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there is not nobody out there can play like metallica

No reason, liked the image.
This weekend I was walking along the coast, looking for driftwood that was dry enough and not-chemically-treated enough to burn for a fire later that night. The weather was the typical bay area coastal gloom – moderate temperatures with the sun hidden behind a gray blanket above, and a fine mist drifting on the air all around. But it wasn’t gloomy at all, I rather enjoyed it. Sharaun and I walked hand-in-hand for a bit, away from the group, and it was almost like we were alone. There was no one else on the entire beach, not a soul. At one point, the place went silent between two waves, just for a second, but it was a remarkable absence of sound. Usually it’s the constant crashing of waves, must’ve been some odd off-timing to create the gap – but it was the most memorable sound of the walk. All sorts of things flash through my mind, I play out scenarios where we’re trapped wherever we are… and being trapped on that beach at that time seemed pretty OK to me.

The men’s restroom at work has polished tile walls. Wait… wait, just stick with me here, I swear I’m going somewhere. Anyway, it’s got these bone-colored polished tiles, so polished that you can see your reflection in them when you step up to a urinal. The way the place is laid out, there are three urinals and three stalls. The rightmost stall wall is directly adjacent to the leftmost urinal. Now, if you were designing a bathroom, you would probably step back and look over your drawings and say “It is good.” However, you would be wrong – and I’ll tell you why. The stall partitions do no go all the way to the wall. There is probably a good inch, maybe more, of space between the wall of the stall and the actual smooth, polished, mirror-like wall. You see where I’m going? No? Lemme ‘splain.

I walk up to the urinal to turn back the Starbucks I rented earlier in the morning. Let’s say I choose the leftmost urinal, for argument sake. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to me, someone has entered the restroom earlier and chosen the rightmost stall in which to pinch their loaf. So I walk up and prepare for the pee, all the while keeping my eyes honorably focused in front of me. In front of me. Where the damn polished tile is playing a scene reflected right from the stall next to me, the horrid vision escaping through that gap between the wall and barrier that should separate our two private acts. I try to take my eyes away, but where to look? I can look down, but it’s still in my periphery. Any movement draws my eyes to the scene, unbidden by my brain. This is not some watery, frosted-glass-looking reflection that is thankfully obscured; this is a live HDTV feed of the business end of what’s going on in that toilet. I mean we’re talking I-can-read-the-tattoos-on-your-ass DVD picture crispness folks. It’s bad news, it’s bad planning, it’s just plain old bad. This is why I stay away from the 3rd urinal. Well, that and the fact that it’s mounted a good 3″ lower on the wall than the “normal people” urinals. Midget-compliant, or something. The horror.

We have nothing on our walls. Not pictures, not paintings, not even a different color than the original white that came with the virgin house. Over the course of the three years we’ve been here, we’ve spent countless dollars which could’ve instead went to put things on the walls, to make the place feel more lived in. We have no furniture in the front room. Hell, we still call it the “front room” because we don’t do anything in or with it. It has no function. The biggest open space in our entire house is nothing more than a wide, wide hallway between the front door and kitchen. I don’t know what to chalk this up to, but I have some suspects. First, laziness. We are just lazy. Second, Sharaun’s unreasonably high standards for anything which will be displayed on our walls. Honestly, I think finding one or two items every three years may be the pace at which we have to move based on her insane requirements. Third, the notion that money will be better spend elsewhere. As time passes though, I’m beginning to wish we’d spent more time “homey-ing” up the house. Sometimes it feels empty, like we’re always poised to pack up the lot of it and hit the road. I want more things on the wall, more places to sit, more color. Oh, and I want less rampant mess… but that’s a function of my marriage and completely inescapable.

