Janicek.com

Since Elise and I have been married, I have written an annual Christmas newsletter every year. I like to create something clever and witty that recounts the events of the past year. This year December snuck up on me and due mainly to work, haven’t been in the cleverest state of mind. I stayed up late one night and poured my heart and soul into a newsletter that turned out to be as funny as a eulogy given by Bob Saget.

So my loving wife stepped up and wrote a Christmas newsletter that later turned out to be a collaberative effort. I took the few funny parts from my newsletter and incorporated them into what Elise had written.

What kind of collaberative newsletter wouldn’t be without a signature dilema? When Elise wrote her newletter, she signed it:

Love,

Elise and Josh Janicek

Now, I grew up in the south where we say things like “Sir”, “Ma’am”, “fixin'” and “y’all”. All of these being terms of endearment and respect. Elise grew up in the midwest where they say things like “pop”, “caucus” and “snow plow”.

I’ve always assumed that it was proper for the husband’s name to appear first on any correspondence signature. Elise says it doesn’t matter – whoever wrote the letter signs his or her name first. This has been an ongoing debate.

To settle this argument, I consulted the Etiquette Queen.

This data was submitted on: 12/14/04 00:01:41

Subject: Party411 Etiquette Queen Question
Date: Tue, 14 Dec 2004 00:01:41 -0500 (EST)
To: lsnotes@aol.com

Name = Josh
Area_Code = 512
Phone = 123-4567
E-Mail =
Comments = By traditional standards, what is the proper way to sign a letter from a married couple? Is it Dick and Jane? Or if Jane wrote the letter, does she sign her name first?
Where_Heard = Search engine
Notify_Me =

Lsnotes@aol.com wrote:

First decide who the letter is really from, you, you and spouse, etc. Then decide how formal you want to be. I always sign mine with my first name. If it is from both of us, I would use both first names. The return address will have the last name.

Josh wrote:

I’m still confused. Case-in-point, my wife is writing a Christmas newsletter for our friends and relatives. Should the newsletter be signed:

Love,

Dick and Jane Smith (is this the formal/traditional format?)

or

Love

Jane and Dick Smith (because she wrote the newsletter?)

Lsnotes@aol.com wrote:

Yes, it should be.

Josh wrote:

Which one is it?

Lsnotes@aol.com wrote:

For once and for all, it doesn’t matter. Whichever way you prefer.

Josh wrote:

Gee, thanks. Etiquette at its finest…

So that hasn’t settled the debate. Whichever way I prefer, or whichever way my wife prefers?

I have to preface this story by stating that I spent my formative years in a small town. I graduated from high school among a class of 83 other students.

That being said…

I commute from Austin to my job in the small town of Marble Falls, TX. The population is somewhere near 5,000. It’s an eclectic town, but small nonetheless. In the six months that I’ve worked here I’ve done a little Main Street shopping where you can find some very nice shops that sell an array of housewares, clothing, antiques, knick knacks and furniture. There are some nice restaurants, not-so-nice restaurants and some restaurants that serve up some damn good down-home comfort food. There’s a Super Wal-Mart and a McDonalds. There are tire shops, mechanic shops, saddle shops, boat stores, car dealerships and vendors selling various crafts and other fruits of their labor on the sides of roads. It’s a small bustling town by day that is nestled right off the Colorado River AKA Lake Marble Falls which hosts national powerboat races during the summer.

All-in-all, this town is neat. I wouldn’t live here, but it’s still neat. A few months back a coworker and I went to one of the damn good down-home comfort food establishments for lunch. Just before entering the front door, I notice a burly man wearing a t-shirt with the sleeves torn off. He was also wearing blue jean shorts that used to be a full pair of blue jeans. He was wearing work boots that were laced up quarter-calf. He was a caucasian man with leather-like skin from obvious outside work and manual labor. He was a hairy man. A manly man. He was wearing a blonde wig, bright red lipstick, blue eyeshadow and dark mascara. It wasn’t Halloween. This guy was serious, hairy arms and all. He was walking into the same restaurant right behind us with his friend, a man similar in manliness sans the orientation dilema.

I didn’t think much of it at first since I’ve lived in Austin for over ten years and have grown accustom to witnessing the unexplained. I then stopped and thought: “Wait a minute, we’re in Marble Falls.” It was a weird sighting. This dude was seriously trying to pull off being a woman.

That was funny.

I’ve had a Quizno’s coupon for $2 off a large sub burning a hole in my wallet for a couple weeks now. I decided that since today is Friday, I should treat myself. I waited my turn in line at the Quizno’s and ordered the Black Angus on Rosemary Parmesan Bread. It wasn’t a whole black angus, just part of the cow that was butchered and cooked. I decided to dine in seeing how I spend too much time at the office as it is.

