LAS VEGAS -- What's the first thing you see when you emerge from that jetway into McCarran International Airport?
Slot machines. Of course.
Now I don't mean like, "Well, it wasn't exactly the first thing I saw -- that was the gate agent's butt -- but it was the first thing I actually noticed." The First Thing I Saw was the slot machines.
And not just one or two, like you see with those video poker machines in convenience stores in Louisiana. Hundreds of slot machines, right there at the gate. Come on, man. Leave some of your money here. What comes to Vegas stays in Vegas, if it came here in your wallet.
(And, I'm guessing, that voice might be exactly why Otis stopped carrying a wallet.)
Anyway ...
I walked. After all, it's just an airport, just like the 60 or so other airports I've trudged through in the last four years, right?
So I trudged. Down in baggage claim, billboards. Huge billboards. Come on, man. Come see our show. Penn & Teller, man; who can resist Penn & Teller? Tickets start at $74.95. Toni Braxton, Rita Rudner, Celine freakin' Dion ... and aren't Celine Dion and Toni Braxton a little young to already be sentenced to Vegas? I thought that's where obsolete performers went to die. I'm certainly not arguing Toni Braxton's obsolescence, but I thought there was an age minimum.
I'm here for business. Have a meeting tomorrow, home Friday morning. I'm not here for fun; I'm not here to drop a huge wad of cash in hopes of becoming really rich. I'm not here to drink myself to death.
I'm staying in a hotel way, way off the Strip. However, as it turns out, if I wanted to have fun, lose a lot of money and look for somebody to be Elisabeth Shue to my Nicolas Cage, I could do so. Right here.
I purposely did very little pre-trip research before this, my first trip to Vegas. So imagine my surprise to discover that my hotel has a casino right here. And a liquor store, right here. Dammit, that voice again: Come on, man; get the fuck off that computer and come downstairs. It's only 11:33 p.m. here, and really, what is time, anyway? Give us some of your money.
Well, my body and my computer think it's 2:34 a.m. I have to be in front of customers tomorrow. I have to be coherent. I have to go to bed.
Tonight, anyway.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
We're all gonna be 40 soon -- but you're first
Insomnia sucks, but it gives me an opportunity to make note (once again) of the Young Daughter's seventh birthday. (At one point in the evening, when she felt like someone else in the house was getting a little too much attention, she said to no one in particular, "Don't you have something to say to me?" Yeah, kid, nobody has said "happy birthday" to you in the last five minutes. Sorry about that.)
The crushing inability to sleep also, however, gives me a chance to say happy birthday to my friend TLC -- who is the first of my high school classmates (at least, the first of the ones who matter) to turn 40.
(The dateline above suggests I'm a day late. Screw that. As I write this, it's still Oct. 23 in her time zone.)
She was the first to get a driver's license; she was the first to turn 21; and now, she's the first to peek behind the door of the Fifth Decade. Which makes her Older than Us. But not much.
Ain't nothin' but a number, y'all. Happy birthday, TLC.
The crushing inability to sleep also, however, gives me a chance to say happy birthday to my friend TLC -- who is the first of my high school classmates (at least, the first of the ones who matter) to turn 40.
(The dateline above suggests I'm a day late. Screw that. As I write this, it's still Oct. 23 in her time zone.)
She was the first to get a driver's license; she was the first to turn 21; and now, she's the first to peek behind the door of the Fifth Decade. Which makes her Older than Us. But not much.
Ain't nothin' but a number, y'all. Happy birthday, TLC.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Sunday, October 21, 2007
It's been a long time
October 2001 was a long, long time ago. Since then:
* I've moved from one major metropolitan area to another, then another yet.
* I've executed a career slingshot -- took a small step backward that led indirectly to a huge step forward.
* I've watched three Mini-Humans grow from tiny little semi-functioning beings into full-fledged children. Back then, the oldest of them was 7. In two days, the youngest of them will be 7. The oldest is now a teenager.
A lot of things have changed since I banged in that first post at my desk at the Very Large Metropolitan Newspaper, the one with the cubicle where the window looked out on the concrete jungle of the nation's eighth-largest city.
I type this post looking out into my backyard, with the towering playset and the big pool. The girl who "celebrated" her first birthday in rather dubious fashion during that first month of this forum -- by learning that she has a neurological disease -- is now 7, outwardly perfectly healthy, and interrupting my typing every few words with some other question.
In the last six years, my two remaining grandparents have died. My father was diagnosed and has largely beaten colon cancer. The last remaining member of my mother's immediate family passed on. My sister had a baby and got married, in that order, after years of quiet desperation.
