I haven’t really been big on new years’ resolutions historically, but this year I decided that I’m going to try some on for size. My style is usually to do a zillion things at once and accept that some will stick and some will not, and that it will just have to be okay. So, in no particular order, here are my resolutions for 2007, of which I would really be happy if I could accomplish 1/3.

1. Ride my bike to work 75 times.
2. Go low-carb until I reach my target weight, then figure out how to stay there.
3. Spend 1 hr./day with each of my girls¹.
4. Meet 50 new people.
5. Start each day by planning.
6. Sit twice/week.
7. Take one good photograph each month.
8. Start speaking Spanish conversationally.
9. Be happy at work.
10. Document my progress.

¹ This amounts to 3 hrs./day, which I don’t currently have during the week.

After my coworkers left I was desperately tired and torn between wanting to go home, wanting to see more of the city, and wanting to go to bed. I went to bed. In fact, on Saturday morning, I awoke at 9 am so that the laundry could pick up some clothes, then put out the “do not disturb” sign and went back to sleep. At 2 pm, housekeeping called me to ask me when they could come clean my room. I decided to get up.

I took the metro out to the other side of town and just went walking in what I thought was a nice direction; I eventually came across the Parc de la Ciutadella, the “Central Park” of Barcelona. The park was filled with people young and old. People sat and ate on benches, gathered in circles in the grass, and in some cases, couples just laid the grass and made out in full public view. I am not a prude by any means, but I’m just not used to such public displays and found it intriguing. Lots of people were just laying out in the sun, enjoying the gorgeous weather as though it was the beach. One girl was sitting out in her bra and panties with her clothes in a heap beside her. I suppose she’d forgotten her bikini¹.

Eventually I got a call from the one coworker who lived in Barcelona; he invited me out to dinner along with his wife. I wandered my way back to the hotel just in time to freshen up and head out on the metro to the Gràcia district, where the young people hang out. We went out to a light dinner and talked about life and kids and the fact that I could totally move to Barcelona at any moment. We then went walking and talking around the neighborhood, and by this time I was unsurprised to see people lining up at 11:30pm to get a table for dinner at some places. I also discovered that the city would be pretty much shut down on Sunday, and regretted delaying a thorough trip through El Corte Ingles, the enormous department store next to my hotel. El Cortel Ingles is a great place to go if you need a suit, a whole smoked pig’s leg, an electric guitar, and a bathtub. Really. Same store.

I came back to a clean hotel room and fresh laundry, and fell directly into bed, where I lay unmoved until 10am.

Sunday, I found that the entire city had not in fact shut down, but most stores were closed–particularly the sort of stores you’d want to visit as a resident. All the tourist attractions were wide open; I took the funicular to Montjuic, and walked around for a while before getting on a tour bus. The tour bus was the sort in which you could get on and off repeatedly, so I took a last look at Las Ramblas, the Gothic Quarter, and around some of the Gaudi buildings. By dinner time I was pooped again, and I returned to my hotel room, thoroughly Barcelona’d out.

I ordered a $30 cheeseburger from room service, packed my things, and went to bed.

¹ If you ask for a “bikini” in a restaurant in Barcelona, you’ll get a grilled ham & cheese sandwich.

From Tuesday through Thursday in Barcelona, there was a nonstop progression of spending the day in meetings followed by some sort of sightseeing and eating combination, then going out drinking, going to bed too late and having to get up and do it again. I don’t remember there being any free time in there, and frankly I can’t remember any particular thing happening on any particular day, except that on Thursday, we cut out from work a little early and went to Parc Güell. I’m glad we didn’t stick around work because the managers’ meeting turned out to go really long, and we would have been waiting around forever for the rest of the team. The closest metro stop dropped us at the bottom of a huge hill which has a couple escalators to help for some of the climb. We climbed up and made our way around the park, reading the Catalan signs as best we could, and only getting lost once. By the time we were done walking and taking pictures, it was starting to get dark and we headed back for the hotel arriving just in time to go to the Mexican place next door to the hotel. The food was decent and affordable, but somehow the group managed to accumulate an absolutely insane bill; probably 75% of it was alcohol.

The following day some of my coworkers left for home, and I was still feeling woozy at 11am, but we headed out for more sightseeing, checking out the other Gaudi buildings in town and doing a little shopping. It didn’t take a whole lot of convincing by my coworkers to get me to eat McDonald’s for lunch. Not so much because we wanted the food as for the novelty of the experience; the menu has different food and is printed in Catalan. I don’t think there was any Spanish on the menu, though the employees did speak it.

By the time dinner rolled around, we were all pretty tired, especially those of us who had been out the night before. We ate at a hot dog place near the hotel and called it a night. My remaining coworkers were leaving the following morning so at last I knew I’d be able to sleep in.

