smashed windshield, sugar canvas

My friend S reminded me at lunch today about another "exciting" thing that happened last night...

S insisted we take a pedi-cab the last 6 blocks back to the hotel because his legs were tired. Turns out the pedi-cab driver had just dropped off Bret Michaels (Poison lead singer) and Tommy Lee (Motley Crue) right before he picked us up. They're in town to promote some concert or something. He took them to a strip joint and then picked us up. He was very excited about meeting them.

I was driving home from the airport after dropping S off (he filled my car with gas, I mean, he filled the tank with gas and paid for it, and then told me to wash my car) when a rock flew off the back of a truck (think it was a rock) and smashed my windshield to pieces:

That pretty much sucked.

I can take pictures and drive at the same time 

But then I got home and found a package from my brother's girlfriend. She made me cookies!She has a business called Sugar Canvas. Leave me a comment if you want information on how to order some for yourself. There were more cookies than this but I ate them before I took the picture.

I'm eating the flower tomorrow for breakfast

denver lebanese style

So after I dropped off my piece of shit new laptop (turns out the image they loaded on it was corrupt, which is why I was having so many problems - it was a known corrupt image but they loaded it anyway - and I won't get my computer back until today at the earliest because most of the routers in my company's IT building are down and it's taking forever to download the new image - oh, and of course, no loaner laptop - I've said it before, we are an IT company) and met some sales people for lunch. They're in town for a data conference for the intell community.

Afterward S and I went back to his hotel so he could change. We were going to go to the botanic garden. So I waited in the lobby for 30 minutes but S didn't come down. I texted him and he said to order a glass of wine.

I hate waiting.

Then, right after I got the wine S showed up. But he still hadn't changed so I brought the wine up to his room so he could change. Then he decided we should go see the gym of the hotel. I poured the wine into a coffee cup and we went to the gym, which was like a real gym and not a crap hotel gym. S insisted I go into the men's room with him to see how nice it was. It was kind of weird walking around a men's room in a gym carrying a glass of wine.

We headed back to my house, got into my car, and went to the botantic gardens. Because S had fucked around for so long we only had 30 minutes until the gardens closed. Sami tried to argue with the woman at the ticket counter that it should stay open longer for us. Lebanese people are like that. So she told us to walk a certain way around the gardens because security walks the opposite direction and it would give us more time.

We made it around the gardens in record time and then I wanted to show S the poison frogs, lollipop plant, chocolate tree, and orchids. But the doors to the green house were locked. S saw a security guard and knocked on the locked door but the guard ignored us. Then he opened another door for a group of three women. That totally pissed S off so he started banging on the locked door. I was like "dude, let's just go in the open door". Then he tried to argue with the guard for not unlocking a door for him. I distracted him with the orchids.

We were finally thrown out by security who wouldn't even give us two more seconds to see the poison frogs.

We went back to my house and had a glass of wine. It was almost 7 o'clock so we walked down to 16th street mall to find a restaurant to eat in. S always says he isn't picky and then he's super picky when I suggest a place. We went to writer's square but he didn't want to eat there. So we walked down to Wazee because I was trying to find this indian restaurant I like. But I couldn't find it and S was accusing me of taking him down a dark street, like what, I was going to mug him?

He decided we should walk back to this steak place named Willie G's. We were seated but there was a large table of drunk obnoxious people and he said they gave him a headache so we had to leave because the waitress wouldn't seat us in a booth in a quieter area of the restaurant (he argued with her for like 10 minutes). He made the waitress look up the address for the indian place even though I told him I could look it up on my blackberry. She seemed pretty pissed by the time we left.

So we walked all the way back down to Blake Street (not far for me but S doesn't like to walk). We found the indian restaurant but it was closed for some reason. Then he decided to go to a restaurant we had seen that was even further down 16th Street. But there was a 45 minute wait.

By then I had the impression that if I didn't find a place soon S was going to kill me. We ended up eating at this asian fusion restaurant. Thankfully it was good and S was happy. It was 9 pm before we got our food.

He wanted to know exactly how far I made him walk...

Then we went back to his hotel and met up with Cosmo, who's from Jamaica, and Bill, who works with S and is also a friend of mine. Cosmo told me where to visit in Jamaica and then revealed his plans to leave his girlfriend in Denver and move to NYC. I was like "why don't you tell her your leaving?" Oddly, his response was "because she's just not feelin' the city." Also, he told me a story about a Jamaican artist who he admired who's work he wanted to buy. But before he good the artist was shot and killed in Kingston. The robbers got $30 and a watch. A gallery in LA hoarded the artist's work and the price skyrocketed and no one could afford to buy it. Cosmo was pissed. Then, 5 years later, a friend of his lost his home. Cosmo went to help him pack and found out all along the friend had been hoarding two of the artist's paintings. Because he had no money he sold them to Cosmo. There was a cleverly phrased moral to the story but I can't remember what he said. I should have written it down.

