect. We endured a hard frost some 10+ years ago and the jade she gave me was on the verge of total death. For whatever reason, I plucked the only little branch that had an inkling of green life left in it and potted it. And that’s the jade plant that I’ve had ever since. It’s never neglected nowadays. The green thumb genes from my mom are, I guess, finally starting to rear their head. And I welcome that change as well.

John posted a link to Derek Powazek’s post titled “They Don’t Complain and They Die Quietly” on Facebook yesterday, and the timing was just right for a read like that…

These changes don’t happen at internet speeds. You’ll hardly know they’re happening at all. This is one of the gifts plants give me. They remind me to slow down, to take the long view, to breathe, relax, and just wait for what happens next.

Good stuff.

Yesterday was just a good day. Elise had an early morning photo gig with a newborn so Maly and I headed out early in search of some garden walking paver stones for my new “Garden of Serenity”, or whatever the hell I’m going to call out little section of backyard that I’ve started “redesigning.”

Instead of just going to Home Depot or Wal-Mart, I decided we’d support the local guy. We drove over to the mom and pop stone yard in Dripping Springs where we were told that they didn’t carry the circular pavers that I was looking for and that we should go to Home Depot or Wal-Mart. Okie dokey. Fadeaway, hook, swish on supporting the local guy.

Instead of leaving right away, we walked around and looked at the fountains, waterfalls, stones and huge piles of rocks. After 20 minutes, Maly’s flip-flops were good and muddy, so we decided to continue on our quest for pavers.

We drove to Wal-Mart. After a quick perusal of the garden section, no pavers were to be found. So we headed over to the toy section. It was about that time that Elise texted me to tell me that her photo shoot was over. She headed back south to meet us. Meanwhile, Maly and I browsed the Barbie and Princess aisles of the toy section.

Elise showed up and we hopped in one car and headed to SoCo. It was lunch time, so we stopped in at El Gallo. El Gallo is the Mexican restaurant on Congress, just across the street from St. Ed’s. I hadn’t been there in 15 years, and Elise had never eaten there. Good food.

Then it was time for the grand finale — the real reason I decided to take my daughter out on a date that morning. We drove a little north up Congress and parked behind Big Top Candy Shop.

Maly was just like, well, a kid in a candy store. She opted for Runts and Pixy Stix. I went for the malted balls and cordials.

Elise took lots of photos of the shop’s interior. Maly and I fed our faces with sugar. After half an hour, we were back in the car where the child quickly conked out and we toured south Austin on a photo location scout.

It was one of those days that just couldn’t have been been scripted any better.

Last night, after the above ritual was complete, Rocio came over to drop off Rafter. We all hung out in the kitchen for a bit and Maly and I shared a sprig of grapes. Over my shoulder, and without putting too much thought into it, I told Maly that since she ate grapes, she was going to need to brush her teeth again.

Ten minutes later I found myself sitting at Maly’s bedside, finishing the Snow White story we’d started earlier in the evening. I remembered telling Maly earlier that she was supposed to brush her teeth. I just assumed she hadn’t, so I told her, “I asked you to brush your teeth, but since it’s late and you’re already in bed, it’ll be okay this one time if you don’t.”

“Daddy, I did brush my teeth.”

“No, I meant after you ate the grapes.”

“But I did brush my teeth.”

“A second time, after you ate the grapes?”

“Yes.”

“No you didn’t.”

“Yes I did.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“You brushed your teeth twice tonight?”

“Yes.”

I assumed that my child wouldn’t heed my instruction and lie to me about it. And I had absolutely no reason to make that assumption. I still wonder what that says about me.

This morning Elise asked, “Did you tell Maly that she needed to brush her teeth again last night?” I told her that I did. And it was confirmed that the child did in fact brush her teeth a second time last night. I praised Maly this morning for brushing her teeth, and I apologized for assuming that she hadn’t. I didn’t go into the details of my assumption – I just made sure to praise her because she did the right thing.

You know what happens when one assumes…

And so now we fast-forward to 3 p.m. today. I was walking out of the bedroom and into the living room where I caught the angel of a child on the couch with the cat’s head locked between her knees. Before I could say anything, and before she noticed my presence, she punched the cat in the head.

I’ll spare the details, but will say that it wasn’t pretty. There was no beating or bloodshed, but the child probably felt like she was an inch tall after I was done.

I had to go out to the garage and pace as the rain poured onto the driveway and contemplate the punishment for the Shiny Toothed Cat Mangler.

It’s amazing how in one day the child can be a saint, and in the next, she can be a demon.

I’ve been told that a couple times recently and nothing chaps my ass more. I used to think that Austin drivers were my #1 pet peeve, but today I was reminded that it’s the person who says, “you have too much time on your hands.”