I strategically found a table at which to eat and began devouring my lunch. A few minutes later, the group of six that were sitting nearby all stood up and were soon to exeunt. Four women, two men. The eldest of the women, probably in her mid-forties piped up and what seemed like out of nowhere proclaimed: “Well, I think if yer a Meskin and you can’t speak English, then you should just go on back tuh ware you came frum.” She was telling this to one of the people she was with. There were no patrons of Mexican lineage in Quizno’s at the moment. It didn’t appear as if she were saying this in response to anything. She just made this announcement to her lunch dates.

I chuckled and half choked on a banana pepper when I heard that. I should have stood up on my chair and shouted “I’m queer and if anyone doesn’t like it, I’ll just rub these banana peppers on my nipples.” Then I would have done that river dance thing.

Before I could muster up the courage to stand up on my chair (which I wouldn’t have done, but still would have been pretty cool to do), the group left. I went back to eating my sandwich and was quickly beginning to forget about what I had just heard and focus on some other random thought. I watched the group walk out into the parking lot and around to the side of Quizno’s where they all piled into a full-sized school bus that had been hand painted medium pale blue. The inside had been gutted of the standard school bus chairs and had been replaced with love seats.

And just like that, they were off. I was waiting to hear a “Git-r-done” as they rumbled off – probably on their way to Super Wal-Mart.

I was searching one of my work folders on my computer this afternoon for a spreadsheet that I used back in August to analyze our company’s printing costs. I was very important that I find this spreadsheet because there was a new number that I needed to plug in to a formula.

I couldn’t find it. Now I have to remember 14.4 cents per sheet so when I do find that spreadsheet, I can forget which column 14.4 cents per sheet goes under.

I did, however, find another very important spreadsheet. I created this spreadsheet almost one year ago. I carefully named said spreadsheet “2004 Josh’s Hours.xls”

A year ago, my boss-at-the-time made a particular comment that didn’t sit well, so I started logging my hours. I was working over 40 hours per week, but now felt it was necessary to meticulously log my hours at the office. I went so far as to log my lunch breaks – what I ate and if I ate out, where I went. Ninety percent of the time I ate at my desk. Usually it takes me all of 3.4 minutes to eat a generously constructed brown bagged sandwich. For padding, I would log that I took 15 minutes for lunch if I ate at my desk.

I maintained my log for nearly five months until ownership of the company changed hands and we consolidated offices in Marble Falls. Although I had no reason to be, I realize now that I, as well as others, were paranoid. Big Brother. Micromanagement. In that 30 seconds that it took me to maintain that log on a daily basis, I could have been putting the new cover sheets on the TPS Reports before they went out.

Elise called me earlier this afternoon. I joked and said “Wanna go get lunch?” We work some 60 miles apart. Having lunch together would end up being an all day affair for the one who opted to travel, assuming we didn’t meet somewhere in between. In my “2004 Josh’s Hours.xls” spreadsheet there are many “Lunch at Central Market with El” entries. I miss those days. Life is too short to not have lunch with your wife.

So, the moral of the story: 14.4 cents per sheet.

Ten days left until Christmas. It’s funny how years and years ago, I counted the days until Christmas dating back to somewhere around mid-October. Now Christmas just sort of sneaks up on me.

Most of the Christmas shopping has been taken care of. Elise and I collaborated on the annual newsletter and finished it last night. The season has caused work to slow down a bit so I have a little breathing room.

I left work early this afternoon to pick Elise up from her office. We had a quick dinner at El Arroyo. After dinner we parked off of Guadalupe and then walked up and down 37th Street to see all of the houses decorated with Christmas lights – a very cool, very Austin experience for the holiday season.

Kids, here’s a surefire way to get your parents to buy you that PS2 for Christmas.

This past weekend was great. Last week was very stressful at work so I decided to destress on Friday night by watching Ultimate Fighting Championship 47: It’s On! Watching grown men beat the hell out of each other in an octagon-shaped ring made me fell a lot better for some reason.

I slept until 12:30 on Saturday. I slept and slept and slept. I would wake up, roll over, look at the clock and say to myself “Nope. Not yet.” And fall back to sleep. That felt great. I haven’t slept that late into the day since last I was stricken with the Ebola virus. Or was that the day after my 21st birthday?

I greeted the early afternoon by running a few errands. I got my ears lowered, returned some Christmas lights to Wal Mart, office supplies, Christmas shopping.

Elise got home from her catering around 6 p.m. and we were off to the company Christmas party at my boss’s house. We had a lot of fun. The food was great as was the company. My boss also owns a pharmacy so I was able to meet most of his staff from there. After a brutal white elephant gift exchange where Elise’s gift was taken four times, the party started livening up. Someone brought out the Patron and shot glasses – that’s when my boss and I ducked out, went downstairs and played old Neil Young songs on the guitar.

