The other day I was watching a show about FDR. My friend Neil had seen it before and it was on my tv because I had the same channel as him so he said I should watch it.
One thing I didn't know about FDR is that he cheated on his wife but then ended up staying married to her for the sake of the presidency. The woman that he cheated with was at his bed side when he died. I found this sad because it seems like nothing should be worth giving up true love for. Both of these women sacrificed everything to keep this stupid guy happy and in the end really didn't get anything out of it. Except, the girlfriend got some money.
Then I read an article in the new yorker about an author, I believe it was Henry James, and how he cheated on his wife. There was a line in the article that said something to the effect that him doing this was devastating to her because as a woman who couldn't bear children the knowledge that her husband was sleeping with someone else made her feel not just bad about herself, but also inadequate as a woman.
I agree with that completely. I think that if you are a woman who is a non-breeder, and you are with a guy who is sleeping around, in the back of your mind you are always thinking that he is going to either knock one of his bitches up and end up with her or that he will eventually leave to go knock a bitch up. Guys are never honest about the breeding thing. I've dated lots of guys who said they didn't want kids but the second a viable uterus was around they were screaming at their little sperms "faster dammit! go get that egg!"
I think the world would be a happier place if guys were just honest about what they wanted, rather than pretending to want what you want so they can fuck you. And I think if a guy wants kids he should not get into a relationship with someone who can't have kids if he's going to end up leaving her.
And, this morning standing outside the La Guardia Marriott at 4 am in the snow, smoking a cigarette in the hopes it would wake me up, and laughing about my magic clay dream, I realized that my tunnel dreams must be about not having kids and meeting guys that are obsessed with breeding and how that really bothers me even though I guess consciously I don't acknowledge that.
But now that I understand the dream hopefully I will stop having them.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
if only there were such a thing as magic clay
Last night I had the funniest dream. I dreamed that I was at Eva and Dan’s house and they had redone their kitchen so instead of having cabinets, a refrigerator, and all that other stuff that goes in the kitchen Dan had built these beautiful shoe shelves so the walls were all full of shoes that were my size. They also had some magic clay.
My brothers were there and they took the magic clay and made two little men that kind of looked like Mr. Bill and put them on this long granite island (which actually does exist in Eva and Dan’s kitchen) and the little men came alive and started racing each other. But my brothers had somehow programmed their legs so after they ran for a few minutes their legs would break apart into geometric shapes which would change colors every few seconds (can you tell I’ve spent the past two days in Times Square?).
Every time the guys’ legs fell apart they would fall apart in different ways and make different shapes like triangles, or squares, or diamonds. I was laughing hysterically at the little clay men with no legs because then they would start going “Ohhhhh, my leggggggggs” in this weird voice while trying to drag themselves with their arms. While I was laughing and watching the men race Eva kept putting different shoes on my feet. One pair of shoes was made out of diamonds. This part of the dream went on for a long time.
Then Tea Leoni showed up in the kitchen and so did Elizabeth Taylor, who had a huge entourage of body guards with her. Tea Leoni winked at me and whispered “watch this!” She walked up to Elizabeth Taylor and tapped her on the shoulder (Elizabeth Taylor was looking at all the shoes and had her back to us; she was also trying to grope Dan who kept pushing her away with a spatula). She said “Excuse me, Elizabeth” and then produced this half gallon round tub full of tuna fish salad that Dan had just made. “I dare you to eat this tub of tuna fish.”
So Elizabeth Taylor was like “you will never be as good of an actress as me” and sat down next to me to eat the tub of tuna fish. The little men were still running around. After about a minute Elizabeth had eaten half the tub and she said to Tea “I told you I could eat the whole thing” and Tea said “Guess what. I farted in there before I gave it to you to eat.” Then the two little clay men came running over to the tub and started blowing on it, saying “ohhhhh nooooo, we can blow the farts away”.
I was actually still laughing when I woke up. Though, after I finally get home and get some sleep, this dream may seem less funny.
My brothers were there and they took the magic clay and made two little men that kind of looked like Mr. Bill and put them on this long granite island (which actually does exist in Eva and Dan’s kitchen) and the little men came alive and started racing each other. But my brothers had somehow programmed their legs so after they ran for a few minutes their legs would break apart into geometric shapes which would change colors every few seconds (can you tell I’ve spent the past two days in Times Square?).
Every time the guys’ legs fell apart they would fall apart in different ways and make different shapes like triangles, or squares, or diamonds. I was laughing hysterically at the little clay men with no legs because then they would start going “Ohhhhh, my leggggggggs” in this weird voice while trying to drag themselves with their arms. While I was laughing and watching the men race Eva kept putting different shoes on my feet. One pair of shoes was made out of diamonds. This part of the dream went on for a long time.