I really like what Terry Border says, and how he challenges people to be creative instead of being parasites. And anytime someone tells me that they think I have too much time on my hands, I send them the link to Terry’s post:

I come across that line far too often- “They must have too much time on their hands.” I’ll see something really neat on the internet, and written somewhere in the comment section, I’ll find those words. How many hours does that commenter spend watching television, surfing the internet, or playing video games?

If you spend 3 hours a day on passive entertainment (which is probably a very low estimate), that’s 21 hours a week that could be used to write something interesting, make something cool, or creating something absolutely nutty that you and some other people might really enjoy. If you aren’t doing something along these lines, then I think that it might be you who isn’t spending your time wisely, and not the other way ’round.

I challenge you to try it.

Terry takes photos of ordinary objects in interesting settings and situations. And he put these photos together in a book. And he sells his book. For money. He’s contributing something creative for you to consume. I’ve consumed his works as well, and I really appreciate him using his time to be creative and share it with the world.

So I’m with Terry. I challenge you to make something. Do something. Contribute.

I’ve “unfriended” lots of “friends” because they really weren’t “friends”, but were “friends” at one point and now, well, even with close to 500 “friends”, it’s almost too much to keep up with. It’s to the point of distracting and the reasoning behind why I only browse my friends’ Facebook statuses in the evening.

We have company in town from Des Moines (French for “the Moines“) this week, and we found ourselves out on the driveway this evening playing foursquare. I thought to myself, “where I have I recently heard the term ‘foursquare’ a lot recently?…” It wasn’t long before I remembered Facebook – I see Foursquare updates from my “friends” who “check in” at places like Starbucks, Chick-Fil-A and Ernie’s Shack o’ Fresh Dead Bait, Tackle & Tanning. And just today, Mike Elgan tells us that we all will use Foursquare or we might run the unfortunate risk of not being awarded the illustrious titles of “Gym Rat” for checking into the gym, or “Super Matter Excrementor” for checking into the 3rd stall in the bathroom on the second floor of the mall from our smart phones.

He says:

The reason I say you’ll soon use Foursquare or some other location service is that even if you don’t embrace a location-based social networking, one is likely to embrace you.

The products, services and businesses you enjoy will increasingly offer incentives to persuade you to use location services.

I get it. I understand it. But I just don’t buy it. If I want a latte, I’ll go buy one because I want one, not because I have I a merit badge on my phone.

My friend Joey uses location-based social networking services to show to his followers that he’s at the Eiffel Tower, and then three hours later, he’s checking in at the In-n-Out Burger in Marina Del Ray, all while actually sitting on his back patio watching squirrels and deer eat corn.

My other friend Travis notes a social networking update observation in, “Oh wait… you just now checked into Chick-Fil-A and took a photo of your waffle fries with your iPhone? No f&%$ing way!”

Most other friends are “checking in” at bars. Or commenting on conversations held with their cat. Or buying a slip cover (whatever that is).

I genuinely hope that Jimmy “Legs” Hamstercaster has a great egg salad sandwich tomorrow. That’s his business. My business will be in the now, probably playing foursquare out on the driveway with friends and family.

Niece: “I was looking at their dessert menu and nothing really sounded good.”

Me: “You know what’s awesome for dessert?”

“What?”

“A concoction that I created once myself.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“Bacon ice cream served in a bacon bowl and topped with chocolate covered bacon.”

“Bacon ice cream?!”

“Yes. It’s really quite good.”

“I’ve heard about chocolate covered bacon, and that sounds really good. I’d eat chocolate covered bacon. But bacon ice cream?!”

“Yes. Trust me, it’s awesome. I call it ‘TUBS: The Ultimate Bacon Sundae’”

“So, do you sprinkle it with gummy worms, too?”

“No. That’s just gross.”

“Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Banana.”

“Banana who?”

“Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Banana.”

“Banana who?”

“Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Banana.”

“Banana who?”

“Knock knock.”

“WHO’S THERE?!”

“Orange.”

“Orange who?”

“Orange you glad I didn’t say banana again?”

The Zombie Eater version:

“Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Banana.”

“Banana who?”

