South Beach is like Vegas but with better weather and real palm trees. Oh and pretty people from all sorts of places. However, with all of the high-rollers and the jet-setters partying into the wee hours of the morning, culture gets lost in the shuffle. It's almost the anti-Miami. Sure, there are still people spanning all of the African and Latin Diasporas but the establishments are catered to the high-end set. You can find some tapas, but it'll be white table-cloth tapas. You can get some sushi, but it will be some fusion sushi with Brazilian or Peruvian influences (which was DAMN good by the way).
It was funny though to hear my cousin get perplexed at my request for something "ethnic" after she asked me what I wanted to do about dinner. "Ethnic? This is South Beach. Your choices for "ethnic" are Italian, chinese or maybe steak." None of these sounded like good options to me. How could this be? I had just been deep in the heart of Little Havana and had all sorts of choices far more exotic than lasagna or NY Strip steak.
When I left my client's site, I was on a mission. It wasn't quite dinner time, but it was definitely late afternoon snack time. I was going to do what I always do and stumble upon a Subway or something, since my client was essentially right across the causeway from Miami Beach, but it was North. When I hit Collins Road, I decided to hang a left instead of a right that would've taken me back near my South Beach hotel. Yeah, I know what you're thinking. You're bracing yourself for me to take this opportunity to invoke the oft cliche'd "road less traveled" by Robert Frost, but I'll spare you.(Oops, i just did...my bad). Well, the North side is where its at!
On the 2nd block that I came up to, it was a veritable cornucopia of exotic (translated Latin anyway you like it) eateries to chose from. On my left was Chilean. On my right, Cuban and Argentinian. I couldn't resist the empanadas in the window and there was a parking spot opening up that I thought just might be big enough for a Hummer, so I had to stop. I ended up having some empanadas filled with beef while I waited on my milanesa (breaded steak) sandwich on a big warm roll/baguette thingy. (Sorry, I don't usually say thingy). Que delicioso! A couple other people that seemed to be regulars rolled up while I was eating, so I knew I was at the right spot.
I gladly reported my findings back to my cousin, and patted myself on the back for once again having a nose for the local spots even when the plastic, mainstream places try to blind you with their repetitive and far too common offerings.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Exit Row, Power Outage, Calle Ocho, Delano
I got the exit row this morning so I knew that the day was off to a good start already. Not just any exit row seat either. This was row nine on a 757 which means that it's essentially the biggest row on the plane. Other than the special features of the first class seats with their 14 movable parts (head rest, triple jointed leg support, foot extension, etc.) this is the best seat/row on the plane. Who needs food, champagne and cookies and milk anyway? (I do, says my little voice...meekly, from way down deep inside). I packed at the last minute so I needed to stretch out and try to catch up on some Z's. No reading, no music, no movie watching. Just Z's. Unfortunately, my back was hurting and 5 hours is a long time, so I did wake up with about an hour left. At least I hadn't drooled or snored so loud that I woke myself up, which is more than the guy in 10C could say. With about 30 minutes to go, we had some of the worst turbulence that I've experienced in a number of years. At least we got a heads up on it though as the pilot told us that there was a storm up ahead in our path.
This storm must've had something to do with the power outage that I would come to learn about once a TV screen showing CNN was in plain view in terminal D at Miami International. As only CNN can, they made it look like the sky had fallen or that major devastation had occurred with BREAKING NEWS in big bold print and the helicopter shots to make it seem super widespread. MAJOR POWER OUTAGE IN FLORIDA is what it said. I thought for sure that I would get out of the airport and be caught in the grid-lock to end all grid-lock as folks wouldn't be able to figure out how to negotiate the city streets without the lights. I thought about when I landed in Honolulu last year and there was a traffic mis-hap that essentially closed the only freeway, bringing the Waikiki area to a virtual standstill. Luckily I had some very exceptional people watching to distract me as I waited 40 minutes for my luggage. If there were such a category among the world's airports, this place would have to be the perennial champion. More on people watching later.
Once out of the airport I rode the Hertz shuttle to their lot to discover that my name was nowhere to be found on the big #1 Club Gold board. Adding insult to injury, there was a long line at the counter and the 85 degrees and humidity was beginning to take its toll. To their credit, the folks at this Hertz counter were a veritable picture of efficiency and I was at the front in no time. They no longer had the full-size that I had reserved available, but you know its a good day when the guy asks you the following question:
"Would you like a Hummer H3 for the same price?"
Hummer? Me? Oh no? Please give me the Geo Metro instead. So, as I was driving away in the Hummer listening to Back Spin 43 on the Sirius Satellite radio...
I had no idea where I was going. Well, that's not totally true. I knew I was heading in the general vicinity of downtown, but with no navigation system I was not sure, so I did it the old fashioned way. I read street signs and spread out a map across the steering wheel as I drove past the Flagler Dog Track. I'm always fascinated by the Dog Track. I don't know why, but I just am. I've never been to one, but it just seems like it's a couple rungs down from the horse track and the solid citizens that usually frequent it. One of these days I'll actually test this theory, but not today. I was hungry now. I hadn't eaten since the 615am breakfast burrito that I devoured while enduring questions from a nervous traveler.
Nervous Traveler: Do they serve food on the plane?
Me: No (first nodding as I finished chewing and then verbalizing as I swallowed that bite). They may have something that you can purchase, but otherwise you have to be in first class.
NT: Oh. (Thinking. You could literally see the wheels turning). Well, do you think there's an ATM machine somewhere else over here?
Me: Yeah, there's actually one just beyond the Admiral's Club by gate 62, just over there (pointing).
NT: Oh. (Wheels really turning now) Well, I guess I'll try that.
Me: (Smile)
This poor lady was clearly overwhelmed by the whole traveling thing. When it was time to board, she made the mistake of asking the lady if her bag was okay as a carry-on. Rookie move. With all the sympathy of a minimum wage worker closing a store 5 minutes early despite your protests as they peer through the glass at you, expressionless as they turn the sign to CLOSED, the American Airlines gate agent told her, "No...that's not going to work, you have to check it", sending her into a panic and setting off a futile argument. The next time I looked up, she was in the middle of the floor trying to move some of the items in her big bag into her other carry-on.
NT: What should I do?
Me: Play dumb...and get here first...like this guy(Gesturing to a guy next to her in line, holding an even bigger bag)
NT: Oh (puzzled look, wheels turning again)
My nervous traveling friend tried to start up the small talk 3 more times that day (walking past me after i had already nestled into my seat during the boarding process, at baggage claim when I was distracted by other things, and again at the Hertz counter). I'm just glad I didn't have to sit by her since she definitely would've talked my ear off. (See my "Chatterbox" post from 2/7/08)
I was heading down 37th Avenue when I crossed the intersection for 8th Street. Eighth Street!?? EIGHTH STREET! Yes, Calle Ocho.
I made a u-turn and found my way back to 8th street, AKA Little Havana. I had heard of this street and had even eaten at other restaurants bearing the name (i.e. Calle Ocho on 82nd/Columbus in NYC),so I was all over this. I promptly pulled the Hummer into La Carreta and prepared to eat. I'm a big fan of La Carreta, often walking clear across the Miami Airport to eat there, so I was excited about eating at the real deal outside of the airport for once. Wearing my white sweatsuit and getting out of the H3, I got lots of stares so I tried to keep a straight face. Once inside I was promptly seated and before long was sipping on a Guanabana shake. I love it how people in Miami speak Spanish first, just assuming you'll understand. Luckily, I did and was able to communicate my order. Arroz Imperial is what I decided on over the myriad of Cuban sandwiches. Garnished with platanos and a salad, it was just the snack I needed to come back to life.
I finally made it to my South Beach hotel and marveled at the scenery around here. It's like Rodeo Drive meets Venice Beach, but with prettier people and better weather.
My cousin came by a little later and we went for tapas at a place called Cafe Nuvo. There's nothing like sitting outside at 10pm in February and enjoying some apertivos. No heating lamps or anything. It was still about 70 degrees. The last stop of the evening was the hallowed Delano Hotel which was about as hard to get into as any New York or L.A. nightclub. Even hotel guests were getting the third degree. It was soooo the see and be seen spot in South Beach on a Tuesday night. Luckily, my cousin new a guy at the door, so we got special treatment and were led beyond the velvet rope as the envious masses looked on.
Apparently, this place is where the professional partyers hang out, and they don't do it cheaply. Everything was a wash of white linen, but unlike the requisite themed party in California, this was just what they do. It really looked like somebody's music video up in there, complete with musical artists to boot (I was sitting at the table over from Joe...yeah...All the things your man won't do Joe). He was flanked by an entourage of cats with oversized dark sunglasses that were enjoying the fact that a half dozen scantily clad women were all up in his face. At one point, we were trying to figure out who sang a certain song that the DJ was playing and one of my cousin's friends said, "I believe this is by Joe," to which I replied, "Him?", gesturing to the next table. He looked and said,"that's not Joe, that just some guy that...oh..wait..it is Joe."
I had had enough of this scene well before it would be closing, so we called it a night. We walked out around 2am and folks were still arriving while the line to get in was still snaked back through the parking lot. Did I mention it's Tuesday?
This storm must've had something to do with the power outage that I would come to learn about once a TV screen showing CNN was in plain view in terminal D at Miami International. As only CNN can, they made it look like the sky had fallen or that major devastation had occurred with BREAKING NEWS in big bold print and the helicopter shots to make it seem super widespread. MAJOR POWER OUTAGE IN FLORIDA is what it said. I thought for sure that I would get out of the airport and be caught in the grid-lock to end all grid-lock as folks wouldn't be able to figure out how to negotiate the city streets without the lights. I thought about when I landed in Honolulu last year and there was a traffic mis-hap that essentially closed the only freeway, bringing the Waikiki area to a virtual standstill. Luckily I had some very exceptional people watching to distract me as I waited 40 minutes for my luggage. If there were such a category among the world's airports, this place would have to be the perennial champion. More on people watching later.
Once out of the airport I rode the Hertz shuttle to their lot to discover that my name was nowhere to be found on the big #1 Club Gold board. Adding insult to injury, there was a long line at the counter and the 85 degrees and humidity was beginning to take its toll. To their credit, the folks at this Hertz counter were a veritable picture of efficiency and I was at the front in no time. They no longer had the full-size that I had reserved available, but you know its a good day when the guy asks you the following question:
"Would you like a Hummer H3 for the same price?"
Hummer? Me? Oh no? Please give me the Geo Metro instead. So, as I was driving away in the Hummer listening to Back Spin 43 on the Sirius Satellite radio...
I had no idea where I was going. Well, that's not totally true. I knew I was heading in the general vicinity of downtown, but with no navigation system I was not sure, so I did it the old fashioned way. I read street signs and spread out a map across the steering wheel as I drove past the Flagler Dog Track. I'm always fascinated by the Dog Track. I don't know why, but I just am. I've never been to one, but it just seems like it's a couple rungs down from the horse track and the solid citizens that usually frequent it. One of these days I'll actually test this theory, but not today. I was hungry now. I hadn't eaten since the 615am breakfast burrito that I devoured while enduring questions from a nervous traveler.
Nervous Traveler: Do they serve food on the plane?
Me: No (first nodding as I finished chewing and then verbalizing as I swallowed that bite). They may have something that you can purchase, but otherwise you have to be in first class.
NT: Oh. (Thinking. You could literally see the wheels turning). Well, do you think there's an ATM machine somewhere else over here?
Me: Yeah, there's actually one just beyond the Admiral's Club by gate 62, just over there (pointing).
NT: Oh. (Wheels really turning now) Well, I guess I'll try that.
Me: (Smile)
This poor lady was clearly overwhelmed by the whole traveling thing. When it was time to board, she made the mistake of asking the lady if her bag was okay as a carry-on. Rookie move. With all the sympathy of a minimum wage worker closing a store 5 minutes early despite your protests as they peer through the glass at you, expressionless as they turn the sign to CLOSED, the American Airlines gate agent told her, "No...that's not going to work, you have to check it", sending her into a panic and setting off a futile argument. The next time I looked up, she was in the middle of the floor trying to move some of the items in her big bag into her other carry-on.
NT: What should I do?
Me: Play dumb...and get here first...like this guy(Gesturing to a guy next to her in line, holding an even bigger bag)
NT: Oh (puzzled look, wheels turning again)
My nervous traveling friend tried to start up the small talk 3 more times that day (walking past me after i had already nestled into my seat during the boarding process, at baggage claim when I was distracted by other things, and again at the Hertz counter). I'm just glad I didn't have to sit by her since she definitely would've talked my ear off. (See my "Chatterbox" post from 2/7/08)
I was heading down 37th Avenue when I crossed the intersection for 8th Street. Eighth Street!?? EIGHTH STREET! Yes, Calle Ocho.
I made a u-turn and found my way back to 8th street, AKA Little Havana. I had heard of this street and had even eaten at other restaurants bearing the name (i.e. Calle Ocho on 82nd/Columbus in NYC),so I was all over this. I promptly pulled the Hummer into La Carreta and prepared to eat. I'm a big fan of La Carreta, often walking clear across the Miami Airport to eat there, so I was excited about eating at the real deal outside of the airport for once. Wearing my white sweatsuit and getting out of the H3, I got lots of stares so I tried to keep a straight face. Once inside I was promptly seated and before long was sipping on a Guanabana shake. I love it how people in Miami speak Spanish first, just assuming you'll understand. Luckily, I did and was able to communicate my order. Arroz Imperial is what I decided on over the myriad of Cuban sandwiches. Garnished with platanos and a salad, it was just the snack I needed to come back to life.
I finally made it to my South Beach hotel and marveled at the scenery around here. It's like Rodeo Drive meets Venice Beach, but with prettier people and better weather. My cousin came by a little later and we went for tapas at a place called Cafe Nuvo. There's nothing like sitting outside at 10pm in February and enjoying some apertivos. No heating lamps or anything. It was still about 70 degrees. The last stop of the evening was the hallowed Delano Hotel which was about as hard to get into as any New York or L.A. nightclub. Even hotel guests were getting the third degree. It was soooo the see and be seen spot in South Beach on a Tuesday night. Luckily, my cousin new a guy at the door, so we got special treatment and were led beyond the velvet rope as the envious masses looked on.
Apparently, this place is where the professional partyers hang out, and they don't do it cheaply. Everything was a wash of white linen, but unlike the requisite themed party in California, this was just what they do. It really looked like somebody's music video up in there, complete with musical artists to boot (I was sitting at the table over from Joe...yeah...All the things your man won't do Joe). He was flanked by an entourage of cats with oversized dark sunglasses that were enjoying the fact that a half dozen scantily clad women were all up in his face. At one point, we were trying to figure out who sang a certain song that the DJ was playing and one of my cousin's friends said, "I believe this is by Joe," to which I replied, "Him?", gesturing to the next table. He looked and said,"that's not Joe, that just some guy that...oh..wait..it is Joe."
I had had enough of this scene well before it would be closing, so we called it a night. We walked out around 2am and folks were still arriving while the line to get in was still snaked back through the parking lot. Did I mention it's Tuesday?
Sunday, February 24, 2008
State of My State
I have to interview some people for some magazine articles I have to write by the end of the week, and since it's neither my forte and since I'm a little rusty, I thought I'd experiment on, well...Me.
Self-Centered Magazine: So, D, you've been pretty busy lately. What do you attribute all this activity to?
Me: Well, I've just been trying to hone the craft. Practice makes perfect. I've been trying some different things and experimenting with some different styles here and there. If I'm ever going to get paid at this, I'm going to have to be ready when the phone rings. By the way, you should've said 'To what do you attribute all this activity?'
Self-Centered Magazine: (Um..whatever!) What else is new with you? It seems like frustration has been a common theme in some of your recent work.