Then Tea Leoni showed up in the kitchen and so did Elizabeth Taylor, who had a huge entourage of body guards with her. Tea Leoni winked at me and whispered “watch this!” She walked up to Elizabeth Taylor and tapped her on the shoulder (Elizabeth Taylor was looking at all the shoes and had her back to us; she was also trying to grope Dan who kept pushing her away with a spatula). She said “Excuse me, Elizabeth” and then produced this half gallon round tub full of tuna fish salad that Dan had just made. “I dare you to eat this tub of tuna fish.”
So Elizabeth Taylor was like “you will never be as good of an actress as me” and sat down next to me to eat the tub of tuna fish. The little men were still running around. After about a minute Elizabeth had eaten half the tub and she said to Tea “I told you I could eat the whole thing” and Tea said “Guess what. I farted in there before I gave it to you to eat.” Then the two little clay men came running over to the tub and started blowing on it, saying “ohhhhh nooooo, we can blow the farts away”.
I was actually still laughing when I woke up. Though, after I finally get home and get some sleep, this dream may seem less funny.
Friday, December 19, 2008
winter in NYC
Well, today was a fun day. I arrived at my customer office to find no one there. The predicted snow apparently scared everyone into working from home. Which was great because I was able to get some work done.
Except that, the predicted snow storm became reality around 10 am this morning. It started out as a few harmless flakes but soon became a driving snow storm. After my last conference call, around 3, I decided I had better pick up my luggage at the hilton and head to my new hotel next to La Guardia.
So, this is why people travel with umbrellas I thought to myself as I slipped and slid down a sidewalk covered in ice as the snow blew sideways and also from above. My lightweight biking jacket did little to keep me warm, but at least I wasn't wearing boots with 4 inch heels like most of the women staggering around my office building. I walked one mile through this weather mess to get to my hotel, and arrived at the bell hop station sopping wet with a bloody nose and medusa looking hair. I seriously had a pile of snow on top of my head (the bell hop brushed it off with a kleenex).
While another guy got my luggage the poor bell hop tried to get my nose to stop bleeding. He kept telling me to blow my nose, which I didn't think I was supposed to do, but it seemed to work. Then they sent the concierge out to find me a cab while I waited in the relative warmth of the marble lobby where a cleaning woman was mopping up the trail of blood I left from the door to the bell hop desk, not realizing that my nose was bleeding. The concierge was standing out in the street flapping his arms like a bird as the cabs drove by. Finally he stepped in front of a cab that was off duty, and the cab driver agreed to take me to La Guardia (flapping your arms at a cab is the way to indicate you need a ride to the airport, or so the bell hop told me). The hilton guys gave me an umbrella, packed my shit in the cab, and told the driver to take good care of me. I tried to tip them but they wouldn't take my money. Perhaps they wanted me off their property quick like before my nose started bleeding again.
The driver was a great guy from India who took me the back way to La Guardia since many streets were closed. He cranked the heat up to like 90 degrees since I was shivering uncontrollably (going from 74 degrees to driving snow in two days, yeah, I don't recommend it). It took us an hour to get to the hotel (should have taken 20 minutes) and the whole time I could feel the cab hydroplaning and the brakes skipping along as the tires tried to get some traction. At one point I thought a bus was going to crash into us but luckily we were sliding in the same direction and the bus missed us by an inch. Seriously an inch.
When we got to the hotel the cab driver said "don't move!", jumped out and ran inside. It reminded me of one of my trips to the emergency room. Two guys came out and grabbed my stuff and took it inside (including my bag - I always laugh when I see a man carrying a woman's bag but they insisted - I should mention here that I've lost my marshal badge off my bag which makes me very sad as my co-author will likely use that as an excuse for not writing and I will also now have to find a new way to make people think I'm a cop so I can board the plane without having to shove my way through a line).
I thanked the cab driver for getting me there safely and for taking me even though he was off duty. I told him I hoped he would get home safe and he took my hand and said "everything you wish for me I wish for you" which I thought was very sweet. And then the hotel staff put me in the presidential suite, I had a good workout in the gym facilities which were next to the sauna so I was warm for the first time today, and the maid just showed up with a bottle of water and some chocolates, and that is why I like to live in hotels, besides not having to make my bed or clean the bathroom.
Nice.
Except that, the predicted snow storm became reality around 10 am this morning. It started out as a few harmless flakes but soon became a driving snow storm. After my last conference call, around 3, I decided I had better pick up my luggage at the hilton and head to my new hotel next to La Guardia.
So, this is why people travel with umbrellas I thought to myself as I slipped and slid down a sidewalk covered in ice as the snow blew sideways and also from above. My lightweight biking jacket did little to keep me warm, but at least I wasn't wearing boots with 4 inch heels like most of the women staggering around my office building. I walked one mile through this weather mess to get to my hotel, and arrived at the bell hop station sopping wet with a bloody nose and medusa looking hair. I seriously had a pile of snow on top of my head (the bell hop brushed it off with a kleenex).
