Is the Great Topo Chico Shortage of 2026 finally coming to an end?

Our long national nightmare may be over:

After months of being harder to find on store shelves, Topo Chico Mineral Water is making a comeback — and Texas will be the first state to get it.

Coca-Cola, which owns Topo Chico, said the mineral water is beginning a phased return to stores in Texas, with plans to bring the product back to additional states in 2027.

The return comes after a shortage that affected Topo Chico Mineral Water for much of 2026.

Last February, the beloved Mexican mineral water began disappearing from store shelves while upgrades were made to Topo Chico's production plant in Monterrey, Mexico. Since then I've had to make do with other brands, whether they be Mexican (Penafiel, Mineragua) or H-E-B's house brand. Although all of these brands are serviceable, none are as good as Topo Chico.

The comeback is starting in Texas.

Topo Chico said it is beginning a phased return of its mineral water in the state before expanding to other parts of the country in 2027.

That means Texas shoppers could begin seeing the familiar glass bottles return to store shelves after months of limited availability. The company did not announce a single nationwide return date, since availability will roll out in phases.

Sure enough, Corinne found some bottles of Topo Chico at a local convenience store a couple of weeks ago. And I discovered a pallet full of the familiar yellow 12-bottle boxes of Topo Chico at my local H-E-B late last week. It was a sight for sore eyes indeed, although I personally prefer the larger plastic bottles. Hopefully Costco will begin carrying those in the 24-pack trays soon as well. 

In addition to the return of the classic mineral water, Topo Chico is also rolling out a line of canned mineral waters. As has been the case since 1895, all the water comes from a spring at the foot of the Cerro del Topo Chico in Monterrey.

I'm just glad that I can enjoy Topo Chico again. This was way worse than the 2021 shortage, which was traumatic enough. 

Attila 2013-2026

A couple of weeks ago, my ex-girlfriend Michelle broke the news that Attila, the labrador/border collie mix that was her companion for almost thirteen years, had passed away. Although not a surprise due to his age, it was still saddening.

Michelle adopted Attila from Friends for Life in the Heights in April of 2013. My claim to fame is that I picked him out from the photos of all the puppies in his litter. I made a pretty good choice! I'm not sure I'll be as lucky the next time I'm asked to pick out a dog...

Attila was well-behaved and gentle, in spite of the size he quickly grew into. His worst habits were trying to escape from the house whenever the front door was opened and jumping up on me because he was happy to see me (with his dirty paws!) when I got home from work. He got along well with a then-eight-year-old Kirby; in fact I'm not sure he ever met a human of any age he didn't like. 

He did have to contend with my cats; in fact Attila's first experience with them as a puppy left him yelping and scurrying into the next room after Little Girl hissed and swiped at him. But over time he learned to tolerate them. Attila was well-socialized with other dogs and spent a lot of time at dog parks such as the one at the corner of Westpark and the West Loop with his canine friends.

Even after Michelle moved out, I still got to dog-sit him on occasion. Most recently, he stayed with me in the spring of 2024 when Michelle went on a cruise. Although older and a few steps slower, he was still the gentle dog I knew from a decade before. As he continued to age his health issues prevented any future stays with me, so 2024 was the last time I saw him.

He was an excellent dog, and he will be missed.

Left: me with young Atilla, April 2013. Right: both of us are a bit older, May 2024 

Attila gallops through the surf at Bolivar Peninsula, August 2014. Attila loved water!

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I don't remember which Christmas Michelle had this photo taken, but it's a really good one.

Relaxing on my living room floor, May 2024

Share your steak, humans! Attila and Black Cat wait by the dinner table, May 2024 

Artemis "Little Girl" Gray 2007-2026

Eighteen years is a pretty good lifespan for a housecat, and Little Girl was very healthy for most of it. She had been aging gracefully up until around Christmastime, when she began to go into steep decline; she had lost her appetite and was becoming increasingly frail. Two weeks ago, and with the concurrence of her veterinarian, Corinne and I made the difficult but necessary decision to euthanize her.

Lori and I got her along with her brother, Orion "Black Cat," in the fall of 2007. Although her real name was Artemis, Lori nicknamed her "Little Girl" as a kitten and that's the name that stuck, partly because it was easier for Kirby to say. I kept both cats after the divorce and they remained my faithful, if not demanding, companions over the subsequent years and through subsequent relationships. They even tolerated Michelle's and Corinne's dogs.

Little Girl was the quintessential lap cat: if you sat down on the couch, she would immediately come and sit on your lap. It didn't matter who you were because she never met a human she didn't like (although Corinne would eventually become her favorite human). She was always looking for affection, too; if your hand got anywhere near her, she would nudge it with her head it as a clear demand to be pet.

She had a beautiful coat of long hair, but she may end up being the last long-haired cat I get because they require a lot of maintenance. Little Girl needed to be constantly brushed; if not her fur would get matted and she'd leave clumps of hair all over the house. 

Now with all of the "Begging Bunch" - Piper, Black Cat and Little Girl - gone, Corinne and I are probably going to be pet-free for a little while. There will come a time when we adopt "Nextpuppy" and "Nextkitten" (preferably simultaneously), but we can use a short break from the responsibilities of pet ownership.