You guys may or may not know that I “run” several different websites. I put the word run in quotes because I honestly do little to “run” them at all. I wrote them at some point in my life, and for the most part they are now on autopilot… their tired and trite layouts and designs in a state of atrophy, embarrassing to look at. There are sites all over this domain, those linked from the root and those not. Those that are “done” and are never touched, and those that are in a constant state of “working on it.” Anyway, the page I’m most ashamed of is my Question Mark & the Mysterians page. The thing is appalling. I think I did the layout in high school, no kidding (however, I may be wrong as the oldest copy I can find on the Wayback is from 1998 and says “since 1997” on it). I changed the layout early along in college, converting the thing to some form of CSS style management. The site is really disgusting to me, but I’m not willing to go and give it a remake. Thing is, it’s consistently one of my biggest visitor-getters, and it also generates a large amount of e-mail. And that’s what I want to talk about, the e-mail.

People are retarded. No, I’m serious. People are straight-up retarded. Sure, the site is hideous – but there is still plenty of good information to be found there, and it’s relatively easy to navigate despite it’s abominably ugly shell. Despite this, the retarded masses insist on mailing me with any question they can think of – regardless of whether or not it’s answered on the pages. I’ve long stopped responding to any mail generated by the site, but you’ve got to check out some of these gems… they consistently crack me up.

Subject: who are they?
the mysterions

Subject: Bass player
What were the names of the musicians that help record “96” tears..

Subject: hey
hey question mark and the mysterians you are a good group you play good music where do you all go when you all on the road do you all go to buger king do you all go to wendys do you all go to pizza hut do you all like buger king do you all like wendys do you all like pizza hut i do i like buger king i like wendys i like pizza hut at buger king i like those whoppers do you all like whoppers thats what i get when i go to buger king is those whoppers there is nothing like a whopper boy they are good

Subject: 96 tears
dude you must have gotten your hands on that song by now, if not i can give an mp3.

Subject: 96 TEARS 45
DEAR WEB MASTER , I HAVE A 45 BY ? AND THE MYSTERIANS. SIDE 1 IS 96 TEARS,BLUE “ABKCO” LABEL, MANUFACTURED BY ABKCO RECORDS INC. ,MONO , # 4020 , (XRQ-75039) , ABKCO MUSIC INC./MYSTERIAN MUSIC / ED ARGUILLO BMI , TIME 2:57. SIDE 2 IS “I CAN’T GET ENOUGH OF YOU , BABY”, BLUE “ABKCO” LABEL , (LINZER/RANDEL) , MANUFACTURED BY ABKCO RECORDS,INC. , MONO , # 4020 , (XQR-75040) , SATURDAY MUSIC , TIME 2:00 .

Subject: hey (same sender as above)
hey question mark and the mysterians what you all have been doing for me i have been playing with my playstation playing with my radio playing on my computer playing with my bose watching dvds on my tvo and watching tv on my tvo i am sorry i have not send you guys any emails thats because i got other rock and roll stars to send emails what bands do you all like do you all like white snake judas priest acdc van halen motley crue scorpons night ranger billy squier billy idol tom petty and the heartbreakers the cars duran duarnboston the police phil cooins bad company queen aerosmith pink floyd led zeppelin kansas foreigner black sabbath blue oyster cult bon jovi def leopard fog hat sammy hagar iron maiden kiss mega deth men at work metallica ozzy osbourne styx twisted sister stevie ray vaughan skid row def leppard quiet riot ratt poison winger guns n roses lover boy lynyrd skynyrd queen asia genesis meat loaf molly hatchet so tell me all of these rock and roll bands which one do you like and which one you dont like do you like all of them or you dont like all of them i like metallica there is not nobody out there can play like metallica because they are to good they play alot of good songs they are just to good

Subject: Your music
Please have a look at the attached file.
—————-
Viruses found in the attached files.
The file mp3music.pif: Virus identified I-Worm/Netsky.J. The attachment was moved to the virus vault.

Maybe the loud colors and disjointed layout just attract the stupidheads. Who knows.

Goodnight.