Since the nanny started with us, I’ve been thinking it’s time to start riding my bicycle to work again. I haven’t been able to ride so much since having kids because I always need to drop off or pick up one of the girls. Now, relieved of the dropping off and picking up for most days, I have been meaning to get back in the saddle, but the sad truth about riding to work is that it’s inconvenient and it takes a fairly long time. It’s a hilly 7 miles, but I have to shower at the end of the trip both ways, and I can’t shower right away after riding because the shower won’t “take” if I’m still sweating. It’s good exercise, though, and I’ve thought that the ideal situation would be to drive to work and to ride back. Finally, I’ve found a solution with an assist engine from Golden Eagle Bike Engines. I just placed an order for the 35cc Robin/Subaru 4-stroke engine, which should propel me along at up to 30 MPH (I imagine less what with the hills), for what should be a 20 minute ride to work, not much longer than the commute in the car (and burning 1/10th the gas).

Supposedly, the engine installs in about an hour. The only problem I forsee is that apparently 32-spoke wheels like mine are often not strong enough for the amount of torque the engine puts out and start popping spokes. Then again, most people are installing these engines on cheap, department-store bikes. My bike, though 10 years old, was somewhat higher end, and I selected it for its sturdiness rather than for low weight. We’ll see how the wheels hold up. I really hope it works out well to buzz in and pedal back; also it seems like most people enjoy riding around with the engine assist so much that they end up doing a lot more saddle time as a result. I could use that.

I’m at this moment riding home in a van, rather than a limo, being driven by a man in a uniform rather than a suit. While on the trip I received the receipt for the trip to the airport and realized that our travel department must be on the take from the limo company, and arranged my own ride back for 1/4 of the cost. I figured it was only fair after the overpriced steak dinner I expensed. My body thinks it’s 1:20am, and I’m sure I’m going to wake up at what my clock thinks is 3:30am. Plus, I should do some double dad duty to give Jennifer a break after eight straight days of being single. Oh, and I’m sure a have a big backlog of work and increased expectations at work that I’ll put my expensive new knowledge to work ASAP.

That’s all ok, though, because I’ll be home.

I’m glad to be going home today. Yesterday was a brutal day of sightseeing; we started out at 7am so that we could get to the Capitol and be in line for tour tickets. The tour was somewhat disappointing; while the building itself is absolutely staggering, we only saw a tiny portion of it because the post-911 tour has been so truncated. We then walked through several museums until we were totally wiped out. After six hours of walking around, we were both completely wasted. We probably only walked 6-7 miles, but with the temperature around 100 very humid degrees, and having done a lot of walking the night before, we were done. It was about 4pm when we got back to our rooms and we simply agreed to meet this morning around 10-11am. I was up at 6:30 after a long rest but I’m already starting to feel tired again. Maybe I should lay down again before our last shot at a museum before we go home this evening.

I will admit without shame that I’m clueless about current events. I’m aware that there is a war going on in Iraq, and that some countries our country doesn’t like already have or are trying to have nuclear weapons. I’m aware that the city of San Diego has a bunch of problems with its local government. I’m aware that oil companies are colluding with each other to gouge consumers. There’s probably some other major issue that the reader is anticipating I’m about to mention¹. I just don’t care to know the details, and I’m beginning to get over feeling guilty about not caring to know.

I’ve had TiVo since 1998, and I’ve probably skipped 100 commercials for every one I’ve watched since then. I don’t read the newspaper. I have a subscription to Wired magazine, but I haven’t read it in months. There’s one radio show I listen to, and it’s not found on NPR, and I record it and skip the commercials. I haven’t heard about the new car, movie, or politician that just came out.

Moreover, I find that I’m simply offended by reality. I used to record and watch The Daily Show, and I love to hate our government as much as the next guy, but there’s just too much news in there for me. I’d rather not know than to point and laugh. My head is comfortably in the sand.

There was a time when I thought there was virtue in knowing what was going on in our world, and there was a time when I thought there was virtue in not knowing what was going on in our world, and at this time I just don’t care.

¹ I just remembered what the other thing was… immigration.

I’m officially turning in my apron. I used to poke fun at my coworkers over the amount they ate carry-out, but after my solo stint a couple weeks back, I’ve decided I just don’t have time to cook anymore. Cooking takes a crazy long time. I just don’t have that extra hour every day to make dinner. Yesterday (Mother’s Day, I know, but it was also Anna’s birthday, and for a whole bunch of other reasons, Mother’s Day is postponed this year) I bought a chest freezer, which I intend to fill with premade dinners, which will be delivered to our house by someone in a uniform. From now on, “making dinner” will consist of removing something from the defrosting drawer and putting in the over, then removing something from the deep freeze and putting it in the defrosting drawer. For the record, I’ve been making dinner for, uhm, EVER. Jennifer could cook if she was pressed to do it, but it’s just not a good idea on a regular basis.

Also, I talked with a nanny placing service today, so we could soon be interviewing nannies. This is a big jump for me, as I was very against the idea of spending more money for someone else to spend more time with my kids, rather than me doing it myself. However, the couple weeks I spent alone with the kids has really opened my eyes to how much work there is to be done around here, and how much more we could be enjoying the time we spend with our kids if we weren’t constantly occupied with the logistics and cleaning that seem to occupy most of our time.