Thank you, Little Girl, for being such a sweet and loyal furry friend. You will be missed. 

Dorothy Ella Johnston 1922-2025

Nobody is immortal. Not even my aunt Dorothy, who died on April 1st, just a few months shy of her 103rd birthday. She was laid to rest in Temple, Texas yesterday. Her obituary was carried by the Temple Daily Telegram and can also be accessed on her funeral home's website (along with a bunch of pictures of her over the years if you click on "gallery"). As is my tradition, I am also posting it here (especially because I wrote it!):

Dorothy Ella Johnston, of Temple, departed this earth on April 1, 2025.

Dorothy was born in Osage County, Oklahoma on July 22, 1922 and graduated from Bowlegs High School in Bowlegs, Oklahoma in 1940. In 1941, she entered the Sisters of St. Francis in Maryville, Missouri. She graduated from the St. Anthony School of Nursing in Oklahoma City as a Registered Nurse in 1948, Benedictine Heights College in Tulsa, Oklahoma with a Bachelor of Science in 1956, and St. Louis University in St. Louis, Missouri with a Masters of Education in 1962. She spent most of her career as a medical records administrator but also served as principal of Mount Alverno Academy in Maryville, Missouri in the 1960s. Dorothy left the Sisters of St. Francis in 1968.

In 1973 she settled in Temple, where she would spend the rest of her life. She worked in the medical information section of the Olin E. Teague Veterans Administration Hospital until 1984 and then taught in the Medical Records Technology Program at Temple College until 1987. Whether as a nurse, a teacher, an administrator, or an aunt, and in hospitals, schools, convents and so many other places, Dorothy touched an uncountable number of lives during her 102 years on this planet.

Dorothy will be remembered for her independence, her wisdom, and her enthusiasm for imparting it upon others (whether they wanted it or not!). Dorothy did not realize she was a dog person until later in life, when she met her two best friends, Penny and Daisy.

She is preceded in death by her parents, Henry William Johnston and Ruth Ella Mitchem Johnston, and her brothers James Orrin Johnston and Glen Edwin Johnston. She is survived by her brother Joseph Henry Johnston of Austin, sister Rosemary Teresa Johnston Gray of Houston, sister-in-law Carolyn Johnston of Beaverton, Oregon, and innumerable cousins, nieces, and nephews living all over the world. She also leaves behind many friends and neighbors who provided her support, comfort and companionship.

A mass funeral will be held at 11 am on Monday, April 14, 2025 at St. Luke’s Catholic Church, where she was a parishioner for over half a century. A rosary will precede the service at 10:30, and her ashes will be interred in St. Luke’s columbarium afterwards. In lieu of flowers, her family requests donations be made to Feed My Sheep (116 W Avenue G, Temple, TX 76504).

And now, time for some pictures... 

Dorothy and a very young me, March 1974

Dorothy, along with my grandmother, moved to Temple the same year I was born. Given that Temple is only about three hours away from Houston, I saw her on a regular basis. Most holidays and even some vacations were spent with her and she was always there for the big events of my life, such as graduations and my first wedding. It felt weird being in Temple for her funeral yesterday, knowing that it might have been the last time I would ever be there. 

Dorothy and me in Tucson, Arizona, where we were attending my cousin's wedding, June 2004

Dorothy, having no spouse or children of her own, definitely lived an independent life. I will never forget how she, in her mid-60s, decided to travel down to Ecuador by herself to visit us (and take an excursion into the Amazonian rainforest with us!) when we were spending the summer there. 

The five of us in a hotel in the Ecuadorian rainforest, July 1988

After my grandmother passed away in 2000, Dorothy lived alone. When my uncle and her younger brother Glen, who also lived in Temple, died back in 2007, I wrote that Dorothy's "days of living independently are probably numbered." She proved me wrong by herself for another fifteen years, only having to move out of her house a few months short of her 100th birthday when her eyesight had deteriorated to the point where she could no longer get around her own home. She spent the next two-and-a-half years in assisted living and was only transferred to full nursing care a couple of months ago, when her body finally gave out. Her mental abilities never diminished.

Family, friends and neighbors gathered for Dorothy's 95th birthday, July 2017

This does not mean that Dorothy lived in isolation. She had a number of friends and neighbors who checked on her on a regular basis when she lived in her house, providing her with much-needed support and conversation. Those same people continued to visit her in assisted living. She also had the companionship of Daisy, her dog. Sometimes I'd even make the trip to check in on her.  

Corinne and myself visiting Dorothy and Daisy, June 2021

As for "her wisdom, and her enthusiasm for imparting it upon others (whether they wanted it or not!)," that's a gentle way of saying that Dorothy had very strong opinions and didn't hesitate to share them with others. Sometimes it was humorous, but at other times it could be awkward. She especially loved to nag my brother and me, imploring us to be more obedient to our parents or do better in school. I know it was because she had our best interests in mind, but when we were teenagers it got to the point that we started referring to the street in Temple on which she lived, Lancelot Lane, as "Nag-a-lot Street."