Late came quickly and it was time for Elise and I to head home as we had the furthest to drive.

I woke up early on Sunday and played with Annie out in the backyard. Elise got up not much later, we suited up and headed out. By suited up I mean shorts and flip flops. It is mid-December in Texas. We had hot wings at Pluckers for lunch. My stomach is still killing me. I don’t know why I do that to myself. Unlike a lot of other wings restaurants, the hot wings at Pluckers are actually hot. And good.

We did some more Christmas shopping in north Austin until Elise’s kidney spontaneously combusted. I vaguely remember receiving a kidney recall notification for the 1975 Elise, but haven’t had the time to make an appointment to take her into the shop. That and I know if I took her in, the mechanic would probably sell me on some noise reduction muffler tip and a set of Yosimite Sam mud flaps.

Instead we went to Whole Foods and picked up a $9 bottle of cranberry juice. Apparently expensive cranberry juice is supposed to cure kidney ailments. That or induce wild hallucinations.

One of my oldest, nearest and dearest friends posted a comment on Janicek.com the other day – letting me know that the wit has ceased and I have basically sold out. I was pissed. I was pissed so much that I deleted his comment. I was pissed because someone called me on it.

I’ve been having a hard time recently. Work has really gotten to me. I’ve been stressed. I question Elise’s and my future. I question my place on this Earth. I question why diet cat food makes the litter box stink like all hell.

I’m really upset and stressed that I spent hours on the 3rd annual Christmas newsletter and it came out like crap. I went so far as to ask Elise just last night: “When was the last time you laughed at something I said or did?” She went on to say “Oh, there was something not too long ago…” Nothing.

I find myself waking up, brushing my teeth, taking my vitamins, taking a shower, shaving, underwear, shirt, pants, shoes, breakfast, glass of water and in the truck on the way to work with one eye still trying to wake up. The work day usually starts with “So and so called, wants you to call him back. He sounded upset.” Lather, rinse, repeat. Then something breaks. We run out of something. I don’t want to relive it right now.

I drive home, somewhat enthused because the work day is over. An hour commute home leaves me with finding something to eat, paying bills, fixing something, maybe catching some TV and hopefully some time to hear about Elise’s day.

Keeping up with the Jones’. I don’t even know any Jones’.

I know, it’ll get worse after a kid. I know. Time isn’t the issue. I can make time. I just need more active dry yeast. I think I just lack motivational experiences in my life right now. Six months ago I was riding my bicycle to work every day. That was a varying experience. Work wasn’t as stressful because I managed only a small amount of tasks. Now my job leaves my brain a tepid bowl of grits at the end of the day. I need something to clear my mind. That or a new job.

I’ve chosen the latter. I’m going to quit my job, move to Barbados and become a cattle flatulance analyst. This job is beneficial to society as it has been proven that cattle flatulance is a leading cause of ozone depletion. That and the job would probably give me better things to write about on the website – not iPods and cars.

Mom always said it’s not the things that make you – it’s how many platinum tooth caps you can fit up in yo mowf.

It’s you who makes you.

So I wrote my friend an e-mail and told him he was an asshole and should die. He wrote back and said it like it was. He told me he was concerned that I was becoming too wrapped up in a job, a house and “things”. All very true. I’ve started on a path that leaves me with little time to find the more important things in life. Like cow farts.

So I’m now going to make a conscious effort to live life for what it is, take in my surroundings, ride the spiral, keep one foot in the gutter and find the dude who stole my wit and down his throat I’ll take a…

I’m keeping my current job. I honestly love my job and am learning everything about running a small business. Just yesterday my boss gave me yet another title: Comptroller. Short-term goals: find out exactly what a comptroller is and enroll in an accounting class at Texas Tech’s satellite campus in Marble Falls.

And live.

This holiday season has been less than magical thus far. I went shopping for lights with which to decorate the house this past weekend. That was stressful. I’ve never been so compelled to drop kick frenzied holiday shoppers. I had to stop, take a breath and carry on. I think next year I’ll lose it.

Anyway – the house is covered with lights now.

The most recent bah humbug: the annual Janicek Christmas newsletter. I’ve spent a few hours on it so far. I read it to myself a few times and could barely muster a chuckle. Elise came home tonight, read the newsletter and I could have sworn she was reading insurance paperwork.

I’ve been sucked dry of all creativity. It’s not looking good.

I worked from home this morning and made my way towards Marble Falls at around 11 a.m. this morning. Upon passing the Burnet County line, I witnessed a brand new Lotus Elise driving on the other side of the highway. Quite an impressive vehicle.

Trust me, it’s hard having a wife by the name of Elise and a car, which was recently introduced to the U.S. consumer market, by that same name and not wanting to run out and buy one. I want to at least test drive one. I don’t think that would be too hard to arrange. I’ll find a dealer in Austin who sells them, Elise and I will visit the showroom, I’ll have Elise show the salesperson her driver’s license and I’ll tell the saleperson that I’m going to buy my wife, Elise, a Lotus Elise. Eventually. In 2020.