Me: Well, the new day job has been a bit challenging, but I'm not ready to throw in the towel yet. I've worked with the people before, so it's kind of comfortable and the technology is really cool, so it's exciting. On the flip-side though, while really cool, the technology is also pretty complicated so it's no walk in the park. I've been having to put in some serious time just to keep my head above water. Most of the time, I feel like I'm about to take a midterm in college, and I have to cram just to understand.(Hey..didn't MC Lyte have a song like that?) But, hopefully it will all be worth it in the end. Start-ups always have that allure. They make it look interesting enough and there's always that chance that it'll explode and then you are taking vacations in St. Tropez and chillin' with Tiger Woods in the clubhouse at a golf tournament in Dubai.
Self-Centered Magazine: If you could interview anybody, who would it be and why?
Me: Well, I'm not exactly clamoring to interview somebody because that's not my thing yet. I'm still trying to figure it out. I'd much prefer just hangin' out with somebody, in their element and just chatting. I figure they'd give up the goods if they're comfortable and that way I can feel more confident that they're not giving me canned answers. That said, I've long said that I'd like to have dinner with some really out there cats like former Yugoslavian despot Milosevic, and George W. Bush, and maybe Mr. Ahmadinejad from Iran. This is assuming that I could get these cats to just give it to me straight over a cold one or something. No cameras, no political posturing...I'd just like to know what they really think. If they actually did embrace and enjoy all of the killing of certain peoples and denouncing based on religious or ethnic reasons, that's fine, I'd just like to hear it from them and not from some news channel that I can't really trust. That way, at least I could make my own opinions on what to think about these people, and the world, instead of CNN or Fox News telling me what I should think. On a happier note, I'd like to talk to somebody like Rick Reilly (Sports Illustrated) or Juan Williams (Author, Journalist, NPR correspondent) or the late Ossie Davis or the late Ralph Ellison would've been cool to talk to as well. It would be neat to just hear their perspectives on the world.
SCM: No sports figures? No musicians?
Me: Well, I'm not terribly intrigued by any sports figures, at least not for anything that they do on the field. If I did happen upon any of those cats, it would probably be far more interesting to see what they do in their down time. As far as musicians go, I'd have to step my game up a little bit and learn some more lingo, or maybe start playing again myself. What those guys do REALLY amazes me, because I can't do it. I may be able to play an instrument (piano) but I'm completely in the dark as to how you compose a song. What they do is like WOW!
SCM: Well, on that note, here's your MTV/Vibe Magazine type question--What's in your changer right now?
Me: Well, I think I've got Curtis Mayfield's Superfly Soundtrack, Jill Scott's first and latest CD's, Ledisi's latest, Jay-Z's Black Album ("..i solemnly swear, to change my approach....OH NO!"), and a jazz CD by the Artis family that I met in a place called Haleiwa on the North Shore in Oahu, Hawaii. They're a really talented bunch, but you have to go there to see them because they don't leave the island. They probably won't even leave that town too often.
SCM: Did you watch the Academy Awards? Did you have any favorites?
Me: No, I missed them on account of (sorry, I 'm having a 'Leave it to Beaver' moment) I was laboring up and down the basketball court with a handful of my has-been friends, getting eliminated from our old-man league playoff game. I'm not usually one for award shows. In fact, I dislike them about as much as reality shows. However, the Academy Awards are usually fairly entertaining though. John Stewart ain't bad, but Billy Crystal's my guy so I always tuned in when he was doing it. A friend of mine usually has this A-list party at her house where people gather around several TV's and munch on pizza and hors d'oevres while yelling at the screen when their favorite movie doesn't win, but I didn't get an invite this year.(It must've been lost in the mail. BTW, the "A" in A-list is due more to her name starting with A than say Denzel or Brad Pitt being on-hand. How else do you think I'd get invited?). Favorites? Well, I haven't seen too many movies lately, but I had a feeling that Daniel Day Lewis would win. That guy is like Tiger Woods in golf, or Carl Lewis (no relation) in the Long Jump. If they're in the competition, the other guys are really nervous.
SCM: What's the best thing you've eaten lately?
Me: Well, I haven't had any "Oh my GOD!" type dining experiences later...at least not at one particular places. For cheap eats...let's see. I had some good 99 cent fish tacos in San Diego a few weeks ago. My Superbowl hot wings were a big hit (the store bought ones from Wing Stop placed right next to them were not touched) and the escoveitch fish at the Back-a-yard Grill near my job is always a nice Friday afternoon treat. The food at Jojo's Country French Kitchen was pretty good and surprisingly filling. Even the mussels weren't bad and you can't usually get me within 10 feet of those things. I expect to do some good eating on my next trip. I can't wait to eat some good Cuban food in Miami on Tuesday and I'm sure they'll have something delicious in Turks and Caicos. On the flip-side, I do distinctly remember one of the more disappointing experiences I've had lately. I went to a place in the Central Valley called Giorgio's that had just lost their chef a week prior to my visit (big warning sign...that I chose to ignore...too much faith in the sous chef, perhaps). Well, they tried to pass off some Campbell's Tomato as lobster bisque and an It's-It ice cream as gelato. No, I didn't have on my Boo-boo the Fool t-shirt on that day either.
SCM: Well, D, we wish you luck in the pursuit of...well...the pursuit! Any last things you'd like to add.
Me: Yes. Is this camera on? (I turn to face the camera instead of the interviewer. This was a joint venture junket between the Travel Channel, the Food Network and SCM magazine. Byron Allen was even on-hand...but..um...he was sick the day they interviewed me). I will write for food. Living like a starving artist is for the birds. Please send donations to 1-5-1...
SCM: We're out of time. Good luck.
Me: Wait! I was just about to launch into my shameless self-promotion. Wait!....WAIT!!!
Camera is turned on its side and microphone makes a loud, piercing sound as it hits the floor...
Self-Centered Magazine: So, D, you've been pretty busy lately. What do you attribute all this activity to?
Me: Well, I've just been trying to hone the craft. Practice makes perfect. I've been trying some different things and experimenting with some different styles here and there. If I'm ever going to get paid at this, I'm going to have to be ready when the phone rings. By the way, you should've said 'To what do you attribute all this activity?'
Self-Centered Magazine: (Um..whatever!) What else is new with you? It seems like frustration has been a common theme in some of your recent work.
Me: Well, the new day job has been a bit challenging, but I'm not ready to throw in the towel yet. I've worked with the people before, so it's kind of comfortable and the technology is really cool, so it's exciting. On the flip-side though, while really cool, the technology is also pretty complicated so it's no walk in the park. I've been having to put in some serious time just to keep my head above water. Most of the time, I feel like I'm about to take a midterm in college, and I have to cram just to understand.(Hey..didn't MC Lyte have a song like that?) But, hopefully it will all be worth it in the end. Start-ups always have that allure. They make it look interesting enough and there's always that chance that it'll explode and then you are taking vacations in St. Tropez and chillin' with Tiger Woods in the clubhouse at a golf tournament in Dubai.
Self-Centered Magazine: If you could interview anybody, who would it be and why?
Me: Well, I'm not exactly clamoring to interview somebody because that's not my thing yet. I'm still trying to figure it out. I'd much prefer just hangin' out with somebody, in their element and just chatting. I figure they'd give up the goods if they're comfortable and that way I can feel more confident that they're not giving me canned answers. That said, I've long said that I'd like to have dinner with some really out there cats like former Yugoslavian despot Milosevic, and George W. Bush, and maybe Mr. Ahmadinejad from Iran. This is assuming that I could get these cats to just give it to me straight over a cold one or something. No cameras, no political posturing...I'd just like to know what they really think. If they actually did embrace and enjoy all of the killing of certain peoples and denouncing based on religious or ethnic reasons, that's fine, I'd just like to hear it from them and not from some news channel that I can't really trust. That way, at least I could make my own opinions on what to think about these people, and the world, instead of CNN or Fox News telling me what I should think. On a happier note, I'd like to talk to somebody like Rick Reilly (Sports Illustrated) or Juan Williams (Author, Journalist, NPR correspondent) or the late Ossie Davis or the late Ralph Ellison would've been cool to talk to as well. It would be neat to just hear their perspectives on the world.
SCM: No sports figures? No musicians?
Me: Well, I'm not terribly intrigued by any sports figures, at least not for anything that they do on the field. If I did happen upon any of those cats, it would probably be far more interesting to see what they do in their down time. As far as musicians go, I'd have to step my game up a little bit and learn some more lingo, or maybe start playing again myself. What those guys do REALLY amazes me, because I can't do it. I may be able to play an instrument (piano) but I'm completely in the dark as to how you compose a song. What they do is like WOW!
SCM: Well, on that note, here's your MTV/Vibe Magazine type question--What's in your changer right now?
Me: Well, I think I've got Curtis Mayfield's Superfly Soundtrack, Jill Scott's first and latest CD's, Ledisi's latest, Jay-Z's Black Album ("..i solemnly swear, to change my approach....OH NO!"), and a jazz CD by the Artis family that I met in a place called Haleiwa on the North Shore in Oahu, Hawaii. They're a really talented bunch, but you have to go there to see them because they don't leave the island. They probably won't even leave that town too often.
SCM: Did you watch the Academy Awards? Did you have any favorites?
Me: No, I missed them on account of (sorry, I 'm having a 'Leave it to Beaver' moment) I was laboring up and down the basketball court with a handful of my has-been friends, getting eliminated from our old-man league playoff game. I'm not usually one for award shows. In fact, I dislike them about as much as reality shows. However, the Academy Awards are usually fairly entertaining though. John Stewart ain't bad, but Billy Crystal's my guy so I always tuned in when he was doing it. A friend of mine usually has this A-list party at her house where people gather around several TV's and munch on pizza and hors d'oevres while yelling at the screen when their favorite movie doesn't win, but I didn't get an invite this year.(It must've been lost in the mail. BTW, the "A" in A-list is due more to her name starting with A than say Denzel or Brad Pitt being on-hand. How else do you think I'd get invited?). Favorites? Well, I haven't seen too many movies lately, but I had a feeling that Daniel Day Lewis would win. That guy is like Tiger Woods in golf, or Carl Lewis (no relation) in the Long Jump. If they're in the competition, the other guys are really nervous.
SCM: What's the best thing you've eaten lately?
Me: Well, I haven't had any "Oh my GOD!" type dining experiences later...at least not at one particular places. For cheap eats...let's see. I had some good 99 cent fish tacos in San Diego a few weeks ago. My Superbowl hot wings were a big hit (the store bought ones from Wing Stop placed right next to them were not touched) and the escoveitch fish at the Back-a-yard Grill near my job is always a nice Friday afternoon treat. The food at Jojo's Country French Kitchen was pretty good and surprisingly filling. Even the mussels weren't bad and you can't usually get me within 10 feet of those things. I expect to do some good eating on my next trip. I can't wait to eat some good Cuban food in Miami on Tuesday and I'm sure they'll have something delicious in Turks and Caicos. On the flip-side, I do distinctly remember one of the more disappointing experiences I've had lately. I went to a place in the Central Valley called Giorgio's that had just lost their chef a week prior to my visit (big warning sign...that I chose to ignore...too much faith in the sous chef, perhaps). Well, they tried to pass off some Campbell's Tomato as lobster bisque and an It's-It ice cream as gelato. No, I didn't have on my Boo-boo the Fool t-shirt on that day either.
SCM: Well, D, we wish you luck in the pursuit of...well...the pursuit! Any last things you'd like to add.
Me: Yes. Is this camera on? (I turn to face the camera instead of the interviewer. This was a joint venture junket between the Travel Channel, the Food Network and SCM magazine. Byron Allen was even on-hand...but..um...he was sick the day they interviewed me). I will write for food. Living like a starving artist is for the birds. Please send donations to 1-5-1...
SCM: We're out of time. Good luck.
Me: Wait! I was just about to launch into my shameless self-promotion. Wait!....WAIT!!!
Camera is turned on its side and microphone makes a loud, piercing sound as it hits the floor...
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Footprints
"What was that Miles Davis song..the one from Mo'Betta?"
My phone rang at 8:23am this morning and before I was really coherent I was being asked questions. I wasn't even really sure where I was yet, and could barely discern whether the noise was my alarm or if the phone was actually ringing.
"You know, the one that goes 'do-do-do-DOOO-do-DOO-do-do-do-do...," he said.
It was my best friend who, is not only a notoriously early riser, but also resides in another time zone. My eyes were still closed and here I was struggling to figure out what he was talking about.
"Um..um..um..um...Footprints! It's Footprints by Miles Davis. It's on the um...," I replied. My brain on autopilot. He may have just as arbitrarily have asked me to recite the Pledge of Allegiance or when my birthday was. "It's on the Miles Smiles album...track number 3," I continued, with the precision of Rain Man.
But he wasn't done. You know how it is when you give somebody an inch, they take a mile. Had I not answered, or appeared to be a little more coherent, perhaps I would've been excused from any further conversation and been allowed to go back to sleep. But I did, and with details. He must've thought that I had been up for hours, perhaps thumbing through my jazz collection like a card catalog as part of some daily ritual to be at the ready should anyone have any obscure jazz question to ask me. "What scene was that from in the movie?" he continued.
"Um...it was when Giant was at Shadow's apartment and...," I reported like some machine. You put a quarter in the slot on the back of my neck and then fire away. I've got all the answers.
"What about that other one you were talkin' 'bout the other night?"
"The other night...the other night...umm...um...TUNJI! That was Tunji by Coltrane"
"Cool. Cool....Go back to sleep." He was very aware that he had awakened me.
That's okay though. Best friends are on that very short list of people that are allowed to get away with such things from time to time. Had it been somebody further down this list or not on it at all, I would've been a little irritated, or probably just not have answered at all. I wasn't even that mad that there was a whole 12 minutes left before my alarm was set to go off. That would just allow me that much better of an opportunity to be on time to take my son to his basketball game. His team got blasted, but he did hit a nice little 8-foot bank shot after I convinced him to run to the open spot in the other team's zone defense. The next Jason Kidd was playing for the other team and was running circles around our guys, making steals, driving for lay-ups, and even feeding his teammates in stride on the fast break. It looked like the kid was playing at a completely different speed from the other kids. No, it didn't just LOOK like it...he WAS.
I made a chicken and rice dish (right off the Campbell's Soup lable) that turned out pretty good. The kids loved it. They even let me watch the hot college basketball match-up of the day (#2 Tennessee vs. #1 Memphis). They had previously been forcing me to endure the Good Times "Militant Michael Marathon" on TV One. Jimmy Walker is still a pretty funny cat, and Thelma is still kinda fine in those 1974 6-button jeans, but back-to-back-to-back-to-back-to-back episodes was a bit much. If I saw James flare his nostrils and fly into a range or Florida say "Damn! Damn! Damn!" one more time I was going to lose it.
All in all, it was a pretty good Saturday. I can't complain. All that's left for me is to get my church clothes ready and go to bed.
My phone rang at 8:23am this morning and before I was really coherent I was being asked questions. I wasn't even really sure where I was yet, and could barely discern whether the noise was my alarm or if the phone was actually ringing.
"You know, the one that goes 'do-do-do-DOOO-do-DOO-do-do-do-do...," he said.
It was my best friend who, is not only a notoriously early riser, but also resides in another time zone. My eyes were still closed and here I was struggling to figure out what he was talking about.
"Um..um..um..um...Footprints! It's Footprints by Miles Davis. It's on the um...," I replied. My brain on autopilot. He may have just as arbitrarily have asked me to recite the Pledge of Allegiance or when my birthday was. "It's on the Miles Smiles album...track number 3," I continued, with the precision of Rain Man.
But he wasn't done. You know how it is when you give somebody an inch, they take a mile. Had I not answered, or appeared to be a little more coherent, perhaps I would've been excused from any further conversation and been allowed to go back to sleep. But I did, and with details. He must've thought that I had been up for hours, perhaps thumbing through my jazz collection like a card catalog as part of some daily ritual to be at the ready should anyone have any obscure jazz question to ask me. "What scene was that from in the movie?" he continued.