The original inspiration for this forum left his cubicle for things I suspect even he can't yet fully comprehend; a chance to become fully immersed in something he dearly loves. I've sensed a bit of "Be Careful What You Wish For" in some of his writing. I've had that thought more than a few times myself over the last 2,191 days.
Sitting here this morning, I've come to realize this: "Careful" people don't ever find what they want. They're too busy being careful. A "careful" quarterback racks up a 70-percent completion rating but never makes a big play. A "careful" politician can hold on to his seat for 35 years without ever having an accomplishment with his name next to it. A "careful" mom raises perfectly average kids.
Screw being careful. Throw that long pass, quit that job, say something that people aren't going to agree with, and write it all down so you can refer back to it later or perhaps help somebody else through a similar situation. That's what I've learned since 2001. And I've learned it largely through expressing myself in this forum, and through following others through similar forums along the way.
It's important to learn. It's important to share. Thanks to all of y'all for sharing with me.
--
I noted in yesterday's post that there is nothing else in my life that is six years old or more, other than my wife and children. There is some truth to that. I have one prized possession that predates 2001: A black-and-white Telecaster, purchased with my first paycheck as a full-time sports writer in 1988.
I'm a big fan of committing to things that matter. I made a commitment to a young woman in the fall of 1990. Now I'm growing old with her. (Odd how she isn't growing old; it's just me. How the hell does that happen?) It has been everything for which I could have possibly hoped: To spend my life with a beautiful woman with charm, energy, intelligence, and wit.
The story of Us makes little sense to those who were not a part of it (i.e., everybody but her and me.) I've tried to recount it here in the past, but the story transcends the words available to me to tell it.
Over the course of the six years of writing stuff down here, we've moved from Years 11 to 17, which I guess aren't exactly milestone years. But know this: Every day is a milestone, and for me, every day is another day in which I'm getting better than I deserve.
That's what wakes me up every day. That's what makes me want to write it down. Can't wait to see what happens next.
* I've moved from one major metropolitan area to another, then another yet.
* I've executed a career slingshot -- took a small step backward that led indirectly to a huge step forward.
* I've watched three Mini-Humans grow from tiny little semi-functioning beings into full-fledged children. Back then, the oldest of them was 7. In two days, the youngest of them will be 7. The oldest is now a teenager.
A lot of things have changed since I banged in that first post at my desk at the Very Large Metropolitan Newspaper, the one with the cubicle where the window looked out on the concrete jungle of the nation's eighth-largest city.
I type this post looking out into my backyard, with the towering playset and the big pool. The girl who "celebrated" her first birthday in rather dubious fashion during that first month of this forum -- by learning that she has a neurological disease -- is now 7, outwardly perfectly healthy, and interrupting my typing every few words with some other question.
In the last six years, my two remaining grandparents have died. My father was diagnosed and has largely beaten colon cancer. The last remaining member of my mother's immediate family passed on. My sister had a baby and got married, in that order, after years of quiet desperation.
The original inspiration for this forum left his cubicle for things I suspect even he can't yet fully comprehend; a chance to become fully immersed in something he dearly loves. I've sensed a bit of "Be Careful What You Wish For" in some of his writing. I've had that thought more than a few times myself over the last 2,191 days.
Sitting here this morning, I've come to realize this: "Careful" people don't ever find what they want. They're too busy being careful. A "careful" quarterback racks up a 70-percent completion rating but never makes a big play. A "careful" politician can hold on to his seat for 35 years without ever having an accomplishment with his name next to it. A "careful" mom raises perfectly average kids.
Screw being careful. Throw that long pass, quit that job, say something that people aren't going to agree with, and write it all down so you can refer back to it later or perhaps help somebody else through a similar situation. That's what I've learned since 2001. And I've learned it largely through expressing myself in this forum, and through following others through similar forums along the way.
It's important to learn. It's important to share. Thanks to all of y'all for sharing with me.
--
I noted in yesterday's post that there is nothing else in my life that is six years old or more, other than my wife and children. There is some truth to that. I have one prized possession that predates 2001: A black-and-white Telecaster, purchased with my first paycheck as a full-time sports writer in 1988.
I'm a big fan of committing to things that matter. I made a commitment to a young woman in the fall of 1990. Now I'm growing old with her. (Odd how she isn't growing old; it's just me. How the hell does that happen?) It has been everything for which I could have possibly hoped: To spend my life with a beautiful woman with charm, energy, intelligence, and wit.
The story of Us makes little sense to those who were not a part of it (i.e., everybody but her and me.) I've tried to recount it here in the past, but the story transcends the words available to me to tell it.