Back to my drive to work. Upon reaching the Marble Falls city limits, I saw a bumper sticker that read: “Rock is Dead. Long live paper and scissors”. I chuckled. As I grow older (note I’m not following that with ‘wiser’), I’ve noticed that I don’t listen to the radio as much. I could attribute that to a portable digital music player. But 95% of the music on my iPod is older music that I grew up listening to. If I’m not listening to older music that was good ‘back in my day’, I’m leaning toward NPR or other talk radio.

Back when the only worry I had in the world was how to strategically sneak out of my parents’ the house at night, every rock band was golden in my eyes. Every lyric had some meaning. Every note, every riff meant something and it was cutting edge and inspiring. Even contemporary music was inspiring.

I drove home from Tae Kwon Do tonight. The iPod was set to shuffle all songs. Breathe by Pearl Jam played. That was, and still is, a good song. It’s probably a ten-year-old song. It doesn’t seem like ten years have gone by. I tune into the local ‘alternative’ station every once in a while. Some new-fangled noise is being played. I almost break my hip trying to lean over and change the station to NPR.

Long live paper and scissors.

Elise and I bought a garage door opener a month ago for our mutual Christmas present. On Tuesday, a contrator came over and installed said garage door opener. Tonight I strategically rearranged the garage so now the Jeep, Expedition, Shadow, lawn mower and an array of dormant plants and other miscellaneous items allow for the garage door to close.

It’s a tight squeeze, but I’m happy.

Elise and I left Friday afternoon and drove the 494 miles to Okeene, Oklahoma for the annual Thanksgiving weekend at Grandma Boeckman’s farm house. Elise’s dad is the oldest of nine siblings. That makes for a lot of people under one roof.

Friday nights at Grandma B.’s have been consistent in the five years that I’ve been spending the weekend with Elise’s family. The women are inside, catching each other up on the happenings of the past year, talking about life, love, families and developing plans to end famine in poor countries.

The men spend all night in the basement drinking beer, smoking, farting, exchanging crude jokes, falsified hunting stories, farting, drinking, playing darts and farting. Darts weren’t the game de jour this year…

This year, it was ‘Balls’. It was decided to call this game ‘Balls’, instead of ‘Ladder Golf‘ because, well, better jokes come out while playing a game of ‘Balls’ where players throw two tennis balls linked together with a nylon rope onto the rungs of a furnace safety cage. No punches were pulled. All ball jokes were told. Dirty balls. Blue balls. Whacking balls. Balls on the floor. The game is called ‘Balls’.

Our game of ‘Balls’ turned into a late night tournament. The elder team was named ‘The Old Farts’, the younger team was dubbed ‘The Teeny Weenies’.

It was one of the more interesting experiences I’ve had during Thanksgiving in Okeene.

My boss’s 10-year-old stepdaughter comes to the office every day around 4 p.m. after school lets out. I make it a point to visit with her for a couple minutes because she’s a really sweet kid. Except for today.

I hadn’t seen her in a while and when I did today, this was our conversation:

Alexis: “Hey, you grew a goatie!”
Josh: “Yes I did.”

[There was a brief pause while I helped her hang her school award on her cubicle wall]

Alexis: “I think you should shave it off. It makes you look old.”
Josh: “But what if I am old?”
Alexis: “You’re only like fifty… and that’s not that old.”

[I walked away feeling old.]

I’m laying on the couch, one eye is trying to go to sleep, the other is watching the Bears and Cowboys game.

Elise and I cooked Thanksgiving dinner for my parents this year at our house. We had a Cajun fried turkey, wasabi mashed potatoes, Monterey Jack green bean cassarole, stuffing, biscuits and butter lettuce salad with toasted pecans, red pear and crumbled goat’s milk feta cheese. Elise and I split cooking duties and didn’t let mom or dad lift a finger. I think we did really well.

We stayed up until 3 a.m. this morning trying to make kolaches. Well, Elise made kolaches. I supervised and told Elise what I would do. I obviously didn’t supervise well enough because we accidentally used baking soda instead of baking powder.

Elise is dead-set on learning to make kolaches. She and my mom are in the kitchen, trying another recipe.

I absolutely suck at baking. I told Elise early in our relationship that I thought it would be cool if she would learn to make kolaches. Six years later, she’s giving it a whirl. These Czech pastries are a comfort food for me. I honestly don’t think I can fit another bite of food into my stomach right now.

We’re off to Okeene, Oklahoma tomorrow morning for the annual Boeckman Thanksgiving festivities. More food and the only way to burn off any excess calories is to drink beer and play darts in Grandma’s basement.