Where the hell is everybody?
Suddenly, I'm alone with my thoughts. I'm looking at the buddy list of the IM program on the left side of my screen; everybody's offline. What are the chances of that happening? I'm looking at the list window of the IM program on the right side of my screen; "mdgradyfl," a co-worker, is online, but "Away." I try her anyway, and the cyber-brushoff comes back, "Auto-reply: I am away from my computer right now."

The kids are asleep. The wife is in bed with a head cold. It's 9:50 p.m. EDT and everybody who I might call is in bed or headed that way soon. I'm not a big phone guy anyway, so I'd only resort to that as a last option.

But I'm suddenly having a night where I don't really want to be alone with my thoughts. I don't have anything particularly profound to share, really; I'm frankly a hell of a lot more interested in what you're thinking. I know what I think, although it helps me sometimes to bounce it off a few other people to make sure I really think it.

But I'm inspired by knowing what you think. My thoughts are more complete when they're enhanced by the thoughts of other people.

I've been seriously considering the idea of launching another forum, a collaborative in which people can expound on their places in the world through any medium necessary: words, shapes, colors, sounds, photography. I know an awful lot of people all across the country who are incredibly creative, but who are getting paid for something other than their creativity. I'm one of those people. I need an outlet, but more important, I need to know it's not just going into a vacuum.

If you'd be interested in contributing to such a thing, let me know. There's nothing in it for you but the chance to share your thoughts and feelings and skills with a few other people who would be incredibly supportive. I'm sure there's some value in that.

Wherever I go, there I am
The idea goes something like this: Write a little bit about your place in the world. How you got there, why you're there, why you won't leave, why you would leave.

I've been thinking about this sort of thing quite a bit lately. I've had a run of "How did I get here?" moments in the last month or so. How did I come to be driving a Lincoln Town Car down Washington Highway 16 with Mount Rainier looming in the sunrise? How did I come to be getting out of that Lincoln Town Car and into a first-class seat on a cross-country flight? How did I come to be eating on the roof of the Hotel Washington, looking down at the snipers (at least we thought they were the snipers) perched atop the White House? How did I come to be speaking Danish while drinking Czech beer in a bar in Washington, D.C.? How did I come to be living in a 2,400-square-foot house with a tall, beautiful, fun wife and three kids who are already smarter and funnier than me?

See, this story started out to be a story about geography; how a guy from Anytown, USA, could wind up on the west coast of Florida via Cincinnati, Orlando, Texas and Orlando again. How a guy who didn't cross the Missouri state line until he was 12 and who didn't own a home computer until 1999 could find himself jetting all over the country, telling people how to use their computer systems.

It's been a strange run, and I'm wondering how I got here.

For the first time in my entire life, I'm not wondering what's next.

This could be because I'm fast approaching my 36th birthday. The line marking "old" is now behind me, at least by my standards.

This could be because I actually enjoy what I'm doing now, something new and fun and challenging (and at the same time frustrating and frightening). I'm learning a lot about a subject in which I'm intensely interested, and I'm getting paid. Kind of feels like I'm beating the system.

This could be because I don't really care what's next; because I'm trying to milk the very most out of right now.

This could be because what's next kind of scares me. I'm closer to 40 than I am to 30. Like it or not, the clock is ticking. Forty years from now, there's a very good chance I'll be dead.

Yeah, that's kind of a blunt way to put it. But that's kind of my point. The end comes eventually. When my end comes, I'll be ready to answer the question, "What did you do with your life?" in the following way:

I did whatever I wanted to do.

They say happiness is wanting what you have, not having what you want, or something like that. I don't claim to know what happiness is. That's for greater minds than mine to decide. But right now, I'm doing what I want to do. I'm living the life I want to live with the people with whom I want to live it.

How did I get here?

It doesn't really matter, as long as I'm where I want to be. And I am.

Kick in the behind
It has been brought to my attention that I've been a really crappy friend lately. I've already apologized personally. I'm now apologizing generally. I'll try to do better.

The best songs ever
Some of these probably don't appear on too many others' lists of "best songs ever." Some of them you've probably never heard. Some of them are not even on my usual list of favorite songs. But, my memory having been jogged by having heard one of these songs yesterday for the first time in a long time, I offer you a list, not ranked in any order, of what I believe to be the greatest pieces of modern songwriting.

"Don't Stand So Close To Me," The Police: You know this girl. And this man. Every time I hear this song, I get a really clear mental picture of a cold, rainy day in the mid-1980s at Central High School in my hometown. The girl is standing in the rain on Benton Avenue, waiting for the teacher to stop and pick her up. His car, after all, is warm and dry.

"Downstream," The Rainmakers: One of the best second verses of all time can be found in this song.