"Um...it was when Giant was at Shadow's apartment and...," I reported like some machine. You put a quarter in the slot on the back of my neck and then fire away. I've got all the answers.
"What about that other one you were talkin' 'bout the other night?"
"The other night...the other night...umm...um...TUNJI! That was Tunji by Coltrane"
"Cool. Cool....Go back to sleep." He was very aware that he had awakened me.
That's okay though. Best friends are on that very short list of people that are allowed to get away with such things from time to time. Had it been somebody further down this list or not on it at all, I would've been a little irritated, or probably just not have answered at all. I wasn't even that mad that there was a whole 12 minutes left before my alarm was set to go off. That would just allow me that much better of an opportunity to be on time to take my son to his basketball game. His team got blasted, but he did hit a nice little 8-foot bank shot after I convinced him to run to the open spot in the other team's zone defense. The next Jason Kidd was playing for the other team and was running circles around our guys, making steals, driving for lay-ups, and even feeding his teammates in stride on the fast break. It looked like the kid was playing at a completely different speed from the other kids. No, it didn't just LOOK like it...he WAS.
I made a chicken and rice dish (right off the Campbell's Soup lable) that turned out pretty good. The kids loved it. They even let me watch the hot college basketball match-up of the day (#2 Tennessee vs. #1 Memphis). They had previously been forcing me to endure the Good Times "Militant Michael Marathon" on TV One. Jimmy Walker is still a pretty funny cat, and Thelma is still kinda fine in those 1974 6-button jeans, but back-to-back-to-back-to-back-to-back episodes was a bit much. If I saw James flare his nostrils and fly into a range or Florida say "Damn! Damn! Damn!" one more time I was going to lose it.
All in all, it was a pretty good Saturday. I can't complain. All that's left for me is to get my church clothes ready and go to bed.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Finally Friday
It is at the end of a long week like this that I absolutely relish the thought of sitting in my favorite, brown leather slipper chair with its high back and sturdy, chocolate stained legs and staring. I stare out at the buildings taller than mine, at the construction across the way, at the canvas of clouds that sit as the background for the skyline of San Francisco, cognac colored brush strokes painting the dusk along the horizon. I marvel at the stillness and inactivity down at the docks as the cranes stand there majestically as if guarding the Bay, posturing to scare off intruders advancing from far off lands.
What to do? What to do? How bout I do nothing? At least for now anyway. I'll enjoy the silence of the night. Yeah, she's back again. Well, it'll be silent for a minute anyway. I think my nocturnal neighbors are coming to life, making Jack London proud, calls of the wild from up the street to down the street. It's not raining yet. I already worked out. It's a good day, now that its over. The workday is over anyway. I know one thing for sure, i better scare up some dinner pretty soon or my creative side will get a kick in its pants by a leg and a boot. At least the so-called anxiety is gone...for now anyway. There's something about having success at the last thing that you do that makes everything ok. It's like missing all of your shots all game and making the last one, that puts your team ahead to stay. It's like the restful and peaceful finality of sleep at the end of such a day. If nothing else, that is still pure.
I'm not even going to think about a to-do list for next week yet. I'm just going to enjoy right now. The here and now, right now. That's what I'm going to do. I've only got one game to go to tomorrow as one of my little round-ballers is out of commission for a month with a fractured ankle. I already got my church suit from the cleaners so I'm all set on that front. There's gas in the whip and my laundry is done. With any luck, I'll stay out of any heated discussions. Well, maybe that's not so bad. As long as the heat has a positivity and maybe even an enlightenment to it. No complaining or gossiping please. Okay, that's it for me, let's get on to February 23. Until tomorrow, signing off for all of the Aquarius' around the world. Bring on the Pisces.
What to do? What to do? How bout I do nothing? At least for now anyway. I'll enjoy the silence of the night. Yeah, she's back again. Well, it'll be silent for a minute anyway. I think my nocturnal neighbors are coming to life, making Jack London proud, calls of the wild from up the street to down the street. It's not raining yet. I already worked out. It's a good day, now that its over. The workday is over anyway. I know one thing for sure, i better scare up some dinner pretty soon or my creative side will get a kick in its pants by a leg and a boot. At least the so-called anxiety is gone...for now anyway. There's something about having success at the last thing that you do that makes everything ok. It's like missing all of your shots all game and making the last one, that puts your team ahead to stay. It's like the restful and peaceful finality of sleep at the end of such a day. If nothing else, that is still pure.
I'm not even going to think about a to-do list for next week yet. I'm just going to enjoy right now. The here and now, right now. That's what I'm going to do. I've only got one game to go to tomorrow as one of my little round-ballers is out of commission for a month with a fractured ankle. I already got my church suit from the cleaners so I'm all set on that front. There's gas in the whip and my laundry is done. With any luck, I'll stay out of any heated discussions. Well, maybe that's not so bad. As long as the heat has a positivity and maybe even an enlightenment to it. No complaining or gossiping please. Okay, that's it for me, let's get on to February 23. Until tomorrow, signing off for all of the Aquarius' around the world. Bring on the Pisces.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
'Twas but another portal into the jasmine of my mind...
I paused, and then sighed while lamenting about the sun going down as the clouds were finally lifting outside my window beyond the backdrop of the tall buildings along Jefferson street. Many a time and oft, I've but gazed upon this same expanse of structures and longed to scamper along at street level, like a tumbleweed on to the exercise oasis that is Club One. Alas, 'tis not a sprint but a marathon and indeed there will be many a day beyond this one to gallop on thy fair treadmills and ably lift thine weights.
"Silence!" she bellows. Silence, when it is after such diatribes that seem to meander this way and that without a semblance of beginning nor end, that she will covet, desire, yearn for in ways that harken the yearnings of birds for the sky, deserts for rain, for that void, that nothingness that is so complete when I've finished my ruminations. She'd never admit as much, but she enjoys them just the same, she of the earth tones and long flowing lines.
She is the beautiful unification of abstract and finite mathematics, one contour flowing along without interruption until another, like daylight at the end of a long tunnel, another line just as awe inspiring as the first curves out into the free space, occupying it with a grace and a finality so extraordinary that it leaves one hard pressed to imagine any previous image leaving such a sweet imprint on the retina. The light of day beams from her eyes like diamonds, giving way to the jet black that frames the vision as night falls, and then it is all about her.
Keeper of dreams and patron of rejuvenation and relaxation and imagination, she beckons me to shut it down, to wrap it up. I plead with her for more time, saying that I'm not finished. There's so much more to do, so much more to say. She cautions me against resisting her and living to regret it as before long, a new day will break and she'll be gone. She'll be gone and I'll be ill equipped to face the newness of this day, not having indulged and suddenly lonely and yearning, wishing she'd return to inspire me evermore. I can feel her breath now upon my neck. My chest heaving against the flesh of her evening. Try as I might to resist, I'm no match for her seduction and sweet scent as she whipsers nothin's in my ear. Hush. Silence.
Don't you just love falling asleep? What did you think I was talking about?
"Silence!" she bellows. Silence, when it is after such diatribes that seem to meander this way and that without a semblance of beginning nor end, that she will covet, desire, yearn for in ways that harken the yearnings of birds for the sky, deserts for rain, for that void, that nothingness that is so complete when I've finished my ruminations. She'd never admit as much, but she enjoys them just the same, she of the earth tones and long flowing lines.
She is the beautiful unification of abstract and finite mathematics, one contour flowing along without interruption until another, like daylight at the end of a long tunnel, another line just as awe inspiring as the first curves out into the free space, occupying it with a grace and a finality so extraordinary that it leaves one hard pressed to imagine any previous image leaving such a sweet imprint on the retina. The light of day beams from her eyes like diamonds, giving way to the jet black that frames the vision as night falls, and then it is all about her.
Keeper of dreams and patron of rejuvenation and relaxation and imagination, she beckons me to shut it down, to wrap it up. I plead with her for more time, saying that I'm not finished. There's so much more to do, so much more to say. She cautions me against resisting her and living to regret it as before long, a new day will break and she'll be gone. She'll be gone and I'll be ill equipped to face the newness of this day, not having indulged and suddenly lonely and yearning, wishing she'd return to inspire me evermore. I can feel her breath now upon my neck. My chest heaving against the flesh of her evening. Try as I might to resist, I'm no match for her seduction and sweet scent as she whipsers nothin's in my ear. Hush. Silence.
Don't you just love falling asleep? What did you think I was talking about?
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Travel Anxiety?
What, are you kidding? What could be troubling about going to Turks and Caicos for a week? Is it that you have to figure out whether to stop over in Miami on the front end or on the way back from that trip? Is it too soon? Since when is it EVER too soon to head to the Caribbean? The rain is coming down outside my window right now. That seems like reason enough. Did I mention it is a business trip?
Maybe it is too soon. I just got back from Phoenix yesterday and now I've got to hit the road again. I've got so much laundry to do. When am I going to do my taxes? I hope I don't owe any money. I hope the equipment works. I hope that my client is not some sort of workaholic that doesn't realize we are in the Caribbean. I'm sure glad that it's not hurricane season. That would be a bit unnerving. Ah the unknown. You've gotta love it...
Maybe it is too soon. I just got back from Phoenix yesterday and now I've got to hit the road again. I've got so much laundry to do. When am I going to do my taxes? I hope I don't owe any money. I hope the equipment works. I hope that my client is not some sort of workaholic that doesn't realize we are in the Caribbean. I'm sure glad that it's not hurricane season. That would be a bit unnerving. Ah the unknown. You've gotta love it...
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
ZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
I'm so tired that I can't even think. My flight was delayed over an hour and now it's pushing midnight. It's much cooler here than in Phoenix. When the shuttle driver finally came, I got in and plopped down on the last seat in complete exhaustion. I didn't even think to look for my car keys until he had stopped in front of my car. Wouldn't that have been something if in all of my sleepwalking through the workday and the haze of traveling that I had misplaced my keys. I don't know if I've got enough goodwill built up with any of my friends for them to take kindly to a phone call at this hour asking them to come get me. Well, maybe I am being too hard on myself. Somebody would've scooped me up. They wouldn't have been too happy and probably wouldn't have been there lickety-split, but they would've got me. You know how friends are. One thing's for sure though, I would hear about it for quite awhile.
I was knocked out on that flight. I did manage to avoid that inevitable crick in the neck that has been following me around from flight to flight. Now I can't sleep. The cold air must've bought me another hour of awareness. Not real awareness. Not the kind that allows me to make any clever observations or analysis, but just awake. I close my eyes and my mind is still wondering from random thought to random thought. I'm trying to go over my schedule for tomorrow as if there is an Excel spreadsheet in my head, but I'm having trouble populating the boxes. That's probably why I can't go to sleep. It's like a puzzle that I can't solve. Now I'm relating these mental shortcomings to technical problems at work. My product couldn't properly locate and load the video data from the server even though I created a path for it to do so. My brain couldn't locate any useful information to put in these blank spreadsheet boxes. Clearly, I am a little too tuned in to work stuff right now. What happened to the guy that could leave that stuff in the parking lot, and not even look at it in the rear view mirror? Who knows. He'll be back.
I guess I'll flip the TV on and stare at it for a minute. I guess I should take off this jacket and my shoes now. (Yes, i'm really sitting here like this on the couch). I can't wait to saw some logs and call some hogs...
I was knocked out on that flight. I did manage to avoid that inevitable crick in the neck that has been following me around from flight to flight. Now I can't sleep. The cold air must've bought me another hour of awareness. Not real awareness. Not the kind that allows me to make any clever observations or analysis, but just awake. I close my eyes and my mind is still wondering from random thought to random thought. I'm trying to go over my schedule for tomorrow as if there is an Excel spreadsheet in my head, but I'm having trouble populating the boxes. That's probably why I can't go to sleep. It's like a puzzle that I can't solve. Now I'm relating these mental shortcomings to technical problems at work. My product couldn't properly locate and load the video data from the server even though I created a path for it to do so. My brain couldn't locate any useful information to put in these blank spreadsheet boxes. Clearly, I am a little too tuned in to work stuff right now. What happened to the guy that could leave that stuff in the parking lot, and not even look at it in the rear view mirror? Who knows. He'll be back.
I guess I'll flip the TV on and stare at it for a minute. I guess I should take off this jacket and my shoes now. (Yes, i'm really sitting here like this on the couch). I can't wait to saw some logs and call some hogs...
Monday, February 18, 2008
Area Codes
I'm not going to use this forum to make like Ludacris and brag and boast about all the 'friends' I have in different area codes. No, I'm just going to drop a quick one only slightly related. Sorry, Luda, maybe you'll get more burn next time.
Today it's actually Country Codes. I've been dogged by clients in Melbourne, Australia and Valdivia, Chile all day long. I'm still awake right now because I'm trying to solve their problems. The guy in Chile starts in on me early in the morning, ensuring that I have emails waiting for me in my inbox no matter how early I get up. The Australian cat comes online and gets real needy about the time that I want to knock off for the day. Oh well, no rest for the weary.
Today it's actually Country Codes. I've been dogged by clients in Melbourne, Australia and Valdivia, Chile all day long. I'm still awake right now because I'm trying to solve their problems. The guy in Chile starts in on me early in the morning, ensuring that I have emails waiting for me in my inbox no matter how early I get up. The Australian cat comes online and gets real needy about the time that I want to knock off for the day. Oh well, no rest for the weary.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
I can't help but wait...
No, I don't have an affinity for J-Holiday but I just thought that to be an appropriate title considering how I am on the eve of the most anticipated Monday morning in my recent memory...maybe EVER.
Day 2 of "The Great Cleanse" went pretty well. We'll not spend too much time analyzing why I slept until noon. We'll just chalk it up to my body feeling a little less energetic than usual. Hey, my Chevy Tahoe didn't run when it was on "E" either. I had a blackberry, raspberry, and strawberry smoothie to start the day followed by several servings of that cabbage soup. I came to really look forward to that stuff. It even had a very familiar taste. Have you ever been to Medieval Times in Southern California? You know, the place where Matthew Broderick and Jim Carrey battled it out in The Cable Guy? Well, if you've ever been there, you will recall the soup in a cup that they give you as you enjoy the show as part of their "feed you like you were around during Medieval Times" meal. The cabbage soup kinda tasted like that, except that I had no big mound of stale bread to sop it up with. Between bowls of this, I snacked on craisins and raisins, and an apple or a plum here and there. After awhile, I wasn't even really thinking about food...until I went outside for about an hour. A trip to Whole Foods almost sabotaged the whole thing as the produce aisle was a little too close to where they were cooking something for people to sample. It must've been some sausage or something because it smelled positively heavenly. I thought I was done for right then and there. I quickly retreated back to the house and made another smoothie. The grand meal of the day was probably the best salad that I've ever made. Not since a spring evening in 2004 has a salad so moved me. Okay, okay...I can't take credit for the spring mix, but I added all of the extra stuff. I sliced some tomatoes and grapes, I sprinkled craisins and strawberries. It was pretty good if I do say so myself.
Today, I didn't even feel that hungry. I made myself a smoothie, but it was more out of formality than from feeling famished. A couple hours later I ate a banana. I didn't even woof it down either. It probably took me 10 minutes to finish it as I nibbled while doing some laundry and straightening up before heading off to church. I made sure to take a bag of assorted fruits with me when I left the house though, and it's a good thing. I went to hang out with my kids and it was like Tyrone Biggums (of Chappelle Show fame) being invited to the Carter Projects to hang out with Nino Brown. Their mother was cooking some sort of roast with barbeque sauce and the sweet scent filled the house. I pulled a plum out of the bag and ate it in record time. I was only there for 10 minutes, but I had to dip into the bag again for a tangerine just to cope. In retrospect though, that wasn't even that bad. When I got to the airport, i was really in trouble.