Dorothy spent a lot of time in the kitchen, but her tastes were fairly basic.

Dorothy Johnston led a long and remarkable life, so much of it spent in service of others. She will definitely be missed. After being on this earth for almost 103 years, it will definitely feel strange for Dorothy not to be here anymore.

Dorothy and me shortly after her transfer to a nursing facility, January 2025. This is the last picture of us together.

It's the Gulf of Mexico, stupid

After assuming the presidency for the second time last week, one of Donald Trump's first acts was to sign an Executive Order changing the name of the Gulf of Mexico to the "Gulf of America." His order also reverts the name of the Alaskan mountain Denali to its former name of Mount McKinley.

Like everything else that Donald Trump does, this is stupid and performative. The Gulf of Mexico is an international body of water - the United States' jurisdiction over it extends only twelve miles beyond its coastline - and has been known as such for centuries:

The Gulf of Mexico has had its name for about 400 years. In his book, The Principall Navigations, Voiages and Discoveries of the English Nation, published in 1589, English geographer Richard Hakluyt calls the water body “Gulfe of Mexico”. In Mexico, the gulf is also called by its Spanish name, El Golfo de Mexico.

Trump can rename the Gulf of Mexico for his domestic audience, but the rest of the world does not have to go with that name change, since there are no international laws that decide what a common maritime space or a disputed territory is called universally.

The practical effect of this name change is minimal - most people I know, myself included, just call it "the Gulf" - but the idea that the 600,000-square-mile Gulf of Mexico's name can be summarily changed for the sake of political aggrandizement or "owning the libs" or whatever is mind-numbingly stupid. 

Aside from the fact that it needlessly causes confusion (especially given that the word "America" appears in the name of both of the Western Hemisphere's continents) and is wasteful (think of all the money the federal government is going to have to spend re-printing maps and updating geographic databases), it creates an unnecessary, even if minor, disruption to the lives and habits of the millions of people who live along the Gulf of Mexico and have always known it as such.

Other countries will not recognize Trump's new name for the Gulf. A lot of Americans themselves won't, either: a recent Reuters/Ipsos poll indicated that 70% of Americans oppose renaming the body of water. The Associated Press will continue to refer to it as the "Gulf of Mexico" as well. 

One place where you will see the new name is on Google Maps; the company is caving to Trump's decree and will begin using the new name in their maps platforms. That decision is generating backlash here and abroad; it is unclear if other mapping platforms like Apple or Mapquest will make the name change as well. 

I will continue to refer to it as the Gulf of Mexico.

If you're looking for alternatives to Google Maps, here are some apps to consider. Texas Monthly offers some other possible names for the Gulf.

Beryl and Black Cat

Greetings from the fabulous metropolis of Sulphur, Louisiana*, where Corinne and I are spending a rather impromptu "vacation" on account of the fact that we don't have any power at our home in Houston. After some unbearably sweaty and sleepless nights at home, and with the understanding that Centerpoint would not be restoring our electricity anytime soon, we realized that we needed to decamp to someplace that had internet access and air conditioning. This was the closest place available.

Hurricane Beryl - which was originally expected to make landfall well south of here but continued to track northward in spite of the projections of pretty much every meteorologist - made landfall early Monday morning. The east side of the eyewall roared over us between 8 and 11 am that day, causing our townhome to literally shake in the wind and driving rain.

It was a stressful and exhausting experience, to say the least; I last hunkered down through a hurricane during Ike in 2008 and this was just as agonizing as I remembered, if not more so. I continually worried that a massive wind gust would blow out a window or rip off our roof, in spite of the fact that Beryl was "only" a Category 1. I was very relieved when the worst passed through and the winds began to calm down around noon. We lost power at about 8:30 am Monday morning, but the house itself thankfully does not appear to have sustained any major damage.

As Beryl approached on Sunday, we noticed that Black Cat (his real name is "Orion" but we've always called him "Black Cat" because that's what Kirby called him when he was a toddler) was failing. He was 16 1/2 years old, which is pretty aged for a cat, and I noticed earlier in the week that he was eating less and the limp in his back leg was getting worse. But as of Saturday evening, he seemed to be doing fine, and even contentedly hung out with me in my office as I web-surfed and doom-scrolled on my computer. But by Sunday evening he was clearly not well. He was lying on the floor, weak and barely able to move. 

I could tell he was suffering and wanted to put him out of his misery. Unfortunately, no vets were available on account of the fact that it was Sunday night and the hurricane was approaching; even the 24-hour emergency vet on the Southwest Freeway told me (after being put on hold for fifteen minutes) that they were hopelessly backed-up, with only one vet on staff. So we tried to make him as comfortable as possible as he lay on the floor, his breathing increasingly labored, his body all but immobile. I wrapped him in a towel. He still purred when I pet him and croaked a few weak meows to us; but he refused any food or water I tried to give him. Black Cat hung to life even as the hurricane roared over us, but he finally expired at about 8 pm Monday evening. 