While another guy got my luggage the poor bell hop tried to get my nose to stop bleeding. He kept telling me to blow my nose, which I didn't think I was supposed to do, but it seemed to work. Then they sent the concierge out to find me a cab while I waited in the relative warmth of the marble lobby where a cleaning woman was mopping up the trail of blood I left from the door to the bell hop desk, not realizing that my nose was bleeding. The concierge was standing out in the street flapping his arms like a bird as the cabs drove by. Finally he stepped in front of a cab that was off duty, and the cab driver agreed to take me to La Guardia (flapping your arms at a cab is the way to indicate you need a ride to the airport, or so the bell hop told me). The hilton guys gave me an umbrella, packed my shit in the cab, and told the driver to take good care of me. I tried to tip them but they wouldn't take my money. Perhaps they wanted me off their property quick like before my nose started bleeding again.
The driver was a great guy from India who took me the back way to La Guardia since many streets were closed. He cranked the heat up to like 90 degrees since I was shivering uncontrollably (going from 74 degrees to driving snow in two days, yeah, I don't recommend it). It took us an hour to get to the hotel (should have taken 20 minutes) and the whole time I could feel the cab hydroplaning and the brakes skipping along as the tires tried to get some traction. At one point I thought a bus was going to crash into us but luckily we were sliding in the same direction and the bus missed us by an inch. Seriously an inch.
When we got to the hotel the cab driver said "don't move!", jumped out and ran inside. It reminded me of one of my trips to the emergency room. Two guys came out and grabbed my stuff and took it inside (including my bag - I always laugh when I see a man carrying a woman's bag but they insisted - I should mention here that I've lost my marshal badge off my bag which makes me very sad as my co-author will likely use that as an excuse for not writing and I will also now have to find a new way to make people think I'm a cop so I can board the plane without having to shove my way through a line).
I thanked the cab driver for getting me there safely and for taking me even though he was off duty. I told him I hoped he would get home safe and he took my hand and said "everything you wish for me I wish for you" which I thought was very sweet. And then the hotel staff put me in the presidential suite, I had a good workout in the gym facilities which were next to the sauna so I was warm for the first time today, and the maid just showed up with a bottle of water and some chocolates, and that is why I like to live in hotels, besides not having to make my bed or clean the bathroom.
Nice.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
some pennies (since we're in a depression) for your thoughts
I did something bad at my client site today. I was wondering why my bag was so heavy and discovered I was carrying around about $50 worth of pennies (including canadian currency). I pulled them all out of my bag and piled them in my visitor's cube, trying to figure out my next move.
When suddenly, I spied a row of cubes decorated for the christian holiday of Christmas. Now, I will admit, I have a personal bias against anyone who turns their cube into a home away from home. Even in the moments where I had a desk that I stayed at for more than a few weeks, the only personal things I would put up would be a chart I downloaded off the internet regarding the radius of different kinds of bomb blasts (http://www.dni.gov/reports.htm) and a picture of Gadd climbing up something ridiculous and looking, facially, like some one had just stuck a pitchfork into his ass.
Outside the cube was a row of christmas socks that people put presents in. So, I decided to leave some presents. I distributed the pennies between all the socks. Then I put some pretzels in there too. Then, I ate a candy cane that was on one of the desks and put the wrapper in the last sock.
I hope these people will donate their change to charity. And, the candy cane was totally stale. That made me sad.
When suddenly, I spied a row of cubes decorated for the christian holiday of Christmas. Now, I will admit, I have a personal bias against anyone who turns their cube into a home away from home. Even in the moments where I had a desk that I stayed at for more than a few weeks, the only personal things I would put up would be a chart I downloaded off the internet regarding the radius of different kinds of bomb blasts (http://www.dni.gov/reports.htm) and a picture of Gadd climbing up something ridiculous and looking, facially, like some one had just stuck a pitchfork into his ass.
Outside the cube was a row of christmas socks that people put presents in. So, I decided to leave some presents. I distributed the pennies between all the socks. Then I put some pretzels in there too. Then, I ate a candy cane that was on one of the desks and put the wrapper in the last sock.
I hope these people will donate their change to charity. And, the candy cane was totally stale. That made me sad.
just don't take the elevator
Ah New York City. Such a nice change from Miami, which is one of my least favorite cities ever. People walk slow there, have hair trigger tempers, and don’t care what language you speak. I used to always wonder why people were so jingoistic about Spanish speakers and it wasn’t until I was in Miami that I realized what might be causing part of the stress.
In a foreign country, or in most states, if you speak a different language than the person you are trying to communicate with there is normally an effort on both sides to try to be understood. Not so in Miami. There people were like “I’m speaking this language and don’t be waving your sign language at me mother fucker. I’m going to keep saying the same thing over and over and not trying to understand you in the hopes that you will go away.”