Posted on

chin on chest

I have no home.
Monday night and I’m up late, in one of those don’t-want-to-go-to-bed moods. Listening to a new album by a group called Clap Your Hands Say Yeah! that is really rubbing me the right way. Reminding me of the Arcade Fire, although they don’t sound much alike at all. I’ve got the blinds pulled up and the window open, inviting the cool night air into the room, along with all the sounds of late-night suburbia: the teenage neighbor boy arriving home from wherever his coming-of-age took him this evening, the occasional chirp of a cricket, and sprinklers spraying to life in the distance. In some ways, this is better than sleeping to me; but I do love my sleep. It’s nice; it strikes me as the first time in a while I’ve had the luxury of sitting here with nothing to do but write and listen to music. Work tomorrow will be busy, but not so terribly demanding that I go to bed ASAP. So I’m gonna sit here and do nothing for a bit, because I can.

5:30pm on Tuesday and I’m dozing off on this call… the action of my head dropping forward waking me from a moment of rest. I don’t know why I’m so tired lately, but today I have an agenda. Immediately after this meeting, my last of the day, I’m gonna run to the gas station. I’m gonna fill up the truck, and fill up my new little two-gallon gas can with an oil/gas mix for my new two-cycle blower. Then, it’s back home to mow the lawn and use that newly gassed-up blower. After that, I want to finally unpack my suitcase and do a proper level-setting cleaning job in the kitchen, y’know, catch up to where I should be. That’s what I want to do, I’m hoping I stick to the plan. Lately, there’s just not enough time. Neither of us have time really… Sharaun comes home from her day that begins at 4:45am and just wants to crash. I’m severely unmotivated for some reason, and have been feeling more tired than usual – I think I may have a sinus infection that’s been lingering since my last trip to Taiwan. Complain, complain, complain… I’m sure it makes for exciting reading. My apologies.

While I didn’t get a chance to TiVo it, because I only learned of it yesterday morning at work, I did read the text of last night’s Bush address in full on the internet. And while I concede it was indeed a well-crafted speech, I still find myself coming back over and over again to Bush’s “new” agenda of tying the war in Iraq to the terrorist attacks of 9/11. Fine, there are “terrorists” in Iraq, and “terrorists” flew planes into our buildings. I simply cannot understand how people don’t remember that the #1, unquestionable, unmistakable reason President Bush gave this country for going to war was the purported “fact” that Iraq had weapons of mass destruction. Whether or not ending an evil regime or freeing a tyrannically ruled people or waging the global ware on terror are noble and just causes for a war, they are not the reasons America voted for war. When did that become OK? You know, I’m not one of those calling for the immediate withdrawal of troops, at this point that’s pure folly and will only lead to anarchy. But I am also not one of those people who have managed to seamlessly transition from supporting a war against a country who presented a real threat by having weapons of mass destruction, to supporting a war to end an evil dictatorship and free a populace, to supporting a war that is just the “… central front on the war on terror.” I respect our soldiers and the job they do. But, as a nation, I do believe we were lied to, and manipulated by the administration with regards to the justification for the war.

Here’s my random one-sentence thought roundup paragraph. Friday noon we leave for Oregon, doing the long drive once again. Spending the long weekend at my folks’ place, looking forward to the time away from work and this abominably messy house. The crabgrass is back in my lawn, I noticed it’s return today… and it’s back in force. This time, however, I decided I’d turn to my friend the internet to find a solution. Looks like I can get some stuff and totally kill the bastard-weed while we’re in the early days of summer… so I plan to act fast. I imagine it like I’m swooping in at the last moment to rescue the lady tied to the tracks, just before the train bears down on her. Downloaded and messed around with Google Earth tonight, and found it really really awesome. It’s a free download, and it does some amazing stuff.

Goodnight my friends, goodnight.

Posted on

a place to sleep

Good for the skin.
Man… just woke up from a hardcore nap, it’s about 9:30pm. Fell asleep on the couch watching TV, that damn flickerbox robbed me of another evening of productivity. I had big plans: unpack from New York, because my suitcase is still sitting on the bedroom floor; repack the camping equipment from this weekend, as it’s still piled in the garage from when I aired it out after returning; start picking up around the house, as it’s still littered with debris from the bridal shower and party Sharaun had here more than a week ago; I would’ve even settled for just doing the dishes from this evening’s meal. But man, I’m so out of practice with the regular chores that I’m really letting them slip. I feel like I’m all out of continuity or something. I set my alarm for an hour early on Monday, thinking I’d get up early and do some tidying before work – but of course I snoozed that entire thing away. Anyday now, I’m ready to get back into my routine…