Then we all piled into Bill's car and he drove me home.

one of these kids...is just like the other!!!!

I've been obsessed with sharks since I was little. It appears the obsession is genetic. My nephew is obsessed with sharks too.

My sister is being a good sport about it.

Michael won't put his shark book down even at dinner.

Michael - coming to a shark tank near you!

you broke it again????

I spent an hour with my customer today trying to figure out why SQL Server permissions were only working for some people trying to access the software tool I support. I kept telling him the problem was with the SQL Server app but he kept insisting it was tool permissions.

Finally I asked to drive. It turned out:

1. he had spelled the two non-working account names wrong
2. instead of deleting the wrong accounts and importing from LDAP like I told him to do he just imported from LDAP so the right accounts didn't get picked up

Then he was like "Oh, I guess you were right." Um, yeah.

Then, at 5 pm sharp, he broke something else. Then he wanted to have an in depth discussion about his meta model. At 6:30 I was like dude, I have to get up at 3 am tomorrow and I have work to finish.

I think, actually, he likes hanging out with me. And he said he's going to invite me back. No one in my customer's group knew about the insane asylum or the ghost town and they want me to come back and take them on a hike.

Which is kind of weird because 3 of the 7 people come from families that have lived in Smithfield since the early 1800s. I guess that's why people hire consultants, to find those kind of things out.

another potential lead on my book

The editor I pitched on Saturday afternoon wants the first 50 pages of my book!!!!! Even though she was sick and I was her 30th pitch of the day!

Four other women got picked too, and I'm really glad one was the woman who wrote the book about the lawyer, especially since she was told no one would be interested in her book. Go Christine and semper fi!

insane asylum hike

Today I went hiking in the area around my customer's site. There's a huge farm there with lots of trails.

My customer's site was built near the ruins of an insane asylum that was active in the late 1800s. Lots of murders and abuses went on there and eventually Rhode Island came up with a series of reforms and the asylum shut down. It was run by the owner of Smithfield Farm and he often beat and raped the women who were housed there (most of them for being unwed mothers). He would also kill the really crazy people.

As I walked along the trails I could see remains of Hanton City, also known as the lost city. I was lucky to be here before the vegetation was in bloom, so I could see the remains of the city.

one of the many stone walls built in the forest

No one knows what happened to the city. One theory is that the residents were runaway slaves living there secretly (one assumes they eventually left when slaves were freed). But the theory is unlikely because they would not have had the equipment to build the structures that are found in the lost city.

Another theory is that the city was where people with communicable diseases were isolated, which would explain why it's so remote.

A third theory is that the city was founded by British Loyalists, who were either forced to live in isolation or did it on their own.

I found the grave yard:

 

...which was pretty creepy. Also, all along the trail were stacked cairns. It felt like walking around the woods where they filmed the blair witch project.

Finally I came out on an area of the trail where the power lines are:

 It was pretty bizarre to walk out of a dense forest and see this. The power lines made a low hum. And, oddly, I could hear a band playing at what I'm guessing was the Bryant University campus. Spooky.

Then the weather turned and I was worried it would start snowing again (it snowed yesterday) so I headed back to my hotel (getting lost, briefly, on a trail).

That was one of the eeriest hikes I've ever done.

I head back to civilization Tuesday morning. I'm glad. I only brought one outfit to work out in and it smells really bad.

If you ever happen to find yourself in this area I recommend the house of pizza and yamoto sushi. I've been eating at both places all week.

the next buckaroo bonzai: Doomsday Penis Code

Last night I was watching a show called Ancient Aliens in the TV. My customer recommended it and I was too tired to read so the guy at the front desk found it in there for me and I settled down to watch it.

THEN! SUDDENLY! There was a guy from my writer's group being interviewed on the show!!!!!!!! I was like whoa THAT'S WEIRD. So I emailed Kevin:

Remember that guy [] that came to meetings with his boring civil war novel? Well, I'm watching a show and that dude was on the show! There he is again! Weird!

The show is about ufos.

Kevin:

Well, that makes sense. UFOs caused the Civil War, I think. Not-So-Nearly-Ancient Aliens.

Me:

[] was around during the civil war, but the aliens kept him alive to infiltrate our writer's group because some members are also aliens. Mike, if he is an alien, is a kind alien. []'s boring stories were an attempt to put us under hypnotic control.

I won a software award today. I hate my employer. Glad I have a job interview in Aurora next week.