Over the course of the six years of writing stuff down here, we've moved from Years 11 to 17, which I guess aren't exactly milestone years. But know this: Every day is a milestone, and for me, every day is another day in which I'm getting better than I deserve.
That's what wakes me up every day. That's what makes me want to write it down. Can't wait to see what happens next.
A major victory for the First Amendment
In Arizona. And a reminder: If we don't protect the First Amendment, none of the others matter. The fuel that powers a democracy is the free press.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Greenville to Baton Rouge ...
... 30 years ago today, the real Day the Music Died. Obligatory story from the hometown paper.
Clearing the cobwebs
See, the problem is, that when I have good subject matter with which to work and still find a way to make it boring, that’s when I start to think I don’t know how to do this anymore. Some people – real professionals – would say "you have to write through it," the same way a major-league hitter would try to get out of a slump. And that might work. But instead, I just crawl into a shell, try to grab on to something else that’s out there, and try to find my inspiration that way. And oddly, it never works.
I’ve had some great subject matter with which to work over the last several weeks.
I had an anniversary celebration that was straight out of the dream. It is still a bit overwhelming to think about, to try to wrap my mind about how I am blessed so far beyond what I deserve. She knows that too. I am. That’s a good thing.
--
See, the problem is, I have this long, long, long list of things I should do. I should eat better. I should exercise more. I should write more. I should focus on one task at a time at work, rather than let myself be distracted by all the stuff going on around me. I should do more stuff around the house. I should do a lot of things. I don’t do very many of them. I find this frustrating. Sometimes it’s just as hard to be me as it is to deal with me. I hate that.
--
There are things, however, I really like. Randomly:
-- Single-malt Scotch. A group of like-minded co-workers holds a monthly Scotch-and-cigar fest. One of those guys, G, is way more into it than, well, most people. He’s been choosing the distilling region and doing hours of research on the best whiskies from that region. He provides a long list of recommendations, and he and the rest of us buy a different bottle from that list to sample. We’ve been through the Islay, Speyside and Highland malts. The favorite so far, to my palate: the Speysides, authoritative drinks which pack a gentle wallop.
-- My dry cleaner. They lost a shirt of mine a few weeks ago – a shirt I had never worn. I am probably the only person who has had that happen to him twice in his life. (Yes, 15 years ago, another dry cleaner did the very same thing – lost a shirt I had never worn.) This one had a happier ending, though; two days later, they found the shirt. But that’s not why I like these people. I like these people because Martina behind the counter calls me by my name, knows my starch preferences, and has my clothes hanging for me before I even come in the door because she knows my car. That, friends, is good customer service, and there are few things I like better.
-- My son’s swimming coach. She’s incredibly good with a bunch of hard-to-control 8-year-olds. She’s in her early 20s, and is studying to be an elementary school teacher. She’s going to be a really good one.
-- New toys. One of the joys of my job is getting fresh technology and not having to pay for it. My latest new toy: a T-Mobile Dash. Nice to have a QWERTY keyboard again. I’d much rather use Windows Mobile than a Blackberry or Treo, and this device adds the bonus of being a really nice, clear phone. The great thing: About the time I get bored with it, some new device will show up on my desk. That rocks.
--
Today’s main event: The Young Daughter turns 7 on Tuesday. Her party is today. The Wife found a local firm that is putting together a princess party from start to finish. All we have to bring is the juice boxes. This should be fun.
--
If the Young Daughter is turning 7, that means this forum is turning 6. The only other thing that I’ve stuck with for six years or more is my marriage. In my adult life, I’ve never driven a car, lived in one place or held a job title for six years. Like so many other things in my life, I don’t treat this forum as well as I should. But I’m glad it has stuck with me for all this time; and I’m glad you have stuck with me. I’ll put this on the list of things that I should do better, and I’ll start attacking that list.
I’ve had some great subject matter with which to work over the last several weeks.
I had an anniversary celebration that was straight out of the dream. It is still a bit overwhelming to think about, to try to wrap my mind about how I am blessed so far beyond what I deserve. She knows that too. I am. That’s a good thing.
--
See, the problem is, I have this long, long, long list of things I should do. I should eat better. I should exercise more. I should write more. I should focus on one task at a time at work, rather than let myself be distracted by all the stuff going on around me. I should do more stuff around the house. I should do a lot of things. I don’t do very many of them. I find this frustrating. Sometimes it’s just as hard to be me as it is to deal with me. I hate that.