When I was in the second grade, our teacher had a small squarish picture-book dealing with “hobby sports.” It had full-page action shots of people doing different things, with the title of the activity at the bottom of the page. There were pages for skiing, skydiving, surfing, boating, etc. I can remember looking at the book and flipping the pages. One of the pages seemed a little thick, too thick to be one page. Upon closer inspection I discovered that it really wasn’t a single page, but two pages that were somehow stuck together. Being curious, I carefully tried to pry apart the stuck pages. Turns out the were stuck together purposely, by our teacher, because one of the now hidden pictures portrayed the sport of “skin diving.” With the pages torn apart, I could make out the nude forms of a male and female diver. (Is it proper to have my pluralized “forms” be mated with the singular “diver” in that sentence?) At this point, I either began showing this to other kids, or Mrs. Kline spotted me – either way I was found out. I can remember her lecturing me for “ruining” her book. I think that’s kind of unfair. You glue two pages of a book together and expect inquisitive second-graders not to pry them apart in curiosity. How about cutting out the offending page, or not using the book at all – it was probably 15 pages max anyway.

Got a call from my little bro over the weekend. He’s busy making all the preparations for his tour in Iraq come December. His unit finally got their orders the other day, and they will be stationed at Camp Liberty (Camp Al-Tahreer in Arabic, and also formerly known as Camp Victory). Camp Victory is “… one of the largest US overseas posts built since the Vietnam War, [and] … lies northeast of Baghdad International Airport…” It is planned to be able to accommodate 14,000 troops at capacity. For a long time, my brother telling me he was going to Iraq was pretty much just that – nothing too scary. But hearing him tell me where he’d been ordered, and how he’s making preparations to send his wife home to her folks while he’s away made me really think about it. I don’t know, I don’t have a lot of fear for his wellbeing, I feel like he can handle himself and that the odds are with him… but all the same I wish he wasn’t going. I can’t imagine how it’d feel on the eve of leaving all the things I know and love for a year. Bugs me.

As much as I’ve been looking forward to our upcoming high school reunion next month, I’ve been dreading it nearly as much because tickets to FL are running between $500 and $600 per-person right now. Considering we’re only going to be there for a couple days since Sharaun’s scheduling around work, it was just hard for me to justify dropping more than a grand on the trip. So today, out of desperation, I started reviewing my various airline miles. Turns out, that we could fly for about $240 if we’d be willing to each fly a different airline. I called Sharaun, presented the ~$800 savings scenario to her, and she was down. So, I’m on United and she’s on Continental – but at least I was able to score pretty similar flight times so we’re not too disparate. Yeah, it sucks – but we already shelled out a hundred or so just for the reunion festivities… I am really looking forward to it, despite my lamentation. More importantly, it’s another trip to the airport and some more quality time on an airplane!

Need to make reservations for my trip to Shanghai, apparently I’m needed the 1st week of August. Also wouldn’t hurt to book travel for the (now two-week) September Taiwan trip. I’ve never been to Shanghai, so I’m looking forward to it – since I’ll know some folks in town who can show me around. Taiwan is Taiwan, we don’t need to go into that again until the time comes. I brought some work home tonight, y’know, to work on; never got to it.

Oh, and Wes is right about McD’s, I had already forgotten the whole McRib incident… a textbook example of repression. Goodnight.

Posted on

catching up

Looked lonely; fit.
Forgive my blog dereliction; it was a busy week in New York. Right now, I’m waiting for the shuttle to JFK in the empty hotel bar, and for some reason I’m really sleepy. New York City was fun for me. I ended up meeting up with Ben’s brother Dave, end was able to kill time with him these past couple nights.