Kevin:

A great big Fonzie "thumbs up!" for winning the award, yet it sucks dead monkeys that they're making shit-tons of money off your "spare time" invention. Definitely get a better job, then sue them. Or better yet, tell them that you inserted a "doomsday" code in it that will delete all the computer's hard drives and replace them with a picture of a talking penis... unless they cough up money for you.

I would not wish Aurora upon my worst enemy. What place in that shithole would require your brain-power and sheer, staggering sense of dry irony?

Me:

Okay, why did I just have to look up Fonzie on wikipedia? Because I'm confused by tv references.

I always code easter eggs. But, nothing that will bring about the destruction of the world. I'm not that good at writing code.

 

Kevin:

 

The point is, to spread the RUMOR that you inserted the code. Not that you actually DID. They can't sell it if the buyers hear there's a DOOMSDAY PENIS CODE ready to delete hard drives. Just like the movie "Independence Day" and that shit was TRUE.

 

Me:

 

Dude, next project, let's co-author a screen play called doomsday penis code. It could be the next buckaroo bonzai.

 

Kevin:

 

"Buckaroo Banzai" didn't make any money, though it was a clever film. I like your idea, though. We'll write the "Avatar" of penis-titled movies.

Me:

Not if I have to watch avatar. My dad turned it off after 10 minutes. I can't watch more than he did because he's my dad.

 

Kevin:

 

Avatar earned nearly $2.8 billion. If we're aiming high (and what penis isn't?) then that's the mark we're looking to hit. But hey, hitting $280 is fine, too.

 

I can't believe I'm having this conversation with my dad

My dad never read anything I wrote before I wrote a chapter about him in my book. He hasn't read my book, just the parts about him, but he did provide me with technical corrections to the chapter where I describe a conversation we had about carbon:

My dad said, "Those lower cost solar panels are made from amorphous silicon semiconductor material. They can readily be produced but are low in efficiency, and over time they degrade and can fail early. The crystalline material is better." I thought about all the fluid in my knee turning to a crystallized mass, cutting the soft tissue.

He paused, also contemplating crystal structures, but not the ones in my knee. “"Isn't it interesting that carbon has three polymorphs? One produces pencil lead, one sparkling diamonds, and one fullerenes that spawned the nanotechnology revolution. Carbon is a unique element since it can form single, double, and triple bonds with itself..."

     My vision went white. I was going to pass out. I collapsed on a rock, and then I lost consciousness. When I regained consciousness I looked around, confused. There were pine needles scattered on the ground near my feet. I wished Martha Stewart was with us so that she could make me a pillow with them. I knew I would never leave that rock.

Anyway, I was talking to him about my cringle crisp caper book which he also read  (because he's on chemo and it's light reading). I was standing in the lobby of my hotel to get better phone reception when I was talking to him.

He said "I liked the book, but the ending sucked. The croco-diamond didn't do enough to make up for robbing the ton-o-tap". I was like "but he invented salsa and renamed the cringle crisps after the kangawrong". And my dad was like "that's not enough, he needs to give up the d.Dornian diamond to pay for a bunch of equipment to modernize the giant man's farm". I argued with him for a while and realized he was right.

Then I told him that I was also thinking to add in a song that the whitey biteys would sing, called "Under the Sea", to thank the giant man, kangawrong, and croco-diamond for the mittens. It goes:

Under the sea! Under the sea!

Won't you come see us under the sea?

We'll eat starfish crackers and jellyfish cheese!
So pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease 

won't you come see us under the sea?

My dad thought it was a good idea.

Then I hung up the phone and noticed everyone in the lobby was looking at me as if I'd gone mad.

Because, seriously, who argues with their dad about croco-diamonds? And recites a poem about jellyfish cheese.

oh just MAKE IT FUCKING STOP

So, at 5:15 pm today, FRIDAY, my client decided to upgrade the software I support. Of course he screwed up and caused a licensing issue and I had to dig around the guts of Windows 7 for 2 hours to fix the problem. Had not intended to work until 7 pm. Oh well. I like working 12 hours a day.

And, for some reason, my new laptop is so fucked up I can't project on a projector (that started today, randomly) and items on menus in my installed applications just disappear and I can't get them to come back.

Oh, and my customer had to give me a license for Visio because I can't get one through my company and I need Visio for work I have to do this weekend. Really? My client is paying for my software licenses? I hate my company some times. Glad I have an interview on Wednesday.

The good news, I guess, is that I was given a Labs award from my company for a software integration I created in my spare time. They'll sell it for millions. I'm supposed to be happy because the award is very prestigious. They did give me some money for it. I'm going to use it to buy a sub zero under the counter refrigerator when I redo my kitchen in the summer.

