Tony Salazar’s Blog

In my haste to figure out what I should do with the second 1/3rd of my life, Sarah and I decided I should go back to school and get my degree.  The decision was basically Sarah saying "Why don't you get your CS Degree?" and me going "Hmm..."

I started with a full set of basic classes.  It turned out that I started registration late, and had to choose from a very limited supply of classes.  So far my semester has consisted of: Western Civilization, Microeconomics, US Government, and Java Programming. 

Java Programming is online, so I don't deal much with the other students or the teacher.

The first week I walked into my other classes every teacher had their version of the same speech: Read the book, do the homework, study for the tests.  They all had their own version of "The system is out to get you" lecture. 

Every one of them said something similar about attrition as well.  They said that the class would have 70% fewer students by the finals.

I'm going to community college.  It's a good community college (California has some of the best), but it's still full of people who, for whatever reason or another, aren't going to a State or UC college.  I'm also one of the oldest students in two of my classes (My Civ class has a grandma in it).  In the first 4 weeks, I would go into classes, do the reading, do the homework, and follow the instructions the teachers gave out.  I assumed my fellow students were doing the same thing.

My first hint that my professors might be on to something was my third week.  Our Western Civ teacher gave us an assignment.  It wasn't a difficult assignment in my mind as I'd already done it four weeks earlier, even before the class had started.  The assignment was to buy the course book.  Now, you didn't have to carry the book into the class, all you had to do was come into class with proof you had purchased the book.  This was worth 5% of your grade.

About 25% of the class failed this assignment.  This was about the same number of people who forgot to take the "doesn't count on your grade" pretest in Microeconomics that my instructor begged us to take.

About 4 weeks in I had one test in each of my 3 humanities courses.  Each one was relatively easy for me because I had followed the instructions of the professors.  I had read the material, done the homework, and studied for the tests.

This time period was an unmitigated disaster for my fellow students.  Each class I was in had students who were freaking out about what the tests contained, how all the tests were too difficult.  Each teacher was stereotyped as an uncaring career sadist who delighted in pedantic lecturing.

And the classes began to dwindle.  We had lost a lot of people in my Microeconomics class right after the first test.  My Government class had 250 people, so it was hard to tell how many people were left.  I sat in front in my Western Civ class, so I didn't pay too much attention at the time.

About week 11, I looked up my post mid-term grades and had a minor meltdown. I had taken two tests on the same day in week 9, and from the grade scores, I had assumed that I had blown both.  Sarah talked me down by telling me not to assume anything.  Her suspicions were proven correct when I learned that the curves in those classes were so low that my grades were putting me in the High B / Low A range.  Sarah is particularly annoyed at how little studying I am doing.  She doesn't see me doing a lot compared to what she did in law school. 

After my second test in Wester Civ  my professor stated, as a matter-of-fact, that 45% of the class had failed both tests.  What is amazing about that number is that the teacher has done the following for every test:

• gave the questions to the tests during lecture,
  
• defined all of the vocabulary 3 times,
  
• told us where to read to get the answers for the essays, and
  
• provided outlines for her lecture.
  

In order to fail a test in her class, you had to lose 15 points out of 25.  (We've since had a third test, and I was mad at myself for getting a 22 on it.)  Oh, did I mention she also drops your lowest test score when doing your grade?

My Microeconomics teacher has done two tests.  They, admittedly, are difficult.  It's not an easy course.

My Government class has had 3 tests, all of them open book.  He's put in his class notes the areas that each test covers.  His tests are so heavily curved that it is possible to miss 40 questions out of 60 and pass it. He's given students 15 extra credit questions on one test, and two extra credit book reports you can do to that will give you the equivalent of one free test's worth of points.  There were still people petitioning to curve the second test because it was "too hard"

I think a lot of the students hear "Open Book Test"  and think it means "I don't have to read the book."  I sit in a row of 5 people, and I asked every week for 3 weeks if anyone had read the chapters (yeah, I'm that guy).  I was the only one.  I take lecture notes, but I don't reread them in this class because they aren't that useful.

My Government teacher is probably the most useful of the three because he is what is waiting for any of these students when they move on to the UC system.   He lectures abstractly about the material, and expects you to do the reading on your own.  He is not telling you to learn the material, he's just punishing you for not doing it.

