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high on betel

Maybe you'd be better suited with elastic, sir; you're very "strong"
Y’know, it sure feels like I’ve been to Taiwan more than 4 times. But, that’s what my passport says: 4 times. So, I guess it really only has been 4 times. I do know, however, that ever since my first visit here, I’ve wanted to try betel nut. Betel nut is actually a seed that the Taiwanese roll in a leaf and chew whole. It’s a green thing to begin with, but once you start chewing it it turns bright red. You see betel nut “shops” all over town, usually near major roadways. Most of them are setup similarly: a large window and with an attractive young woman sitting inside, wearing a short miniskirt and not much up top, rolling up the betel nut for sale. There are usually bright flashing neon tubes hanging above the storefront to help pull your eye. When you ask the locals about the stuff, they mostly just shrug you off – acting like it’s a habit that’s beneath a civilized person. If you press them on why people chew the stuff, they say that it “keeps you awake, helps you concentrate, makes you feel hot and sweaty, and maybe even a little drunk.” It’s always sounded to me like some mild drug, and I’ve always wanted to check it out -but my hosts have always managed to dissuade me from actually purchasing any.

Today, however, when we came out of our last customer’s office – I spotted a betel nut joint just across the road. I mentioned to Wayne how I’d always wanted to try it, and he didn’t put up too much of a protest. So once again, I asked some of the locals I was with about it. This time though, they escorted us right across and bought me a small baggie full. They kinda look like the fat end of a piece of raw asparagus, about a half-inch long and wrapped tight in a leaf. There were about ten of them in the 50NT baggie. Our host explained that you first bite off the “endcap” from the stalk, and then chuck the entire leaf-wrapped thing in your mouth and chew it. Due to some communication confusion, Wayne and I were left confused as to whether or not we were supposed to spit or swallow the resulting blood-red saliva, so we played it safe and spit every 30sec. Only afterward did we learn that it’s only customary to spit the 1st batch of juice out after you start chewing, and then you’re supposed to ingest the rest. Check it:



The betel nut joint.

The merch.


Scored a dime.

Makeshift spittoon.

Anyway, it was a new Taiwan experience for me. I’ve got the remainder of the stash tucked away in my mini-fridge (it’s a plant, I figured it may need to be refrigerated) – and plan to chew one properly this evening, swallowing the spittle and all. The locals reminded Wayne that the emergency number here is 119 and not 911 – just in case.

Right now it’s 3:42pm where my home and wife are. Here it’s 7:42am and I’m getting ready for my final day of “work,” as tomorrow’s a free day. I have to go back to the tailor tonight to do the final fitting on the custom slacks I ordered. Don’t I sound so regal? Right now, perhaps, there is some man sewing a pair of pants made especially to fit my legs. If these things really fit-fit, I’m gonna be elated. I may wear them all the time, just for the crap of it. Last night was another round of karaoke with some of the women from the bar downstairs, we had a good time – and I think, overall, we brought our A-game karaoke to the table last night. You should’ve heard Wayne and I belt out Avril Lavigne’s “Complicated.”

Well folks, I don’t have much time before I have to fill my breast pocket with business cards (English on the front, simplified Chinese on the reverse) and head downstairs. I’ve got all the cards I’ve collected on previous visits stowed away in my bag, and I’ll review them on the way to the customer – on the off chance that I’ll be able to recognize someone and greet them by name before we exchange them. This way, I’ll appear as the concerned and genuine businessman… the one who cares enough about you to remember your name. Other than that, today is pretty much full. There’s the pants-fitting, the stopover at the Cuban cigar place, and talk of an evening massage possibly followed by the night market tonight.

Good afternoon; good morning. Dave out.

Posted on

nervous laughter

Play with this, mouse.
P-Day. Presentation day in Taiwan. Right now it’s early-morning and Wayne and I are doing some last-minute tweaks to our material. Not oh-crap last-minute changes, just aesthetic changes and some acclimation exercises. Our timeslot in this day-long conference is at the very end, which can be good because you’re the taste left in the audience’s mouth as they walk away; and can be bad because attention spans begin to wane near the end of the day and the fidgeting begins to set in. One other plus, we have time to work on the material, do one last rehearsal before showtime, and take in the other presenters as a gauge of our “competition.”