“Orange banana don’t you say so!! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

1. Beautiful Day – U2
2. No Woman No Cry – Bob Marley
3. Feelin’ This – Blink 182
4. Come Sail Away – Styx
5. Turn! Turn! Turn! – The Byrds
6. A Small Victory – Faith No More
7. Party Hard – Andrew W.K.
8. Top of the World – Carpenters
9. Don’t Worry Be Happy – Bobby McFerrin
10. I’ll Tumble 4 Ya – Boy George & Culture Club
11. Feeling Good – Muse
12. American Pie – Don McLean
13. Empire State of Mind – Jay-Z Ft. Alicia Keys
14. Could You Be Loved – Bob Marley
15. I’m A Believer – The Monkees
16. Walking on Sunshine – Katrina & the Waves
17. Do You Realize? – The Flaming Lips
18. I Can See Clearly Now – Jimmy Cliff
19. A Beautiful Morning – The Rascals
20. Three Little Birds – Bob Marley

Yes, I realize many of them have significant cheese factor, but hey, they work for me. And yes, there are three songs from Bob up there, but that’s how I roll. What’s in your list of pick-me-up songs?

“What’s that, Sugar?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s where daddy would love to be.”

“Mexico?”

“You. Are. Awesome.”

Our class started with all 39 couples sitting in the church’s little auditorium. After our program leader put away the levitating serpents, we watched a short film starring the fine couple, David and Claudia Arp, who, together, started the Marriage Alive program back in the early 70′s when the free love movement was nearing its end and being replaced by things like capitalism, disco and monounsaturated trans fats. In this film we were told that with the help of mild sedatives and Sade’s 1984 hit album “Diamond Life”, we could re-energize our marriage.

Our first class was quick and it allowed us to rip out not one, but two perforated pages from our “10 Great Dates” owner’s manual. These pages were our respective “Date One Exercise” worksheets – one for him and one for her. On these pages were the series of the same 11 questions. We hopped into our love wagon and drove over to the local interior Mexican restaurant for dinner, and to see if we could score some sedatives from the bus boy.

As we waited for our dinner, we filled out our respective worksheets. We wrote down our memories of things such as:

• First time I saw my mate
• First date
• First kiss
• Favorite dates
• First time we talked about getting married
• Wedding day
• First home
• First anniversary
• Most romantic moments
• Happiest memories

Elise reflected and reminisced in detail in most of her answers, while most of my answers consisted of a simple “yes” or “beer!”

The best part of the date was just being able to get away and focus on rekindling our relationship while knowing that our only offspring was safe, handling mosquitos the size of Labradoodles, under close supervision during a summer twilight in Texas.

It was fun to remind each other of important and exciting events that we’d experienced, arm in arm, in the past. For example, Elise reminded me that we were married in “SEPTEMBER!”

Three Pepsis and an hour later, we found ourselves back in the church parking lot along with the other parents who also didn’t know what to do with one another for an entire two hours.

So we loaded up the child, drove home and prank called the David and Claudia Arp house until 1 a.m. Elise blames it on the Pepsi. I blame it on the re-energizing.

If our child were to break her arm today, the only thing we would have after paying medical bills would be a stinky cast. Long gone are the days when one could trade a plump hen or a bushel of earthworms for the town’s doctor to set a broken bone. In my research I discovered that in the early 1800′s, 20 tablets of 30mg Viagra would set you back just a jar of canned peaches. I am clearly a man before my times.

In order for there to be “security,” we need one of two things: a job that provides group medical benefits to its indentured servants or independent medical coverage which, for a family of three healthy humans, will cost us approximately $6,279.98 per hour. I say approximately because insurance rates are calculated daily based on prime plus an arbitrary number that sounds official to lobbyists and special interest groups.

If I had a job working for a corporate employer, I would run the risk of losing my sanity, but thankfully I’d have health insurance which would cover up to 50% of sanitarium service expenses and monthly bedpan replacements! My wife would have to sift through the daily “THIS IS NOT A BILL” bills from the insurance company which indicate that antibiotics for an ear infection fall into the “Full Cranial Transplant” category, which is only covered in the event that said transplant occurs on a Wednesday during a month that contains the letter “Y”.

Or we could just get independent health insurance. Hahahahahahahahahahaha!

The one thing that I’ve learned about myself in the past few years is that I appreciate and aspire to live a simpler, saner life. I think this could easily be achieved by moving to a Pacific coast town in Mexico with little more than my family and my trusty laptop. We would all learn to speak fluent Spanish, fish in the deep blue, study ocean conservation and explore the regions and cuisines. I’d setup some kind of some kind of U.S.-based online business, or write a weekly newspaper column, to earn US dollars while living on pesos. If I had to guess, I would think my wife would love to become a teacher or a nurse. Our daughter would become increasingly popular by telling her jokes to the locals about farts and email. Surplus cash (above food, clothes, investments, savings, fishing lures and guitar strings) would go to charities. I’d setup my own health insurance plan where Richard Branson, Keanu Reeves, Sammy Hagar and I would charter a jet full of highly skilled Mexican doctors and fly to the U.S. to help sick children without insurance.

As far as security, Mexican health care in medium to large cities is considered very good to excellent, and very affordable.