No, seriously, I'm going to redo my kitchen.

I know I've been saying that for like 6 years but this time I'm not lying.

the rest of the pitch story

So on Sunday I sat down with the last person I had to pitch to. He's a senior editor for Random House. I could tell while I was doing my pitch that it was going well because he kept snickering (the pitch was supposed to be funny). After I finished he asked about my story arc. I had no idea what he was asking me but I must have answered the question correctly because he said he thought my book sounded exciting and that he thought it was an interesting project.

I liked that he called it a project.

So then I was sitting there not sure what to do so I said "Okay, I guess I'll go". He stood up, shook my hand, and gave me his card. I was like "Um, what should I do with this?" and he was like "send me your book!" Then he started laughing. He must think I'm a moron.

Anyway, I found out later from the group leader that instead of requesting just 5 pages or 20 pages he requested my whole book!

I sent it to him yesterday evening. This morning I got an email from him saying "got it, thanks!"

So if this fails it's because my writing sucks.

If he likes it the battle has just begun. If I sell him on the project he has to sell his senior management. Then they find me an agent. Then they have to convince a distributor to carry it. Editing the book can take 6 - 10 months. It's usually a year from the time the project is green lighted (which, on average, is four months from when the manu is requested) to publication. With lots of work in between.

Fingers crossed...

One of the women in my group started a facebook page for us. It's called Pitch Bitches.

day 4 - success!!!!!! sort of!

A senior editor from Random House requested MY WHOLE BOOK to read! Usually they just ask for 5 or 20 pages! And he said he's excited about what he's heard about my book!

Doesn't guarantee anything. Of 100 people read usually only 1 gets picked.

More later, the internet at my hotel is shit right now.

day 3 - pitch fest turns to bitch fest

This pitch fest is like trying to make the cheerleader squad.

When the group leader was giving feedback from the morning pitch she said nice things to everyone about what the editor said.

I was sitting in a corner sending my earlier blog post. A woman I've been talking to was like "what did she say about Franki?" and the group leader was like "Oh, um, Franki, if you want to know what she said I can tell you later."

I was so pissed, like why don't you just tell me now? I don't really give a fuck if she hated my book. She doesn't even publish my genre.

Then an unexpected shit storm started  because some of us have been pitching to editors that have nothing to do with our genres. And the conference guy told a woman with a story about a lawyer that she had been asked to write by the lawyer "there isn't an editor here that would be interested in your story so there's no point in you doing any more pitches".



In the afternoon I pitched to an editor who was
1. sick
2. 8 hours into her day of listening to book pitches (I was the 30th person to pitch her)
3. not someone who works in my genre (she does women's literary fiction, i.e. eat pray love and every other book like that which I will never read)

I was so over this conference that I rewrote my pitch, didn't bother to read it over before I printed it, and didn't bother to practice it before I met with her.

Surprisingly, she seemed interested. But, I chalked that up to the pictures on my pitch. Also, at one point she was looking at me and smiling, and I didn't know what to do, so I said "I guess I'll leave now" (normally they say "thanks!" when they want you to leave). Ech. She was the only editor that shook my hand.

Later, I was at a conference happy hour, and my group leader came up and said "how do you think that went?" and I was like "I have no idea." She was like "do you think she was interested in your book?" and I said "no, I think she just was curious about the shark picture because she was bored (I have a pic I took of a great white on my pitch sheet) and so she was like 'tell me about the shark and then get the fuck out of my face'." (explaining my rather awkward exit).

Then the group leader was like "Oh. Because I think she was interested. You'll find out next week."

I'm probably jinxing myself even writing that on my blog.


Every one was like "stay out and party with us!" But I had a client issue and had to go back to the hotel to take care of it because the fuck wit install engineer who was supposed to get my software installed for my Monday engagement decided instead to not do his fucking job.

Ech.

I should write a fiction book about desperate women trying to get their books published.

really? is this a sick joke?

So I got here this morning at 9 am to practice my pitch. The group leader reviewed it and suggested I change it back to the version I had yesterday with a few word changes. Ech. So I ran back to my hotel and rewrote my pitch and had to kick a middle eastern guy off the hotel computer so I could print it. I got back to the morning pitch fest with 2 minutes to spare.

The editor I pitched to has done 4 books in 10 years. She does nothing with my genre. The only things she said to me are "I'm afraid of sharks" and "I hate swimming".

I ran back to the hotel after my pitch and rewrote my pitch  again.