Getting to Gate 32 I passed Max's Deli, Fenton's Creamery, and California Pizza Kitchen. Even Starbuck's looked good and I hardly ever go there. To make matters worse, my flight was delayed and I had to watch the people sitting by my gate make repeated trips to the aforementioned establishments and return with delicious treats to enjoy right in front of me. On the plane, I ordered a V-8 and actually enjoyed it. I put the bag of wheat thins and honey roasted peanuts in my bag for consumption at a later date. Before we landed, I peeled an orange and made it vanish like my name was Copperfield. When I checked into my hotel, I devoured the last Granny Smith Apple that I had with me, as I eyed the m&m's and butterfingers beckoning me from the mini-bar.
As I watched the 4th quarter of the NBA All-Star Game, I thumbed through the room service menu and stared at it like it had a centerfold in it or something. When the game was over, I went over to one of the hotel's restaurants and tried to order something that fit the bill. I think the waiter thought I was crazy when I ordered two salads, and that single glass of Mendoza Malbec hit me alot harder than it usually does when chased down by some steak and potatoes. He probably really thought I had lost it when I asked to see the breakfast menu so that I could make sure that the absolutely wonderful sounding Mango Oatmeal was available there as well.
I don't even know why I'm still writing. The Nutty Professor is on and they just showed the scene where they had the feast to end all feasts at Professor Klump's family's house. This is too much. I should go to sleep right now. It's like Christmas for a 6 year old. (In case I failed to mention it before, I'm only doing this for 3 days). The sooner I go to sleep, the sooner it will be tomorrow, and the sooner I can eat some FOOD.
'Twas the night before Breakfast, when all through the resort
I couldn't think about exercise or sleep, just eating for sport;
The thoughts they did race through my head with no hair,
In hopes that St. Nicholas or better yet the Quaker Oats man, soon would be there;
I guess I'll get nestled all snug in my bed,
While visions of Snap, Crackle, and Pop dance through my head;
When out by the pool there arose such a clatter,
I didn't even get outta bed to see what's the matter.
Excited, I'm not, for another trade show,
I'd rather eat tapas by the pool down below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature mart, filled with wine, lunchmeat and beer,
With a dirty ol' microwave so ineffective but quick,
I knew in a moment I was gonna be sick.
Snap out of it D, you'll awaken quite soon,
You're in the Valley of the Sun and so down with the Moon;
"Now, waiter! now, bus boy! now, run to that kitchen!
The left side of the menu...I'm eatin' all those dishes!
Now keep the meals comin', while I make this call,
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
But it wouldn't be prudent to eat like a pig,
Cuz I'll probably get sick and lose this here gig,
So I'll keep my head straight and put down the celly,
And ease into some sensible foods to put in my belly.
I'm going to bed now, cuz this blog's a wreck
I've gotta get some rest so I can wake up and talk tech,
So wish me luck as I prepare to transition
Back to eating real food and ending this self imposed mal-nutrition.,
This cleansing and fasting stuff was really outta sight
Buffet Breakfasts to all, and to all a good-night.
Day 2 of "The Great Cleanse" went pretty well. We'll not spend too much time analyzing why I slept until noon. We'll just chalk it up to my body feeling a little less energetic than usual. Hey, my Chevy Tahoe didn't run when it was on "E" either. I had a blackberry, raspberry, and strawberry smoothie to start the day followed by several servings of that cabbage soup. I came to really look forward to that stuff. It even had a very familiar taste. Have you ever been to Medieval Times in Southern California? You know, the place where Matthew Broderick and Jim Carrey battled it out in The Cable Guy? Well, if you've ever been there, you will recall the soup in a cup that they give you as you enjoy the show as part of their "feed you like you were around during Medieval Times" meal. The cabbage soup kinda tasted like that, except that I had no big mound of stale bread to sop it up with. Between bowls of this, I snacked on craisins and raisins, and an apple or a plum here and there. After awhile, I wasn't even really thinking about food...until I went outside for about an hour. A trip to Whole Foods almost sabotaged the whole thing as the produce aisle was a little too close to where they were cooking something for people to sample. It must've been some sausage or something because it smelled positively heavenly. I thought I was done for right then and there. I quickly retreated back to the house and made another smoothie. The grand meal of the day was probably the best salad that I've ever made. Not since a spring evening in 2004 has a salad so moved me. Okay, okay...I can't take credit for the spring mix, but I added all of the extra stuff. I sliced some tomatoes and grapes, I sprinkled craisins and strawberries. It was pretty good if I do say so myself.
Today, I didn't even feel that hungry. I made myself a smoothie, but it was more out of formality than from feeling famished. A couple hours later I ate a banana. I didn't even woof it down either. It probably took me 10 minutes to finish it as I nibbled while doing some laundry and straightening up before heading off to church. I made sure to take a bag of assorted fruits with me when I left the house though, and it's a good thing. I went to hang out with my kids and it was like Tyrone Biggums (of Chappelle Show fame) being invited to the Carter Projects to hang out with Nino Brown. Their mother was cooking some sort of roast with barbeque sauce and the sweet scent filled the house. I pulled a plum out of the bag and ate it in record time. I was only there for 10 minutes, but I had to dip into the bag again for a tangerine just to cope. In retrospect though, that wasn't even that bad. When I got to the airport, i was really in trouble.
Getting to Gate 32 I passed Max's Deli, Fenton's Creamery, and California Pizza Kitchen. Even Starbuck's looked good and I hardly ever go there. To make matters worse, my flight was delayed and I had to watch the people sitting by my gate make repeated trips to the aforementioned establishments and return with delicious treats to enjoy right in front of me. On the plane, I ordered a V-8 and actually enjoyed it. I put the bag of wheat thins and honey roasted peanuts in my bag for consumption at a later date. Before we landed, I peeled an orange and made it vanish like my name was Copperfield. When I checked into my hotel, I devoured the last Granny Smith Apple that I had with me, as I eyed the m&m's and butterfingers beckoning me from the mini-bar.
As I watched the 4th quarter of the NBA All-Star Game, I thumbed through the room service menu and stared at it like it had a centerfold in it or something. When the game was over, I went over to one of the hotel's restaurants and tried to order something that fit the bill. I think the waiter thought I was crazy when I ordered two salads, and that single glass of Mendoza Malbec hit me alot harder than it usually does when chased down by some steak and potatoes. He probably really thought I had lost it when I asked to see the breakfast menu so that I could make sure that the absolutely wonderful sounding Mango Oatmeal was available there as well.
I don't even know why I'm still writing. The Nutty Professor is on and they just showed the scene where they had the feast to end all feasts at Professor Klump's family's house. This is too much. I should go to sleep right now. It's like Christmas for a 6 year old. (In case I failed to mention it before, I'm only doing this for 3 days). The sooner I go to sleep, the sooner it will be tomorrow, and the sooner I can eat some FOOD.
'Twas the night before Breakfast, when all through the resort
I couldn't think about exercise or sleep, just eating for sport;
The thoughts they did race through my head with no hair,
In hopes that St. Nicholas or better yet the Quaker Oats man, soon would be there;
I guess I'll get nestled all snug in my bed,
While visions of Snap, Crackle, and Pop dance through my head;
When out by the pool there arose such a clatter,
I didn't even get outta bed to see what's the matter.
Excited, I'm not, for another trade show,
I'd rather eat tapas by the pool down below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature mart, filled with wine, lunchmeat and beer,
With a dirty ol' microwave so ineffective but quick,
I knew in a moment I was gonna be sick.
Snap out of it D, you'll awaken quite soon,
You're in the Valley of the Sun and so down with the Moon;
"Now, waiter! now, bus boy! now, run to that kitchen!
The left side of the menu...I'm eatin' all those dishes!
Now keep the meals comin', while I make this call,
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
But it wouldn't be prudent to eat like a pig,
Cuz I'll probably get sick and lose this here gig,
So I'll keep my head straight and put down the celly,
And ease into some sensible foods to put in my belly.
I'm going to bed now, cuz this blog's a wreck
I've gotta get some rest so I can wake up and talk tech,
So wish me luck as I prepare to transition
Back to eating real food and ending this self imposed mal-nutrition.,
This cleansing and fasting stuff was really outta sight
Buffet Breakfasts to all, and to all a good-night.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Quick...fast...
It's day 1 of my self imposed fast and it's anything but hurried. Each minute is passing by like 10 years. I've been at this for just over 12 hours (well...almost a whole day if you consider that my last meal ended at about 10pm last night), and already I feel like those Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck cartoons, shipwrecked on a deserted island. Everything I gaze at looks like a big juicy turkey leg or t-bone steak. I walked through the grocery store a few hours ago and couldn't help but look longingly at the meat and even the cereal and canned food aisles. The rotisserie chickens near the check out counter almost sent me over the edge.
Don't get me wrong. I'm eating fruits and vegetables and drinking water, but that's it. Why? Well, why not? People fast all the time. People have been fasting from time immemorial, and for all sorts of reason. Philosopher Paracelsus (one of the 3 so called fathers of Western Medicine along with Hippocrates and Galen) called fasting "the greatest medicine...the physician within". Fasts are about physical discipline that may translate into modifications in ethical behavior. Me? I guess I'll buy some of that. Maybe some or all of these apply.
I think reason number one is to detoxify. I've traveled alot lately and had to eat some pretty sorry food. I know what you're thinking. Had to? Yeah, I wasn't exactly in any major metropolitan area last week. I ate at the Tin Pan Tap and The Pilot Truck stop. Health conscious is not even in the conversation. The stuff at the Tin Pan Tap was at least a little tasty, but I didn't at all feel good about eating there or any of these places. When I'm on the go, like I so often am even when in town, it's tough to eat decent food. I absolutely hate being sick so I try to get enough sleep, exercise as much as possible, wash my hands like a surgeon, and eat right.
What is eating right though? Well, when you're cooking your own food, it shouldn't be too tough. At least you have control over your ingredients. You can control how much grease you use or not. You give up all of this when you eat out. Even the most well intentioned and healthy menu items can still be tainted by poor preparation. The cumulation of all of this makes my fast necessary. I've been wanting to do this for awhile. As with everything else, it was tough to work it into my schedule. Stop laughing. I'm serious. I couldn't do it around my birthday. Well, actually, I thought about it but that damn Superbowl was the same weekend so that was out. I had enough cake, fried food, and red meat that weekend to make any good couch potato proud. I still went to the gym, but I felt it. I was sluggish and unmotivated, and struggled to get through the days. My attention span was minimal, but what else is new. I couldn't very well do it when I had a basketball game to play either. The league that I play in is taking a break for the President's Day Holiday, so that gives me a few days to get this done. Let the detox begin.
Dr. Joel Furhman, M.D. (some cat I found on the internet...I don't know him. He might be reknown or...he might be some cat that got his M.D. at Western Career College...i dunno) says, "The fast does not merely detoxify; it also breaks down superfluous tissue - fat, abnormal cells, atheromatous plaque, and tumors--and releases diseased tissues and their cellular products into the circulation for elimination." Even better! In addition to purifying and getting rid of any bad stuff that may be hangin' out in my system, I can get rid of this little extra stuff at the mid-section. You knew it was going to come back to vanity at some point, didn't you? Looking good naked still rates pretty high. Its like Groundhog Day everyday when you step out of the shower. But I won't get on that rant here.
Self discipline turns out to be a nice by-product as well. Let's face it: I love food. Admittedly, to do this over a weekend is tough for me. I eat for sport. I have fun eating good food. I try to eat food that's good for me, but if some Chicago style pizza is in reach, I like the freedom of not having to turn it down if I'm hungry. This is training of sorts. It's a self imposed test that will let me get a better idea of what my limits are the next time I'm really in a pinch. It's just like when I was a real athlete and not just a weekend warrior/washed-up-pick-up-game-participant. In the fourth quarter of a game, i knew I had an extra gear and could dig deeper because I had lifted those weights and had ran those extra sprints/miles/hills, etc. The mental aspect of this is huge. I may need to dig deep and focus on something in my "real" life sometime in the future. When that day comes, I'm going to recall when I was hungry as all get out, and had to look past the leftover tamales and the red velvet cake in the fridge and instead get down with the baby carrots and the cabbage soup. Stay tuned. Day 2 has just begun.
Don't get me wrong. I'm eating fruits and vegetables and drinking water, but that's it. Why? Well, why not? People fast all the time. People have been fasting from time immemorial, and for all sorts of reason. Philosopher Paracelsus (one of the 3 so called fathers of Western Medicine along with Hippocrates and Galen) called fasting "the greatest medicine...the physician within". Fasts are about physical discipline that may translate into modifications in ethical behavior. Me? I guess I'll buy some of that. Maybe some or all of these apply.
I think reason number one is to detoxify. I've traveled alot lately and had to eat some pretty sorry food. I know what you're thinking. Had to? Yeah, I wasn't exactly in any major metropolitan area last week. I ate at the Tin Pan Tap and The Pilot Truck stop. Health conscious is not even in the conversation. The stuff at the Tin Pan Tap was at least a little tasty, but I didn't at all feel good about eating there or any of these places. When I'm on the go, like I so often am even when in town, it's tough to eat decent food. I absolutely hate being sick so I try to get enough sleep, exercise as much as possible, wash my hands like a surgeon, and eat right.
What is eating right though? Well, when you're cooking your own food, it shouldn't be too tough. At least you have control over your ingredients. You can control how much grease you use or not. You give up all of this when you eat out. Even the most well intentioned and healthy menu items can still be tainted by poor preparation. The cumulation of all of this makes my fast necessary. I've been wanting to do this for awhile. As with everything else, it was tough to work it into my schedule. Stop laughing. I'm serious. I couldn't do it around my birthday. Well, actually, I thought about it but that damn Superbowl was the same weekend so that was out. I had enough cake, fried food, and red meat that weekend to make any good couch potato proud. I still went to the gym, but I felt it. I was sluggish and unmotivated, and struggled to get through the days. My attention span was minimal, but what else is new. I couldn't very well do it when I had a basketball game to play either. The league that I play in is taking a break for the President's Day Holiday, so that gives me a few days to get this done. Let the detox begin.
Dr. Joel Furhman, M.D. (some cat I found on the internet...I don't know him. He might be reknown or...he might be some cat that got his M.D. at Western Career College...i dunno) says, "The fast does not merely detoxify; it also breaks down superfluous tissue - fat, abnormal cells, atheromatous plaque, and tumors--and releases diseased tissues and their cellular products into the circulation for elimination." Even better! In addition to purifying and getting rid of any bad stuff that may be hangin' out in my system, I can get rid of this little extra stuff at the mid-section. You knew it was going to come back to vanity at some point, didn't you? Looking good naked still rates pretty high. Its like Groundhog Day everyday when you step out of the shower. But I won't get on that rant here.
Self discipline turns out to be a nice by-product as well. Let's face it: I love food. Admittedly, to do this over a weekend is tough for me. I eat for sport. I have fun eating good food. I try to eat food that's good for me, but if some Chicago style pizza is in reach, I like the freedom of not having to turn it down if I'm hungry. This is training of sorts. It's a self imposed test that will let me get a better idea of what my limits are the next time I'm really in a pinch. It's just like when I was a real athlete and not just a weekend warrior/washed-up-pick-up-game-participant. In the fourth quarter of a game, i knew I had an extra gear and could dig deeper because I had lifted those weights and had ran those extra sprints/miles/hills, etc. The mental aspect of this is huge. I may need to dig deep and focus on something in my "real" life sometime in the future. When that day comes, I'm going to recall when I was hungry as all get out, and had to look past the leftover tamales and the red velvet cake in the fridge and instead get down with the baby carrots and the cabbage soup. Stay tuned. Day 2 has just begun.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Waxing Poetic
I'm always amused when talking to people that aren't from here and hearing the things that freely flow from their mouths without pretense and with such a profound insouciance for what might be deemed politically correct in American circles. Like good ol' Quynh last week rambling on about various personal ailments which plagued her and her cavalier attitude about discussing the sexual attitudes of her internet suitors with complete strangers on an airplane, one of my co-workers dropped a doozy over lunch today. Telling a group of us that were crammed into a table at a burger joint in the heart of Silicon Valley that he was scheduled to meet with the grandparents of the girl he was dating this weekend, and that he might be considering advancing this relationship to another stage with a planned move to Atlanta to be closer to her, he let it slip that he got his back waxed.