Tuesday night we crashed a work party atop a skyscraper, with an awesome view of the city on all sides and free cocktails and hors devours; ate some fat, fat steaks in a restaurant which bled “old New York;” and ended the evening at a downtown dive called The Happy Ending for a party called “ShitHamerred.” (I don’t really know if it was one word, but it looks better that way to me). The party was drunkenly good, and I ended up catching a cab back to the hotel for a 4am bedtime. Needless to say the next day on the conference floor started a bit rocky, but I maintained. Wednesday I caught the trains over to Williamsburg and we met up for dinner and a stop at the very cool Barcade. Having someone to hang out with really makes traveling more enjoyable. So, New York was fun – we’ve established that; but I’m glad to be leaving… to be going back home and “rooting” again for a while.

At the airport, I broke down and got something to eat, since I hadn’t had the opportunity earlier in the day. For some reason, the golden arches of McDonald’s were extremely appealing, and I got a Big Mac meal. Now, I probably haven’t been to a McDonalds in nearly a year – in fact the last time I can remember was when I was driving from Houston to Killeen to visit my brother at Fort Hood. But, in high school – I took full advantage of the .99 cent Big Macs. I can remember eating them with Andy, I think. Anyway, the Big Mac was OK, but it’s not he point of my story. I wanted to talk about where I ate the Big Mac.

Being that I’m doing this trip solo, I’ve done quite a bit of “table for one” dining – and my Big Mac meal was no exception. I sat down alone at an area of tables which was somewhat removed from the rest of the food court, and proceeded to fill the non Big Mac containing side of my Big Mac box with ketchup for my fries. Not long after I’d sat down, a few Transportation Security Agency employees converged on the other tables near me. Now, I forget, and I know that’s bad, but I forget if the TSA is a new, post-9/11 thing, or if it was around prior – but I guess that’s immaterial. The whole reason for writing this is to get to the point that, if these are the people who are securing our travel… oh boy. I mean, these were kids, and their conversations cracked me up. “Shit dogg, you was so drunk last night.” “I know homie, when I got home my baby-mama was giving me a bunch of shit and I be all like ‘You da one who birfed all dem damn kids, why you gotta be fuckin’ wit me?’” “Awww hells playa, you done told it straight!” “I’m still fucked up right now I think.” “Hell yeah you be lookin’ all to’ up.”

Great, we’ve got the “interlude players” from Doggystyle protecting our airports.

On the plane again. United’s “preferred service” routes between NY and CA, with AC outlets for every seat. So, I can run my laptop the whole time – listening to music, writing, and so far on this trip: working. Yeah, I decided to do a mass e-mail attack and conquer my travel-bloated inbox. Believe it or not, it’s an extremely rewarding thing to do, I get a great sense of accomplishment from taking it from 300+ mails down to 20-something.

So I’ve already said how much I love this Architecture in Helsinki album, but good lord folks – it’s just not getting old to me. My latest love is this track, which, to me, is impossible not to love. The start-stop composition and catchy tune make it loveable enough, but it’s the rolling-drum-backed power-tool-to-scream crescendo that sealed the deal for me. Six months in and I don’t mind saying that this one is in the lead for the laurels in my mind. I have no idea what it’s about, the lyrics are as cryptic as the title, but it doesn’t matter.

Weekend, I’m out.

Posted on

on my own

Home of bottom dwellers.
The wireless connection in my hotel room is the most frustrating thing ever. What’s worse, it’s my only option. It’s off and on, dropping me all the time, and only giving me sucky connections when it feels like it. There’s one “hot” spot in the corner of the room, which I found by wandering around with my laptop out in front of me – but we’re talking a one foot square area of space about 4ft off the ground in the middle of nowhere. What the heck Hilton, you got nothing?! I tell you what, I wouldn’t recommend this ~$400/night place to anyone. Stay away folks – the hotel blows, the service is lukewarm, and the internet is non-existant. You hear me Connie? Your hotel blows, I don’t care if the legacy of your loins did offer forth Paris unto the world, you are not fogiven.