So, a few interesting things about my engagement here. I am working in the building that had the infamous elevator incident where the guy got locked in an elevator for 2 days. I looked the story up on the New Yorker and found out it’s one of the elevators in the bank that I take. I’m avoiding that elevator.
Also, Howard Stern works in my building. I really dislike that guy. Also working here is a David someone or other who has a TV show that lots of people know about and like to watch, according to my customer anyway, who expressed dismay that I had not heard about that David guy. I can’t remember his last name.
And finally, I love my hotel room at the Times Square Hilton. Since I have a crackmillion points with Hilton they upgraded me to a suite on the almost top floor (though off the top of my head I can’t remember which floor, and just realized I accidentally washed my room number off my hand…will have to write it down before I leave if I go smoke tonight) with an amazing view. The other consultant who was working this engagement got stuck in a lower floor room overlooking a giant hand coming out of Madame Tussard’s Wax Museum. He must have been bitter about this because he brought it up 5 times to me.
The only problem is, I’m supposed to be heading to a new hotel tomorrow night and flying home Saturday morning. But, um, we’re supposed to get 6 inches of snow tomorrow which is a lot, I guess, for this town. So, I wonder if I’m going to get stuck. Should be interesting.
In a foreign country, or in most states, if you speak a different language than the person you are trying to communicate with there is normally an effort on both sides to try to be understood. Not so in Miami. There people were like “I’m speaking this language and don’t be waving your sign language at me mother fucker. I’m going to keep saying the same thing over and over and not trying to understand you in the hopes that you will go away.”
So, a few interesting things about my engagement here. I am working in the building that had the infamous elevator incident where the guy got locked in an elevator for 2 days. I looked the story up on the New Yorker and found out it’s one of the elevators in the bank that I take. I’m avoiding that elevator.
Also, Howard Stern works in my building. I really dislike that guy. Also working here is a David someone or other who has a TV show that lots of people know about and like to watch, according to my customer anyway, who expressed dismay that I had not heard about that David guy. I can’t remember his last name.
And finally, I love my hotel room at the Times Square Hilton. Since I have a crackmillion points with Hilton they upgraded me to a suite on the almost top floor (though off the top of my head I can’t remember which floor, and just realized I accidentally washed my room number off my hand…will have to write it down before I leave if I go smoke tonight) with an amazing view. The other consultant who was working this engagement got stuck in a lower floor room overlooking a giant hand coming out of Madame Tussard’s Wax Museum. He must have been bitter about this because he brought it up 5 times to me.
The only problem is, I’m supposed to be heading to a new hotel tomorrow night and flying home Saturday morning. But, um, we’re supposed to get 6 inches of snow tomorrow which is a lot, I guess, for this town. So, I wonder if I’m going to get stuck. Should be interesting.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
arks
I made an interesting discovery on Monday night watching this show about arks on the channel my maid likes to watch (I can't figure out how to make the channels move on the TV in this hotel so any time I turn it on I'm left at the mercy of her whims since she knows how to change the channels and watches TV while she is supposedly cleaning my room). There is a third ark called the ark of the covenant that I didn't know about.
So, the first two arks I knew about. One is the boat thing that Noah was on. The next is a box that Moses made that if you get too close to it will rip your face or arm off. The third, new one, is this cup that Jesus put some blood in and then gave to one of his guys before he got killed, and if you drink the blood you'll be alive forever, but not have to be a vampire.
...which brings up the point that the bible keeps having the same story over and over, and then they did a sequel called the new testament, and that just has even more of the same story but they tried to put a different plot twist on it. It's like the Rocky movies, but more confusing because there are a more people in the bible. In books, extras are free.
All these arks got lost somehow, even though one would think that they were important enough to be looked after. Of course, you give a man responsibility for anything...
Depending on what kind of person you are, you go look for one of the arks. The guys looking for the boat ark, at least in the show I saw, were all kind of geeky scholar types that were probably thrown out of the house by their wives: "honey, you are driving me NUTS - why don't you go look for Noah's ark again, I heard on Oprah that someone saw it in Turkey". The second guys, who have hats and think they are indiana jones, go looking for the box kind of ark. They usually want to use it to take over the world and rip the face off someone they don't like, but a person they don't like for stupid reasons, like maybe some guy's dog peed on the ark searcher's lawn and killed an azalea bush or something so now the ark searcher is like "I will find the ark and smite my neighbor - and his dog too!". The third guys, looking for the cup, are always really religious and they end up getting into wars and getting their asses kicked (who wears white to a war? great cammo if you're fighting clouds, otherwise, bad choice) and they want to live forever I guess in the hopes that they will one day happen upon an era where they are considered cool. That era will be, um, next never.