--
There are things, however, I really like. Randomly:
-- Single-malt Scotch. A group of like-minded co-workers holds a monthly Scotch-and-cigar fest. One of those guys, G, is way more into it than, well, most people. He’s been choosing the distilling region and doing hours of research on the best whiskies from that region. He provides a long list of recommendations, and he and the rest of us buy a different bottle from that list to sample. We’ve been through the Islay, Speyside and Highland malts. The favorite so far, to my palate: the Speysides, authoritative drinks which pack a gentle wallop.
-- My dry cleaner. They lost a shirt of mine a few weeks ago – a shirt I had never worn. I am probably the only person who has had that happen to him twice in his life. (Yes, 15 years ago, another dry cleaner did the very same thing – lost a shirt I had never worn.) This one had a happier ending, though; two days later, they found the shirt. But that’s not why I like these people. I like these people because Martina behind the counter calls me by my name, knows my starch preferences, and has my clothes hanging for me before I even come in the door because she knows my car. That, friends, is good customer service, and there are few things I like better.
-- My son’s swimming coach. She’s incredibly good with a bunch of hard-to-control 8-year-olds. She’s in her early 20s, and is studying to be an elementary school teacher. She’s going to be a really good one.
-- New toys. One of the joys of my job is getting fresh technology and not having to pay for it. My latest new toy: a T-Mobile Dash. Nice to have a QWERTY keyboard again. I’d much rather use Windows Mobile than a Blackberry or Treo, and this device adds the bonus of being a really nice, clear phone. The great thing: About the time I get bored with it, some new device will show up on my desk. That rocks.
--
Today’s main event: The Young Daughter turns 7 on Tuesday. Her party is today. The Wife found a local firm that is putting together a princess party from start to finish. All we have to bring is the juice boxes. This should be fun.
--
If the Young Daughter is turning 7, that means this forum is turning 6. The only other thing that I’ve stuck with for six years or more is my marriage. In my adult life, I’ve never driven a car, lived in one place or held a job title for six years. Like so many other things in my life, I don’t treat this forum as well as I should. But I’m glad it has stuck with me for all this time; and I’m glad you have stuck with me. I’ll put this on the list of things that I should do better, and I’ll start attacking that list.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Extreme Business Travel
SEATAC, Wash. -- I mentioned earlier that this is my last extended trip for a while. I'm definitely making the most of it.
My day started with work at 7:30 a.m. Pacific time. I left the paper in north-central Washington at 4:30 p.m. for the four-hour drive to Seattle.
That four-hour drive took me along U.S. Highway 2, one of the most stunningly beautiful roads I have ever seen. Ever. And that includes the Pacific Coast Highway. The western slopes of the Cascades on one side and the Wenatchee River flowing on the other, gentle curves and slopes leading me to Seattle. Just fantastic.
Now, for the "extreme" part: I'm waiting for a flight that leaves at 11:45 p.m. PDT. This flight will land in Houston just shy of 6 a.m. Central time. I'll wait there for a couple of hours before boarding a puddle-jumper to my little South Texas destination, which will land about 9 a.m.
The plan goes something like this: Early check-in at hotel, quick shower, shake off the cobwebs and be in front of the customer at 11. On site until 7, grab some dinner (maybe) and a few hours of sleep, and be homebound at 5:20 a.m. CDT Thursday.
The trip to Texas was planned. The trip to north-central Washington wasn't. The Texas trip, however, couldn't be moved. The trip to north-central Washington couldn't be avoided. So here I am. My hotel room tonight is seat 8D of a Boeing 737-800. I'm guessing there'll be no chocolate on the pillow.
My day started with work at 7:30 a.m. Pacific time. I left the paper in north-central Washington at 4:30 p.m. for the four-hour drive to Seattle.
That four-hour drive took me along U.S. Highway 2, one of the most stunningly beautiful roads I have ever seen. Ever. And that includes the Pacific Coast Highway. The western slopes of the Cascades on one side and the Wenatchee River flowing on the other, gentle curves and slopes leading me to Seattle. Just fantastic.
Now, for the "extreme" part: I'm waiting for a flight that leaves at 11:45 p.m. PDT. This flight will land in Houston just shy of 6 a.m. Central time. I'll wait there for a couple of hours before boarding a puddle-jumper to my little South Texas destination, which will land about 9 a.m.
The plan goes something like this: Early check-in at hotel, quick shower, shake off the cobwebs and be in front of the customer at 11. On site until 7, grab some dinner (maybe) and a few hours of sleep, and be homebound at 5:20 a.m. CDT Thursday.