He was annoying and obnoxious, and he loved me unconditionally. I'll miss him. Orion "Black Cat" Gray 2007-2024

Monday night we tried to sleep, in spite of the lack of electricity and the dead cat in the living room. The still, humid air made everything uncomfortable as we lay in our beds in pools of sweat. The sirens, loud trucks and droning generators (from neighbors prescient enough to have bought them) rang in our ears. Maybe we dozed off a bit here and there, but we didn't get anything approaching quality sleep.

On Tuesday we wearily went over to my parents' house to check on them, as they had also lost power. While we were there we buried Black Cat in their front yard. We had always planned to bury Black Cat when he died and plant a tree atop him, as we did with Elektra. However, given the circumstances, the only sapling available for us to plant was a neglected mulberry sitting in a pot in the corner of my parents' yard. It would have to do.

I hope Black Cat's decomposing body causes the sapling to grow into the most beautiful mulberry tree ever. As annoying as he could be, with his incessant meowing and his biting and his constant demanding of food, he deserves to live on in another organism. I'm going to miss his ridiculously loud purr most of all.

Black Cat's final resting place, amidst debris left from the previous day's hurricane.

Tuesday evening Corinne and I were able to seek air-conditioned refuge and recharge our phones at my neighborhood bar, which had regained power, while my parents relocated to our friends' house in Pearland who also had electricity. That night Centerpoint released the first version of their useless power outage tracker: it showed our neighborhood as "partially energized," which is true in that some people around us on different circuits did have electricity. But we still don't, and as of the time of this writing Centerpoint's map still can't tell us when our power will be restored. Tuesday night was, once again, stifling, sweaty and sleepless. Our townhome simply wasn't built to catch a breeze or otherwise provide natural ventilation in case of power failure.

Until a crew comes to replace and reconnect the fuse armatures that are currently hanging down, we won't have power. 

Wednesday morning, as Corinne and I began to pick through our refrigerator and toss yogurt, cheese, mayonnaise and other spoiled perishables into the trash, we exhaustedly began musing about finding a hotel. That afternoon, while again seeking refuge at the neighborhood bar (and watching England punch their ticket to the Euro 2024 final), we got serious about it and began looking for available lodging. But with every Houston-area hotel either booked or unpowered, the only options available were out of town. So we found this place and made our way here - the two-hour trip along I-10 felt like an eternity - last night.

It was the right decision. We got a good, air-conditioned night's sleep last night, I was finally able to get some work done today (my employer gave us emergency leave for the past three days but as of this afternoon the office and its systems were back up and running), we were able to do some laundry, eat our first proper meal in three days, and both of us feel so much better than we did just a day ago. We will return to Houston tomorrow; as of late this afternoon we learned that electricity had been restored to my parents' house so we will have a place to stay tomorrow night regardless of whether our house has power.

I may have a lot more to say about this experience - why the forecasters struggled with Beryl's track, would it have made a difference had I taken Black Cat (whose demise I had been sadly expecting for months) to the vet earlier, why Centerpoint's infrastructure could not withstand a Category 1 hurricane and why their post-hurricane restoration effort has been a complete clusterfuck, whether it even makes sense to continue living in a city as dependent on air conditioning and as prone to climate-related catastrophe as Houston - in a future post. As for now, I'm just happy the unexpectedly brutal week of Beryl and Black Cat is coming to an end.

*I really shouldn't make fun of this place. Every person we've encountered here in Sulphur - from the staff at our hotel to the clerk at the convenience store to the attendant at the laundromat to the waiter at the Waffle House at the intersection of I-10 and LA-27 - has been nothing short of wonderful and empathetic to us.

A cloudy eclipse on the farm

Corinne and I drove up to her aunt's farm near Mexia last weekend, hoping to see the big eclipse. Her farm was the path of totality, meaning that we would get the opportunity to see the sun fully obscured by the moon for three and a half minutes.

Unfortunately, the clouds did not cooperate, and during the three-and-a-half minutes of totality we could only catch glimpses of the sun fully obscured by the moon. These two pictures, from two separate cameras, are the best I could do (and don't compare to the pictures taken by several of my Facebook friends, who had better weather and superior camera equipment): 

I also got a short video of the totality during a break in the clouds. Once again, my iPhone's camera just can't do it justice.

Even though I was only afforded brief views of the totality due to the cloud cover, I nevertheless marveled at the sight of a full solar eclipse. I've never witnessed one before and may never see one again.

Of course, as luck would have it, right after the totality ended the skies began to clear up.

Here are some other interesting pictures I took during the eclipse:

The crescent sun shines through a pinhole in the barn roof shortly before the totality.

The sky during the totality. It was actually darker than this picture suggests.

The crescent sun through the clouds, also shortly before the totality.

I took some pictures of the farm's flora and fauna as well:

Spring is wildflower season, as this field of bluebonnets growing on the side of the farm attests. 

Wildflowers such as winecups and blue-eyed grass were also plentiful, and attracted lots of butterflies.

The bull warily watches me as he protects his herd. Glad that barbed wire is there!

Stupid mistakes and shitty utility companies

Right before Thanksgiving, I made a stupid mistake. I was paying bills online through my bank's website, and for some reason I accidentally clicked the wrong button and sent a payment to the wrong company. I don't know why I made such a careless error; perhaps I was in a hurry or distracted (I really don't remember). But the end result is that a $2,700 payment intended for my Chase credit card went to Centerpoint Energy instead.