Yeah, the little needle on the little record on the little turntable in my head scratched too. This was lost on none of the other 3 guys at the table.
"Wait, wait, wait...hold up...you did what?"
"I got my back waxed," he said not sheepishly at all, but rather quite matter of factly.
The other 3 of us groaned the way that we might if we witnessed a low blow during a boxing match. This guy was getting his back waxed in preparation for a long weekend with the current object of his affection. She had brought it up as a point of contention during what sounded like a very reasonable discussion, and they had agreed (THEY had agreed) that he would proceed to get his back waxed. Do you know what that involves? Sticky stuff (like fly paper) and pulling hair...and quite suddenly. I'm not sure what is more remarkable; the fact that they had a discussion on the subject, that he had entertained the idea of doing something about the apparent layer of fur on his back, that he had actually gone ahead and done the deed, or that he was actually telling us about it over some greasy hamburgers, french fries and fountain milk shakes?
It should be noted that he's from Canada. They're a little less barbaric than us folks south of the border. They pay homage to a queen...THE Queen (of England of course) and have a parliament to make their laws. Our Parliament is run by a guy named George (Clinton not Bush) and exists as One Nation, Under a groove...gettin' down just for the funk of it. Maybe our Canadian brothers are more secure in their masculinity than we are. Down here, we'd sooner thump our chests than have them waxed. And if, heaven forbid, we were forced to undergo such a procedure (it would have to be a medical emergency or something life threatening) we sure wouldn't tell anybody about it.
He was unbending though, never succumbing to our sophomoric attempts at shaming his hen-pecked backside. You gotta respect that. I left it alone fairly quickly. I was still amused, but just as much by his candor and willingness to discuss as by the fact that he actually did it. It's late, so I won't go into it now, but I could recall many a story about foreign teammates or classmates and very matter of fact things that they have let out of their mouths. Oh, how I love diversity.
Yeah, the little needle on the little record on the little turntable in my head scratched too. This was lost on none of the other 3 guys at the table.
"Wait, wait, wait...hold up...you did what?"
"I got my back waxed," he said not sheepishly at all, but rather quite matter of factly.
The other 3 of us groaned the way that we might if we witnessed a low blow during a boxing match. This guy was getting his back waxed in preparation for a long weekend with the current object of his affection. She had brought it up as a point of contention during what sounded like a very reasonable discussion, and they had agreed (THEY had agreed) that he would proceed to get his back waxed. Do you know what that involves? Sticky stuff (like fly paper) and pulling hair...and quite suddenly. I'm not sure what is more remarkable; the fact that they had a discussion on the subject, that he had entertained the idea of doing something about the apparent layer of fur on his back, that he had actually gone ahead and done the deed, or that he was actually telling us about it over some greasy hamburgers, french fries and fountain milk shakes?
It should be noted that he's from Canada. They're a little less barbaric than us folks south of the border. They pay homage to a queen...THE Queen (of England of course) and have a parliament to make their laws. Our Parliament is run by a guy named George (Clinton not Bush) and exists as One Nation, Under a groove...gettin' down just for the funk of it. Maybe our Canadian brothers are more secure in their masculinity than we are. Down here, we'd sooner thump our chests than have them waxed. And if, heaven forbid, we were forced to undergo such a procedure (it would have to be a medical emergency or something life threatening) we sure wouldn't tell anybody about it.
He was unbending though, never succumbing to our sophomoric attempts at shaming his hen-pecked backside. You gotta respect that. I left it alone fairly quickly. I was still amused, but just as much by his candor and willingness to discuss as by the fact that he actually did it. It's late, so I won't go into it now, but I could recall many a story about foreign teammates or classmates and very matter of fact things that they have let out of their mouths. Oh, how I love diversity.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Uniformity
I said I wasn't going to do it, but I had to. It's too good not to talk about. I could hardly keep my composure. Tonight was the 2 year anniversary of my joining the Usher Board at my church and it was as though no time had passed at all. Of course, it wouldn't be fair to say that nothing has changed. We're on our 3rd president now. I'm no longer the youngest usher by 20 years. In fact, there are two recent additions that are in their early 20s. But you know what they say: The more things change, the more they stay the same.
Perhaps I've been too myopic in my characterization of things. Things change all the time. The sick list changes every week. There's always some new cause for which we might take up an offering. We've gone from having a committee that cooks food for special events to having a caterer. Throughout all of this flux, however, there has remained but one constant. So as to not hold you in suspense any longer, I'll come out with it. That one constant has taken on a life of its own. It grows more and more with each passing month and has perhaps gone well past a point where it is manageable anymore. At this point, we can only hope to contain it, because it is surely far beyond control. Okay, I'll get to it already. Without further adieu, the one constant has been item numero uno on each meeting agenda since I have been attending meetings: Ladies Uniforms.
Now, before you start to laugh or dismiss this as trivial, hear me out on this. I'm certain that you will come to appreciate the magnitude of the situation at hand. Each meeting the Sister assigned to head up the committee to "usher" in a new set of uniforms for the female members stands up to report on her findings on the matter at hand and each time she is first met with mild indifference, some mumbled sniveling, and finally passionate pleas for or against what she has presented them. About once ever 3 or 4 meetings, she actually gets far enough down this road to show up with a picture, a fabric sample, or sometimes even a whole suit. During these proceedings, the male members try to become invisible, employing that same reflex that many have mastered from years of spouses or mates asking questions like "Do I look fat in this?" or "Do you think I would look good with short hair?" or "Don't you think my friend Sharon is attractive? Why can't she find a good man?" We count the seconds until we can move on to the next agenda item, each one seeming to span an eternity, and just that much longer than the one preceding it. It's so agonizing that sometimes we want to cry, but we can't. We're not allowed. It's even in our theme song:
We are the soldiers, In the Army
We have to fight, although we want to cry
We want to laugh, but we know better. This is serious business, especially on a board that not only enjoys a significant female majority but also that, until 3 weeks ago, has had female leadership for the last 37 years straight. We could be made to stand post at the door for the whole service, all of our requests for relief falling upon deaf ears (or eyes, as it were, since we communicate with a sort of sign language during Services). We could be made to take the collection up the 3 flights of stairs to the finance department repeatedly. We could be banished to the choir stand. (well, actually, that might not be that bad). All in all, its better for all involved if we just shut up and ride it out. That next item on the agenda will get its day in the sun at some point. Someday.
The problem is all about consensus, and although I'm loathe to generalize, I'm going to do so anyway for the sake of an attempt at an explanation. There are some 40+ women on this board, each with their own styles and tastes, with different upbringings and spanning several age brackets. To expect that they would be able to agree completely upon something as important as their appearance for 2-5 hours every Sunday would be about as naive as expecting that Tiger Woods will hit a hole-in-one every time he steps up to the tee. Like I said, this is serious business. One false move in an area like appearance can lead to a glut of gossip and a superfluity of shame.
On the flip-side of this, the male members made this same decision during a 5 minute meeting that took place in the choir room, after the second offering of a service and never revisited the issue. One guy brought in a suit and some tie choices,there were nods of approval, and the next thing you knew, we were all being measured and soon thereafter receiving a multitude of compliments about our new look. In fact, the suits were so popular that even the Pastor got one. But then again, we arrive at a consensus pretty easily. Not convinced? Try this more secular example on for size. Find me 10 random men of any race, socio-economic group, or age bracket , line them up side by side in front of a stage. Have Halle Berry walk out to the center of that stage. To a man, you will get universal agreement that she is indeed beautiful, along with the Pavlovian responses of salivating and eyes widening. On this same stage, you could march Brad Pitt or Denzel Washington out there in front of 10 women and you'd get 10 different opinions about what is wrong with each of these men. Men are from Mars. Women are from Venus. But I digress. We were talking about uniforms. New uniforms or the lack thereof for the female members of the usher board.
I have to admit that for a second, I thought that today might be the day. I felt like Ben Affleck in Good Will Hunting when he pulls up to the hovel that Matt Damon was calling home, only to find that he finally had moved on. Could this really be it? Was this issue really about to be put to bed? Wait a minute? Was this issue really going to be over and done with. Oh no! Maybe I should revise the first sentence in this paragraph, replacing the word 'thought' with 'feared'. I feared that today might be that day. What would replace it on the agenda at the next meeting, and at all the meetings after that? Maybe, secretly, I look forward to this agenda item being there. It gives me solace. It brings me comfort to know that there will be some heated discussion about the ladies uniforms each meeting. Like Chicago Cubs fans find comfort in the Curse of the Billy Goat during each run at the playoffs or each calamitous season where the playoffs are not remotely a possibility, it brings me comfort to know that they will never resolve this issue. Certain things must be at odds. They just must. Why? Just because. Israel and the Palestinians must be at odds over a small strip of land about the size of a NASCAR race track. Why? Because. Because that's just the way it has always been. Niner Fans must be at odds with Raider fans, and no you can't like both teams, even though they hardly ever play against each other. That's just the way it is. We take comfort in that. It is absolutely imperative that there be traffic in I-880 during rush hour and in both directions. Why? Because this is not Cedar Rapids, Iowa? No, just because. That's just the way it is. It's firm. It gives us stability. Hot dogs will always be welcome at baseball games no matter how health conscious we become. Apple Pie will always go with Americans and Chevrolet. Fries should always go with that shake. Again, I digress.
I was saying that it was looking like today was going to be that day. The Sister in charge of the committee brought in a suit and had a price and had dates and deadlines for the transactions to be completed. There wasn't alot of discussion. The sniveling was minimal. I think we all got a little antsy as a result. Even the men. Against my better judgment, I spoke up and suggested that they arrange for the clothier to make a visit to the church to take everyone's measurements like the men had done, naively thinking that this helpful suggestion might be met with some appreciation. Instead it served to fan the flame that had been flickering ever so faintly as though it were about to be extinguished altogether. The fanning brought to life the chief detractors that had been relatively quiet to that point. My stupid comment got them started. It brought them back to their senses. They had almost forgotten that, just on general principal, they were supposed to be opposed to whatever article of clothing was being suggested. It was all over after that. Some of the ladies stood to voice their displeasure with not only the fabric's apparent lack of durability (as if it needed to be as durable as the Carharrt outdoor wear worn by construction workers), but also the almost certain difficulty that would be realized when trying to find an accompanying pair of shoes. They came back to life in a big way. The window of opportunity for resolution of this issue had closed just as quickly as it had opened up on this night. Vanished. Poof! Like a thief in the night.
I should have known better than to interfere with grown folks business. It was foolish of me to say anything at all. I should've kept my mouth shut. Maybe it was a subconscious action. Maybe I had no choice in the matter at all. Maybe, deep down inside, I couldn't face the notion of this not being a hotly contested agenda item at each meeting. I didn't want to be like a Boston Red Sox fan, devoid of the ability to identify with the 86 years of heartbreaking losses and near championship misses after the Sox stunned the mighty Yankees and then swept the Cardinals en route to their breaking of the Bambino's Curse. What do those people do now? There's comfort in suffering. Winning is not all it's cracked up to be. It's too much pressure. There is no excuse to be made for a winner. What's the fun in that.
I wasn't able to stay until the completion of the meeting, but I was there long enough to see the issue of the ladies' uniforms tabled once again. I can relax again. All is right with the world. Add one other item to that very short list of life's certainties: Death, Taxes, My Jumpshot (well, again, not lately, but...) and that the ladies of my usher board will never decide on nor ever obtain new uniforms. Check back with me in 2010.
Perhaps I've been too myopic in my characterization of things. Things change all the time. The sick list changes every week. There's always some new cause for which we might take up an offering. We've gone from having a committee that cooks food for special events to having a caterer. Throughout all of this flux, however, there has remained but one constant. So as to not hold you in suspense any longer, I'll come out with it. That one constant has taken on a life of its own. It grows more and more with each passing month and has perhaps gone well past a point where it is manageable anymore. At this point, we can only hope to contain it, because it is surely far beyond control. Okay, I'll get to it already. Without further adieu, the one constant has been item numero uno on each meeting agenda since I have been attending meetings: Ladies Uniforms.
Now, before you start to laugh or dismiss this as trivial, hear me out on this. I'm certain that you will come to appreciate the magnitude of the situation at hand. Each meeting the Sister assigned to head up the committee to "usher" in a new set of uniforms for the female members stands up to report on her findings on the matter at hand and each time she is first met with mild indifference, some mumbled sniveling, and finally passionate pleas for or against what she has presented them. About once ever 3 or 4 meetings, she actually gets far enough down this road to show up with a picture, a fabric sample, or sometimes even a whole suit. During these proceedings, the male members try to become invisible, employing that same reflex that many have mastered from years of spouses or mates asking questions like "Do I look fat in this?" or "Do you think I would look good with short hair?" or "Don't you think my friend Sharon is attractive? Why can't she find a good man?" We count the seconds until we can move on to the next agenda item, each one seeming to span an eternity, and just that much longer than the one preceding it. It's so agonizing that sometimes we want to cry, but we can't. We're not allowed. It's even in our theme song:
We are the soldiers, In the Army
We have to fight, although we want to cry
We want to laugh, but we know better. This is serious business, especially on a board that not only enjoys a significant female majority but also that, until 3 weeks ago, has had female leadership for the last 37 years straight. We could be made to stand post at the door for the whole service, all of our requests for relief falling upon deaf ears (or eyes, as it were, since we communicate with a sort of sign language during Services). We could be made to take the collection up the 3 flights of stairs to the finance department repeatedly. We could be banished to the choir stand. (well, actually, that might not be that bad). All in all, its better for all involved if we just shut up and ride it out. That next item on the agenda will get its day in the sun at some point. Someday.
The problem is all about consensus, and although I'm loathe to generalize, I'm going to do so anyway for the sake of an attempt at an explanation. There are some 40+ women on this board, each with their own styles and tastes, with different upbringings and spanning several age brackets. To expect that they would be able to agree completely upon something as important as their appearance for 2-5 hours every Sunday would be about as naive as expecting that Tiger Woods will hit a hole-in-one every time he steps up to the tee. Like I said, this is serious business. One false move in an area like appearance can lead to a glut of gossip and a superfluity of shame.
On the flip-side of this, the male members made this same decision during a 5 minute meeting that took place in the choir room, after the second offering of a service and never revisited the issue. One guy brought in a suit and some tie choices,there were nods of approval, and the next thing you knew, we were all being measured and soon thereafter receiving a multitude of compliments about our new look. In fact, the suits were so popular that even the Pastor got one. But then again, we arrive at a consensus pretty easily. Not convinced? Try this more secular example on for size. Find me 10 random men of any race, socio-economic group, or age bracket , line them up side by side in front of a stage. Have Halle Berry walk out to the center of that stage. To a man, you will get universal agreement that she is indeed beautiful, along with the Pavlovian responses of salivating and eyes widening. On this same stage, you could march Brad Pitt or Denzel Washington out there in front of 10 women and you'd get 10 different opinions about what is wrong with each of these men. Men are from Mars. Women are from Venus. But I digress. We were talking about uniforms. New uniforms or the lack thereof for the female members of the usher board.