What the fuck am I doing?

day 3 - coming out of my corner swinging

I only got 4 hours of sleep last night but I managed to finish another rewrite of my pitch. I did some research on the pitches that won last year and revised mine accordingly. It's not what the book is about, but they can find that out when they read it.

now I know why I don't read much fiction - day 2

So today everyone pitched their stories to an editor. I knew I was screwed when, after the first woman did her pitch, the editor said "Oh, I like anything with the word daughter in it!" and then started talking about her daughter. The book was about a Canadian family who decide to spend a year driving around in an RV car schooling their 7 year old.

A woman in my group, who is a plastic surgeon in Beverly Hills, pitched her book which is about a plastic surgeon in Beverly Hills who agrees to star in a reality TV show because she has so much school debt. I think it's a great pitch. The editor said "that's a little too edgy for me."

Um, what? Nip/Tuck and Dr. Beverly Hills 90210 are two of the most popular shows ever (okay, I know that because the doctor told me that, but I looked it up and it's true). Her book shows the inside story on what happens with plastic surgery. And this was not of interest to an editor that does women's fiction?

I don't know why I even bothered to pitch her because she doesn't do my genre. She said I should focus more on myself than what I did for adventures. Then the group tore my pitch apart. They were like "what is your book about?" I was like "what the pitch said, not letting an injury prevent me from being an athlete" and they were like "but we don't get that from your pitch". Ech.

And then one of the women said "you say your book is funny but you are just trying to mask your pain." No. I laugh about my situation because there's nothing I can do about it. So then she said "why don't you just take drugs?"

Then one of the other women said "Her book is about having a void in her life." I guess she found it unbelievable that I might enjoy ice climbing.


The person I feel the worst for is a woman who's a lawyer that wrote a story about defending her brother against a controversial law in Kentucky that says teachers can't have sex with anyone under 17 (the legal age for consensual sex for everyone but teachers is 16). Her brother, who is a teacher, had sex with a 17 year old who wasn't his student (that's how he ended up getting off from the charges). It's obviously a very emotional topic (the point of the book is that she became close to her estranged brother defending him even though she thought what he did was wrong). A bunch of the women in the group were like "I just find it hard to believe you would defend him even though he is your brother. It's seems like you need more motivation than that."

I got invited out for a drink but instead I'm going to work on my pitch again. I'm just so annoyed and frustrated right now.

And, I wasn't a finalist in that kid's book contest. However, The Adventures of Poo Boy was, as well as The Kissy Momster.

What the fuck...

pitchfest - day 1 - I'm depressed

So I did my first day of the pitchfest. 

Today was kind of depressing. We are in groups according to genres, and my "genre" is women's fiction and memoir. So, picture me in a room full of 14 women. They've already given me a nickname: the human crash test dummy. BTW, none of the other women were given nicknames.

Everyone has a really strong pitch. I think they didn't know what to do with mine. There was a stunned silence when I finished reading it and then the woman running the group said "Well. That wasn't what I was expecting." I tried to explain the difference between coordination and athleticism. They didn't seem to get it. They kept saying "If you were a competitive runner why would ice climbing be so hard for you?" Ech.

And I revised my pitch. AGAIN.

It's pretty high school the way things go down. Pitches start tomorrow. Every day we pitch to an agent or an editor. 

You go in to a room with just the agent or editor and the person running your group, make your pitch, and then the agent or editor decides which books they want to take a look at. Then we're all called back into the room and the group leader announces whose books made the cut. And the group leader keeps counseling us not to cry during our pitches and not to cry afterward if our book is rejected because "it's all subjective".

Okay, it's not like high school. It's like kindergarten. I'm fucking over 40. I don't need someone to tell me not to cry during a business meeting.

 Fuck. I should have come here with my kid book.

And it's humid so my hair looks insane. I don't know if that's a plus or minus. Also, we were apparently supposed to dress in business attire. Oops. I guess I didn't read that memo. An agent can't seriously expect me to wear a suit. What's the point of being a writer if I have to be professional? I might as well stay a consultant.

from snake-tacular to muons

Since I have to spend the weekend in Rhode Island next weekend I was trying to convince a friend of mine, who is a double amputee, to go to the aquarium with me to check out some sea dragons and so I could stand in front of the snake cages and work on my snake phobia.

Unfortunately he's out of town, but he mentioned he is also afraid of snakes and didn't want to hang out around snake cages.

So I made the following suggestion:

You should put something in your legs that would electrocute snakes if they try to bite you. And maybe the electric current could also cook the snake and then you and your friends could eat it.

Or, maybe more humane, play annoying music that only snakes can hear so they won't come near you. Like Van Halen's 1984 album. All the snakes would be like "let's get out of here before Jump comes on!"

He didn't think it was a great idea (as in "too stupid to even respond to"). And, after doing some research, it turns out he was right:

I've been doing research over the course of the day (lots of boring call in meetings, no one can see what I'm doing).

