(Click on photos
below to enlarge.)
he results haven't come in yet, but this was the year we
were supposed stay home in droves and do all of our Christmas shopping in our underwear while
surfing the Web. In keeping with this spirit of efficiency, I've decided to spare Mother
Nature the resources and postal service workers the labor and completely digitize my holiday
well-wishes. I hope I don't offend too greatly the traditionalists (as well as those who don't
celebrate Christmas) among you.To those readers who have cast disapproving stares over the years at my carefree, Peter Pan-ish existence, I'm happy to report that I took some solid steps toward responsible adulthood in 1999. To those who have supported my stubborn refusal to join the ranks of the gainfully employed, I'm sad to report my near-complete capitulation to conformity.
* * *
I celebrated 1999's arrival in Times Square, New York City, being herded around by gruff, uniformed police officers. The NYPD's crowd control really was a marvel to behold. Oh, and that descending ball and fireworks display were also nice. Had it been up to me, I would have been far, far away from the sea of humanity that descends on Manhattan every New Year's Eve. However, I was entertaining some international visitors (Gisella Yaksetig from Peru and Marc Ribaudo from France) at the time. Thanks to their presence, I began this year (and can lead off this holiday e-newsletter) with a "diary-entry worthy" event.For those of you who aren't familiar with Gisella, she is the girl many people (my mother foremost among them) were hoping and expecting I'd marry this year. I met Gisella in the fall of 1997 -- shortly after I returned from Venezuela -- when I was teaching English as a foreign language in Arlington, Virginia. Yes, she was one of my students. (Crowd murmurs.) Gisella returned to Piura, Peru, the following summer, after which we maintained over a nine-month period a long-distance relationship that survived on frequent e-mails, occasional phone calls, and infrequent visits.
Last March it was my turn to fly down, only this time I packed light and brought an empty suitcase with me. Gisella had decided to give up her life in Piura (which included a budding career in law and her own fitness center business) to return to the U.S. with me. We were going to find out once and for all whether or not we were meant for each other. As it turned out, we were not. By mid-summer, all lines of communication between us had been cut; they weren't restored until October. Now, while my mother and other interested parties wait impatiently in the wings, Gisella and I are slowly rebuilding our friendship.
The year's other major story was my complete metamorphosis from larval computer neophyte to mature, fully formed computer geek. I arrived a little late to the information technology revolution when I bought my first PC two years ago. It didn't take long, though, before I was up to speed and spending countless hours staring at the glowing phosphors of a cathode ray tube. By December of last year I was already receiving e-mails from around the world commenting on my very first Web site -- four pages that documented my father's experience in World War II. At the same time, I was experimenting with all sorts of upgrades and accessories for my computer (much like a teenager might soup up his first car). I got so comfortable looking under the "hood" of a PC that I decided to try to become certified as a computer service technician. After passing two tests, I earned my A+ certification in May. My computer geekdom was now officially recognized.
By June I felt I had tested the waters long enough; I was ready to dive headfirst into the deep end and make the career switch. I ended my 15-month stint as an editor with an educational institution and on June 16 started working as a Web developer for a small startup company located in Fairfax. It was probably the best decision I made this year. I have only one regret: that I waited so long to discover my calling. How many people can ride their bicycle to work, wear what they please, argue with coworkers over the relative merits of the four Star Wars movies when they're not working, and when they are working, get paid to do what they had been doing in their spare time for free? I was Wpage.com's fifth employee. In the six months I've been there, the company has tripled in size. Supposedly, we "groundfloor" employees will be able to retire to a South Pacific island when the company goes public. I won't rely on that happening, but while I'm waiting I plan to learn a lot and enjoy myself tremendously in the process.
The stereotypical computer programmer is out of shape, pasty-skinned, and near-sighted. Two of these accurately describe me -- I'm legally blind without contact lenses and my current risk of contracting skin cancer is zero -- but I'm determined to avoid the third. One way has been to play soccer competitively (something I stopped doing in the late 1970s) again. A friend from high school and I joined a coed league this summer. I'm proud to boast that Marcus did most of the goal scoring, and I did most of the assisting. Our summer season ended in the first round of the playoffs when we lost in a shootout. However, we redeemed ourselves this fall season by winning our division. Marcus and I hope to move up to a more competitive (and perhaps all-male) division in the spring.
I enjoyed a mini-vacation in September when my parents and I drove to New York to pick up my brother, and then the four of us continued north until we reached the town of Bar Harbor off the coast of Maine. We spent four memorable days in one of the most beautiful areas of the country (having had the opportunity to see much of the U.S., I feel able to make this claim). The four days were also quite exhausting, as Andrew and I attempted to take advantage of every outdoor recreational diversion that the area offered us.
On Saturday morning, October 30, I awoke to the realization that I had only 10 days to keep one of my many "Things To Do Before I Turn 30 Years Old" vows: own a convertible. I've always admired Mazda Miatas, so I drove two that day and one the following Sunday (all pre-owned) and actually bought one on Monday. It all happened much too fast for me to rationalize the purchase. Informal polling had revealed no opposition. When I told my Dad what I considered doing, his response was: "You're just like your old man. My first car was a convertible." One friend told me: "Absolutely! You NEVER do anything irrational." I hate to be the type of person who derives pleasure and self-worth from material things, but this car really is fun to drive. Spring (and top-down weather) can't arrive soon enough.
Well, I hope this e-newsletter finds you and yours in good health and spirits. For some of you, everything I've described above is old news. Thanks for making it to the end. For others, it's been too long since we last communicated. I hope to improve on that in the coming millennium.