Today (Monday) was great. As I mentioned yesterday, I wasn’t really sure what this conference had in store for me. Turns out I was done “prepping” at around 9am this morning – and effectively had the rest of the day to do with as I pleased. As I triumphantly packed up my bag and sauntered away from the area where myself and my colleagues were located, I mentioned I was going to get some breakfast and would probably be back down to “check on things” in an hour or so. Even as I was saying the words, I knew them for a blatant lie. I had no intention whatsoever of returning to the conference floor today. I mean, why would I? I was completely setup, and I don’t have to be back until noon Tuesday. I did mention to a fellow employee (whom I’ve never met) that I might be able to offer some assistance with his “prep” later on, and left my cellphone number for him to get in touch with me. Again – knowing full well I would not be answering his calls.

Is this wrong? I don’t know. In some ways, when I do things like this, I do feel slight pangs of guilt. But for the most part, I feel liberated. I get this rebel thing in my head and just ignore phone calls. As soon as I saw the conference area this morning, I made a for-me-only decision: I was going to half-ass this thing. Sound bad? I don’t think so, here’s why: I’ve been working hard; I deserve a little break. So, I’m going to go in there with my dress pants on, stand up in front of people, and absolutely wing it.

Let me take a seemingly unrelated segue here, the reason for which will become apparent towards the end. Sharaun used to tell me to “stop!” doing embarrassing things or acting silly in places like restaurants, amusement parks, grocery stores, etc. – any public place really. My reply to her was always, “Why? We don’t know these people, it’s very likely we’ll never run into a single one of these people again in out entire lives. Who cares if they think I’m an idiot?” So, while not as extreme (I don’t quite want people thinking I’m an idiot), I’m sorta taking that position with this conference.

Anyway, having decided I wasn’t going to make any big investment in the work-bit of this trip, I decided to strike out on my own one-man tour of the city. Yeah sure, one of my new acquaintances from the conference had offered to tag along – but I declined, thinking that a solo adventure might be more interesting, and would certainly be paced more to my liking.

I did it all. I walked to Times Square (took a picture of the MTV building for my forever-teenybopper wife), then over to the Empire State Building (didn’t go up, the wait was two hours and I wanted to make sure I took in as many sights as I could). I caught the subway to Ground Zero, which, not having ever seen the two buildings while they still stood, was not quite as impactful as I’d thought it might be – although surely still a solemn attraction. Then, the guilt started getting to me. I decided maybe I should head back and return to the conference floor, where the multitudes were still milling about and setting up. I bought a return ticket on the subway, and sped back in the direction of the hotel. It was nearly 1pm as I climbed the stairs from the subway up to street-level, which meant my no-breakfast-having stomach was beginning to think about lunch. And what do you know, I emerged from the underground a mere block from the world-famous Carnegie Deli. Seeing that the line waiting to get in was relatively short, I decided to again forsake my conference brethren and instead go for a corned beef sandwich.

The first phone call came as I was waiting in line, a number I didn’t recognize. I didn’t answer; they left no voicemail After my sandwich, I did decide to return to my room and change into pants, since some clouds had rolled in and the city had cooled down a bit. I was only there for 15min before I decided that, since today was really my only “free” day, I’d better take full advantage of it. I made up my mind and decided to make for Battery Park and the statue of liberty. As I took the elevator to the lobby, I found myself hoping that I didn’t bump into any of my colleagues on the way out. I walked through the lobby, and paused at the escalators that would put me back on the conference floor. “I should just run down for a few minutes,” I thought, “Make and effort, make a show of being there, maybe help someone out…” I hesitated, and then turned and strolled out towards the subway.

The second phone call came while I was walking through Battery Park, the same unrecognized number. This time, a voicemail: “Hey Dave, just wondering if you were going to make it back today, I was going to call someone to ask them some questions about setting up my stuff – but figured you may know. Anyway, give me a call at this number or stop by if you’re around. Hope to see you soon.” Ugh, guilt. The voicemail is harder to ignore than a missed call, but I managed to press ‘3’ for delete and force myself to go on with my self-indulgence. I snapped some pictures of the Statue of Liberty (again, opting out of the harbor tour in the interest of time), and got back on the subway intending to make my way towards Central Park. I got of a little early, so I could walk down Broadway and check it out, and eventually made it to the park. I bought a bottled water and one of those strawberry shortcake ice cream popsicle things I used to love so much in middle school, and started on my leisurely trek, pointed loosely towards Strawberry Fields.