The trip to Texas was planned. The trip to north-central Washington wasn't. The Texas trip, however, couldn't be moved. The trip to north-central Washington couldn't be avoided. So here I am. My hotel room tonight is seat 8D of a Boeing 737-800. I'm guessing there'll be no chocolate on the pillow.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Cleared for landing
WENTACHEE, Wash. -- I'm surrounded by some serious natural beauty right now. I'd take a picture, but alas, I forgot to pack a camera.
I'm at the confluence of the Columbia and Wenatchee rivers in North Central Washington State. The Cascade Mountains are off in the distance. It was a 3-hour drive from Seattle-Tacoma International Airport to here, along the prettiest Interstate highway that I've ever seen. I'm told the alternate route, along U.S. 2, is even better.
I'll be here until Tuesday, when I will change direction and head down to Corpus Christi, Texas, on my way home to the Western Edge.
The reason this trip is significant is pretty simple: It's the last major trip I'm going to be making for a while. The project in Iowa is winding down. That project is officially the last project to which I'm committed. I will move into my real job full-time: Managing a nine-person team which will do my old job, all around the world.
I'll still be hitting the road occasionally -- I have a couple of one- and two-day trips scheduled for next month -- but the week-long-or-longer trips should be coming to an end. I have two more commitments to the Iowa project, one in October and one in December, but I won't be spinning the numbers on the Marriott points nearly as fast as I have been over the last three years.
I've seen a lot of really wonderful things. Now seems to be as good a time as any for a review, top 3 style:
My favorite places, overall:
Montreal: The best of Europe and North America, all in one place.
Sydney: Getting there isn't half the fun, but it's worth every hour aloft.
Bermuda: Speaks for itself.
My favorite places, domestic (after discovering none of the U.S. stops made the cut):
Bremerton, Wash.: The west shore of Puget Sound provides many options for relaxation. Great people, too.
San Diego: Quite possibly the United States' most perfect city. Ocean on the left, mountains on the right, an international border right there, Los Angeles 100 miles to the north. Oh, and it's 72 degrees every day.
Washington, D.C.: The best place in the world to eat when you're spending someone else's money. Great food and drink from every corner of the world.
Favorite airlines:
Continental: Always clean planes, always good service, and when they're not on time, they tell you why.
Delta: Seriously. Never had a serious problem with them, and I don't find the Atlanta airport to be the hellhole everyone else does.
US Airways: Their lack of competence for handling luggage is offset by the hoops they were willing to jump through to get us to Bermuda. Plus, the Charlotte hub is easy to get around.
Least favorite airlines:
Air Canada: Crowded plane, bad service, connection in Toronto.
Southwest: I love everything about Southwest Airlines, except actually using its product.
United: Doesn't extend Star Alliance benefits to non-United Star Alliance customers. Screw them.
Favorite airports:
Montreal: For all it's trying to do -- Customs, security, getting planes out on time even in awful weather -- it does it very well, in two languages.
Bermuda: Can't forget the island music guy playing in the Customs lobby.
Houston Intercontintental: Good food makes up for long walks between concourses.
Least favorite airports:
Philadelphia: Always steaming hot, lost luggage x 3, rude employees.
Washington Dulles: Grim, dank, dirty.
St. Louis: Dark, rude security, long, long bus ride to rental cars.
(I've never had serious problems at Atlanta, DFW, or O'Hare, which I guess makes me really, really lucky.)
Favorite rental cars:
Ford Mustang: Even the V6 has a wonderful low rumble.
Hyundai Azera: Still the car I probably should have bought.
Pontiac Grand Prix GXP: Supercharged fun, all the bells and whistles; not sure why anybody would choose a BMW 5-series over this.
Least favorite rental cars:
Tie, Chrysler PT Cruiser and Chevrolet HHR: Those cute little retro exteriors hide the two most unintuitive, uncomfortable interiors among any car I've ever driven (including my 1978 Mazda GLC.)Oh, and both are slower than crap, too.
Toyota Camry: A great car for people who don't like to drive.
Pontiac Sunfire: The wrong choice for trying to get around D.C., not that there's a right choice, other than taxi or Metro.
Top 3 things I have learned:
Pack light. Look to reduce weight everywhere. Every ounce counts.
Know who goes where. My knowledge of relationships between airlines and airports has gotten me home when other people took an involuntary overnight. Know when and how to use the airlines' web sites, and if you can't match an airline to its hubs, you're not a Business Traveler.
Being in a hurry really sucks. Do everything you can to avoid it. Being bored once you get past security beats missing your flight, every time.
It's been a helluva ride, it really, really has. I'm now looking forward to getting off. There's an aisle seat available for the next person.