I didn't notice my stupid mistake until I checked my balance a couple of days later, but I wasn't too concerned. The Centerpoint account I accidentally made the payment to had been closed since I moved out of the house in Bellaire back in the summer of 2017, so I figured that the payment would be kicked back by Centerpoint's computers in a few days. In the meantime, I made a second, correct payment to Chase (I was lucky enough to have the extra money to do so), and waited. 

Days passed. Nothing happened. So I decided to call Centerpoint.

After spending some time navigating through their automated customer service system, and then spending some more time on hold, I was finally connected to a real, live customer service representative named "Claire." I explained to her my predicament; she quickly located my otherwise-closed account and opened a case for me that would be referred to Centerpoint's accounting department. She told me that a refund check would be issued to the address on file for my account (in this case, my parents' house) and it would take seven to ten days. 

Seven to ten days came and went. No check appeared at my parents' house. So I called Centerpoint again.

This time (after I once again navigated through their automated customer service system and spent a few more minutes on hold) I was connected to "Fran." She told me that the case the previous representative made for me was incorrect, and that she would file a correct one. She explained that the erroneous payment would go directly back to my bank and that it would take five to seven business days to process.

Seven business days came and went. No refund appeared in my bank account. So I called Centerpoint for the third time.

This time the service representative I spoke to, "Tiffany," said that the refund request had been ordered by the accounting department, but that it would actually take ten to fifteen days to process (and perhaps even longer, since by now we were approaching Christmas). She suggested I call my bank to see how long it takes them to process refund payments once they're received. (I did, and the bank representative I spoke to said such payments are usually processed within two to four days of initial receipt.)

Christmas came and went. No refund appeared in my bank account. I was becoming frustrated. Would I ever see my money again?

So I called Centerpoint for the fourth time. This time, the service representative I spoke to, Angela, confirmed that the refund had been ordered by the accounting department, but that it actually takes up to thirty business days for it to process, and because of upcoming holidays - New Year's Day and Martin Luther King Jr., Day - it could take even longer. She said that the case was still "open" in their system, meaning that it was still being processed.

The New Year and MLK Day came and went. Still, no refund appeared in my bank account. So I tried to call Centerpoint again. However, due to the freezing weather that was affecting Houston at the time, people were obviously having trouble with their gas and customer hold times were an hour or more. I decided to wait one more week and call again.

When I called Centerpoint for the fifth time, I got Angela again. She told me that the payment had been processed and I needed to call something called "CheckFree" to see where my payment was. She gave me a phone number for the company, but could not give me any sort of tracking or other identification number for the payment. At this point I had completely run out of patience; as politely as I could, I told Angela that this situation was not acceptable. If I did not get my accidental payment refunded soon, I was going to file a complaint with the city, or the Public Utilities Commission, or even speak to an attorney.

As I suspected, the number she gave me to CheckFree (which is apparently an ACH payment processor owned by the financial services company FiServ) was useless. So I began contemplating my next step. Should I start with an email to the City of Houston's public utilities complaint department? Should I copy my district councilmember? Are there attorneys out there that have dealt with these kinds of issues that won't charge me several hundred dollars just to talk to them?

And then, lo and behold, two days after I called Centerpoint for the fifth time (and over 60 days after I originally made the erroneous payment), guess what finally appeared in my bank account? The refund came with an email from my bank stating that the payment had been "refused by the payee," as if it were an automatic action on the part of Centerpoint and not the result of my calling them five separate times over the course of two months.

Apparently, a lot of people have had similar issues with Centerpoint not returning inadvertent payments in a timely manner (see here and here, for example). And if I were an unaccountable utility monopoly like Centerpoint, I'd probably dither in returning accidental payments too. Perhaps the corporation figures that, if they continually give people the runaround by telling them a different story every time they call customer service and slow-walking refund payments in their accounting department, some people will just give up and allow Centerpoint to keep their money.

But I wasn't going to be one of those people. $2,700 is a lot of money, and Centerpoint was not entitled to it. I'm thankful that my financial situation is such that I could go a couple of months without that kind of money in my account. But what about people who made similar mistakes who were not as financially well-off as me? 

Online banking may have made obsolete the hassle of writing out paper checks and mailing them, but it also makes it easier to make a dumb mistake like I did. This was the first time I've ever made such an error. After this experience, I am determined that it will be the last. 

An airplane-free 2023

2023 is coming to an end, and it's been a bit of an anomalous year for me in that I went the entire year without stepping foot on an airplane. This is the first time since 1992 - over 30 years ago! - that I did not fly for any purpose.

Sure, it's a bit weird for an aviation geek like me to go an entire calendar year without flying, but that's just how things worked out: the only big, long-distance trip I took this past year was a road trip with my family, and I had no other events, be they personal or work-related, that required me to fly. So I didn't.