There must be 500 people in here, maybe one day I’ll be presenting to these masses – but our audience today is a mere subset, less than 200 of the total gathered here for the conference. I just did my first speaking gig, a 5min introduction of the day’s discussions and presenters – and it felt good to be in up front. The cute girl who was here last year is here again, and she must remember my stares because she’s looking over at me and chatting to her friend. I see a lot of familiar faces, actually. There’s the one guy who asks all the detailed questions, I’ll avoid contact with him; there’s that one dude who’s always asking impossibly technical questions in what I deem as some vain attempt to appear intelligent, gotta avoid him in the halls. Man, almost presentation time… in fact, I think the next paragraph will be post-presentation; wish me luck.

Our presentation went great. We were relaxed; we got questions; we had note-takers; we got laughs. It’s always hard presenting to non-English-speaking audiences – but I think we did a great job. Overall the day’s events went down just like I’d wanted them to. Now Wednesday and Thursday will be spent doing the Q&A thing for various customers. Y’know, we sit up front in a panel fashion – and they ask whatever’s on their mind. It can make for some interesting discussion, and some outstanding pulled-from-your-ass monologues. Full of assurances like “… we’ve invested many resources to ensure success,” and “… we are committed to product XZY…” But today was good – I had a good time, and so far this trip is a big success – as far as the “work” part goes.

Sometimes I like to sit in this bar and try to imagine what brought everyone here. In a hotel bar in bar in a business city like Taiwan everyone’s here for a reason. Through a haze of smoke and over silver bowls of mixed nuts, deals are struck and partnerships are formed. My role here is less exciting, I’m just sitting in the back working on my presentation for tomorrow. It’s all bar-atmosphere dark in here, so I probably look like some pale ghost in the corner, awash in the glow of my monitor. Stupid computer… stubborn tomato-stuck keys.

One thing that always amazes me about Taiwan is the extent to which most westerners I meet use it as a sexual playground. Meeting ring-wearing men in bars who immediately steer the conversation to where the best “massage” places are, dropping twist-of-speech hints about their true intent. When I get in these conversations, I usually don’t say one way or another whether or not I participate – for fear of being viewed as some limp-dicked sexual leper; more often than not if you don’t say you don’t, it’s assumed you do. The whole “while the cat is away” attitude that men get here is really something else. I guess I’ve never been one to partake in “manly” activities like strip clubs or whatnot. Oh sure, I’m still a functioning male: I’ll watch my share of internet porn or sit on the john and flip lustily through a Maxim magazine. I guess I just draw the line at the “live action” stuff. Maybe I’ve watched one too many Andy Griffiths or something, but I’m just not down with extramarital sexual activity – I’d much rather make a seed offering to the hotel shower drain than some paid-nothing whore a musty Taipei backroom.

Sorry to those who’ve posted recently and seen your comments deferred in their appearance. I’m still getting the hang of WordPress’ new v1.5 comment moderation features. Your posts should be visible now, and I’ve sent those texas holdem bastards where they belong. Oh, and thanks for commenting – it’s part of what makes me enjoy writing every day… to have some validation that people are reading and perhaps even enjoying what the heck I’m on about.

Now, it’s time for breakfast, and a full day of customers. Until sometime tomorrow…

Posted on

travellin’ man

Your cocktail namesake does you well.
Asky at last. Somewhere over the Pacific en-route to Tokyo. My eight-hour laptop battery is holding up well. If you haven’t guessed, this paragraph was written on Friday. And man, I’m lucky to be on this plane right now. Turns out, my flight into San Francisco was delayed by 2hrs. Luckily, the ticket agent put me on standby for an earlier flight – which Wayne and I had showed up early enough to make (being that it had also been delayed). Wayne (remember Wayne? I’ve been to Taiwan with him before) actually got ticketed on the earlier flight – but I only made the standby list. Turns out, there were thirty people on the list, and if I missed my flight into SF, there wasn’t another flight leaving for Taiwan until the next day.