Well, we picked up Harry Truman
floating down from Indepedence
We said "What about the War?"
He said, "Good riddance"
We said, "What about the bomb?
Are you sorry that you did it?"
He said, "Pass me that bottle
and mind your own bidness"

The song weaves 20th-century history through a float trip down the Mississippi with Missouri historical heroes Mark Twain, Truman and Chuck Berry. You're not going to find many songs with Mark Twain, Truman and Chuck Berry playing starring roles. Plus, I love songs that are musically simple, and it doesn't get much more simple than F-sharp, F-sharp (rest) B-F-sharp. And, this band's drummer has my e-mail address. Nobody else who appeared on MTV in the 1980s has ever sent me e-mail.

"Freebird," Lynyrd Skynyrd. Go ahead, laugh at me. And then go find me a song that connects better with its intended audience.

"Where Were You When the World Stopped Turning," Alan Jackson. Major tragic historical events are fertile breeding grounds for maudlin or jingoistic tunes, sappy songs about heroes and Go-America-Kick-Some-Ass rockers that instantly vault to No. 1 despite being complete crap. This song was the exception: A song that captured what all of us thought at one time or another in the immediate aftermath of Sept. 11, 2001, and did so without being overdramatic. I love a song that tugs at the heartstrings without intending to do so.

"Seminole Wind," John Anderson. You have to 1/have lived in Florida and 2/know that John Anderson was born in Florida to fully appreciate this love song to his home state.

Your turn.

May you have a day as good as this one
It started ominously, late Monday night, with a call from the wife at 11 p.m. PDT, which was 2 a.m. at the computer screen at which she was sitting. She was calling to tell me about the wonders of online shopping, in which, at 2 a.m., one could decide to send flowers to one's grandmother and nobody batted an eye.

Well, American Express batted an eye. American Express wouldn't let her send flowers at 2 a.m.

This did not bode well for me, because I was 2,600 miles from home with our American Express as my only financial instrument.

A glitch between our bank and American Express had rendered my only financial instrument temporarily useless. The problem would be fixed, but it couldn't be fixed until the American Express offices opened at 5 a.m. PDT. My problem was that I had to check out of my hotel room at 4:30 a.m., drive 63 miles from our customer site to Seattle, and return a rental car on which the trip computer read, "47 MILES TO EMPTY" in time to catch my 7 a.m. flight.

But, of course, I had nothing to worry about.

I checked out of the hotel promptly at 4:30 a.m., ready to try to explain away the American Express issue. The desk clerk said, "We're in the process of our night audit ... can we just mail you a receipt?" Why, yes, you can.

At the gas station, I managed to find $3 in singles and change at the bottom of my bag. In my wallet, however, I found a credit card that I thought I had forgotten to bring. It doesn't have much on it, but it had enough to get me enough gas to get to Seattle.

At the airport, I was prepared to deal with Hertz and the American Express. Instead, I got, "Our computers are down. Can we mail you a receipt?" Why, yes, you can.

Along the way, I saw Mount Rainier at sunrise, a sight that was too beautiful to put into words.

Along the way, Delta Air Lines' computers gave me my first free first-class upgrade as a Medallion member.

And at the end of my journey, The Wife was looking as beautiful as ever, the mini-humans were as loud and as fun as ever, and I am home.

Long time gone
The worst thing about letting this forum go stale for too long is trying to re-start it again. Not because there's nothing happening; far from it, in fact. The problem is: Where the hell do I start? So many topics:

We've moved -- one more time -- in pursuit of Home. We like where we've landed, certainly. We're now sharing a city with the Stanley Cup Champions, for what that's worth ...

My new job -- which by this time is not so new anymore -- both fascinates and stymies me. It's a lot more like the real world than my newspaper jobs ever were, which is both bad and good. I'm learning a lot and getting from it what I want to get from it, both in knowledge and in fringe benefits (for instance, I just qualified for Silver Medallion status on Delta. First class, here I come.) ...

I'm in the Pacific Northwest one more time, fine-tuning a project that didn't get off to the flying start the company hoped it would have. It wasn't a disaster, but we were looking for better; so I'm here with a Danish co-worker (meeting yet another Danish co-worker) trying to make it better. At this point, I'm actually capable of helping. That's a good thing.

I'm going to have to miss the Party of the Year (I refer you to the link to A Night in South Carolina in the links list at right, because I'm too lazy to add the link here) because I'll be at a trade show next weekend in Washington, D.C.

I miss my wife and kids and house. I enjoy the travel part of traveling; it's the not-being-at-home part that sucks.

But really, the question is: Do you have any real interest in hearing any more about any of that stuff? Probably not.

So I search for something instead in which you might be interested. The search so far is proving futile. I can't imagine you care about what I think about Ronald Reagan's death (enough coverage, already!) or the NBA Finals (maybe a 12-second shot clock might be a better idea, not that it would help the Lakers any) or the current state of the media industry (I'm certainly enjoying the hell out of looking at it from the outsider's point of view; it's a lot less scary.)

Then, it occurs to me that this is my forum, not yours. I'm not supposed to care what you think. I'm supposed to articulate my thoughts and present them in the written word as a catharsis for myself, not as some sort of weak source of entertainment for you. This is supposed to be All About Me.

But there's something empty and selfish in that, and I certainly don't want to be empty and selfish, especially not on your time.

Now you see my quandary. Help me through it.