I'm at the confluence of the Columbia and Wenatchee rivers in North Central Washington State. The Cascade Mountains are off in the distance. It was a 3-hour drive from Seattle-Tacoma International Airport to here, along the prettiest Interstate highway that I've ever seen. I'm told the alternate route, along U.S. 2, is even better.
I'll be here until Tuesday, when I will change direction and head down to Corpus Christi, Texas, on my way home to the Western Edge.
The reason this trip is significant is pretty simple: It's the last major trip I'm going to be making for a while. The project in Iowa is winding down. That project is officially the last project to which I'm committed. I will move into my real job full-time: Managing a nine-person team which will do my old job, all around the world.
I'll still be hitting the road occasionally -- I have a couple of one- and two-day trips scheduled for next month -- but the week-long-or-longer trips should be coming to an end. I have two more commitments to the Iowa project, one in October and one in December, but I won't be spinning the numbers on the Marriott points nearly as fast as I have been over the last three years.
I've seen a lot of really wonderful things. Now seems to be as good a time as any for a review, top 3 style:
My favorite places, overall:
My favorite places, domestic (after discovering none of the U.S. stops made the cut):
Favorite airlines:
Least favorite airlines:
Favorite airports:
Least favorite airports:
(I've never had serious problems at Atlanta, DFW, or O'Hare, which I guess makes me really, really lucky.)
Favorite rental cars:
Least favorite rental cars:
Top 3 things I have learned:
It's been a helluva ride, it really, really has. I'm now looking forward to getting off. There's an aisle seat available for the next person.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Peeking into the brain
We haven't had to talk much about the Young Daughter's medical condition lately, because, well, there hasn't been a whole lot to talk about. It's been a pretty quiet period.
We've seen little signs of this and that over the past few weeks, oddly timed with a previously scheduled sleep-deprived EEG that she'll endure today. The whole thing struck her as pretty cool, last night; she got to stay up until 12:30 a.m. doing basically whatever she wanted (and what she wanted was to click around on Webkinz until we finally said it was time for bed. The little detail we left out was that the alarm clock was gonna ring at 5:30.
Trepidation always accompanies these not-so-routine routine physician visits. My biggest fear is that they find nothing. I'm strongly of the belief that it's better to know what's going on, whatever it is.
But, no time to think about all that right now. My duty: Keep the kid awake in the car for an hour-or-so ride through traffic. That should be fun.
We've seen little signs of this and that over the past few weeks, oddly timed with a previously scheduled sleep-deprived EEG that she'll endure today. The whole thing struck her as pretty cool, last night; she got to stay up until 12:30 a.m. doing basically whatever she wanted (and what she wanted was to click around on Webkinz until we finally said it was time for bed. The little detail we left out was that the alarm clock was gonna ring at 5:30.
Trepidation always accompanies these not-so-routine routine physician visits. My biggest fear is that they find nothing. I'm strongly of the belief that it's better to know what's going on, whatever it is.
But, no time to think about all that right now. My duty: Keep the kid awake in the car for an hour-or-so ride through traffic. That should be fun.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Perhaps Delta should try this
Next time the pilot comes on and says, "Hello again from the cockpit; uhhhhh, we seem to, ummm, have a bit of a, um, mechanical problem and, ummmm, Maintenance tells us they're waiting for a part and, uh, it'll probably be about an, ummmmmm, hour or so," tell them to try this. It seems to work in Nepal.
This week's desktop background
From Bermuda, back in June. If you listen close, you can hear the waves.
Sunday, September 02, 2007
Ears of gold
Read here about Rick Rubin, the producer who's basically responsible for saving what's left of the music industry. He has this radical idea that the music industry might be in better shape if it was turning out, you know, better music. The main thing I took note of: He likes The Gossip. I liked The Gossip two years ago. Rubin, of course, is also responsible for turning two of the greatest challenges in modern music history into successes, those being the Dixie Chicks' post-Natalie Outburst album and the last years of Johnny Cash. Evidence that a good ear far outweighs "technical skill."
Friday, August 31, 2007
Worth reading
An exploration of the press's responsibility in the face of hypocrisy, by Roy Peter Clark of the Poynter Institute.
Good discussion going on in the comments, too. Worth checking out.
Good discussion going on in the comments, too. Worth checking out.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Rushing to judgment
Some things are just right, or wrong. Some things, it's not quite so clear-cut.
Take, for instance, criminals. You've heard of them. They're bad people. They do bad things and they go to jail. They break the laws of our land, and they get their just punishments, and they deserve our contempt.
But: Let's say you know the person behind the rap sheet. Does that make things any different?