The gate agent told me there was no way I’d make it to San Fran in time to make the flight to Taiwan. Brainstorming, Wayne suggested that I still had enough time (barely) to rent a car and drive to San Fran in time to make the flight. So, I started moving towards the Hertz center – calling and reserving a car on the cellphone at the same time. Just as the agent was reciting my rental car confirmation number, Wayne called after me from back near the gate – and motioned for me to run. I ran, still on the phone with Hertz. Turns out, I was second on the standby list – the first two names were 200k+ skymile holders, who’d not answered when called. Musta been my lucky day. I was the absolute last person on the plane – but managed to make the Tokyo connection in San Fran with time to spare. Someone must’ve wanted me here.

When I got on the plane, the flight attendants did their standard safety mime, going over where everything is and how to use it. They have those fake lifevests, which look real but are just yellow fabric with the little pull-inflators for demonstration purpose. I was thinking, how utterly crappy would it be to go down in an ocean plane crash, miraculously survive, go to pull the inflate-tabs on your lifevest – and look down in horror to see the words “demo only” printed on the thing. It could happen, they look just like the real thing, they just aren’t. Yeah, that would definitely suck.

At the San Francisco airport, Wayne and I sat down in the international terminal to make use of the too-expensive wireless internet and send some mail. Right next to use were two ATM-looking machines with big “Department of Homeland Security” seals on them. The screen was showing a video of someone inserting their passport into a reader-slot, and right next to the passport reader was a thumbprint scanner. A large sign next to the machine explained how to scan your passport, and put your thumb on the glass to digitize a fingerprint. The machines, called US-VISIT, were so intriguing to me that I snapped some pictures, and even tried to scan my own passport to see what happened. Check it:



Welcome to the United States, please submit three strands of hair and a urine sample.

Hard to read, but it shows how to give left and right fingerprints , and pose for the picture.


How to insert your passport.

Yay! I’m not on the watchlist!

Once I made the plane, the trip was relatively uneventful. I sat next to a young Marine who was returning from leave. He reminded me of my brother so much, and we immediately struck up a conversation – becoming drinking buddies for the remainder of the flight. About 8hrs in, I managed to spill a completely full bloody mary all over my laptop, chair, shoes, and pants. I turned the laptop upside-down and watched tomato juice and vodka pour out from between the keys, then retreated to the bathroom looking like I’d been shot in the groin. Luckily, I was able to wash off all the stains, and by the end of the flight the only clue that my khakis had been covered with tomato juice was the funny smell following me around. And, as you may have guessed – the laptop also survived it’s dousing. Wayne, my new jarhead friend, and myself spent the last few hours to Tokyo standing in the exit aisle drinking Kirins… kind of like some strange in-flight tailgate party, an airborne version of the King of the Hill alley-scene opener. We were “shushed” by the attendants no fewer than three times, but luckily they didn’t kick us off the plane into the sea.

Checked in at the hotel, washed my greasy face and hair and brushed my teeth, then headed for Henry’s Bar. Tracy wasn’t working – but the guy behind the bar remembered me, and immediately picked up the phone to call someone. My mandarin is pretty rusty, but I did hear my name, and Tracy’s nickname for me: Davey. After hanging up, he admitted he called her to tell her I’d arrived. The poor girl much get so much crap. Later, we walked to a foreigner’s-favorite watering hole around the corner and met up with some drunken Australians and sheltering-from-the-rain Swedes. In the spirit of international relations, as Wayne so eloquently put it, we stayed and had a round or two with the gentlemen. Eventually, I ended up chatting with a young guy from Taiwan, only to find out that we not only went to college together – we had the same Microprocessor Design class. What a trip… halfway around the world and chatting about a shared college professor and your alma-mater’s football record.

Now seems like as good a time as any to post a picture of Debbie Gibson taken off the TV while watching Taiwanese MTV (whose logo is apparently differentiated from that of American MTV by the addition of a chicken):

While on the subject of tunes, this Ratatat album is busy marking this trip for me. Its wordlessness makes for the perfect travel-soundtrack… allowing whatever’s in my head to be the narration. Listening to the breakdown in El Pico right now, bobbing my head while looking out over the dirty sprawl of Taipei. Man… changing subjects… WordPress is so awesome. Being able to log on to my site like this and type out an entry wherever in the world I may be. So neat.

Man this laptop reeks of spicy tomato. Ugh. Until tomorrow.