And he is HATED for it.  If you look at the reviews for him on RateMyProfessor, you'll find hundreds of angry students going back years complaining about his teaching style. Of course, if you look harder, you'll find the students who actually learned something in his class.

My Microeconomics class had 27 students in it today.  We started with 120 (with more people who were trying to petition to get in the first week).  My Government class has less than 80 out of 245.  My Western Civ class has 40 out of 120, and of those 10 of them still are failing the class (even after she told everyone who failed the first two tests to drop the class).

We are two weeks from finals.

I took a test in Government today.  The students had been complaining about this test for the past three weeks.  It was over 16 chapters in two books, about 300 pages of reading.  I spent the weekend reading one of the books, and had already read the other material in the other book.  Here is how you take a test when it is open book:

• Read the book
  
• Do the homework
• Study the material

It doesn't hurt to make note cards with chapter names for the questions you might have to look up.  Also the index is your best friend.

 

 

I've been trying to figure out the best way to write about this.

About 3 weeks ago, I was laid off from SOE.  I had a feeling the night before that it was going to happen.  When you've gone through as many of them as I have, you begin to know the signs:  work starts to dry up; emails start to not be forwarded to you.

This was the first time I'd gone through it personally.  I had always wondered how I would deal with the idea.  It turns out that I ended up taking notes.  I treated it like it was a business meeting.

I spent the next hour packing my things, and saying my goodbyes. I don't remember much about the drive home, other than a strange feeling I couldn't place.

I got home and read the carefully worded paperwork I had received.  It was then I realized I hadn't read everything I had written in my notes.  It turned out that my severance was a lot more substantial than I had figured on. I had spent the past 3 years focusing on paying down debts. Now I was looking at enough to be OK for the next 6 months, 12 if I was frugal.

That was when I realized what the feeling I couldn't place was.  The surface feeling was panic.  The feeling underneath was relief. 

My commute was awful.  I usually don't like to admit things like that because it feels like griping.  I was driving 80 miles each way.  I spent almost 3 hours a day in my car.  It made me an irritable person at home, and it ruined the first part of the day for me.  I do my best work in the morning, and having the first 2 hours be a gauntlet of dodging slow cars was taking it's toll on me.

I was paying 600 a month on gas.

Don't get me wrong, I loved my job.  I love the people there, and I believe they liked having me around.  I think, though, that my new situation was becoming an issue.

Anyway, that was 3 weeks ago.  The first week, I was at Comic-Con.  It was the first time in 4 years that I really felt free to focus on the things going on.  I also got to be a tour guide to Sarah.  It turns out she loves this stuff a lot.

For the past two weeks, I've been trying to figure out what is next.  This is the first time since 1999 that I haven't been working.  I haven't had a real vacation since 2006.  My vacation payout was enough to pay my car payments for the next year. That's really sad.

At first, Sarah was emailing me job postings because our first thought was I'd just start looking in Irvine.  The last email she sent me on the day I got laid off was just a link about going back to school.

At first, I was just thinking about going back to brush up on some programming languages I am curious about.  This week, Sarah brought a print out of the course requirements for a BS in Computer Science with an emphasis in gaming culture. 

It's like someone looked into my soul and created a degree. I've been playing games my entire life.  I failed out of college in 1990 because of games.  Now I am going to go back to learn how to make them.

The strangest part of this whole thing is the lack of a feeling of panic. Sarah has been the biggest reason for that, making me realize I am OK.  Panic rears its' ugly head every now and again, however, it's pretty toothless.  I don't have a lot of expenses. I am more than covered by unemployment.

Truthfully, the biggest issue is filling the extra time in the day.  I don't start classes for another month.  I made a list of big issues to deal with, and finished a lot of those last week.

Right now, my most important goal is figuring out how to organize my life for the things I said I'd always do if I had extra time.

Draw. Paint.  Learn More about other computer programs.

That feeling on the way home.  It was knowing I've been blessed.  Being agnostic, that is as close as I will ever come to saying that god has seen me and answered a prayer.  One I didn't know I'd been making.