Apparently certain noises agitate snakes and make them more likely to strike. Van Halen would probably agitate them. So don't listen to my suggestion in the last email.

BTW, I found an awesome snake trap. On the lid it says "WARNING! Live Snake May Be Inside!"

I also found some snake repellent. It's made out of mongoose urine. Gross.

Did you know snakes don't like to slither over sisal rope? Apparently it hurts their underbelly.

And then I followed the wikipedia links to other pages and eventually ended up on a page about muons. If I were a muon I would wear a shirt all the time that said "electrons, I will crush you".

Because, muons are like 200 times bigger than electrons.


And I sent a fan letter to this guy who runs my new favorite (okay, I didn't have an old favorite) snake web site. You can see a snake pooping. Their poop is really gross because they pee out the same hole and they don't have, according to the web site, enough plant fiber in their diet. 

There's also, I just want to mention, a glue trap for snakes. The glue breaks down over time so the snake could get away, in theory. But it usually starves to death first. But, then you can pull it out of the glue trap and throw it away as opposed to having to throw the glue trap away while the snake is still attached.


The web site dude hasn't responded back yet. That's okay. He's probably catching snakes. Which is a good thing.
 

escape to new york

Well, I'm in the city and in my hotel room, which is a lot bigger than I expected it to be. It's almost a regular sized room.

It wasn't easy getting here. My flight was delayed an hour because there was fog in NYC and they wouldn't allow planes to land. Then the traffic controllers got all mixed up. First they told us we were clear to take off so everyone got on the plane. Then while we were taxiing down the runway (boy, that's a weird word, taxiing, I like it) they said we weren't cleared to take off. So we sat on the run way for about 40 minutes. The baby behind me was crying. I hate that.

I guess it was a good thing we were delayed because a shit show storm was brewing for my engagement next week, all because the install engineer doesn't do his fucking job. This is the third engagement I've done with him where he failed to get the software installed and operational before I showed up. Oh, and the engagement manager forgot to order the training material for a class I'm giving Monday.

I'm glad I get to do everyone else's job, and my own.

Oh, and a blog posting I put up yesterday on my work blog went viral. Kind of cool.

Well, into the void tomorrow. I wonder if I'm going to have to pitch to an agent tomorrow or if we're just working with editors...it would be cool if something finally happens for my book but I'm trying to not get my hopes up.

new york, new york

So tomorrow I leave for the pitch conference to see if I can get an agent for my book. The fun starts Thursday at 9 am and goes to Sunday 4 pm. Though, I'll be leaving at 2 PM to take a train to my customer engagement next week.

I keep rewriting my first five pages. I need to stop doing that.

I read a really depressing statistic. Most agents get 10,000 queries a year. They usually pick 2 to publish. That's even worse odds than when I applied to Johns Hopkins. Ech.

perhaps I've taken fake smoking too far

So, I'm taking my anti-smoking medication so I can stop smoking my fake cigarettes. Is that weird? My dad thinks it is.

Also, I just found out on wikipedia today that nicotine ISN'T bad for you. Me, I mean.

So I spent an hour filling all my zero nicotine cartridges for my fake cigarette with nicotine liquid so they'll have nicotine in them.

my hair is my glory and, is that santa claus?

So, without going into too much detail about it, I got a jacked up hair cut about 5 weeks ago. That was bad, but what was worse is that my hairdresser also straightened my hair WITHOUT ASKING ME.

ANNOYING!

Because I LIKE being called Medusa (with blond hair instead of snakes, because you know I don't like snakes). I ended up getting this amazing hair mask and my hair is slowly getting back to normal.

So last night I was having a drink with my friend Jessie. She has really long black hair and it's curly like mine. She was commiserating with me about my still a little jacked up hair. She's small but she gets loud after a few drinks. Anyway, a black woman in the bar (it's a bar where homeless people hang out some times, but I wanted to go there because it's right down my street) came up to me and said "Your hair is your glory! Grow your glory!"

I didn't know what to do so I said "Okay, um, I won't get it cut for a long time."

But the woman wouldn't stop going on about my hair. And then a guy walked in with this weird pointy beard. He was super short and looked like one of those guys that starts a cult and then kills all the members.

So we decided to go to another local bar (it's so local they check your ID to make sure you're from the hood before they serve you a drink). Jessie wondered, loudly, why people on crack like me so much (I'm often approached on the street by homeless crack heads - they don't ask me for money - they just want to talk to me). People started sneak looking at me. Then I told her a story and she started laughing so hard everyone in the bar turned around to look at her and this time she noticed a white haired guy sitting at the end of the bar.