Posted on

rolled newspaper to the snout

Woosh.
T-to-the-eye, W-to-the-on. I’m packin’, I’m launderin’, and I’m checkin’ items off my “stuff to do before I go to Taiwan” list. Makin’ sure my PJ64 Zelda savegame is still there from the last plane ride out, I figure I can pick up where I left off last time. Yesterday was crunch day, the last day to get my junk done before being a world removed for the next week. I’m happy to say I managed to get it all done… even if it was a 6:30pm squeaker. Not bad, really, when your “late” days at work mean getting home in time for the OC.

The other night I had the strangest dream. I was out in the living room, watching TV and typing on the laptop. All of the sudden, I got a terrible urge to use the restroom. All sounds plausible so far, but for some reason, I chose to go right ahead and use the bathroom (#2 mind you) right there on the carpet at the bottom of the couch. Yeah, I know… Anyway, after finishing up, I realized what I’d done. My only thought was, “Oh no, Sharaun is gonna be so mad.” I either woke up or lost the dream right after I set about cleaning up the mess I’d made. It’s dreams like that (well, not really like that, since I’ve never, ever, ever, had a dream quite like that before) that make me wanna own one of those dream-interpretation books. I mean, something like that has to mean something.

Last night I downloaded an album by a group called Ratatat. I’d vaguely remembered seeing them reviewed on PF, but I grabbed it more for the name than anything (I do that a lot). Turns out it’s primarily “electronic” music, an overused generalized genre that can presumably include everything from Depeche Mode to Autechre. If you know me, you know I’m not the world’s #1 “electronica” fan… so much of it is just the same old 4:4 “fairgrounds” techno crap, and much of it is plain boring to me. Anyway, Ratatat is good! Not techno-goes-mainstream Fat of the Land good, or underground-enough-to-be-OK Crystal Method good… genuinely good. Indie-rock sensibilities with a beat good. There are guitars here, varied percussions and timings, actual progressive themes… far from the Cheat’s lightswitch rave stuff. I dunno, sometimes I think timing has a lot to do with how much I dig an album. I could’ve downloaded this two weeks ago and hated it, but I got it last night and am really digging it. If you’re into stealing music, check it out.

Good morning folks, figured I’d log on and finish this thing just before I head out for the airport. Once again it’s raining out, and it doesn’t look like I’ll get much of a change in the land of bird-flu. I think it’s rained at least one day every time I’ve been to there. And now it’s time to shut down and begin the journey.

Looks like my refferrer spam hack is working for other people, which is awesome – glad I can help. Until Taiwan-Tuesday or America-Monday… see ya.

Posted on

upgrade

We're #1!
I know you can’t really see it – but last night I upgraded to the newest version of WordPress, v1.5. The upgrade went, for the most part, smoothly, with only a few stylesheet related errors I had to clear up. Scrubbing the stylesheet is good housekeeping anyway, and it even inspired me to test with Firefox and Opera to make sure everything renders kosher. So far, I’m really digging the 1.5 backend… although it may take me a while get used to where things are now. Looks like they’ve built-in some comment-spam moderation, which is nice… and in general there are more comment moderation features. I did a quick spot-check of most crucial blog-features, and they all seem to be intact and working, so I declare the upgrade a success. The only thing that bummed me out was how nice the Kubrick template looked compared to my same-old green… but… it’s comfortable.

Tomorrow folks, tomorrow I’ll be airborne. A little flying city, me included, all jetting our way to Taipei over an interminably long ~24hr travel time. I’m ready, mentally; physically, I still have to pack and haven’t even started planning for the actual work I’ll be doing while in town. I am excited, though, about hooking up with a buddy while in town and visiting the local custom shirt and slacks places. Tailor-made shirts and dress slacks for $20, you can’t beat it. And man, I’d pay twice that to get something that fits around my childbearing thighs. The right fit can make all the difference, not binding my junk while I walk, not cutting off circulation to my legs, etc. Until I can get less fat, it’s the only way to go. Plus, I’ll be interested to see if the puny Taiwanese measuring tapes can encircle the girth of my legs anyway… mighty American redwoods to their toy saplings.