I separated from my ex-wife in 2005.  The first 2 weeks of that I was living in a hotel near work.  It was a nice hotel, if you like those kind of things. I looked at 5 places I found on craigslist, and decided on a place finally in frustration because I didn't want to stay in the hotel any more.  That turned out to be a mistake. 

I moved into a condo unit with 2 other men in their early 20's.  Both were going to UCSD, and they had lived in the place for 4 years.  Neither one of them had cleaned the place in the 4 years they were there.  They had cats.  One of the cats had a myspace page and a blog.

I took the place with the understanding that it was temporary.  I also lucked out in that I moved in next door to a coworker by accident.  Michael had moved down a few months before, and while we were friendly, we weren't friends.  Having me next door changed that.  We both would start hanging out on Friday nights watching Sci-fi.  It was useful to have someone to talk to.  There were a lot of people who weren't then.

About two months after I moved in, Michael asked me about my living situation.  I explained it's temporary situation, and how badly the place smelled.  He didn't say anything then.  About 3 weeks later, he asked if I wanted to look for a place with him.  I was hesitant because I didn't have a lot of money, and wasn't sure what I was supposed to be doing.  He explained that he was living next door the a bad tennant, and was sure because of the relationship with that tennant and his landlord he was probably going to be evicted.   The eviction notice was given to him 2 weeks later.

When we started to look, we gave ourselves a budget and some essentials.  Less than $1600 a month, 2 bedrooms minimum, in Hillcrest or University Heights (a must for Michael),  needed to look cool (a must for me).

We printed out about 10 places to look at. We set all the appointments: 8 for Saturday, 2 for Sunday.  The night before, Michael shows me a new one he's printed out.  It's got a couple of photos, but they are small.  The ad mentions a sun room, and a yard.  I ask if he's set an appointment, and he tells me we can hit it first before our other appointments.

Saturday morning came, and I arrived with food.  I got in the car, and gave him my plan:  Don't fall in love with any place you see.  Take photos, and we will discuss them when we get back.  I knew this was a good plan, because I had always done this my entire life.

I should have realized that this advice only works for me.

Michael and I arrived at the first place, It's 1752 Robinson Avenue.  We drove around the block, because we don't see the house at first.  Only on the second drive around did I see that the 2 in the address had lost a nail and was hanging upside down.

The house was a modest looking one story house with two bedrooms and a room in the back.  It was still occupied.  We met the property manager at the front door, and he let us look around.  I took photos. I still have them.

In one of them you can see Michael talking to the Property Manager.  He might have been cruising him, I'm not honestly sure.  I do know we were always on a first name basis with them.

I didn't like the place all that much.  The place had 4 college age girls living there, and it looked (and smelled) like a girls dorm.  We stayed late because Michael wanted a guided tour of everything.

We rushed to our next appointment.  I don't remember much about any of the rest of them.  What I do remember was Michael comparing every place we saw with this one.  I was annoyed.  It was the opposite of what I had wanted.

At the end of the day, Michael asked me to go to the Sunday appointments alone.  He was "beat".  I went to see two places on Saturday.  One was a two bedroom place with a smaller yard, but with parking.  I called Michael and said it was something he should see.  He asked me how I would compare it to the first place we saw.  I lied and told him I didn't remember much about the place.  He asked me to drive by and take another look.

That turned out to be a good idea.  I had time to park in the neighborhood and look at the place.  It had a good front yard with a tree that provided shade.  I sat in the yard and decided that I was going to have to like the place because Michael was hellbent on living there.

We talked the property managers into letting us move in right away without painting the place.  We had to clean out the last of the girls stuff.  That was when I saw my first water bug.  It was dead.  They were almost always dead.  I showed it to Michael, and he just thought it was because of the way the previous tenants had lived.

One night the first week we were there, we were moving furniture around, and had the doors open to get a breeze.  I looked at the front door and saw a foot long lizard standing on it's hind legs and staring at me.  I always thought the expression on his face was "what the hell are you doing here?"

We saw two more lizards that first month.  Over the next 4 years I would see rabbits, raccoons, rats, mice and possum.  The raccoons are the only ones that freaked me out.  They don't move out of your way.  They side step you, like they are looking for the right place to put the knife in your back.