The show I saw said, about the box ark, and I quote, "Not even Jesus knew where it was". That's kind of mean since the box was commissioned by his dad and I bet his dad knows where it is. So some day, when God dies, Jesus is going to be at the estate settlement and the lawyer is going to be like "Well Jesus, your dad left you...the ark." And Jesus is going to be like "Dammit! I already have one of those. By the way, did he say where it is?"
It would be convenient if they put all the arks together in one spot, kind of like winning the power lottery thing where you get millions of dollars instead of just a million dollars. Or you could put the box ark inside the boat ark and then the cup ark in the box - it would be like a turducken.
I'm actually quite inspired by these ark stories. My co-author said that if you find an ark you get sucked into heaven like you're on the extra express elevator to salvation. He also said that every one who's written a story that's worth a damn about trying to find the ark died before the story was finished.
Which reminds me of the book I'm trying to write with my co-author. I will likely die before it's finished, which is not to say I'll die prematurely, but instead to say I'll be lucky if we finish that book in the next 60 years.
So, the first two arks I knew about. One is the boat thing that Noah was on. The next is a box that Moses made that if you get too close to it will rip your face or arm off. The third, new one, is this cup that Jesus put some blood in and then gave to one of his guys before he got killed, and if you drink the blood you'll be alive forever, but not have to be a vampire.
...which brings up the point that the bible keeps having the same story over and over, and then they did a sequel called the new testament, and that just has even more of the same story but they tried to put a different plot twist on it. It's like the Rocky movies, but more confusing because there are a more people in the bible. In books, extras are free.
All these arks got lost somehow, even though one would think that they were important enough to be looked after. Of course, you give a man responsibility for anything...
Depending on what kind of person you are, you go look for one of the arks. The guys looking for the boat ark, at least in the show I saw, were all kind of geeky scholar types that were probably thrown out of the house by their wives: "honey, you are driving me NUTS - why don't you go look for Noah's ark again, I heard on Oprah that someone saw it in Turkey". The second guys, who have hats and think they are indiana jones, go looking for the box kind of ark. They usually want to use it to take over the world and rip the face off someone they don't like, but a person they don't like for stupid reasons, like maybe some guy's dog peed on the ark searcher's lawn and killed an azalea bush or something so now the ark searcher is like "I will find the ark and smite my neighbor - and his dog too!". The third guys, looking for the cup, are always really religious and they end up getting into wars and getting their asses kicked (who wears white to a war? great cammo if you're fighting clouds, otherwise, bad choice) and they want to live forever I guess in the hopes that they will one day happen upon an era where they are considered cool. That era will be, um, next never.
The show I saw said, about the box ark, and I quote, "Not even Jesus knew where it was". That's kind of mean since the box was commissioned by his dad and I bet his dad knows where it is. So some day, when God dies, Jesus is going to be at the estate settlement and the lawyer is going to be like "Well Jesus, your dad left you...the ark." And Jesus is going to be like "Dammit! I already have one of those. By the way, did he say where it is?"
It would be convenient if they put all the arks together in one spot, kind of like winning the power lottery thing where you get millions of dollars instead of just a million dollars. Or you could put the box ark inside the boat ark and then the cup ark in the box - it would be like a turducken.
I'm actually quite inspired by these ark stories. My co-author said that if you find an ark you get sucked into heaven like you're on the extra express elevator to salvation. He also said that every one who's written a story that's worth a damn about trying to find the ark died before the story was finished.
Which reminds me of the book I'm trying to write with my co-author. I will likely die before it's finished, which is not to say I'll die prematurely, but instead to say I'll be lucky if we finish that book in the next 60 years.
Monday, December 15, 2008
flakers beware
This past week was fairly trying, and I was looking forward to a visit from a friend, let's just call him A (for asshole), who said he really wanted to come visit me in Miami.
A was supposed to arrive Thursday, we were going to go to Key West for the weekend, and then he was going to fly home Tuesday. He likes to tell me how much he wants to see me.
Well, Monday I hadn't heard from him so I called and sent an email. No response. I did the same on Tuesday. Still nothing. Thursday comes and goes, no A. Finally, Friday morning, I get an email from him saying he isn't coming.
Had I known he wasn't coming I would have invited someone else to come stay with me. Instead I ended up hanging out at Key West by myself because I have an asshole for a friend. This on the heels of Banff...
So, for the new year, I've started a black list, for people who flake on me. I'm really tired of people being selfish and having no thought for others. Anyone who ends up on the black list gets none of my time or energy until they do something that makes me not want to kick them in the nuts. I spend way too much energy on people who really don't give a fuck, and these days I don't have much to spare, so I am resorting to these measures, which I wish I had put into place years ago. And I think everyone else should start boycotting flakers. It's the only way we can bring about a positive change.