I saw the chief of the CIA came out and said something about North Korea having more nukes than we thought they had, or something. We gotta get these bastards people. We gotta reach out the long arm of American justice and give them a little preemptive shot off the bow. This is America; we flex you flinch. I mean, how can we be expected to stay our trigger-fingers when we’re being mocked outright!? This is the USofA you commie dickheads. Remember those letters, they’ll be the last thing you see on the side of the ICBM that screams into your village. Here in America we have little love for axes, and we hate evil ones with a passion. So shape up, because cowboys don’t take insults lightly:

The Americans swagger like a tiger around the world, but they whimper before our Republic as the tiger does before the porcupine. That’s because we have our Great Leader Kim Jong Il, who is undefeatable.

Pyongyang Radio, North Korea

OK. For real. I can remember, as far back as a few years ago, hearing members of Radiohead wax on about how underappreciated the 70s group Can was. I downloaded their two most well-regarded albums long ago, and gave them each a little listening to. Since then, they’ve been waiting on my hard drive as quiet ones and zeros… needing only my pointing and clicking to transform them into membrane-vibrating analog pulses of air. Today at work, I pointed and I clicked – and I was taken by surprise at how much I immediately dug what I heard. Some of the longer, more experimental, tracks are pure avant-crap… but the tiny little slice songs are really enjoyable.

And before I go, I strongly encourage everyone to go and download a copy of the excellent OpenCD project. Then, the next time your friends and relatives ask you for copies of programs (because you work at a high-tech company and you must have access to free warez copies of all the latest appz), you can instead send them this great disc of OpenSource programs to replace the payware they’ve been duped into thinking is superior.

Goodnight.

Posted on

i’m sorry

Rain rain, go away.
Midweek. I’ve got today and tomorrow to get done with my work commitments before I take wing to Asia, I hear Vegas put the lines at 2:1, work over me. Work can’t fade me though, y’all. I’m simply too effective to be caught unaware. I’ll take work, hogtie it, push its face in the dirt, and kick it in the ribs. I make work work for me… and lemme just say that my paycheck better always be on time – or work’s gonna have hell to pay. I can hear work quaking in the corner now, trying to hold its breath. You’re right to be afraid, work, I’m a loose canon.

Since evening engagements kept me from riding my bike to work last week, I was anxious to return to my as-yet-fully-established schedule this week. However, it had been a bit overcast Sunday night, and we’d even run into some showers while out and about. So, I woke up with enough time to check wunderground for the daily forecast before making my decision. I typed in my zipcode and was pleased to see only a 5% chance of precipitation. So, despite grey skies above, I strapped on my helmet and peddled off. Around lunch, I had the chance to peek out the window and noticed it was pouring. Then, lamenting to Ben and Anthony about wunderground’s sucky forecast leaving me looking forward to a wet ride home, Ben mentioned that he had heard on the Sunday news that it was supposed to rain all week. Feeling cheated, I settled for throwing my dripping bike in the back of Ben’s truck for a drier trip home. Once at home, I sat down to the PC – only to find the wunderground forecast I’d called up some 8hrs prior. Turns out, I was one digit off on the zipcode… and was looking at a forecast for a party cloudy day in Benson, Arizona. I find my only solace in hoping some sucker in Benson miskeyed his zipcode this morning and didn’t get to enjoy a dry ride to work because there was a 74% of precipitation.

I am now going to tell a story, one that I’ve held off on telling because I was observing a self-imposed moratorium. I felt this silence was necessary because this particular story is about a practical joke that went a little too far, resulting in some embarrassment on the part of the victim. The story involves Pat, myself, and our mark, Ben. It all started innocently enough, and ended with that sinking feeling you get when you know you’ve done wrong. Let’s begin.

Of late, Ben has been looking to become a homeowner. This means going through the emotional rollercoaster that all prospective homeowners go through. The financial assessment, the learning curve, defining and redefining your standards, the ups and downs of bidding and losing, etc. I know, because I went through it. I bit the nails waiting for an offer to be accepted, did the balance-sheets to see what I could afford, etc. The day our story takes place, Ben has just put an offer on a house that he really likes. It’s the first offer he’s ever made. Pat and I decide the day’s lunch will consist of trying out the new Indian buffet. During lunch, we trade jabs at Ben about his nervousness. We say things like, “Dude, did your phone just ring?” just to watch him jump from the ready-position and grab for his phone. This activity is highly entertaining to us, being that we’ve both been through it before and know how on-edge the whole business can make a body.