Michael and I were really happy with the place.  In the first year it was just the two of us, and we liked the way the house was set up.  He put up different curtains and we set up the front to be his studio for him to photograph in.

I always wanted big get togethers. Michael wanted the house to be more of a sanctuary.  We had a lot of disagreements about that.  I think once we decided on getting a roommate, Michael started to feel like it wasn't as much his place.

My personal favorite roommate was Luciano.  He's not the most popular person among my friends, but I liked the guy.

When Laurna moved in, the vibe for Michael was off, and he decided to move out.  I can't blame him.  It can be difficult living a couple.  We got a new roommate, which was a mistake.  Charles was a good guy, but he was new to the town and the neighborhood.  He had a lot of friends, and those friends didn't respect the house at all.  Laurna and I had to put up with a lot.

• The guy who vomited in the sink that was full of dishes because he didn't want to vomit in the toilet.  I had to clean it so Laurna didn't see it.
• The couple who decided to fuck in the sun room at 3am on a Saturday morning.
• The twinks who ran in and out of the house 4 times in one night high on Meth.
• the ex boyfriend who decided break into the house on a night when charles was out of town.
• the guy who peed on the bed in the back room.

I liked charles, but when he moved out, I was relieved.

Laurna and I tried our hands at having foriegn exchange students instead of roommates.  I have to admit, I liked that a lot more.  We got some cool people in the house.

When Laurna and I broke up. I spent the first month alone in the house.  It had been 3 1/2 years and I had never had more than 3 days alone in it.  I couldn't believe how much I liked having the place to myself.

Over the years it had become MY place.  I was the only person left on the original lease.  I had lived in every room.  Everything in the house was mine.  I could come and go as I pleased, knowing that when I got back everything would be where I left it.

I just couldn't afford the place alone.  Well, I could if I wanted to stay there and not do anything else.  I decided to look for a couple of roommates.  Big Mistake.

My last two roommates have been a disaster.  Worse, I began to feel like the house wasn't my place any more.  I had one roommate who slowly took over the one room that was the common room.  I couldn't cook in the house because her stuff was everywhere, and she wouldn't clean it.

Then the property manager stopped paying the gardener, and the place was overrun with weeds, and insects.  The thing that finally made me realize I didn't want to be in the house any more were the fleas.  Somehow our house got infested with them. I can deal with everything else, but I can't deal with fleas.  We didn't even have a pet. I lost one roommate to them, no big loss, but I also lost my willingness to put up with roommates.

I gave my notice two months ago.  I've been putting off clearing out the place because I've come to love the place.  Sure it was a creaky old place with floors that weren't straight.  It had a hellmouth underneath the house that would occasionally bring in the weirdest bugs.  None of the windows were level. The doors wouldn't lock correctly. The bathroom had no ventilation (a must if you live with me). There was no insulation, so it was boiling in the summer, and freezing in the winter.  We had random homeless who would sometimes squat the yard by accident.  You could hear cats running in the walls after mice in the winter.

And yet....

I'll leave by posting some of my favorite photos from the place.  I know I'm off to a better place, but this one will always have a special place in my heart.

I woke up this morning and put the following on: Grey t-shirt, Whitish shorts, Black Socks,  Black Docs.

I didn't think much about it because it was 7am, and I was in a rush.

I stepped out of the car and got a look at myself in the window at work and realized that I look like I am wearing underclothes, and forgot to put my pants on.

oops.

I tend to bore everyone to tears with my hobby. 

When I was a child, my grandfather had a garage that he disappeared into for hours.  I was never allowed to go in there.  I was 8 or so.  One day I snuck in and took a look.  It was full of carpenter's tools.  He had woodworking equipment that must have been as old as he was.  Every couple of months he would come out with something for the family.  Usually it was something nobody in the family wanted, but they weren't going to say no to Grandpa.  The thing I remember the most was a coffee mug holder that hung on the wall.  He made it because he hated the standing one that was next to the paper towel holder.  I think the coffee mug hold might have had a paper towel holder on it.