And I didn't really miss it, either. Between long security and check-in lines, flight delays, fees for checked baggage and other services that airlines used to provide for free, rude employees both in the terminal and in the skies, small and uncomfortable seats on the plane itself, and unruly, disruptive passengers, commercial air travel has become a real pain in the ass. Unless you have the financial means and/or frequent flier miles to fly business or first class, and can avail yourself to perks like TSA PreCheck, priority boarding, and airline lounges, there's really nothing glamorous or enjoyable about traveling by air.  

This isn't to say I'll never fly again, of course; commercial aviation, for all its headaches, is a necessary form of travel (and in many cases, the only practical one). So I'm sure I'll be flying again at some point. Like I said, 2023 was something of an anomaly; it was just nice to go an entire year without standing in line at the check-in counter, or taking off my shoes to pass through security, or sitting in a cramped seat with no elbow room, or being jostled by turbulence, or fighting through the hordes of people at baggage claim to retrieve my luggage.

Regardless of whether you plan to fly in the coming year or not, I wish anybody who may be reading this a safe, happy and prosperous 2024!

He did it!

High school was a struggle at times, and the disruption wrought by the COVID-19 pandemic certainly didn't help. But last week, Kirby completed his senior year at Energy Institute High School. We're all very proud of him.

Kirby is not going to immediately attend a four-year college; he's probably going to take a couple of courses at HCC and find a part-time job while he takes a breather and figures out the next phase of his life.

Piper 2009 - 2022

A couple of weeks ago, we had to say goodbye to Corinne's rat terrier mix, Piper (aka "Barking Barker," "Pooping Pooper," "Ridicu-dog," "Cheesehound," "Sentient Tripping Hazard," etc.).

She was not the world's healthiest animal to begin with, and as she grew older Piper began to struggle with issues such as arthritis and intestinal infections. Over the past few months she really began to deteriorate; her back legs were giving out from beneath her, she was losing control of her bowels and she was beginning to show signs of dementia. While we were in Italy her condition took a turn for the worse and she could no longer walk. Once we returned, and after consulting with the vet where she was being boarded, Corinne made the difficult decision to end Piper's suffering.

Piper loved humans, but she didn't get along with other dogs. When we took her outside she would frequently snarl and growl at bulldogs and german shepherds that were three times her size. 

 

Piper was a member of the "Begging Bunch:" whenever we were in the kitchen, she, Black Cat and Little Girl would be in there with us looking for a handout. As mean as she was to larger dogs, she covered in fear of the cats.

Piper was truly ridiculous. She would try to fight dogs several times her size but was deathly afraid of my cats. When she was excited or wanted food, she would bounce up and down on her front paws or "tap dance" between them. But she was not graceful; in fact she was one of the clumsiest dogs I've ever met. 

She was a connoisseur of cheese as well as cat poop, but was very finicky about her normal food. If a little bit of puréed pumpkin wasn't mixed in with her normal dog food, she was rarely interested. But when she was truly hungry, she would eat so quickly that a mixture of dog food and pumpkin would become encrusted on the tip of her nose. 

Instead of going potty when we took her outside, she would spend her time leisurely sniffing every plant and blade of grass. She wasn't happy unless her doggy toys were strewn all over the apartment. And she liked to bark for no reason, as the video below indicates.

One of her favorite spots in our apartment was the balcony. When a beam of sunlight hit a spot on the balcony concrete, Piper would immediately lay out in it for a nap.

Piper liked to ensure that there was no cheese left on any of our dirty dishes before we ran the dishwasher. 

Piper was a rescue; Corinne adopted her when she was still a puppy. Piper was with Corinne when we met, and she didn't have to accept me as her "other" human. 

But she did. 

When the weather turned cold, Piper knew how to stay warm.

One of the last pictures I had of Piper on my phone was when we took her to visit my aunt Dorothy, shortly before her 100th birthday last summer.

It's been over two weeks since Piper passed, and we're still in a bit of pain. I haven't even been able to write about her passing until now. Losing a pet sucks.

With that said, Piper's bark will live forever, thanks to this video I strung together of her many random barking episodes:

Rest in peace, Ridicu-dog. We'll miss you.

Kirby comes of age

If you've followed this blog for any length of time, you've gotten to see my son Kirby celebrate several birthdays.

Here's one more: today he turns 18 years old. 

Tomorrow he also begins his final year of high school. 

Hard to believe.

A centenarian in the family

A few weeks ago, my aunt Dorothy celebrated her 100th birthday. We had a party for her at her assisted living center in Temple, Texas. Those who couldn't attend in person were able to send her virtual well-wishes via a Zoom call.

Dorothy and my mother

Living to be 100 is a very rare accomplishment; according to the US Census Bureau only one out of every 3,390 Americans is 100 years old or older. Considering the average life expectancy for a woman born in 1922 was 61 years, I'd say Dorothy has accomplished quite a feat!

Dorothy visits with far-flung relatives via a Zoom call

Dorothy was living by herself as recently as a few months ago, when her vision issues got to the point where she could no longer live independently and had to be moved to an assisted living center. It was a difficult transition for her; she had lived in her own house in Temple for over 45 years. But she's well cared-for in her new place, and her friends and neighbors continue to come by to check up on her. 