Ben endured an hour of good-spirited ribbing, at which point Pat and I dropped him off at a post-lunch meeting in a different building. Even without Ben, Pat and I continued to joke about the whole house-buying process as we drove to our building and parked. As we walked up the stairs, I made a crack about how funny it would be to fabricate a phony fax from Ben’s agent – and leave it on his desk. More of a fleeting suggestion on my part, Pat immediately bit on the idea – urging me by chanting, “Dude, we have to do it. We have to. Come on, it will be so easy. We have to do it.” Eventually, talk turned to just how easy the prank would be to pull off: Word comes with fax templates; I knew the street the property was on; we could look up the rest of the details online; we could print the Word document and then fax it from one machine in the building to another, giving it the official header and footer data of a real fax. Before we knew it, we were holding the faux-fax in our hands, still warm off the machine…

The gist of the prank involved a faux-fax purportedly coming from the selling agent, telling Ben that the seller had accepted his offer but had a few minor additional conditions before the deal would be final. We made sure these details were trivial, but we also made sure that the faux-fax included a deadline – a deadline chosen purposely for its un-meetability. If Ben didn’t call the selling agent before a certain time (a time we knew he’d still be tied up in the meeting we’d just dropped him off at), the seller would accept the next-highest offer. We left the fax on his chair (not an uncommon thing for someone at work to do when they see a fax for someone they know). Pat and I went our separate ways, pleased with ourselves for our creativity. The deadline came and went, and I got absorbed with work… all but forgetting about the prank. Until…

Ben showed up at my desk in a huff, our faux-fax clutched in his right hand. “Did you leave this for me?,” he asked. “Did I leave it for you?,” I said, rhetorically. “Yeah, I left it for you,” I said, answering my own question while holding up the yellow transmittal report that proved I in fact sent the fax in question. I think I noticed the confusion first, then the realization, then the fear. “Is this fake?,” he asked. “Uh-ha, yeah,” I chuckled nervously. “Dude, I called my agent. She’s calling the selling agent now. Is this fake?” “Shut up,” I say, worried. “I’m serious. Dave, do I need to go call my agent right now?” I hang my head, “Go call your agent.” As the horror I saw on his face begins to settle over me, I watch him rush off to try and remedy the situation. My heart immediately sinks, and I turn to my co-conspirator. What follows is the log of our chat as the situation unfolds, saved for this very purpose (long, but good):