I'd like to say that my interest in woodworking comes from him. That would be lying.  I nearly failed wood shop in Jr High, and joined the woodworking club because my friends did, and because the people in the club got free popcorn from the popcorn maker.  The 8th grade photo of us is probably me at my most geeky.  There is no excuse for a kid in Tucson to wear flannel, ever.

Truthfully though my love for this hobby comes from the fact that I am cheap. It happened about two or three years ago.  My roommate Michael had just moved out, and We had just purchased a new television.  I was balancing a $1500 TV on a pair of $10 side tables, and realized that it looked like the worst dorm room on the planet.  I talked to my friend Brian about what I should get and he suggested something from West Elm.  It wasn't a bad suggestion, however, I balked at the price.  They wanted $400 for a credenza made of engineered wood.  Anyone who  has come over to my  house knows that the place is not a place that would look good with something made with fiberboard. 

I decided to look for a cheaper alternative. That weekend I spent most of Saturday going through every used furniture store I could think of looking for something that would work.  The last place I went wasn't a store.  It was a storefront for  a restorer.  By this point I must have just been frustrated because I told him what I wanted and he laughed a slow laugh and said "you wont find a finished piece for that price."  I had no idea what he meant, and finally he asked how much I wanted to spend.  I told him less than $200.  He thought for a minute and said "You might try Pat's, it's full of stuff that is really cheap, and you might find something that will work for you.  You might have to do some work on whatever you find.

Pats turned out to be this place: Pat's Corner

The place looks like any other thrift store you might find.  The difference here is that they have a lot of furniture in back.  I spent 1/2 an hour looking and finally stumbled into the back and found this piece.

It was upside down laying on top of another piece, with three others stacked on top of it.  I asked her how much she wanted for it, and she said $35.  I bought it immediatly.  The next weekend I went to the hardware store, bought a sander and some paper.  I also got my first can of stain. and finished off the top in about 3 hours.  Looking back on it now. I got extremely lucky with this piece.  It came out beautifully with a minimum of effort. It was in good shape on the sides, the legs are sturdy, and it looks wonderful.

I got so excited about this piece that I started going to pats on a regular basis looking for other pieces to work on.  Last summer Dianna, Dave and I worked on a piece I picked up for $85.  It's a nice piece and I love it, however looking back at it, I know we made several mistakes.

The first is we sanded this down.  We didn't have to.  Stripping off what was left of the veneer wasn't needed it was almost gone.  I wasn't being so careful at that point though, and I wasn't patient.  If I have time this summer I might see if I can correct my mistakes on this.

I've done several pieces and have had some success and failures.  I still have my biggest failure sitting in the front room.  It's a waterfall desk that I didn't like too much but was curious to see what I could do with it.  The only reason I haven't thrown it out is it's a reminder to slow down.

Last night I got 3 books for my birthday from Sarah, the woman I am seeing.  All of them are about restoration.  I cannot begin to tell you how excited I was to see them, because in  reading them I have been shown two things.

1.  I have not been destroying the resale value of the pieces I have been working on.  This was a real concern to me.  Every restoration site has a story about how some person restored a $30,000 piece, only to find out later if they had left it alone it would have been worth $250,000.  This is only the case with true antiques.  In this case, pieces made before 1850.  I don't think I'll ever see one of those in Pat's or on Craigslist any time in the near future.

2. What I have been doing isn't too far off of what they recommend.  In fact, the only thing I am doing wrong is not taking my time.  Something I have already learned the hard way.

I love doing this.  It's something I really enjoy, and some day I hope to become an old man who has a workshop that I don't allow anyone to go into, that occasionally produces something somebody might want.

Someone told me recently I should start blogging about the work I am doing.  Considering I am a complete neophyte when it comes to this. I think I could start by blogging my ignorance on the subject first.  This would be a good place to start building.

Ok, ok. I get it. I'm a geek.  I enjoy all things geeky, and so when something happens that affects Geekdom, people feel like I am some kind of touchstone.  A filter, if you will.

Battlestar Galactica ended last week.  I've been a fan, however truth be told, I didn't start watching the show in it's first year.  When the Mini-series started I watched, however I came into it 1/2 an hour late/ I didn't catch what happened to cause the mass exodus, the fights were way too complicated with too many whip pans and jump zooms. I didn't know what was going on, and so I skipped a year.