I have to admit that for a second, I thought that today might be the day. I felt like Ben Affleck in Good Will Hunting when he pulls up to the hovel that Matt Damon was calling home, only to find that he finally had moved on. Could this really be it? Was this issue really about to be put to bed? Wait a minute? Was this issue really going to be over and done with. Oh no! Maybe I should revise the first sentence in this paragraph, replacing the word 'thought' with 'feared'. I feared that today might be that day. What would replace it on the agenda at the next meeting, and at all the meetings after that? Maybe, secretly, I look forward to this agenda item being there. It gives me solace. It brings me comfort to know that there will be some heated discussion about the ladies uniforms each meeting. Like Chicago Cubs fans find comfort in the Curse of the Billy Goat during each run at the playoffs or each calamitous season where the playoffs are not remotely a possibility, it brings me comfort to know that they will never resolve this issue. Certain things must be at odds. They just must. Why? Just because. Israel and the Palestinians must be at odds over a small strip of land about the size of a NASCAR race track. Why? Because. Because that's just the way it has always been. Niner Fans must be at odds with Raider fans, and no you can't like both teams, even though they hardly ever play against each other. That's just the way it is. We take comfort in that. It is absolutely imperative that there be traffic in I-880 during rush hour and in both directions. Why? Because this is not Cedar Rapids, Iowa? No, just because. That's just the way it is. It's firm. It gives us stability. Hot dogs will always be welcome at baseball games no matter how health conscious we become. Apple Pie will always go with Americans and Chevrolet. Fries should always go with that shake. Again, I digress.
I was saying that it was looking like today was going to be that day. The Sister in charge of the committee brought in a suit and had a price and had dates and deadlines for the transactions to be completed. There wasn't alot of discussion. The sniveling was minimal. I think we all got a little antsy as a result. Even the men. Against my better judgment, I spoke up and suggested that they arrange for the clothier to make a visit to the church to take everyone's measurements like the men had done, naively thinking that this helpful suggestion might be met with some appreciation. Instead it served to fan the flame that had been flickering ever so faintly as though it were about to be extinguished altogether. The fanning brought to life the chief detractors that had been relatively quiet to that point. My stupid comment got them started. It brought them back to their senses. They had almost forgotten that, just on general principal, they were supposed to be opposed to whatever article of clothing was being suggested. It was all over after that. Some of the ladies stood to voice their displeasure with not only the fabric's apparent lack of durability (as if it needed to be as durable as the Carharrt outdoor wear worn by construction workers), but also the almost certain difficulty that would be realized when trying to find an accompanying pair of shoes. They came back to life in a big way. The window of opportunity for resolution of this issue had closed just as quickly as it had opened up on this night. Vanished. Poof! Like a thief in the night.
I should have known better than to interfere with grown folks business. It was foolish of me to say anything at all. I should've kept my mouth shut. Maybe it was a subconscious action. Maybe I had no choice in the matter at all. Maybe, deep down inside, I couldn't face the notion of this not being a hotly contested agenda item at each meeting. I didn't want to be like a Boston Red Sox fan, devoid of the ability to identify with the 86 years of heartbreaking losses and near championship misses after the Sox stunned the mighty Yankees and then swept the Cardinals en route to their breaking of the Bambino's Curse. What do those people do now? There's comfort in suffering. Winning is not all it's cracked up to be. It's too much pressure. There is no excuse to be made for a winner. What's the fun in that.
I wasn't able to stay until the completion of the meeting, but I was there long enough to see the issue of the ladies' uniforms tabled once again. I can relax again. All is right with the world. Add one other item to that very short list of life's certainties: Death, Taxes, My Jumpshot (well, again, not lately, but...) and that the ladies of my usher board will never decide on nor ever obtain new uniforms. Check back with me in 2010.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
The Sun even shines on a Dog's...
I've just watched my UCLA Bruins fall at the hands of the Washington Huskies in Seattle. The No. 5 UCLA Bruins who were basically having their way with most of the PAC-10 schedule (other than USC) were knocked off by the 9th place team. On paper, this doesn't happen, but (here it is again) I guess that's why they play the games. Quite appropriate that Washington's mascot is a Husky here, and that it was indeed a bright sunny day...
Leave it to my son to come up with the most interesting take on something I've heard all day. Scratch that. Maybe even all week or all month. As we were driving east on Highway 24, approaching the Caldecott tunnel, he cleared his throat to speak over the music. I was bumpin' the Soundtrack from Superfly and we were heading to one of my basketball games for a change when he made his grand observation.
"This is like a nose," he said, "the tunnel...."
My daughter and I probably had the same puzzled look on our faces, trying to grasp exactly to what he was referring in that instant.
"Except without the snot," he went on.
It was at that moment that I realized that he was talking about the tunnels cut into the mountain. I laughed initially. But then I turned the music down to ponder this for a moment. You know how it makes you see better when you're lost to turn down the music and squint to see the addresses listed on the houses? It was like that. He was absolutely right. Leave it to an 8-year-old to come up with this very unique way of looking at something so forgettable as a highway tunnel that usually just reminds me of rush-hour traffic.
Joe Marshall from the Omega Boys Club was at Church today and said something so simple that its profundity was quite undeniable. I heard him say it again as I was flipping through stations this evening and his weekly radio show "Street Soldiers" was on. He was recollecting a conversation he had had with a troubled youth and trying to get him on the right path for life.
"If you knew what I knew, you wouldn't do what you do," he said, quite simply.
I daresay that he has uttered this many more times than just to the one individual. It just really struck a chord with me, and made me think back to when I was a teen thinking that I had all the answers. Now I was by no means troubled, but it struck me just the same. I'm sure I'll store this one away for future use and I only hope that I can make it work for me too.
Leave it to my son to come up with the most interesting take on something I've heard all day. Scratch that. Maybe even all week or all month. As we were driving east on Highway 24, approaching the Caldecott tunnel, he cleared his throat to speak over the music. I was bumpin' the Soundtrack from Superfly and we were heading to one of my basketball games for a change when he made his grand observation.
"This is like a nose," he said, "the tunnel...."
My daughter and I probably had the same puzzled look on our faces, trying to grasp exactly to what he was referring in that instant.
"Except without the snot," he went on.
It was at that moment that I realized that he was talking about the tunnels cut into the mountain. I laughed initially. But then I turned the music down to ponder this for a moment. You know how it makes you see better when you're lost to turn down the music and squint to see the addresses listed on the houses? It was like that. He was absolutely right. Leave it to an 8-year-old to come up with this very unique way of looking at something so forgettable as a highway tunnel that usually just reminds me of rush-hour traffic.
Joe Marshall from the Omega Boys Club was at Church today and said something so simple that its profundity was quite undeniable. I heard him say it again as I was flipping through stations this evening and his weekly radio show "Street Soldiers" was on. He was recollecting a conversation he had had with a troubled youth and trying to get him on the right path for life.
"If you knew what I knew, you wouldn't do what you do," he said, quite simply.
I daresay that he has uttered this many more times than just to the one individual. It just really struck a chord with me, and made me think back to when I was a teen thinking that I had all the answers. Now I was by no means troubled, but it struck me just the same. I'm sure I'll store this one away for future use and I only hope that I can make it work for me too.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
The Afternoon Nap
As they are so apt to do, great ideas come to me totally at random and on the fly. Today was no exception. In the midst of another activity rich Saturday this one came on like Jimmy Cobb's splash on the cymbals that really kicks off Miles Davis' classic So What . Up to that point I was just being the methodical task master that I usually am with my Super Dad cape cinched up tight on these Saturdays. Make breakfast. Go to the first basketball game. Go to the basketball clinic/practice/game at location number 2. Grab a bite to eat. Go to the second basketball game at location number 3. Start to formulate a plan for cooking dinner.
Nowhere on this to-do list was "catch up on that sleep that you failed to get during your travels this week". But as Jimmy Cobb hit that cymbal and Miles started his trumpet solo, the rhythm of Paul Chambers bass coupled with the smug grin that he must've had while playing this (c'mon...its too damned cool for him not to have a smug look on his face while he's pluckin' those strings) guided me to successful execution of the plan.
My kids have a routine each time we get back to my house. One of them heads to the refrigerator (usually a fruitless endeavor, leaving them staring from top to bottom at the back of the refrigerator, and then bottom to top and then, "hey dad...what can we have for a snack?") and the other heads for the remote control to watch the same episode of The Suite Life of Zack and Cody that they've already seen 6 times this week. At precisely this moment, I sprung into action, flipping off the TV and digging out a couple grab size bags of Sun Chips from the cupboard for them to munch on. It should be noted that I actually set the wheels in motion for this plan last night,grabbing a couple books from their rooms, without realizing when I would use them or how effective this might be.
Opening the blinds in the living room to allow the sunlight from this gorgeous February Afternoon (not just any February Afternoon, but a "this is why we live in California" February Afternoon) to light up the room, I handed a book to each of them and told them to sit and read. I promised them that we would watch the latest kid-friendly DVD that Netflix had delivered to my mailbox later in the evening.
I must admit that even I was surprised at how well this worked. I was met with almost no resistance as my daughter snuggled into my favorite chair with something called "Al Capone does my shirts" while my son laid out on the couch with a book that looked like it contained every single Calvin and Hobbes comic strip ever created. It was like deja vu all over again as I recalled tip toeing out of their rooms after putting them in their cribs after giving them a bottle, and hoping they'd fall asleep. I crept into my bedroom and pushed the door closed, not all the way, slightly cracked, just enough to keep the light out and just open enough so that they didn't feel like I had actually segregated myself from them.
I kicked off my shoes and sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, and then let my torso start to fall slowly toward the mattress as my legs simultaneously extended and my sweat sock covered feet now dangled over the edge. Slow motion would be an apt description. My head sunk into the pillow like the Titanic into the Atlantic, taking what seemed like an eternity to settle in at the bottom. My eyelids, weighed down with fatigue like the remains of Vincent Pastore being dumped off the deck of the Stagots II with cement slippers, came crashing down. I could hear my heart beating in my left ear as it pressed against the pillow, my head now leaning toward my left shoulder as I lie on my back. I became acutely aware of the sounds from outside growing more and more faint while the sound of air filling my lungs with each deep breath consumed my attention. Remember in the old King Kong movie with Jeff Bridges and Jessica Lange when Kong is dying and they turn up the THX (well, it probably wasn't THX back in 1976..maybe just Dolby) playing only his heartbeat as his eyes panned around the room very slowly (or for you hip-hoppers, the final moments of Mr. Christopher Wallace on the Ready to Die album)? Well, that was me.
Remarkably, nobody rang my phone. My kids didn't succumb to their short attention spans. The firemen at Firestation No. 1 across the street were not called into action. I had to set my alarm so that I could get up and get dinner started, but it was a nice little power nap. I surely could've slept until tomorrow otherwise. I felt like I had been run over by a truck when said alarm did go off, but I was able to quickly whip myself into shape and get back to my 'sponsibilities.
Nowhere on this to-do list was "catch up on that sleep that you failed to get during your travels this week". But as Jimmy Cobb hit that cymbal and Miles started his trumpet solo, the rhythm of Paul Chambers bass coupled with the smug grin that he must've had while playing this (c'mon...its too damned cool for him not to have a smug look on his face while he's pluckin' those strings) guided me to successful execution of the plan.
My kids have a routine each time we get back to my house. One of them heads to the refrigerator (usually a fruitless endeavor, leaving them staring from top to bottom at the back of the refrigerator, and then bottom to top and then, "hey dad...what can we have for a snack?") and the other heads for the remote control to watch the same episode of The Suite Life of Zack and Cody that they've already seen 6 times this week. At precisely this moment, I sprung into action, flipping off the TV and digging out a couple grab size bags of Sun Chips from the cupboard for them to munch on. It should be noted that I actually set the wheels in motion for this plan last night,grabbing a couple books from their rooms, without realizing when I would use them or how effective this might be.
Opening the blinds in the living room to allow the sunlight from this gorgeous February Afternoon (not just any February Afternoon, but a "this is why we live in California" February Afternoon) to light up the room, I handed a book to each of them and told them to sit and read. I promised them that we would watch the latest kid-friendly DVD that Netflix had delivered to my mailbox later in the evening.
I must admit that even I was surprised at how well this worked. I was met with almost no resistance as my daughter snuggled into my favorite chair with something called "Al Capone does my shirts" while my son laid out on the couch with a book that looked like it contained every single Calvin and Hobbes comic strip ever created. It was like deja vu all over again as I recalled tip toeing out of their rooms after putting them in their cribs after giving them a bottle, and hoping they'd fall asleep. I crept into my bedroom and pushed the door closed, not all the way, slightly cracked, just enough to keep the light out and just open enough so that they didn't feel like I had actually segregated myself from them.
I kicked off my shoes and sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, and then let my torso start to fall slowly toward the mattress as my legs simultaneously extended and my sweat sock covered feet now dangled over the edge. Slow motion would be an apt description. My head sunk into the pillow like the Titanic into the Atlantic, taking what seemed like an eternity to settle in at the bottom. My eyelids, weighed down with fatigue like the remains of Vincent Pastore being dumped off the deck of the Stagots II with cement slippers, came crashing down. I could hear my heart beating in my left ear as it pressed against the pillow, my head now leaning toward my left shoulder as I lie on my back. I became acutely aware of the sounds from outside growing more and more faint while the sound of air filling my lungs with each deep breath consumed my attention. Remember in the old King Kong movie with Jeff Bridges and Jessica Lange when Kong is dying and they turn up the THX (well, it probably wasn't THX back in 1976..maybe just Dolby) playing only his heartbeat as his eyes panned around the room very slowly (or for you hip-hoppers, the final moments of Mr. Christopher Wallace on the Ready to Die album)? Well, that was me.
Remarkably, nobody rang my phone. My kids didn't succumb to their short attention spans. The firemen at Firestation No. 1 across the street were not called into action. I had to set my alarm so that I could get up and get dinner started, but it was a nice little power nap. I surely could've slept until tomorrow otherwise. I felt like I had been run over by a truck when said alarm did go off, but I was able to quickly whip myself into shape and get back to my 'sponsibilities.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Like What!
Like What!
Like what?
Like WHAAAAT!
Y Que!
I overheard some cats talking today when I was waiting for the train today, when it struck me just how thoroughly we are able to communicate without saying much at all. One guy had finished what amounted to a description of his antics on the court and it went something like this:
Yo...I was like, whoomp whoomp, then I said bip bip, and shook homey up, and brothas was like whoa! and i walked off the court LIKE WHAT!
The other cat then started in about his previous evening at the club, and it went like this:
Yo...we was up in the spot last night and I came up big. Baby was like whoa! and I stepped up to spit at her and was like yo! whoompty whoomp, whateva whateva, and fools was hatin' on a brotha, and I was lookin at 'em like what?! But Baby was feelin' me Folks..you feel me? I had her all shook...
Somebody that just rolled in from outta town and happened upon these two characters would be hard pressed to have any clue what it was that they were talkin' about. You could even make the case that both guys were talking about the same thing. Me? Of course I was amused. I always am by such subtleties. I love linguistics. I think that's one of the things that I like about traveling. I really try to pay attention to how people speak in various parts of this country as well as abroad. This can be a good interest to have and can pay dividends professionally sometimes as I may use it to relate to somebody, perhaps using it to initiate some small talk or create some common ground. But, as there always is with me, the flip side is both annoying and amusing as I often catch myself totally not paying attention to what somebody is saying in a meeting because I'm so caught up in trying to identify their accents and/or trying to guess the origin of their names. I even find myself judging a movie by the quality of the accents (DiCaprio and Pitt are very good at this in Blood Diamond for Leo and Snatch with Pitt speaking Pikey and Meet Joe Black with him nailing patois when talking to the Caribbean lady in the hospital) or the casting mishaps that make somebody like Omar Epps or Mekhi Phifer completely not believable as playing L.A. teenagers with their definitely New York City accents.
What I neglected to mention was that there were all kinds of hand gestures and body english and facial expressions that accompanied these little soliloquys. What I also didn't mention was that I would've understood them either way.