She was like "Oh my god! Is that santa claus?"

At which point I decided it was time to walk her home. While we were waiting at a stop light I checked my crackberry and saw I had a text from my brother so I said "Oh, I got a text from Bob." And Jessie said "That's your brother's name? That's what I named my vibrator!"

She laughed about that the whole walk home.

I'm not so sure about this "socializing" stuff.

why researchers need to hire a stand up comedian

I just read an article on NPR about how researchers managed to send a message through 787 feet of stone using a beam of neutrinos.

A quote from another article said:

For the first time, scientists have used neutrinos — the exotic fundamental particles that routinely pass right through Earth — to send a message through the ground.

Guess what message they sent? Remembering that neutrinos are exotic and that this was a ground breaking experiment with potential to change, if nothing else, the way we communicate (at&t will have to kiss all those gov dollars for maintaining phone lines bye bye for starters). And that, if CERN figures out whether or not a neutrino did travel faster than the speed of light that we could send messages back in time. And that this wasn't an overnight experiment, surely it was years in the making and all the scientists had to be thinking about what message to send...

They sent one word: neutrino.

Um, what? Are you fucking KIDDING???????????

Why not "Rosebud was his sled", "first neutrino spam message", "my neutrino went through the center of the earth and all I got was this lousy t-shirt", "neutrinos are particles too", "I've been shot!", "neutrinos do it faster"...

And those are just stupid things that I thought up in one minute.

It's a happy day for science, and a sad day for creativity

Reminds me of my dream where I was allowed to look through a telescope to see the secrets of the universe...

the gift that keeps on giving me shit

I should have known not to get too excited about my new laptop.

I turned it on yesterday late afternoon so I could start migrating stuff off this old dying dog.

BUT -

My name is spelled wrong on my account so I wasn't able to connect to the network; also, it took me a while to figure out where the spelling error was (they replaced the "a" in my last name with a "u" - interesting).

They sent me the wrong passwords for both my Admin and user accounts. Luckily I was able to guess them both.

They sent the laptop loaded with nothing but windows 7 and some other crap. Seriously? Like, they couldn't take the FIVE FUCKING SECONDS to load MS Office so instead I wasted 5 hours downloading it off a server that's probably in fucking India.

The instructions for the set up were completely wrong. Like wrong at step 2. How fucking incompetent do you have to be that in a 4 page 20 step document EVERYTHING is wrong after step 1 (which was "log on"). I just started winging it (I know, for YOU set up of a laptop is not hard - but I am in an INSANE corporate environment and have to do shit like encrypt my hard drive, add passwords to disks, link up to a security site that checks my laptop once a week for sensitive information compliance and I had to also figure out what fucking server my mail is on - WHO KNOWS THAT??????).

I probably would not be so pissed if I hadn't been up in the Boulder office where they load up the laptops and seen most of the staff there talking or playing solitaire. I think one guy was working on a laptop. No, better to have me waste my time doing this shit than someone who IS GETTING PAID TO BE IT SUPPORT.

Don't worry. I have a job interview on Friday.

the squeaky wheel gets the biggest laptop ever

My new laptop arrived. It's a lot bigger than my old one and weighs as much as I do.

It fucking better be faster and more stable.

Can't wait to lug that power supply around. I thought batteries were getting smaller.

We are a high tech company.

the wifesitter

My writing buddy Kevin just made a trailer for a tv show called The Wifesitter. Check it out. He plays the husband.

a strange underwear drawer of their own

Generally, it's hard to be friends with mathematicians. Sure they occasionally provide some useful information. But for the most part, they're smart asses. Like this mathematician I know that I was trying to get to help me think of a practical use for the Goldbach Conjecture should it ever be proved (I like to stress myself out by thinking about problems that can't be solved but that don't involve Pakistan):

I wrote:

I've been taking tests for an hour to see if I pick the golden rectangle out of a series of rectangles and I can't do it. Like, 90% of the population can do it. I'm so depressed.

I've been reading a book about chaos and numbers. Discovered a neat card trick, which is how to suspend a card completely off of a table using only four cards and no glue. And have been caught up in wondering about a practical use for the Goldbach Conjecture.

And, ha ha:

There are three types of people: those who count precisely and those who don't.

I'm bored. When are you getting home?

He wrote:

I'm home. I’m remembering that one time during the week I had an insight about chaos theory, but I’m too rushed right now to articulate it. Remind me later.

The original interest in Goldbach’s Conjecture was to use it as a gravel screen in the search for prime numbers I would assume. But that has probably gone by the boards these days, with modern machine searching algorithms.