And flaking, for the record, is not cute, amusing, forgivable because you're an irresponsible asshole, or acceptable. People who flake are self centered and don't care about inconveniencing others. And being busy is not a reason to flake. Saturday was the first day in 3 months that I haven't worked at all. And I still find time for my friends, or to tell them I don't have time for them. So, fuck flakers. F2. Go ahead, put it on a t-shirt, don't give me royalties, I just want to get the message across.
A was supposed to arrive Thursday, we were going to go to Key West for the weekend, and then he was going to fly home Tuesday. He likes to tell me how much he wants to see me.
Well, Monday I hadn't heard from him so I called and sent an email. No response. I did the same on Tuesday. Still nothing. Thursday comes and goes, no A. Finally, Friday morning, I get an email from him saying he isn't coming.
Had I known he wasn't coming I would have invited someone else to come stay with me. Instead I ended up hanging out at Key West by myself because I have an asshole for a friend. This on the heels of Banff...
So, for the new year, I've started a black list, for people who flake on me. I'm really tired of people being selfish and having no thought for others. Anyone who ends up on the black list gets none of my time or energy until they do something that makes me not want to kick them in the nuts. I spend way too much energy on people who really don't give a fuck, and these days I don't have much to spare, so I am resorting to these measures, which I wish I had put into place years ago. And I think everyone else should start boycotting flakers. It's the only way we can bring about a positive change.
And flaking, for the record, is not cute, amusing, forgivable because you're an irresponsible asshole, or acceptable. People who flake are self centered and don't care about inconveniencing others. And being busy is not a reason to flake. Saturday was the first day in 3 months that I haven't worked at all. And I still find time for my friends, or to tell them I don't have time for them. So, fuck flakers. F2. Go ahead, put it on a t-shirt, don't give me royalties, I just want to get the message across.
the FBI is here, it must be Monday
Just when it seemed that this engagement couldn't get any more exciting (bomb threats, fist fights, network crashes, and Thursday and Friday spent in a political battle with the company that bought my company because they thought I was somehow infringing on them - read, selling stuff that they won't get a commission on - causing them to talk bad about me to my customer, who told them to fuck off, which is why I'm still working for them even though it's 9 PM and I haven't eaten yet) I get in to the office today and find...the FBI.
Here's what happened. A bank was bombed in Oregon (http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5h3NkOmNbgySlywqhyoTVETQY9f_wD953EN981). The bomber used a cell phone from the company I am working with. So the FBI on Saturday tried to contact the company through the sales reps to find an IT person who could help them trace who owned the phone. The sales reps, being in sales and therefore being idiots (see above paragraph) couldn't give them a contact.
So, an enterprising Oregon State Police officer resorted to going out to facebook and doing a search on the company's name. He found T, a guy I work with, who just happened to list on his facebook page that he is an IT admin for the company. The police officer called him immediately. T, being an IT guy, and therefore having little common sense and social skills, figured the whole thing was a joke and acted like an asshole to the guy.
So then the FBI called him. T behaved the same way. Meanwhile a sales rep had finally had one moment of intelligence and called the legal department, who called T's boss, and T had to go into the office to help them locate the information late Saturday and again on Sunday. When I was there the FBI was just finishing up. T was hoping his name would get in the papers but any further information about the incident, other than the guy was tracked via a cell phone, will not be released to the public, at least not at this point.
Drama, drama, drama...
Here's what happened. A bank was bombed in Oregon (http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5h3NkOmNbgySlywqhyoTVETQY9f_wD953EN981). The bomber used a cell phone from the company I am working with. So the FBI on Saturday tried to contact the company through the sales reps to find an IT person who could help them trace who owned the phone. The sales reps, being in sales and therefore being idiots (see above paragraph) couldn't give them a contact.
So, an enterprising Oregon State Police officer resorted to going out to facebook and doing a search on the company's name. He found T, a guy I work with, who just happened to list on his facebook page that he is an IT admin for the company. The police officer called him immediately. T, being an IT guy, and therefore having little common sense and social skills, figured the whole thing was a joke and acted like an asshole to the guy.
So then the FBI called him. T behaved the same way. Meanwhile a sales rep had finally had one moment of intelligence and called the legal department, who called T's boss, and T had to go into the office to help them locate the information late Saturday and again on Sunday. When I was there the FBI was just finishing up. T was hoping his name would get in the papers but any further information about the incident, other than the guy was tracked via a cell phone, will not be released to the public, at least not at this point.
Drama, drama, drama...
Sunday, December 14, 2008
sesame street
Today I was running errands and happened on This American Life, one of my favorite shows ever. It was the same show I had been listening to on my drive to key west but ended up losing as I headed south. It was a weird show because it usually has 3 or 4 stories on a theme, and this show they were trying to do short segments based on what a play group in NYC was doing. The play group would do 30 2 minute plays. They had one of the plays on TAL and it was hilarious.