As far as sanity, I like to re-read this story and daydream about catching dorado and laughing. Laughing a lot.

The American investment banker was at the pier of a small coastal Mexican village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked.

Inside the small boat were several large yellow fin tuna. The American complimented the Mexican on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took to catch them.

The Mexican replied, “Only a little while.”

The American then asked, “Why didn’t you stay out longer and catch more fish?”

The Mexican said, “With this I have more than enough to support my family’s needs.”

The American then asked, “But what do you do with the rest of your time?”

The Mexican fisherman said, “I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take siesta with my wife, Maria, stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine and play guitar with my amigos. I have a full and busy life.”

The American scoffed, “I am a Harvard MBA and could help you. You should spend more time fishing; and with the proceeds, buy a bigger boat: With the proceeds from the bigger boat you could buy several boats. Eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats. Instead of selling your catch to a middleman you would sell directly to the processor; eventually opening your own cannery. You would control the product, processing and distribution. You would need to leave this small coastal fishing village and move to Mexico City, then Los Angeles and eventually New York where you will run your ever-expanding enterprise.”

The Mexican fisherman asked, “But, how long will this all take?”

To which the American replied, “15 to 20 years.”

“But what then?” asked the Mexican.

The American laughed and said that’s the best part. “When the time is right you would announce an IPO and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich, you would make millions.”

“Millions?…Then what?”

The American said, “Then you would retire. Move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take siesta with your wife, stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your amigos.”

There was no agenda or presentation for today’s luncheon; just a get-together for like-minded folks. I found myself sitting with and really enjoying the company of two guys, Ronnie and Kyle. They run a company that sells hookas. Yes, hookahs. Robert, Ronnie and I were the first ones who arrived at Opal Devines for the luncheon. When Ronnie told me what he did for a living, I instinctively made a drug dealer joke. In hindsight, that was probably a stupid joke. He didn’t seem bothered by it though.

I know absolutely nothing about hookahs, so I was very inquisitive. It was really cool to hear how Ronnie and his brother started the business 10 years ago and today he employs 30 people in his south Austin fulfillment center. Ronnie started out by traveling to Palestine to visit family and returning to the states with hookahs for his friends. From there, the rest is history. Without getting ALL the details, it seems like a relatively simple story. He focused on something that he knew and enjoyed and built a successful business around it.

It wasn’t exactly the interaction I was expecting but, then again, I didn’t know what to expect going into the luncheon. And although it wasn’t expected, it was a great conversation and an opportunity for me to learn about a very successful, niche business, and meet a couple really nice guys to boot.

“Look, May, pigs feet!”

“Blech!!”

“Oh, and check this out. This is a cow’s tongue!”

“Ewwwww!!”

“…”

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, Sug?”

“When they cut out the tongue, does the cow die?”

“No, she just talks funny.”

The above was an actual conversation. And that was the day where the straw broke the camel’s back. Later that day I had a somewhat unrelated conversation with my boss where we collectively determined that the job I’d originally accepted had become non-existent.

I’d accepted a leadership position with this new company on March 10th, and put in my resignation with my former employer the same day. A week later, my soon-to-be employer was listed on Spamhaus. Without going into great detail, getting listed on Spamhaus is heart attack serious. Ask any reputable ESP and they’ll more than likely just respond with an, “Oh, fudge. Sorry.” And then they’ll hang up. Since I was going to be charged with heading up the email efforts of this company, I inquired about the Spamhaus listing and what needed to be done, even though I hadn’t even officially started working for the company. I was told that “the problem is currently being addressed.” The CEO called my cell phone at 8 a.m. the next morning, assuring me that the company had never been listed on Spamhaus before, and to not worry.

Prior to my start date, the company was removed from the Spamhaus blocklist.

After my second day with the company, they were listed on Spamhaus again.

For the remainder of my first week, there was no email to be sent because of the Spamhaus listing. No leads to generate for clients. Nothing for my staff or me to do other than look for “a band aid” so we could send email. I couldn’t find a “reputable” band aid because they all required our opt-in source(s). I even called in favors from friends in the industry: “The company’s on Spamhaus?! Fudge.”

Since there was no work for the better part of the week, I was charged with reducing headcount. I barely knew the folks that were reporting to me and I had to reduce staff by 44% after my having been employed for only 5 days.

Since then, the company has employed a “don’t ask, don’t tell” email marketing service, and was working on outsourcing its sending servers overseas at the time where I left.

I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t adding value. I wasn’t at fault. I was fired. There wasn’t a fit and the company and I parted on amicable terms.

So, I’m looking for a new job. If you, or anyone you know is looking for a Josh Janicek, let me know.

And this is the video of her this evening, almost 2 years later:
Click here to view the embedded video.