Let's first walk through a completely hypothetical situation.
Nasty car accident. Other person dies. Sad all the way around, isn't it? We're not talking about an out-of-the-ordinary car accident; just your basic collision, but at just the exact miles-per-hour or angle that caused one of the drivers to die. We feel terribly sorry for the surviving driver; imagine bearing that guilt? In some ways, he or she is a victim too.
OK. Now let's look at the surviving driver's driving record:
4/85: Failure to yield, non-injury accident
4/87: Speeding
4/87: Speeding
6/87: Speeding
10/88: Failure to yield, non-injury accident
6/90: Speeding
10/93: Speeding
9/96: Failure to yield, no accident
6/97: Speeding
4/00: Speeding
10/01: Lane usage violation
11/05: Failure to change lanes when officer is on side of road
6/06: Speeding, construction zone.
Suddenly, that's no accident. That's vehicular homicide. This driver was clearly a menace and probably should never have been on the road. Sumbitch should be locked up and never allowed behind the wheel again. Perspective changes a bit, yes?
Well, now, let's change the perspective again: That's my driving record.
Those who know me know that I'm not a dangerous driver, other than that I've had a lifelong tendency to view speed limits as guidelines. But those who don't know me would not give me the benefit of that doubt. They'd want me locked up.
You, who know me, would argue vigorously against locking me up. After all, it was an accident, and excessive speed wasn't even involved. But somebody reading about my hypothetical wreck in the paper -- or in a manila folder on a bench wearing a funny robe -- would hypothetically recommend I spend some time in a hypothetical prison.
Now let's walk through a real situation.
In a really cryptic post below, I refer to a "good person who's done a bad thing." The good person is a former co-worker of mine. He was the person assigned to make me feel at home when we first moved to the Edge of America 11 years ago. He did the same job as I did at the paper, and did it pretty well. He was extremely helpful, and became a good friend. He was funny and talented and fun-loving, and kept the entire department laughing even during times of the highest stress.
I haven't talked to him in years; we each moved on in our careers, in different directions.
He stands today accused of a pretty heinous felony. Nobody got hurt, and there was no real possibility that anyone would have been hurt, but it was likely very scary for the victims just the same.
I knew he treated himself occasionally to substances that were a bit stronger than Bud Light. Word is he's been treating himself lately to substances stronger yet, substances that have ruined his career and are likely responsible for the position he's in today.
I want him to get help. I know he needs to be punished. I know the general public thinks he's just another criminal. I think that sucks. But I can understand why.
If you've known somebody or had a family member who found himself on the wrong side of a correctional facility, you understand the conflict in emotions it causes. It throws off the whole right-and-wrong, don't-do-the-crime-if-you-can't-do-the-time simplicity of it all. I have some pretty solid ideas on right and wrong; I still stand by my contention, for instance, that anybody who does hard drugs deserves whatever he or she gets, whether it be rehab, prison or untimely death.
And maybe it all really is that simple. But I'm not convinced of that.
Take, for instance, criminals. You've heard of them. They're bad people. They do bad things and they go to jail. They break the laws of our land, and they get their just punishments, and they deserve our contempt.
But: Let's say you know the person behind the rap sheet. Does that make things any different?
Let's first walk through a completely hypothetical situation.
Nasty car accident. Other person dies. Sad all the way around, isn't it? We're not talking about an out-of-the-ordinary car accident; just your basic collision, but at just the exact miles-per-hour or angle that caused one of the drivers to die. We feel terribly sorry for the surviving driver; imagine bearing that guilt? In some ways, he or she is a victim too.
OK. Now let's look at the surviving driver's driving record:
4/85: Failure to yield, non-injury accident
4/87: Speeding
4/87: Speeding
6/87: Speeding
10/88: Failure to yield, non-injury accident
6/90: Speeding
10/93: Speeding
9/96: Failure to yield, no accident
6/97: Speeding
4/00: Speeding
10/01: Lane usage violation
11/05: Failure to change lanes when officer is on side of road
6/06: Speeding, construction zone.
Suddenly, that's no accident. That's vehicular homicide. This driver was clearly a menace and probably should never have been on the road. Sumbitch should be locked up and never allowed behind the wheel again. Perspective changes a bit, yes?
Well, now, let's change the perspective again: That's my driving record.
Those who know me know that I'm not a dangerous driver, other than that I've had a lifelong tendency to view speed limits as guidelines. But those who don't know me would not give me the benefit of that doubt. They'd want me locked up.