Friends, neighbors and relatives attend her 100th birthday party

In 1922, the year Dorothy was born, Warren G. Harding was President of the United States, Pius XI became Pope, and King George V reigned over the vast British Empire. A first class postage stamp cost two cents. A gallon of gas was 11 cents. 

Even though the Roaring Twenties were underway, my grandparents - Dorothy’s mom and dad - wouldn’t have been able to legally celebrate their eldest daughter's birth with a glass of champagne. Prohibition was the law of the land. 

100 candles would have taken too long to light (and could have set off the fire alarm), so we just went with numeric candles

Other things turning 100 in 2022: Time Magazine, Reader’s Digest, and the British Broadcasting Corporation. The blender in your kitchen and the radial arm saw in your workshop were both patented in 1922. State Farm and USAA insurance companies were both established that year. 

The Lincoln Memorial in Washington, DC was completed in 1922, as was Rose Bowl Stadium in Pasadena, California and the original Yankee Stadium in New York City. 

The radio was cutting-edge technology in 1922. President Harding installed the While House’s first radio that year and gave the first live presidential speech over the radio.

The Ottoman Empire was replaced by modern-day Turkey in 1922, and the Soviet Union was established. 

Famous people born in 1922 include comic book creator Stan Lee, Peanuts creator Charles Schulz, authors Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. and Jack Kerouac, actors Sir Christopher Lee and Jason Robards, fashion designer Pierre Cardin, and actresses Judy Garland, Ava Gardner, Doris Day, and Golden Girls Bea Arthur and Betty White (who unfortunately left is us last New Year’s Eve).

I prepared a speech for the occasion, which Dorothy (mostly) appreciated 

Dorothy has done a lot of interesting things during her 100 years on this planet: she's been a nun, a nurse, a teacher, a principal, a records administrator, and (of course) an aunt! She was very happy to spend her 100th birthday surrounded by her loved ones.

The longest-lived human lived to be 122 years old. Although Dorothy's otherwise pretty healthy, she has no intention of breaking that record!

The great Topo Chico shortage of 2021

Forget toilet paper, lumber, microchips and everything else that has been or is in short supply due to the pandemic. This is the real crisis:

Texans, a distressing drink shortage is plaguing our great state, well, the nation actually. Topo Chico, a beverage many here in the Lone Star State hold near and dear to our hearts is being swept off shelves faster than the company can restock it. Stated bluntly, we’re experiencing a nationwide Topo Chico shortage , and, we might add, in the middle of a scorching summer.

A spokesperson for Topo Chico told KPRC 2 that the company’s experiencing a temporary shortage due to “extremely strong consumer demand and a shortage of raw materials,” adding that the company’s stock of Topo Chico “is temporarily tight across the country.”

“We’re working hard and implementing contingency plans to keep the products people love on shelves during this temporary shortage,” the company told KPRC 2.

Some news stories have indicated that the shortage is due to a lack of glass, but I've noticed that the 16-ounce plastic bottles of the Mexican sparkling water have also been difficult to find. They haven't been on the shelves at H.E.B. in a few weeks, nor have the pallets of plastic bottles (which I regularly buy) been available at Costco lately. For whatever the reason, Topo Chico (in any form) is simply hard do come by right now.

In many ways, this is my worst fear: has Topo Chico finally become "so popular that demand overwhelms the amount of water that the plant in Monterrey is able to produce, and the drink becomes increasingly expensive and hard to find," as I wrote a few years ago?

Texas Monthly's Emily McCullar, on the other hand, suggests that "maybe we should take advantage of this forced break between Texans and our Topo" to try other, Texas-produced mineral waters: 

These days, there are approximately one trillion sparkling water brands that you can get from H-E-B, Target, Brookshire Brothers, Lowe’s, and everywhere else. Sure, when Topo Chico was coming up, the only other brand widely available was LaCroix, which has tiny gentle bubbles and goes flat in half an hour, so Topo was obviously king. But now we have Austin-based companies like Rambler, which has a refreshingly potent carbonation, and Waterloo, which is killing it in the “flavor essence” game (I personally ride hard for Black Cherry, which tastes like a not-sugary Hi-C). Big Swig is out here getting wild with prickly pear, pickle juice, and jalepeño flavors; and you can always count on Richard’s Rainwater to cool you off in a pinch. Don’t even get me started on H-E-B, which has not only its own line of flavored canned waters but also the glass-bottled 1877 Mineral Water, which is just as good as Topo Chico, if not better. 

This is simply wrong. H-E-B's 1877 product is okay, but it's not nearly as carbonated as Topo Chico, and I certainly don't think it tastes any better. As for flavored waters, I'm not a fan in general. While I will keep an eye out for Rambler, I simply haven't found a sparkling water that comes close to Topo Chico in terms of flavor and feel. If that makes me a mineral water snob, so be it.

Here's to hoping that the folks at Topo Chico (as well as their overlords at Coca-Cola) find a way to address the shortage soon. Football season is just a few weeks away; I shudder to think about having to tailgate without a cold Topo in hand.

I. Can. See. The. Bottom.

Here's a comic by The Oatmeal...