I stopped to watch the crowd on Sheep Meadow, took in what looked to be some rec baseball at some fields near there, and finally found a nice bench to plunk down on in front of the Imagine memorial in the Strawberry Fields section. While I was sitting there, people-watching and enjoying some busker’s rendition of “No Reply,” my cellphone rang – the third call. This time it was a different number. I silenced it. Buzz-buzz, a voicemail. I listened, “Hey Dave, this is so-and-so what’s-her-face from the show. Boy, your ‘about one hour’ kinda turned into ‘all day,’ huh? Well, anyway, I’m calling to see if you wanted me to do anything with your stuff. If not, no need to return the call. Hope to see you tomorrow, thanks.” Great; more guilt. But you know, if I had wanted to do something with my stuff, I would’ve gone and done it or let someone know. I was done, and I was not going back. It didn’t matter though, because the sun was setting and a beautiful little girl was dancing around the Imagine memorial, picking up the fresh flowers and twirling around with them. The temperature was perfect, and I felt so relaxed and self-sufficient having ferried myself about town all day. I had about twenty blocks to walk back to the hotel, but it was worth it.

And that’s how I managed to spend a whole day shirking responsibility and still feel good about myself. Tomorrow, I’ll go down there, make up some excuse for being MIA all day, and then get down to business. I’ll do what I do, do it well, and then get out of this place on Thursday. I’m not excited, and I’m hating all the “real work” I’m missing by being here, but I’ll stick it out as always. OK, enough of that.

One thing I will say about New York, it’s extremely easy to get around. I actually expected the opposite, a huge, maze-like city of tall buildings and numbered streets. Turns out upper Manhattan, at least, is no problem. And the subway is great. I can get to pretty much anywhere for $2. One other thing I’ll say about New York, the people here make me feel sorely lacking for not having an iPod. Honestly, they must give them out with the drivers’ licenses or something. You walk down the street and every third person has those distinctive white earbuds stuck in their ears. If I lived here, I’d surely cave to the peer pressure.

Oh… and now I’m pissed. I was on the season finale of Lost (yeah, I watched a whole season in a week or so, so what?), and the dang file is cut off – ends about 20min short! What’s worse, the little download meter tells me I’m looking at more than a day of download time on this hobo wireless connection to get a complete version. Now I have to wait until I get home to watch those final 20mins. I’m mad, yes, mad.

I wrote a lot today, first time in a long time. Felt good.

Posted on

where’s paris?

Greetings from early America.
The Big Apple; I knew I’d arrived when it cost me $45 and took an entire episode of Lost to get from JFK to Manhattan. Getting in under cover of dark last night, I got a decent view of Manhattan skyline while crossing the bridge – but I’m so unfamiliar with the layout of this city that I didn’t know where to look for anything. The hotel, like many hotels it seems, is insanely posh on the outside – the lobby lush with giltwork and marble, brass fixtures and fountains, etc. But the insides are likely the same insides that were built on day-one – chinked and dirty baseboards, funny-smelling behemoths of air conditioning units, and worst of all no in-room broadband aside from the citywide pay-as-you-go access I can pickup in the room (thankfully). In this day and age I don’t understand how a hotel that caters to a business crowd gets away without having high-speed access, it seems unthinkable… Maybe I’m spoiled by the Sherwood, the measuring stick to which I hold all hotels to.

Getting up at 6am here is hard for my I-know-it’s-really-3am sleeping habits, and I found myself snoozing the alarm for forty some-odd minutes, all the while telling myself I’d padded the wake-up time anyway. One interesting thing about this trip – I probably have less of an idea what I’m actually going to be doing here than any other trip I’ve been on in recent times. I mean, I know I’m presenting at some point – but I just received the material last night; and I know I’m standing on the conference floor flogging product. It’s the logistics of it all that’s got me wondering. I don’t know when the thing starts (I did read that 8am today is when we can 1st access the conference area to setup), what the running times are, when I’m presenting, etc. Heck, they didn’t even have my reservation in the system when I arrived last night – I’m lucky I even got a room here. But… in the end, things worked out. I flopped into this ratty old office chair around 11pm last night and promptly ordered a sammich from room service while firing up the wireless radio in search of a signal. Watched a couple more downloaded episodes of Lost (yes, I am hopelessly addicted), and called it a night.