Yesterday wasn’t much to speak of, either in terms of Mother’s Days nor Birthdays… and that fact is as probably as good an indicator as any of how stretched we are. I never have been an especially good planner of surprises, or even of non-surprise celebrations, but every now and then I do come up with a winner. The ladies that cut Jen’s hair still tell (and embellish) the story of how I made an album of Anna’s first year for Jennifer’s first Mother’s Day. In truth, I took advantage of my insomnia to do something useful for a couple months, and sought the advice of a coworker to make a simple album. According to the ladies at the salon, I took scrapbooking classes and popped No-Doz every night of Anna’s life in order to create a veritable monument to babyhood that will one day reside in the Louvre alongside Michelangelo’s Pietá[1].

Anyway, this Mother’s Day was supposed to be one of those grand occasions which would reveal another work that would further The Legend of Dave, that parable of hairdresser culture. So, it’s not done yet. And at the rate it’s going, it’s would likely be next Mother’s Day before it’s unveiled, if it weren’t for the fact that I plan to turn in my apron and hire a nanny. I’m hoping that I can free up some time for the thing that seems to be in highest demand around here: attention.

¹ Yes, I know Pietá is in the Vatican.

I have been in the information technology field since before it was cool, and for the entire time it was cool, and now that it’s no longer cool I’m switching to software development. I know what you’re saying, that software development is no longer cool, but the part of it that I’m going to be doing has only recently become cool. No, it’s not social networking. No, it’s not Web 2.0. No, it’s not–hey, leave me alone! The point is I’m switching jobs after a really long time.

So yesterday, I came in to inspect my new cubicle, and found that they hadn’t built it yet–it was only two walls. Despite the fact that I checked several times during the day, no progress happened until I gave up and stopped checking, after which the phone person came to inform me that it was all done. So, I grabbed a cart and hauled my old computer to my new cube and set it up alongside my new computer. In the process of setting my stuff up, I discovered my new cube is directly adjacent to a Loud Phone Talker, who appears to be on the phone ALL THE TIME. For the last eleven years, I’ve sat across from a Loud Phone Talker, but because he was across the aisle, there was a good 20 feet between me and his Loud Phone Talking. The new Loud Phone Talker might as well be sitting on my lap, apparently dictating an Excel spreadsheet over the phone. What’s worse, he occasionally stands up so that he can pace back and forth on his wireless headset and project his voice over the cube wall. I tried glaring at him while he was standing up, but I don’t think he understood.

At this point I’m considering my options:

1. Ask him politely to speak more quietly.
2. Line my walls with some sort of sound-blocking material.
3. Sneak into his cube at night and wire up a taser to his headset.
4. Wait until he’s on an the phone with his wife, and ask him if the gonorrhea cleared up.
5. Run him over in the parking lot.
6. Buy myself some kickass new headphones and block him out with MP3s.

The jury is still out, I’ll weigh my options.

No, I’m not talking about next week, when Jennifer is in Singapore and I have to be a single, working father of two for ten days. I’m talking about later today when Jennifer is running around the house, packing like a crazy person. Auntie K. and Uncle T. will be at a wedding, and I’m going to be playing softball with my volleyball buddies. Rather, I’m going to be drinking with my drinking buddies, while trying to play softball at the same time, and wishing I was playing volleyball instead.

K. and T. have been in town all week, and will be leaving at the same time tomorrow as Mom. I anticipate this will spark in Anna an outburst of epic proportions, such that none will be spared. But at least that frees me from having to plan the rest of the week.

After Jennifer and beloved Auntie K. and Uncle T. leave for the airport and Anna throws an epic outburst, only to be calmed by the Cinderella Video of Last Resort, followed by the nap-time consisting only of screaming and pounding on the door because she may not again watch the Cinderella Video of Last Resort, followed by threats of death (by all parties), followed by a half hour of relative quiet, it will be time to go to the playgroup Easter party. Getting-ready-to-go-to-playgroup will consist of some sort of clothing-related protest, followed by a dislike-of-parties-to-which-strangers-are-invited protest, followed by some yet-to-be-foreseen protest, after which I will pack the girls into the car and go to playgroup if for no other reason than to collect the well-wishes and offers of help from the other parents who have been in the same boat at one time or another. I will bring my camera, but I suspect I won’t have a chance to use it. I suspect I will stop at McDonald’s on the way home, even though I only eat there a couple of times a year, but I don’t think I’ll have the patience to deal with picky eaters or dirty dishes.

After going through the bedtime-for-two drill, followed by the reversal-of-entropy¹ drill, the blue glow therapy², and preparing for the following day, it will time to go to sleep, which in practice, means tossing and turning in my big empty bed until I decide the consequences of being tired will be too dire, then drifting off, only to be immediately awakened by one of the children crying, then failing to ignore the crying, then finally going to sleep at 90 minutes past too-late o’clock, then apparently getting immediately back up and starting the morning routine.

But who knows, it might not be as bad as all that. Maybe there will only be two protests before playgroup.

¹ cleaning

² watching TV