Dave says:
dude
Dave says:
it was bad
Pat says:
This is how you know we did an awesome practical joke
Pat says:
These are the kinds of risks we’re taking
Pat says:
to go big
Pat says:
maybe too big
Dave says:
his agent faxed it to the other agent
Dave says:
his agent is PISSED
Dave says:
are you guys effing w/me?
Dave says:
i feel like absolute shit.
Dave says:
he said his agent said "i really hope this doesn’t hurt you"
Dave says:
i am mortified.
Pat says:
yeah… went to far… should have been sillier… have sinking feeling
Dave says:
my belly… hurting.
Pat says:
ben just talked to me
Dave says:
oh gawd…
Dave says:
we did bad.
Pat says:
yeah
Pat says:
shit
Dave says:
shit shit shit.
Pat says:
shit
Dave says:
not good… we are dumb.
Dave says:
we are so dumb.
Pat says:
what do we do now?
Dave says:
feel sick
Pat says:
yup, ditto
Pat says:
It’s my fault
Pat says:
I made us do it
Dave says:
oh lord. i can’t do anything until after this call.
Dave says:
i feel absolutely terrible.
Dave says:
don’t even want to face him.
Pat says:
yup… have to
Pat says:
it’s not that big a deal
Dave says:
dude, it’s his 1st offer on a house… it’s a big deal.
Dave says:
we’re dicks.
Pat says:
yes, we are dicks.
Dave says:
i swear… if something comes of this.
Dave says:
we are hated forever.
Pat says:
I can’t see them rejecting the offer because of this…
Pat says:
by itself, but if they reject it anyway, we’re going to get blamed forever
Dave says:
me neither… but makes him look dumb and for that i feel awful.
Dave says:
i would be seething were i him
Pat says:
yes. I meant to stop by constantly to make sure he didn’t really freak out
Pat says:
I think he’s pissed
Dave says:
he should be
Pat says:
yup
Dave says:
i have to run away
Dave says:
i’ll go kneel in remorse after this call.
Pat says:
shit
Pat says:
find me when you run… we should figure out what we can do
Dave says:
i could see the nervousness and this-is-so-not-funny in his face. he was shaking.
Pat says:
when did he talk to you?
Dave says:
10min ago?
Dave says:
i dunno.
Pat says:
He wasn’t at his desk at 1:50 or so, so it couldn’t have gone too far
Dave says:
it’s a blur… i’m a dick.
Pat says:
That’s our saving grace
Pat says:
hopefully
Pat says:
It wouldn’t have propagated to the owners in 10 minutes… impossible.
Dave says:
no, but… gawd.
Pat says:
This obviously isn’t his fault, they shouldn’t fault him. Now I really hope he gets it, so that we can laugh about it in 2007
Dave says:
dude… i’m so upset. you know that feeling when you’re ultimate guilty..
Pat says:
yes.
Pat says:
I have it right now
Pat says:
No excuses… we did that to f with him, it achieved it’s goal, just ended up being more f. than we intended
Pat says:
no more making fun of Ben ever
Dave says:
i can’t even concentrate
Dave says:
please tell me this is you two messing w/me.
Pat says:
no
Pat says:
I wish
Dave says:
i don’t know what to do
Pat says:
stop by when you get off the call. Nothing we can do, but we can try to think of something
Pat says:
I still argue this isn’t that big a deal in the end, but it still went waaaaay to far
Pat says:
and I feel like complete and total shit
Dave says:
oh man… we will be famous… and not in a good way
Dave says:
people will hate us.
Pat says:
Benz and I are breaking up
Pat says:
I fear
Dave says:
worst practical joke ever
Pat says:
yup. Damz
Dave says:
maybe the seller will end up having a really good sense of humour and give him the house
Dave says:
i feel like he should be allowed to deck me if he loses this.
Pat says:
maybe. Good outcomes = 1) he gets it 2) It sells for >$XXX
Dave says:
we are SO dumb.
Pat says:
Bad outcomes 1) He doesn’t get it cuz his friends suck
Dave says:
i’m so afraid he’s going to come by… i dunno what to say.
Dave says:
i feel doubly bad b/c i couldn’t even acknowledge him when he came by… was on the phone
Pat says:
easy… what you just told me 1) Sorry 2) I made a mistake 3) I did not intend this 4) I will do anything I can to make it up to you, realizing there probably isn’t anything that can
Dave says:
it was like i didn’t care.
Pat says:
all of which is true for both of us
Pat says:
yup

Eventually, I made my way over to Ben’s cube to express my apologies. Expectedly, he was not in the best of moods. I honestly thought we may have lost the deal for him, and wanted nothing more than to run away and hide. So, that’s what I did. Sent out a “Dave feeling ill, going home” e-mail around 3pm and headed for the hills. I didn’t talk to Ben at all the next day… wanted to give him some cooling-off time. In the end, everything worked out OK. Ben lost the house for legitimate reasons, and Pat and I soon regained his friendship. Now, if this retelling would just reopen old wounds, it would all be worth it.

Dang, a long, complicated entry; full of deprecated tags and dreaded inline styles. If I’m the king of anything, it’s non-compliant HTML/CSS coding. I don’t care what I have to use as long as it looks right in the end. And, this is the end. Before I go, check out Anthony’s new tattoo:

After all the work I put in on this thing, reading it back makes me feel self-absorbed or something. I guess that’s what happens sometimes when you write about stuff you do instead of stuff you feel. Owell, it’s done now and there’s no way I’m trashing it and writing another entry to take its place. Goodnight.

Posted on

i could so live there

Otherworldly.
It’s going to be a strained week for blogging. I already missed yesterday, but not to fear, it was a planned non-writing day. Friday’s entry may or may not materialize, as I’m leaving early for the nightmarish 24hrs of travel that is the flight to Taipei. Between then, I’ve got only three days of my normal five-day workweek to get a normal five-day workload done. Then, next week’s entries will cease to follow any schedule, being posted when I can, and on Taiwan time to boot. So look for ’em any time. I’m hoping I can keep up the writing, I’ve done it on past trips. And with that, we’re off.