Anyway, one of the stories was about the first day cadets are at West Point. I started thinking about my ex and remembering how we often would go into San Fran for the weekend and driving home on Sunday we would listen to TAL, and then I looked up and saw all these palm trees and for a moment was confused because it seemed I had actually gone back in time to the year 2000 and was driving on the freeway from San Fran to Capitola.
Another story was about this guy who was smoking up with his friends and he made the comment "the band Journey is the 80's equivalent to Dynasty". This caused a game to be created called monkeys to monkeys, the point being to name some band and the equivalent TV show. The final line in the monkeys to monkeys story, where the guy is talking about how he still plays that game with his friends is "and that's why marijuana makes you smart". Said very sarcastically.
I started thinking about how I would never be able to play that game. When I was growing up we didn't have a TV, and when we finally got one it was a black and white piece of shit with a wire hangar for an antenna. This was the source of many issues at school. I had to make up elaborate games when people would spend the night so that they wouldn't notice we didn't have a TV (living on a lake with haunted woods was useful). All the kids at school were obsessed with Sesame Street and I could never participate in the conversations about the show, not knowing any of the characters.
Then once, at a neighbor's garage sale, I happened on some books for this show called Sesame Street. So I bought the books, which were written like comic books, and assumed that they were transcripts of the actual show. I spent the entire weekend reading them thinking I could go to school and pretend I had seen the show.
I went to school the Monday and started talking about one of the story lines involving the cookie monster, who in the book was a king, and how he was having problems trying to find the perfect cookie to eat. Everyone looked at me strangely. Turns out the books had nothing to do with the show.
But I enjoyed them a lot and was very sad when my younger brother cut them up, ostensibly to make napkins for dinner because we were out and my mom was yelling about that. The reason we ran out of napkins is because I had decided they made good hats and had been riding my bike with my napkin hat, and then other kids in the neighborhood wanted hats, so I took all of our napkins and handed them out. When I cried because my brother ruined my books my dad yelled at me and said I shouldn't be reading comic books anyway.
Though he may have known more about raising kids than one might think. To this day I've never smoked pot.
Anyway, one of the stories was about the first day cadets are at West Point. I started thinking about my ex and remembering how we often would go into San Fran for the weekend and driving home on Sunday we would listen to TAL, and then I looked up and saw all these palm trees and for a moment was confused because it seemed I had actually gone back in time to the year 2000 and was driving on the freeway from San Fran to Capitola.
Another story was about this guy who was smoking up with his friends and he made the comment "the band Journey is the 80's equivalent to Dynasty". This caused a game to be created called monkeys to monkeys, the point being to name some band and the equivalent TV show. The final line in the monkeys to monkeys story, where the guy is talking about how he still plays that game with his friends is "and that's why marijuana makes you smart". Said very sarcastically.
I started thinking about how I would never be able to play that game. When I was growing up we didn't have a TV, and when we finally got one it was a black and white piece of shit with a wire hangar for an antenna. This was the source of many issues at school. I had to make up elaborate games when people would spend the night so that they wouldn't notice we didn't have a TV (living on a lake with haunted woods was useful). All the kids at school were obsessed with Sesame Street and I could never participate in the conversations about the show, not knowing any of the characters.
Then once, at a neighbor's garage sale, I happened on some books for this show called Sesame Street. So I bought the books, which were written like comic books, and assumed that they were transcripts of the actual show. I spent the entire weekend reading them thinking I could go to school and pretend I had seen the show.
I went to school the Monday and started talking about one of the story lines involving the cookie monster, who in the book was a king, and how he was having problems trying to find the perfect cookie to eat. Everyone looked at me strangely. Turns out the books had nothing to do with the show.
But I enjoyed them a lot and was very sad when my younger brother cut them up, ostensibly to make napkins for dinner because we were out and my mom was yelling about that. The reason we ran out of napkins is because I had decided they made good hats and had been riding my bike with my napkin hat, and then other kids in the neighborhood wanted hats, so I took all of our napkins and handed them out. When I cried because my brother ruined my books my dad yelled at me and said I shouldn't be reading comic books anyway.
Though he may have known more about raising kids than one might think. To this day I've never smoked pot.
key west
I drove to Key West yesterday.
First you pass the Miami hurricane shelter and then you get to the Lazy Days restaurant. Pass through Key Largo where there's the African Queen and streets with names like Coconut Drive, Lime Drive, Bonefish Drive. Though right before is a Largo residential community which has, for every mail box, a cement dolphin holding the actual mail box in its flippers. There's a dolphin research center near by. The air smells like what a fish's house would smell like if they had houses and invited you to visit.
Cheap cigarettes. A carton of marlboros for $25.