Like what?
Like WHAAAAT!
Y Que!
I overheard some cats talking today when I was waiting for the train today, when it struck me just how thoroughly we are able to communicate without saying much at all. One guy had finished what amounted to a description of his antics on the court and it went something like this:
Yo...I was like, whoomp whoomp, then I said bip bip, and shook homey up, and brothas was like whoa! and i walked off the court LIKE WHAT!
The other cat then started in about his previous evening at the club, and it went like this:
Yo...we was up in the spot last night and I came up big. Baby was like whoa! and I stepped up to spit at her and was like yo! whoompty whoomp, whateva whateva, and fools was hatin' on a brotha, and I was lookin at 'em like what?! But Baby was feelin' me Folks..you feel me? I had her all shook...
Somebody that just rolled in from outta town and happened upon these two characters would be hard pressed to have any clue what it was that they were talkin' about. You could even make the case that both guys were talking about the same thing. Me? Of course I was amused. I always am by such subtleties. I love linguistics. I think that's one of the things that I like about traveling. I really try to pay attention to how people speak in various parts of this country as well as abroad. This can be a good interest to have and can pay dividends professionally sometimes as I may use it to relate to somebody, perhaps using it to initiate some small talk or create some common ground. But, as there always is with me, the flip side is both annoying and amusing as I often catch myself totally not paying attention to what somebody is saying in a meeting because I'm so caught up in trying to identify their accents and/or trying to guess the origin of their names. I even find myself judging a movie by the quality of the accents (DiCaprio and Pitt are very good at this in Blood Diamond for Leo and Snatch with Pitt speaking Pikey and Meet Joe Black with him nailing patois when talking to the Caribbean lady in the hospital) or the casting mishaps that make somebody like Omar Epps or Mekhi Phifer completely not believable as playing L.A. teenagers with their definitely New York City accents.
What I neglected to mention was that there were all kinds of hand gestures and body english and facial expressions that accompanied these little soliloquys. What I also didn't mention was that I would've understood them either way.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Chatterbox
I knew it was going to be a long flight when I settled into my exit middle seat amongst 9 other guys that deserved to be there every bit as much as I did. Dallas is always so deceptively far away. You don’t get down about flying to Dallas like you might by the mere mention of flying all the way to Boston or something, but you’re always sufficiently worn out when you get off the plane, wondering how the heck it took 4 hours and you’re only in the middle of the country. As always, this route to SFO from DFW was sold out and upgrades were out of the question, at least for somebody at the lower end of the status spectrum. I’m like that guy that drives a Mercedes Benz 190 and lives in a duplex on that street that leads up to the hills and just barely shares the same prestigious zip code, when it comes to airline status. My ticket says platinum, but my name is always mentioned in trade rumors.
Being that we were leaving Big D, there were no shortage of cowboys (rhinestone and otherwise) on board, hoopin’ and hollerin’ and carrying on in their little accents. It sounded like J.R and Bobby Ewing, and Cliff Barnes were 3 rows back, loud talkin’ about some business venture so that the whole damn plane could hear them. Luckily, they quieted down about 30 minutes in. I guess the screwdrivers and scotch and tonics started to take effect. Chatty Cathy sitting right behind me took the baton from them though. She talked the ear off of the poor guy sitting next to her. I couldn’t see him, but I can only imagine the internal struggle he must be going through trying to withstand her verbal onslaught. His face must hurt from trying to maintain the interested countenance that she probably requires at appropriate intervals as reassurance that she is saying something interesting (not that she probably cares or actually needs this at all, on second thought).
I felt for this guy. I thought about turning around to give him my Bose Quiet Comfort 3 noise cancelling head phones to drown her out, but…but then I wouldn’t have them, and I’d be able to hear her even more clearly. I had the music up LOUD and I could still hear her. Unbelievable. Oh to be able to read his thoughts.
If I make it out of here alive, I will never take a commercial flight ever again. I’ll develop a tic so that it will be very annoying for people to sit next to me and they’ll leave me alone. I’ll dress in a suit and wear dark sunglasses and an earpiece, incessantly adjusting its volume and speaking in code while I check my watch and scan the cabin for security breaches. I’ll play possum. Yeah, that’s it. I’ll just drop my head and fall into a deep slumber right here. I’ll double over at the waist, allowing my body to be supported only by the seatbelt. I
If I ever get out of here, I’ will indeed order those noise cancelling headphones that are in this here SkyMall magazine like that guy in the seat in front of me, looking so comfortable and relaxed and in his own little world. Forget headphones. I’m going to light firecrackers next to each ear so that hearing is no longer a problem. In fact, it will be no issue at all. Better yet, somebody please shoot me. Right here. Now. Save me! Put me out of my misery. I can feel my ears growing longer and longer as her shrilly voice continues on and on and on.
What is WRONG with this woman? She talks like she just learned how this morning and is trying to make up for 30 years of lost time—during this flight! She went to the bathroom and it took me a minute to realize that I could finally hear my music again. It was short lived. She didn’t even wait to sit down before starting back in. I bet she was talking all the way to the lavatory, probably engaging people down the aisle as she walked. Un-be-lievable! She’d give the most inquisitive 4 year old a run for their money. I’m going to write a letter to Bose. I want my money back. Well, maybe she’s just the rare case. Perhaps her voice is at a frequency that cuts through the wavelength of all the other sounds swirling around in here. Other than her voice, everything else is pretty much cancelled out. It could be worse though. I could be that guy. Poor guy. He should get some kind of medal for enduring all this. Maybe the flight attendants should give him some wings (or more appropriately some ears—like Mickey Ears or something) to pin on in recognition of his sacrifice. SOMEBODY had to sit by her.
After the flight I would learn that she was not even the worst offender in this category on the flight. My poor co-worker, who had to endure all of pain and turmoil that Northwest Ohio had to offer yesterday right along with me, sat by a lady named Quynh that was on her way from China to meet some 63-year old guy that had bought her a ticket from China to come see him in Pensacola. She was 27 and for some reason was really hard pressed to get out of China. When I saw them coming out of the jetway together I thought that he had made a new friend and maybe would get her phone number or something. “You old sly dog, you…” I thought.. I thought for sure he’d have some wonderful story to report about how he had met this lady from China and that they had made a real connection and she would be visiting him and well…you know. No. on our way to baggage claim, he proceeded to tell me how she Like miss 22F behind me had gabbed non-stop from gate to gate about everything from her being courted by senior citizens and tenured professors on the internet to her father being a shrimp fisherman and her bout with indometriotis.. Yes, she spilled all her guts. She had made remarks like, “Can you believe that many of these men on the internet want to have sex with me?” and “would you like to see some Chinese money,” opening her wallet nice and wide to show the wad of cash she was carrying around. My co-worker gave her the friendly advice that she ought not do that when she’s out on the streets in America and that her carefree discussions about sex and very personal items would put many people off, and that he wished her well on her travels. He too looked very worn out from this marathon of ingesting information from ol’ Quynh. Poor guy. As if being tired and brain dead from the work wasn’t enough. I said a prayer for him...AND her.
Being that we were leaving Big D, there were no shortage of cowboys (rhinestone and otherwise) on board, hoopin’ and hollerin’ and carrying on in their little accents. It sounded like J.R and Bobby Ewing, and Cliff Barnes were 3 rows back, loud talkin’ about some business venture so that the whole damn plane could hear them. Luckily, they quieted down about 30 minutes in. I guess the screwdrivers and scotch and tonics started to take effect. Chatty Cathy sitting right behind me took the baton from them though. She talked the ear off of the poor guy sitting next to her. I couldn’t see him, but I can only imagine the internal struggle he must be going through trying to withstand her verbal onslaught. His face must hurt from trying to maintain the interested countenance that she probably requires at appropriate intervals as reassurance that she is saying something interesting (not that she probably cares or actually needs this at all, on second thought).
I felt for this guy. I thought about turning around to give him my Bose Quiet Comfort 3 noise cancelling head phones to drown her out, but…but then I wouldn’t have them, and I’d be able to hear her even more clearly. I had the music up LOUD and I could still hear her. Unbelievable. Oh to be able to read his thoughts.
If I make it out of here alive, I will never take a commercial flight ever again. I’ll develop a tic so that it will be very annoying for people to sit next to me and they’ll leave me alone. I’ll dress in a suit and wear dark sunglasses and an earpiece, incessantly adjusting its volume and speaking in code while I check my watch and scan the cabin for security breaches. I’ll play possum. Yeah, that’s it. I’ll just drop my head and fall into a deep slumber right here. I’ll double over at the waist, allowing my body to be supported only by the seatbelt. I
If I ever get out of here, I’ will indeed order those noise cancelling headphones that are in this here SkyMall magazine like that guy in the seat in front of me, looking so comfortable and relaxed and in his own little world. Forget headphones. I’m going to light firecrackers next to each ear so that hearing is no longer a problem. In fact, it will be no issue at all. Better yet, somebody please shoot me. Right here. Now. Save me! Put me out of my misery. I can feel my ears growing longer and longer as her shrilly voice continues on and on and on.
What is WRONG with this woman? She talks like she just learned how this morning and is trying to make up for 30 years of lost time—during this flight! She went to the bathroom and it took me a minute to realize that I could finally hear my music again. It was short lived. She didn’t even wait to sit down before starting back in. I bet she was talking all the way to the lavatory, probably engaging people down the aisle as she walked. Un-be-lievable! She’d give the most inquisitive 4 year old a run for their money. I’m going to write a letter to Bose. I want my money back. Well, maybe she’s just the rare case. Perhaps her voice is at a frequency that cuts through the wavelength of all the other sounds swirling around in here. Other than her voice, everything else is pretty much cancelled out. It could be worse though. I could be that guy. Poor guy. He should get some kind of medal for enduring all this. Maybe the flight attendants should give him some wings (or more appropriately some ears—like Mickey Ears or something) to pin on in recognition of his sacrifice. SOMEBODY had to sit by her.
After the flight I would learn that she was not even the worst offender in this category on the flight. My poor co-worker, who had to endure all of pain and turmoil that Northwest Ohio had to offer yesterday right along with me, sat by a lady named Quynh that was on her way from China to meet some 63-year old guy that had bought her a ticket from China to come see him in Pensacola. She was 27 and for some reason was really hard pressed to get out of China. When I saw them coming out of the jetway together I thought that he had made a new friend and maybe would get her phone number or something. “You old sly dog, you…” I thought.. I thought for sure he’d have some wonderful story to report about how he had met this lady from China and that they had made a real connection and she would be visiting him and well…you know. No. on our way to baggage claim, he proceeded to tell me how she Like miss 22F behind me had gabbed non-stop from gate to gate about everything from her being courted by senior citizens and tenured professors on the internet to her father being a shrimp fisherman and her bout with indometriotis.. Yes, she spilled all her guts. She had made remarks like, “Can you believe that many of these men on the internet want to have sex with me?” and “would you like to see some Chinese money,” opening her wallet nice and wide to show the wad of cash she was carrying around. My co-worker gave her the friendly advice that she ought not do that when she’s out on the streets in America and that her carefree discussions about sex and very personal items would put many people off, and that he wished her well on her travels. He too looked very worn out from this marathon of ingesting information from ol’ Quynh. Poor guy. As if being tired and brain dead from the work wasn’t enough. I said a prayer for him...AND her.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
My main man Murphy...
ME:What up, Murph? Where ya been, Dawg?
MURPH: Chillin’. Sup witchu?
Me: you know...nothin’…loungin’…hangin’ in there. Everything is everything.
Murph: Word.
This trip was supposed to be quick-in, quick-out as we planned to surprise and delight our customer, and leave with a purchase order in hand. On paper, it was a great plan. What could go wrong? That’s okay, I hadn’t touched base with my old pal Murph in awhile anyway. We needed to catch up. That used to be my dude! We were tight. But, you know how it is. Some friends, you have to love from a distance. I can do bad on my own. Murph’s an iiight cat, but, well, you know. He’s always got that dark cloud hangin’ over his head. Even if it’s 90 degrees with clear blue skies and you’ve got some money in your pocket, and you’ve got a job, and your belly is full, you can’t help but get a little uneasy when he shows up. He heard I was headed back to the Midwest again this week, and decided he might want to roll.
Murph: Yo…you got room? Is it cool? Can I roll?I’ll put in.
Me: Free country, Dawg. You sure you’re free? I thought you had some other places to be this week? There’s an election going on. It’s rivalry week. The Celtics are playing the Clippers. I know the folks in Tinseltown would love it if you gave them a hand. Especially with K.G. out and all. How was the Superbowl, by the way?
Murph: It was cool. I’m a little burnt though…all the hype n’ stuff. I need to get outta the spotlight for a minute. Ridgeville Corners sounds like a good place for a playa to cool out on the low-low.
Me: Yeah…. Whateva. You do your thing. I ‘m gonna be busy, so perhaps I’ll holla atcha later.
Murph: iiiight den…
What’s the worst that could happen? I’m going to be busy workin’ and he can find something to do. He’s a big boy. Besides, my gig was airtight. I had a tough time at this customer site a few weeks ago, but he had plenty of testing in between back at the office, and had set up the system back at the office. It worked. We put it in the box, and all we were going to do was un-box it and put it together at the customer’s site so that they could use it in their network. It was a foolproof plan on paper. On paper. Did I say that? Never mind that. It was going to work. I was even bringing backup . I had one of the guys that built the machine and wrote the code for it. I was a lock. I was as certain as death and taxes (and my jumpshot…well, not lately). I’m sittin’ here at 18-0 like Tom Brady, with Randy Moss by my side.
Murph: you think you’re NIIIIIICE today, huh? You know that saying about , ‘that’s why they play the games…'?
Me: (wink and a nod). I got this. Why you gotta bring that up? It worked last week in the office. We’re just plugging it in somewhere different.
Murph: In the words of NBA legend John Lucas, “It’s a lot different when dem lights come on, Hoss.”
Me: (cutting my eyes and sucking my teeth). You can chalk this one up. It’s a wrap.
Well, you already know about my challenges yesterday. Murph thought he had me, but I can hit the curve now. I worked hard and I keep my weight on my back foot. I can’t be had by no “okie doke”. Murph’s a funny dude though. Always up to something. He stood by idly as I got the exit row, but his poker face sold him out when I looked his direction when the flight was delayed.
Murph: What??? (shrugging)
The rain was a nice touch though. I had prepared for snow and bitter cold,. He made like a baby rattlesnake here though, unable to control the amount of venom packed in his punch. A little rain wouldn’t have been that big of a deal. After all, it was surprisingly about 60 degrees when I landed in Dayton. But this was 40 days and 40 nights style. Hertz should’ve rented me a 35 foot Bertram instead of a Taurus. Ohio just so happened to get the worst flooding they’ve had in years. And they had to get it THIS week! No biggie. It’s not like I’m going to be outside trying to get a tan. I’m not in wireless anymore. I won’t be on the roof of some tall building cursing each raindrop as it hits the back of my neck.
I gotta give it to him fo the alarm clock mis-hap too. We both just smiled about that one. My surprisingly cumbersome Motorola Q “smart” phone isn’t smart enough to adjust to the timezone when it comes online, like just about every other cell phone I’ve ever had, so when I set my alarm, it was still based on West Coast time. I woke up an hour late. It’s cool though. The hardest part of this day would be figuring out where to find a qualify meal for my celebratory dinner on the way back from this triumphant customer visit. I’d be in and out in no more than 3 hours. Shoot…I might even get a workout in at the hotel today. I could already smell the cork from the red wine as the waiter looked on awaiting my approval as I sat at the table with the white table cloth in my lap.
Me: (to no one in particular…just thinking aloud)Tom Brady…you’ve just won your 4th Superbowl…what are you gonna do now? I’m goin’ to Disneyland..