What an awesome extended weekend. Three days in Big Sur, neither of us had ever been. Nevermind that I spent ~30min on the phone Sunday, just down from a short hike to a waterfall, talking to a customer in Texas with an urgent issue… luckily though, Sharaun was understanding and it all played to make the weekend unique. The northern California coast is a real meeting of worlds; salty waves crashing right up against rugged mountains. Kelp washed up into freshwater streams emptying themselves into the sea. We walked barefoot on beaches, trudged up streams, ate too-expensive food and slept in too-expensive rooms. And, since the only bad part about getting away from it all is having to come back to it all – I’m gonna sit here with this laptop on my knees and flex my fingers through another entry.

One of my travel-habits is to constantly scan my surroundings for “places I would live” should I become a bum or fugitive from the law. Ben has oft made fun of me for this habit, sometimes calling out “Hey Dave, you could totally live there,” in regards to some ramshackle shelter passed along the way. I don’t know what it is, but I’m always seeing places in terms of their inhabitability. I swear, ever since seeing My Side of the Mountain in 5th grade, I’ve imagined running away from the world and living in a tree. Foraging for my own food, building my own fireplace, perhaps even befriending the local librarian, taking up falconing, having a pet raccoon, and falling in with a bearded minstrel named “Bando.”

Back to what I was talking about, I’m always pointing out prospective hovels: broken-down utility shacks along the river, weathered metal switching stations along the rail lines, hollow spots on mountain ledges, if you can give me a semi-enclosed spot I can dream up a shelter that I’d transform into a comfy living space. This vacation to the coast was no different, I saw “places I would live” all over the place. Only this time, I decided to snap some pictures of my imagined digs. Check it:




The first of many hollow-tree houses, kinda cramped.


Tall but roomy, and had another opening for fireplace exhaust.



How freakin’ perfect is this? Secluded, even looks like a door.


This tree was begging me: “Live in me, live in me!”



The most perfect hollow-tree house, I almost ditched Sharaun and started nesting.


A big one, possibly a good upgrade if I decide to start a hollow-tree family.



Breaking the tree pattern, a seaside cave… I can’t even begin to describe the attraction.

Aside from spotting potential hideouts, we had a lot of time to relax. Sit on the sand, read books in bed, talk over coffee, and sing along to songs in the car. Unfortunately, I did succumb to my one free-time hangup. That for-no-reason sensation of being unnecessarily harried, frustrated; wanting to “get somewhere” when I have nowhere to be, wanting to “finish” something when I never started anything. I think I inherit this from my dad, who, when we’re out and about, always seems to get a random itch to leave for no reason. It’s a terrible thing, really… all of the sudden I’ll feel like we have to leave and “get back.” Since I’m pretty anal to begin with, the feeling pokes at the back of my brain like the pea in the princess’ bed – making me feel “uncomfortable” until we’ve got to wherever I’ve imagined as the “finish line.” I admit, it’s an odd thing – but thankfully Sharaun has learned to recognize it, and can say to me, “There’s no hurry, let’s just take it easy and relax.” It’s a good thing I have her to counteract my faulty genetics. Thanks dad.

Speaking of my dad, his dad is currently my only living grandparent. I don’t know what about this weekend got me thinking about my grandfather, but something did. I had the thought that I just don’t talk to him much, and don’t even really know him that well. The sad part is, the only time I really ever think about my grandfather is to wonder how he’s doing… and how long he’ll be around. It just struck me that the majority of my thoughts about my grandfather revolve around whether or not he’s going to be alive next week. I talked to Sharaun about it over pancakes, and we both agreed to try and renew regular communications with our only surviving grandparents. It’s just too easy to take for granted the further-removed generations of your lineage… when in reality they are some of the utmost crucial links to your past and discovering why you are who you are.

And, as midnight draws close… I’ll end this entry. But before that, we weren’t the only ones to have a busy weekend. Congrats to Ben and Suze on the house. Congrats to Kristi and Erik on the engagement. Congrats to Anthony on the ink. Goodnight.