I didn't start watching it until Michael Solano started watching it regularly, and explaining what I had missed.  I became a regular viewer in time to catch the 2nd season finale.  By that time, I'd caught about 50% of what was going on, but still was a little lost. I was hooked, though.

I got the first two seasons on Netflix while I was watching season 3. By the time season three was over I was aware of three things:

1. I hated Starbuck.
2. I loved Adama
3. Baltar was my favorite character.

In fact, everyone else on the show could have gone and fucked themselves, and I would have watched the Adama and Baltar show.

The show has had good moments and bad. The rescue from New Caprica was as exciting as the boxing match between Starbuck and Apollo was FUCKING PAINFUL (JUST KISS ALREADY!!!). They've had characters I wanted to die who, when they did die, I was genuinely sorry they were gone.

If you've asked my opinion on the show, and I've been short about it. I'm sorry.  It's mostly because I was still processing my feelings.  A show that's gone as far as this one has in its story deserves a better answer and a more nuanced opinion.  I still don't have one.  All I have are certain thoughts that come up while thinking about it:

 

• Cavil shot himself because it was the only thing left he could control.
• I never bought the relationship between Roslyn and Adama.
• Roslyn's unwillingness to let her sickness take her was inspiring.
• I didn't give a shit about what Starbuck was. I still dont.
• I was grateful they didn't let Helo bleed out in the hallway.
• The Duex ex Machina worked for me because I'm an adult and don't need everything explained to me.  I played with lego as a child and was able to make more toys out of basic shapes than just the one in the instruction booklet.

The one time I choked up a bit was when Baltar told Caprica that "He knew a little something about farming."  I'm sure every kid with father issues wiped a tear at that point.  At some point you have to put away the feelings you had about someone, and just appreciate them for who they were.

I thought it was a perfect ending to a show that didn't really know where it was going.  I also could have watched another 1/2 hour of everyone walking around Africa.

I was born Ernest Antony Salazar.  My mother and my father wanted different things.  My father wanted a Jr.

That would have made my name Ernest Mirabal Salazar.  My mother, wanted to name me Marcus Antony Salazar.  She had just finished reading Shakespeare's Julius Caeser and was only 16 or 17 when she had me.  This is why I personally think that people under the age of 20 should not be able to name children without adult supervision.

My mother really wanted a girl.  She already had a name picked out for me. I would have been Tara Louise Salazar.  I am grateful I am a boy, because I would have made a terrible Tara.

My mom, to further add insult to my fathers injury, decided when I was a kid to call me Tony instead of Ernest.  Her explanation to me was always that "she didn't want to confuse me by calling me after my father", however I believe she was doing this as a further dig at my father instead.

I have always been Tony.  It was a shock to me when i found out that wasn't my name. When my parents divorced, I was sent to several schools, each time when they called my name, I would have to tell the teacher "Call me Tony"

I was willing to do this for about 20 years.  At some point, however, in the middle of my schooling I decided that I had had enough of doing this.  It was around 2000, and I had started looking for a "real" job.   At that point, I thought that Ernest sounded more professional.

This has caused problems in my life, as all of my friends know me as Tony, and all the people I have met through work have called me Ernest.  After I got divorced, I tried to continue the Ernest thing, but it's annoying.

I am not an Ernest.  I'm Tony.  It just suits me better.

Seriously, call me Tony.

Thanks.

I am sick of having everything I say dissected.  I'm tired of discussing feelings. I am done with giving insight into my motivations.

I have none.  I just want to do what I do and not have to worry if somehow, some offhand comment made you upset.  I don't want to discuss it ad infinitum.

I don't have secondary motives for what I do.  If I tell you I am tired it is because I am tired.  If I tell you I am hungry, it is because I am hungry.  If you find me boring because I don't have layers, ITS YOUR OWN FUCKING PROBLEM.

I may be going through life blindly hurting people because I say things that are misinterpreted, I am sorry. I also find it a good way to wade through people who need drama.

I HATE DRAMA.  I want 3 things.  Food, Play, Sleep.  In that order mostly.

This isn't aimed at anyone in particular.  It's just something I've been thinking.