Oh, and I was totally pumped to learn that the San Francisco to JFK United flights have AC outlets in all their seats, even economy. I plugged in mid-flight and was able to run the laptop the entire time (of course, continuing to tear through season one of that damn addictive show). Seeing how impressed I was by the power, the attendant told me that all their planes had also been wired for wireless access – and we’re simply awaiting the FAA’s nod of approval to “flip the switch” and turn it on. How cool is that? I really don’t think it will be long before the internet is as ubiquitous as radio is today, and you’re able to pick up a signal just about anywhere and get online. My kids will laugh when I tell them that we used to have to plug our computers into the wall to get online – how antiquated – like having to get up and “flip” a record or tape to listen to “Side B.”

It’s 8am here now, which is when I wanted to be walking downstairs. I wanted to give myself as much time as possible to set up, in case the show happens to start at 10am or something. I think, I think I remember hearing somewhere along the lines that this thing doesn’t officially “kick off” until tomorrow – and operating under that very sketchy info I opted not to shave this morning, figuring it for a preparation day only. I truly hope this is so. I would like nothing more than to be able to head downstairs now, be setup and configured in a couple hours, and then have the rest of the day to tour the city. Otherwise, I’ll be headed back up to the room for a shave and change of clothes before being thrown into the fire.

And well, now it’s time to head out. Glad I could manage an entry today, the outlook was grim around 1am last night when I was too tired to write. See ya.

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discovery

Today was the first day I could afford to slack.
I’m back. If only I could offload this NYC trip next week, I’d be perfectly happy. The laundry has overflowed the hamper in the closet, and is spilled out in piles on the floor. I have to step over mounds of it to get to my clean clothes on hangers. It’s been that way since the three weeks in Taiwan, we’ve just never caught up from that, and combined with my other travel… things around the house are pretty much stagnating. Going away for another week will only perpetuate my nagging “barely keeping up” feeling. I need some time to be where I normally am and catch up on my normal routine. Oh, and I’m’a get it… I’m’a definitely get it after this New York trip… when travel should dry up for a good couple months.

Filmmakers, advertisers, and marketers, as part of your target demographic – I have to tell you something that may shock you: The seemingly always-funny combination of elderly people and hip-hop music/culture is not funny anymore. It’s just not funny anymore. Yeah sure, I can remember the day when I once got a chuckle from that old lady spitting classic Sugar Hill in that one movie teaser. But guys, that was a looong time ago. Geriatric Ebonics is past it’s prime, much like the only-for-white-people-now 1980s “-izzle” speak that Snoop brought back into vogue – it’s just over. As a marketing device that made middle-aged white people feel relevant, it was a screaming success… but nothing can last forever. Even totally awesome marketing campaigns eventually come to an end. R.I.P. Bud Bowl, Coors Twins, and yes… rappin’ granny. Your time has, mercifully, come to an end.

Usually, I hate to write about TV… mostly because I hate to think that a television show could be an important enough part of my life to were I’d spend time writing about it. But, I’m gonna break my unwritten writing rule and write about TV. Recently, one of the networks or cable channels starting replaying the series “Lost” from the beginning. Sharaun and I had heard quite a bit about the show previously, so we decided to sic a TiVo season pass on it. The other night, we finally got around to starting it – and I was immediately rapt. This show was seemingly written with me in mind. It’s got people stranded on a desert island, using their wits and brawn to survive, which by itself is enough reason for me to tune in. But on top of the island thing, it’s got secret codes and stuff. The other night, Pat was saying that all it needed to be stolen from my brain was a Henry’s Bar on the island. Anyway, I watched three episodes last night, and kicked off the downloads for episodes 4-12 when I got home from work tonight. The plan was to watch them as they air over the summer, but having them at my fingertips on the intarweb is just too irresistible to pass up. OK… sorry.

I leave you with a tale of blogging in the news again, goodnight.