Murph: (in his best 1972 Miami Dolphins Running Back Mercury Morris impression) Don’t call when you’re in my neighborhood, call me when you get to my block. (and then laughing a sly laugh as he grinned his sly grin)
Fourteen is the new 3…hours that is, and it turns out that "wrap" comes from the Greek word for F.U.B.A.R. which was originally derived from the latin root for certainty which actually means totally the opposite of what you think it does. The flooding rain turned to snow. My white table cloth dinner with red wine turned to a charred (yeah, the lady at the 24hour truckstop Subway restaurant didn’t set the alarm on my toasted sandwich) sweet onion teriyaki sandwich with sun chips and orange juice at 145am. As if things couldn't get any worse, after driving 150 miles I arrived at my hotel where I would ring up charges of $117 for sleeping there a grand total of 2 hours and 35 minutes.
Me: iiight den, Murph. Holla atcha boy. (Translation: I’ll see you later, unless I see you first). Hey, you heard that one about 100 lawyers at the bottom of the ocean?
MURPH: Chillin’. Sup witchu?
Me: you know...nothin’…loungin’…hangin’ in there. Everything is everything.
Murph: Word.
This trip was supposed to be quick-in, quick-out as we planned to surprise and delight our customer, and leave with a purchase order in hand. On paper, it was a great plan. What could go wrong? That’s okay, I hadn’t touched base with my old pal Murph in awhile anyway. We needed to catch up. That used to be my dude! We were tight. But, you know how it is. Some friends, you have to love from a distance. I can do bad on my own. Murph’s an iiight cat, but, well, you know. He’s always got that dark cloud hangin’ over his head. Even if it’s 90 degrees with clear blue skies and you’ve got some money in your pocket, and you’ve got a job, and your belly is full, you can’t help but get a little uneasy when he shows up. He heard I was headed back to the Midwest again this week, and decided he might want to roll.
Murph: Yo…you got room? Is it cool? Can I roll?I’ll put in.
Me: Free country, Dawg. You sure you’re free? I thought you had some other places to be this week? There’s an election going on. It’s rivalry week. The Celtics are playing the Clippers. I know the folks in Tinseltown would love it if you gave them a hand. Especially with K.G. out and all. How was the Superbowl, by the way?
Murph: It was cool. I’m a little burnt though…all the hype n’ stuff. I need to get outta the spotlight for a minute. Ridgeville Corners sounds like a good place for a playa to cool out on the low-low.
Me: Yeah…. Whateva. You do your thing. I ‘m gonna be busy, so perhaps I’ll holla atcha later.
Murph: iiiight den…
What’s the worst that could happen? I’m going to be busy workin’ and he can find something to do. He’s a big boy. Besides, my gig was airtight. I had a tough time at this customer site a few weeks ago, but he had plenty of testing in between back at the office, and had set up the system back at the office. It worked. We put it in the box, and all we were going to do was un-box it and put it together at the customer’s site so that they could use it in their network. It was a foolproof plan on paper. On paper. Did I say that? Never mind that. It was going to work. I was even bringing backup . I had one of the guys that built the machine and wrote the code for it. I was a lock. I was as certain as death and taxes (and my jumpshot…well, not lately). I’m sittin’ here at 18-0 like Tom Brady, with Randy Moss by my side.
Murph: you think you’re NIIIIIICE today, huh? You know that saying about , ‘that’s why they play the games…'?
Me: (wink and a nod). I got this. Why you gotta bring that up? It worked last week in the office. We’re just plugging it in somewhere different.
Murph: In the words of NBA legend John Lucas, “It’s a lot different when dem lights come on, Hoss.”
Me: (cutting my eyes and sucking my teeth). You can chalk this one up. It’s a wrap.
Well, you already know about my challenges yesterday. Murph thought he had me, but I can hit the curve now. I worked hard and I keep my weight on my back foot. I can’t be had by no “okie doke”. Murph’s a funny dude though. Always up to something. He stood by idly as I got the exit row, but his poker face sold him out when I looked his direction when the flight was delayed.
Murph: What??? (shrugging)
The rain was a nice touch though. I had prepared for snow and bitter cold,. He made like a baby rattlesnake here though, unable to control the amount of venom packed in his punch. A little rain wouldn’t have been that big of a deal. After all, it was surprisingly about 60 degrees when I landed in Dayton. But this was 40 days and 40 nights style. Hertz should’ve rented me a 35 foot Bertram instead of a Taurus. Ohio just so happened to get the worst flooding they’ve had in years. And they had to get it THIS week! No biggie. It’s not like I’m going to be outside trying to get a tan. I’m not in wireless anymore. I won’t be on the roof of some tall building cursing each raindrop as it hits the back of my neck.
I gotta give it to him fo the alarm clock mis-hap too. We both just smiled about that one. My surprisingly cumbersome Motorola Q “smart” phone isn’t smart enough to adjust to the timezone when it comes online, like just about every other cell phone I’ve ever had, so when I set my alarm, it was still based on West Coast time. I woke up an hour late. It’s cool though. The hardest part of this day would be figuring out where to find a qualify meal for my celebratory dinner on the way back from this triumphant customer visit. I’d be in and out in no more than 3 hours. Shoot…I might even get a workout in at the hotel today. I could already smell the cork from the red wine as the waiter looked on awaiting my approval as I sat at the table with the white table cloth in my lap.
Me: (to no one in particular…just thinking aloud)Tom Brady…you’ve just won your 4th Superbowl…what are you gonna do now? I’m goin’ to Disneyland..
Murph: (in his best 1972 Miami Dolphins Running Back Mercury Morris impression) Don’t call when you’re in my neighborhood, call me when you get to my block. (and then laughing a sly laugh as he grinned his sly grin)
Fourteen is the new 3…hours that is, and it turns out that "wrap" comes from the Greek word for F.U.B.A.R. which was originally derived from the latin root for certainty which actually means totally the opposite of what you think it does. The flooding rain turned to snow. My white table cloth dinner with red wine turned to a charred (yeah, the lady at the 24hour truckstop Subway restaurant didn’t set the alarm on my toasted sandwich) sweet onion teriyaki sandwich with sun chips and orange juice at 145am. As if things couldn't get any worse, after driving 150 miles I arrived at my hotel where I would ring up charges of $117 for sleeping there a grand total of 2 hours and 35 minutes.
Me: iiight den, Murph. Holla atcha boy. (Translation: I’ll see you later, unless I see you first). Hey, you heard that one about 100 lawyers at the bottom of the ocean?
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Thoughts from 35,000 feet...
It’s 9:47pm EST and I’m in seat 21A of American Airlines flight 658 from Dallas to Dayton. My lower back is reminding me that I’ve got to look into acupuncture or give up basketball (neither of which I’m terribly likely to do at this juncture), as sharp pains have been the order of the day. What an important day it has been. Not only is it Super Tuesday but also Fat Tuesday. Imagine that, having such a profound Tuesday right on the heels of Super Sunday. Just in case you didn’t discuss the subject with me at any point during the last 2 weeks, I had two feet firmly planted in the camp (population= me) that subscribed to the theory that Eli Manning would have the game of his life. In fact, Eli was Hickory High and fought like one of William Wallace’s Warrior Poets all in one fell swoop.
I’m listening to the Roots on my QC-3’s right now wondering how Super Tuesday turned out. (I’ll go out on a limb and make the assumption that Fat Tuesday’s debauchery and drunken foolishness went off without a hitch). I caught a glimpse of CNN on one of the TV’s near gate A10 at DFW, and it looked like My Mellow, My Man, Barack Obama had emerged victorious in Georgia, and that there were about 10 states whose polls were scheduled to close shortly. On the Republican side, it looked like Huckabee had also done well down there. The Republican campaign seems a bit like the National League West right now. No one is really paying attention. It gets no “pub” on Sportscenter as its level of play is seen as second rate. It’s almost like the D-League at this point. But I’m sure GOP will try to bring it strong down the stretch when the “playoffs” start in June. I narrowly got my vote in this morning, skirting obstacles at every turn.
I made it to the gym at 630am this morning, lifted weights, did a lil’ ab work (very little) and then went to the yoga class. I usual, I had all sorts of things planned prior to my mid-morning flight from SFO. Some might think I’m crazy for trying to cram so much into this minimal amount of time especially when the potential for missing a flight is at stake, but I’ve got this down to a science. I’ve done this so many times, that I pretty much know it’s going to take about 26 minutes to get to the Park n’ Fly lot near SFO, even during the morning commute. I know that, aboard the Park n’ Fly shuttle, it takes about 6 minutes to get to the terminal from the lot, and that since it’s not 8am, the lines to check in and get through security are not going to be terribly imposing. I got home from the gym about 835am and decided whip up some oatmeal right quick before getting on my way. I wanted to get one last good meal in before a day full of airport fast food and small-town, low-scale eateries attempt to do their work on my arteries. Besides, most of you know that I’m no fun to be around on an empty stomach.
Even though Oatmeal takes only about 5 minutes to cook, it is very deceptive in its abilities to consume extra time as it cools down. I had misplaced my absentee ballot and finally found it late last night, so I’d have to add a trip to the County Registrar’s office on 12th and Fallon to my list for the morning, so that I could submit my vote. No problem right? That’s not far from the house at all. Well, for some reason there was significant construction project taking place on 12th street taking it down to one lane for a couple blocks. There’s something going on…there’s something going on….
I had started to take 14th, but decided against all of its stop lights, although in retrospect it would’ve been a much better move. Of course there was no place to park at the Registrar’s Office which resides in the courthouse, but I thought I’d just be running in and running out, so I parked illegally in a spot marked OFFICIAL VEHICLES ONLY. I jumped out of my car so fast that I almost didn’t notice that I had not put the car all the way in Park, stopping instead a notch short in Neutral. My car started to roll backward down the hill as soon as I shut the door. But I remained calm, opening the door again and jumping into my moving chariot, and quickly applying the brakes. Out again, I sprinted up the steps and around the side of the building where the entrance was, out of the corner of my eye noticing the cop writing tickets at the other end of the block. The line to get into the courthouse was waaaaaaaaaaay too long, so I did an about face and sprinted back to my car where said officer was standing as he reached for the pad of tickets on his right hip. “Whoa WHOA Whoa whoa…,” I pleaded with him, assuring him that I was moving. In what was one of those once in a lifetime type situations, he said, “You’re lucky,” and put the pad away. I thanked him and tried to figure out how I would get my vote in. I HAD to vote. People died back in the day so that I could vote, and that was way before we had a brotha runnin’ for president. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I hadn’t put my stamp on this election.
I think best under pressure. I dipped over to the main post office on 7th street. Even though it clearly states that postmarks that said February 5th would not be sufficient for absentee ballots, I knew I’d have a shot if I got to this post office soon enough. The sista at the counter assured me that the postal carrier for that route told her that he would be back for a second run and would definitely deliver my ballot, and likely before noon. I proceeded to walk back to my car and then continue on my trip to the airport. Did I mention that I was out of gas? I had forgotten to get gas yesterday, and now the gas gauge needle was resting quite comfortably on the E. If I get caught in some traffic or if my calculations of the mileage weren’t quite right, my car might give me the silent treatment. I pleaded with it. “Don’t you know what you mean to me???”
Well, I made it. Somebody remind me to get some gas on my way home on Thursday. I enjoyed a lazy afternoon in a non-reclining exit row seat, drifting in and out of uncomfortable sleep. I spent about 2 hours longer than planned at DFW as the monitors were lit up with delays all the way down the board. Well, that’s the end of The Lesson for today, boy’s and girls.
I’m listening to the Roots on my QC-3’s right now wondering how Super Tuesday turned out. (I’ll go out on a limb and make the assumption that Fat Tuesday’s debauchery and drunken foolishness went off without a hitch). I caught a glimpse of CNN on one of the TV’s near gate A10 at DFW, and it looked like My Mellow, My Man, Barack Obama had emerged victorious in Georgia, and that there were about 10 states whose polls were scheduled to close shortly. On the Republican side, it looked like Huckabee had also done well down there. The Republican campaign seems a bit like the National League West right now. No one is really paying attention. It gets no “pub” on Sportscenter as its level of play is seen as second rate. It’s almost like the D-League at this point. But I’m sure GOP will try to bring it strong down the stretch when the “playoffs” start in June. I narrowly got my vote in this morning, skirting obstacles at every turn.
I made it to the gym at 630am this morning, lifted weights, did a lil’ ab work (very little) and then went to the yoga class. I usual, I had all sorts of things planned prior to my mid-morning flight from SFO. Some might think I’m crazy for trying to cram so much into this minimal amount of time especially when the potential for missing a flight is at stake, but I’ve got this down to a science. I’ve done this so many times, that I pretty much know it’s going to take about 26 minutes to get to the Park n’ Fly lot near SFO, even during the morning commute. I know that, aboard the Park n’ Fly shuttle, it takes about 6 minutes to get to the terminal from the lot, and that since it’s not 8am, the lines to check in and get through security are not going to be terribly imposing. I got home from the gym about 835am and decided whip up some oatmeal right quick before getting on my way. I wanted to get one last good meal in before a day full of airport fast food and small-town, low-scale eateries attempt to do their work on my arteries. Besides, most of you know that I’m no fun to be around on an empty stomach.
Even though Oatmeal takes only about 5 minutes to cook, it is very deceptive in its abilities to consume extra time as it cools down. I had misplaced my absentee ballot and finally found it late last night, so I’d have to add a trip to the County Registrar’s office on 12th and Fallon to my list for the morning, so that I could submit my vote. No problem right? That’s not far from the house at all. Well, for some reason there was significant construction project taking place on 12th street taking it down to one lane for a couple blocks. There’s something going on…there’s something going on….
I had started to take 14th, but decided against all of its stop lights, although in retrospect it would’ve been a much better move. Of course there was no place to park at the Registrar’s Office which resides in the courthouse, but I thought I’d just be running in and running out, so I parked illegally in a spot marked OFFICIAL VEHICLES ONLY. I jumped out of my car so fast that I almost didn’t notice that I had not put the car all the way in Park, stopping instead a notch short in Neutral. My car started to roll backward down the hill as soon as I shut the door. But I remained calm, opening the door again and jumping into my moving chariot, and quickly applying the brakes. Out again, I sprinted up the steps and around the side of the building where the entrance was, out of the corner of my eye noticing the cop writing tickets at the other end of the block. The line to get into the courthouse was waaaaaaaaaaay too long, so I did an about face and sprinted back to my car where said officer was standing as he reached for the pad of tickets on his right hip. “Whoa WHOA Whoa whoa…,” I pleaded with him, assuring him that I was moving. In what was one of those once in a lifetime type situations, he said, “You’re lucky,” and put the pad away. I thanked him and tried to figure out how I would get my vote in. I HAD to vote. People died back in the day so that I could vote, and that was way before we had a brotha runnin’ for president. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I hadn’t put my stamp on this election.
I think best under pressure. I dipped over to the main post office on 7th street. Even though it clearly states that postmarks that said February 5th would not be sufficient for absentee ballots, I knew I’d have a shot if I got to this post office soon enough. The sista at the counter assured me that the postal carrier for that route told her that he would be back for a second run and would definitely deliver my ballot, and likely before noon. I proceeded to walk back to my car and then continue on my trip to the airport. Did I mention that I was out of gas? I had forgotten to get gas yesterday, and now the gas gauge needle was resting quite comfortably on the E. If I get caught in some traffic or if my calculations of the mileage weren’t quite right, my car might give me the silent treatment. I pleaded with it. “Don’t you know what you mean to me???”
Well, I made it. Somebody remind me to get some gas on my way home on Thursday. I enjoyed a lazy afternoon in a non-reclining exit row seat, drifting in and out of uncomfortable sleep. I spent about 2 hours longer than planned at DFW as the monitors were lit up with delays all the way down the board. Well, that’s the end of The Lesson for today, boy’s and girls.
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