You, who know me, would argue vigorously against locking me up. After all, it was an accident, and excessive speed wasn't even involved. But somebody reading about my hypothetical wreck in the paper -- or in a manila folder on a bench wearing a funny robe -- would hypothetically recommend I spend some time in a hypothetical prison.
Now let's walk through a real situation.
In a really cryptic post below, I refer to a "good person who's done a bad thing." The good person is a former co-worker of mine. He was the person assigned to make me feel at home when we first moved to the Edge of America 11 years ago. He did the same job as I did at the paper, and did it pretty well. He was extremely helpful, and became a good friend. He was funny and talented and fun-loving, and kept the entire department laughing even during times of the highest stress.
I haven't talked to him in years; we each moved on in our careers, in different directions.
He stands today accused of a pretty heinous felony. Nobody got hurt, and there was no real possibility that anyone would have been hurt, but it was likely very scary for the victims just the same.
I knew he treated himself occasionally to substances that were a bit stronger than Bud Light. Word is he's been treating himself lately to substances stronger yet, substances that have ruined his career and are likely responsible for the position he's in today.
I want him to get help. I know he needs to be punished. I know the general public thinks he's just another criminal. I think that sucks. But I can understand why.
If you've known somebody or had a family member who found himself on the wrong side of a correctional facility, you understand the conflict in emotions it causes. It throws off the whole right-and-wrong, don't-do-the-crime-if-you-can't-do-the-time simplicity of it all. I have some pretty solid ideas on right and wrong; I still stand by my contention, for instance, that anybody who does hard drugs deserves whatever he or she gets, whether it be rehab, prison or untimely death.
And maybe it all really is that simple. But I'm not convinced of that.
Friday, August 24, 2007
This week's desktop background
During our trip to Colorado, we rented Jeeps from this fellow in a hotel parking lot in Frisco. His business model is pretty simple: "Here's the keys, here's a map, trust your Jeep, have fun."
The words "Trust your Jeep" rang in my head frequently as I drove my wife and two younger children over small boulders, through creeks, up and down hills on this path that bore some resemblance to a road. We were in low-range 4-wheel drive for nearly 40 miles on the odometer. It was the most fun I've ever had covering 40 miles in 7 hours.
Here's one of the hundreds of fantastic views from that trip. This was at about 13,500 feet, somewhere between Keystone and Breckenridge. To the right you'll see the road we were on; that was the smoothest, safest part of it:
Happy Friday. I'm headed for the mountains, if only in my mind.
The words "Trust your Jeep" rang in my head frequently as I drove my wife and two younger children over small boulders, through creeks, up and down hills on this path that bore some resemblance to a road. We were in low-range 4-wheel drive for nearly 40 miles on the odometer. It was the most fun I've ever had covering 40 miles in 7 hours.
Here's one of the hundreds of fantastic views from that trip. This was at about 13,500 feet, somewhere between Keystone and Breckenridge. To the right you'll see the road we were on; that was the smoothest, safest part of it:
Happy Friday. I'm headed for the mountains, if only in my mind.
Monday, August 20, 2007
First-day jitters
It's nice to see that, nearly 18 years after I was actually last in a classroom, I still have insomnia on the Sunday before the first day of school.
I'm not going to school tomorrow, except to make sure my first-grade daughter and third-grade son get there safely. The eighth-grade daughter has a bus; she's on her own, mostly.
Outfits are selected and have been modeled. Lunches have been planned. Forms have been filled out. Summer 2007 is officially over here on the Western Edge. It's been a good one; I think I'm gonna miss it.
I'm not going to school tomorrow, except to make sure my first-grade daughter and third-grade son get there safely. The eighth-grade daughter has a bus; she's on her own, mostly.
Outfits are selected and have been modeled. Lunches have been planned. Forms have been filled out. Summer 2007 is officially over here on the Western Edge. It's been a good one; I think I'm gonna miss it.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Life's ugly turns
I'm sad today. A bad side of a good man I knew was exposed to the world in an ugly way earlier this week. I'm going to keep the details to a minimum, for now, and hope that this person I know gets the help he needs.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Road warrior loses battle
CEDAR RAPIDS, Iowa -- I'm sure, after a good week of getting the system ready to unveil for the users after months of work and setup, I'll feel better about things. After a week of clicking here and having good stuff happen up there on the screen, I'll stop bitching.
But until then, if I ever get on an airplane again, it will be too soon.
But until then, if I ever get on an airplane again, it will be too soon.
Wh- wh- wha - ... ?
ERLANGER, Ky. -- I'm not supposed to be waking up in Greater Cincinnati this morning. Yet, somehow, I am. Thanks, Delta.