Then you go over this bridge. which is not THE bridge, because you haven't gone through Marathon yet, but it's long. Signs for the Key Deer, which are almost extinct, so you shouldn't speed so you don't hit one and kill it. Then finally the Seven Mile Bridge, with all these side bridges next to it that just seem to start and stop but don't connect to each other, people fishing off them, and a couple riding their bikes in the breakdown lane on the bridge which doesn't seem safe.
Ramrod key, Cudjoe Key, Sugarloaf Key, Shark Channel, Shark Key, and my favorite name Waltz Key. Drive all the way to the end of Key West. If a stack of pancakes were a town, that town would be here. Hang out on the beach until a sunburn seems inevitable, no one on the beaches but a couple getting married, their wedding party laying bored on lounge chairs while they have their picture taken, 3 homeless guys, a guy walking his little dog, a guy in a yellow canoe who was fishing but is back now, ask the Hawaiian Ice guy where everyone is, he says "that's next week", drive back.
dreams about me and you
Last night I had a dream that I was back in my old high school, but at my current age, and that I was meeting with people there for a reason that wasn't totally clear, but it seemed that the US had been taken over by nazis or something and I was trying to put together a resistance movement. Then these two guys and a woman came in and said they were part of this nazi group, and that they were going to cut my head off. I asked how they were going to do that and woman told me, "Oh, we have a machine conveniently located in the basement!"
And then she cut off all of my hair and I was sad because it looked like shit but then it didn't matter because I was going to get my head cut off anyway. So I asked if I could go to the bathroom thinking I could find a way to escape and the woman was like "of course" and I asked her if she was going to escort me and she said "no, there's no reason to" and gave me this evil smile. So as I was walking to the bathroom I was thinking how to get out of the building and when I walked in I saw the bathroom was stacked with piles and piles of bloody dead bodies without heads and some were missing their hands and feet and rats were crawling between the bodies. And then I thought (seems funny now that it's just a dream) "it's really hard to comprehend someone telling you that you are going to die until it actually happens".
My heart started racing and I thought I have to get out of here and I could hear these nazi people marching in the hallway, filling up the building, so I went out to the hall and pulled the fire alarm and everyone started running and I mixed in with the nazi group and we were all running down this dark tile hallway towards an open door where the sun was shining and I could hear the woman who had cut off my hair screaming for people to stop me.
And then I woke up.
And then I fell back to sleep after drinking some water and had a dream that I was going to SMS text you about the dream even though I guess we aren't emailing or speaking anymore, and somehow I accidentally hit "call" instead of "SMS text" and I heard your voice going "hello? hello?" so I started talking to you about my week and you interrupted me and said "look at the screen on your blackberry" so I did and there was a graphic that looked like the work breakdown structures you see in most government contracts and it had things like "real estate", "business", and "housing" on it. Then you said "these are the only things I talk to people about on the phone, and you don't have anything to do with these things, so please don't call me again" and then you hung up on me. I was sad because I wanted to tell you about my dream. And then I woke up again...
And decided to NOT go back to sleep again and also to stop watching documentaries about concentration camps or lynchings right before bed time.
And then she cut off all of my hair and I was sad because it looked like shit but then it didn't matter because I was going to get my head cut off anyway. So I asked if I could go to the bathroom thinking I could find a way to escape and the woman was like "of course" and I asked her if she was going to escort me and she said "no, there's no reason to" and gave me this evil smile. So as I was walking to the bathroom I was thinking how to get out of the building and when I walked in I saw the bathroom was stacked with piles and piles of bloody dead bodies without heads and some were missing their hands and feet and rats were crawling between the bodies. And then I thought (seems funny now that it's just a dream) "it's really hard to comprehend someone telling you that you are going to die until it actually happens".
My heart started racing and I thought I have to get out of here and I could hear these nazi people marching in the hallway, filling up the building, so I went out to the hall and pulled the fire alarm and everyone started running and I mixed in with the nazi group and we were all running down this dark tile hallway towards an open door where the sun was shining and I could hear the woman who had cut off my hair screaming for people to stop me.
And then I woke up.
And then I fell back to sleep after drinking some water and had a dream that I was going to SMS text you about the dream even though I guess we aren't emailing or speaking anymore, and somehow I accidentally hit "call" instead of "SMS text" and I heard your voice going "hello? hello?" so I started talking to you about my week and you interrupted me and said "look at the screen on your blackberry" so I did and there was a graphic that looked like the work breakdown structures you see in most government contracts and it had things like "real estate", "business", and "housing" on it. Then you said "these are the only things I talk to people about on the phone, and you don't have anything to do with these things, so please don't call me again" and then you hung up on me. I was sad because I wanted to tell you about my dream. And then I woke up again...
And decided to NOT go back to sleep again and also to stop watching documentaries about concentration camps or lynchings right before bed time.
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