                                                                                                                       The Oatmeal (Matthew Inman)

... And here's Black Cat earlier today, proving that life really does imitate art.

Plenty of cat food still in the bowl. Even lots of food strewn all over the floor (because he's a messy eater). 

But he wants more food. Because he can see the bottom.

It started out nicely enough...

When the winter blast made its way into Houston two Sundays ago, it started out nicely enough. Work for both Corinne and myself had been canceled for the following Monday, so we could stay up as late as we wanted. We stood out on our balcony, sipped drinks, and watched as the sleet began falling that evening. We were hoping that actual snowflakes would begin appearing at some point. 

There was one brief power outage in the wee hours of Monday morning, but it didn't last too long and I thought it was simply a routine rolling blackout that we had been warned to expect. 

At about 4:30 am, I put on my coat and went down to the front of our apartment complex for a ground-level view of the winter weather. The gentle fall of freezing precipitation (still mostly sleet, but some small snowflakes mixed in) was beginning to accumulate on the lawns and sidewalks, and the icy mixture on the ground made an enjoyable soft crunching sound as I walked on it. The fountain in front of the complex was beginning to develop a layer of ice. It was cold and quiet and I was the only one around. 

It was delightful.

About an hour later, the power went off again. It wouldn't come back on again for 24 hours. It was hard for me to fall asleep, as I am so accustomed to a fan (or some sort of other white noise) running while I sleep that the total silence actually kept me awake. But at some point I dozed off for a few hours.

I awoke as the wintry precipitation began to move out of Houston, and found our interior courtyard in a blanket of snow and ice. It was pretty and tranquil.

Corinne and I later took a walk around our neighborhood to see everything covered in winter.  People made snowmen and had snowball fights. We had to walk carefully on the sidewalks as the ice was very slippery.

The lack of electricity, however, was an inconvenience, especially as the outage dragged on. We were limited in what we could eat due to the fact that we couldn't cook anything. We were limited in the amount of information we could get about the storm because the lack of operating cell towers made upload speeds to our phones (whose battery reserves steadily continued to dwindle) slow. We wanted to drive somewhere that was open to maybe get a warm meal and recharge our phones, but we didn't want to risk driving on icy roads (and few places were open anyway). So we sat in the dark and ate sandwiches and played Uno by lantern light.

Monday evening we began to worry the food would spoil if it stayed in the refrigerator, so we began moving perishables out to the balcony so they would stay cold.

Our apartment, being a unit facing the interior courtyard on the fourth floor of a concrete structure, generally traps heat fairly well; we rarely, if ever, have to run the heater. However, after a day without power even it was beginning to get cold.

The power did flicker on again shortly after midnight on Tuesday. After a few minutes, however, it went out again. It returned again around 5 am, and stayed on for most of the day. This was a relief, as it allowed us to recharge our devices, watch the news and cook ourselves dinner. I got another text from work saying that things would be closed again on Tuesday; the power outages had shut down our network so nobody could remotely log in. 

Tuesday evening the electricity went out once again, which meant another evening of sitting in the cold and dark. Happy Fat Tuesday!

Wednesday, the electricity was intermittently on and off all day long. Work was canceled for a third straight day. We also had to deal with another problem: low water pressure (because the city's pumps had no electricity), and a "boil water" notice for the little water we could get (because the city was concerned about bacteria in the water supply owing to the low pressure).

My parents came over Wednesday afternoon and stayed the night with us. They had gone without power for almost two days straight, had nearly frozen to death while trying to sleep the night before, and had no water pressure at all. Even if our electricity continued to cut in and out, they'd still be warmer here than there.

Our complex's management told us to go down to the fountains and fill buckets of water if we needed to flush toilets. So Wednesday evening I made several trips between our unit and the fountain in the courtyard, hauling buckets of water up flights of stairs because I didn't want to risk using the elevator in case the power went out. I was given a taste of what it was like to be a medieval villager getting water from the town well. I was also reminded that I am horribly out of shape.

Our last power outage was Wednesday evening, and it was brief. The following morning, I discovered that my work's network was restored so I was able to log on, check my emails and complete some tasks. (Unfortunately, a lot of my coworkers were still unable to work because they didn't have reliable electricity, were dealing with burst water pipes, or had some other weather-related emergency to attend to.)

Later that morning, the water pressure returned. Then, a neighbor of my parents informed them that their power had returned, so they could go back home.

However, just as we thought things were returning to normal, Corinne got a call from her mother. She had been staying at a friend's house, and had come back home to discover that a pipe had burst in one of her bedroom closets and had completely flooded her house. Corinne's mom is currently staying in a hotel; her house is going to need extensive remediation and some of her personal belongings may be lost forever. 

Yes, this arctic blast was a freak, rare weather event. But this was also an embarrassing and unacceptable systemwide failure of the state's power grid (and no, wind turbines do not deserve all the blame, no matter what the idiots running this state might think). It caused a lot of trouble for a lot of people, and was close to being much, much worse than it was.

The State of Texas must do better. These arctic weather events might be rare, but they do happen. There's no excuse for not having our electrical grid prepared for when they do come.