I wrote (to be a smart ass):

It's this:

Every even integer greater than 2 can be expressed as the sum of two primes

So the multiplication of 2 primes can be used to encrypt data because it's so hard to figure out what the two original primes were, I was thinking about, if Goldbach's conjecture could be proven to be true is there a practical application.

He wrote:

I know/knew what Goldbach’s conjecture is, and was merely speculating on its usefulness myself. But think of your encryption proposal this way – it will only be useful if the GC remains unproven, just because any proof of the GC is liable to include a calculation engine that will determine the primes involved that sum to a particular value. In other words, you would only have a trustworthy, computable code if the GC were proven. But, if the GC were proven, then its proof could be applied in the deciphering of your encryption. Zero sum game.

Best place to hide stuff is still across the borders of adjacent second order mathematical languages – i.e. book codes and the like, that are generated anew for each message and user.

Though, your underwear drawer can work pretty good, too. No one ever stole my credit card numbers from there.

And since he said "your underwear drawer" (people are normally good at math or english, and, he's a mathematician) I wrote:

Why are you hiding your credit card numbers in my underwear drawer?

You're right. No one looks in there.

It should be noted I don't have an underwear drawer.

He wrote (because he can't admit he's made even an english mistake):

Think of your underwear drawer as my personal version of cloud computing, except that your underwear drawer won’t be subject to repetitive hacking attempts.

Okay. Denial of service attacks, maybe.

Anyway. Everyone should have one. You know... they could arrange a strange underwear drawer of their own.

 Um, what?????

Though, I did laugh about the cloud comment. Reminded me of the obnoxious consultant sitting in his own personal cloud.

it turns out, I'm not a dinosaur

I just took a quiz on fake science to find out what kind of dinosaur I am.

Be...normal?

more on mittens

I was just reading an article about Khodorkovsky, the Russian billionaire wrongly jailed by Putin. While he was awaiting trial he was forced to work in the prison colony's mitten factory.


Interesting tie in with my cringle crisp story since, for punishment, the croco-diamond and the kangawrong have to knit mittens as punishment for trying to steal the ton-o-tap full of cringle crisps. And to think someone told me that was a "ridiculous" punishment.

rooting my xoom

My brother Steve sends me links to stuff all the time, probably in the hopes that someday I won't be such a fucking idiot. But half the time I don't understand what he's sending me.

For example, on Wednesday he sent me an email titled: root your xoom. I didn't open it for a few days because I thought his email might have gotten hacked. Then curiosity got the best of me and I opened it. It said:

http://cornea.site40.net/

 

I had to re-root my xoom, this program is much easier than the way I did it the first time.

I was like, um, what? So I sent him an email back:

Not to be totally stupid, but what does rooting do?

I didn't mention I had no idea what a xoom was.

It turns out xoom is the new tablet I just bought. For those of you with tablets that are curious, here's what, according to Steve, rooting your xoom will do (besides invalidating your warranty):

http://www.tomsguide.com/us/Root-Your-Android-Phone,review-1688.html

I rooted my xoom so I can back it up and so I can make the external sdcard read/write. But at the end of the day I bought the device, it is mine, I should have control over it, not the other way around.

I need to write up an article on the must have droid apps for new users, but here is a short list for you (root or not):
- es file explorer (manage your files, connect to remote, I use every day)
- airdroid (manage your device and file with easy transfer from your computer, excellent app)
- mx player (plays most videos)
- dolphin hd (best web browser, add-ons capable)
- mobo player (plays most videos)
- hacker's keyboard with english (keyboard replacement, I alternate with smart keyboard but smart is $)
- Amazon app store (new free app every day)
- Skype (xooms are awesome skype devices)

 As if I would ever skype anyone. I hate the idea of my computer listening in on my conversations.

And now I'm going to go around asking people if they've rooted their xooms so I can feel intellectually superior.

 

shop rock

I was in safeway today buying garlic powder (I just learned how to make a kick ass Greek salad dressing - I will never buy pre-made dressing again - why does store bought salad dressing taste so bad?) and, as I was trying to figure out which aisle might have garlic powder, I noticed that van halen's hot for teacher was playing.

Way, way back in the day I remember that song being banned from my elementary school because van halen was considered at the time to be obscene. Ha. And now they're playing at the grocery store?

I'm also not a fan of listening to top 40 music when I'm in a hotel lobby. Every hotel I've stayed in the past year has had some kind of top forty music playing in the lobby.

I miss the good old days when they played classical music. Or even jazz. I'm not sad that they aren't playing muzak anymore. I just don't want to listen to van halen while I'm trying to decide which grapes to buy. I don't like talking over the fray when I'm trying to check into my hotel.

when not fighting dark forces I fight myself

My friend Arthur sent me this email:

Franki,

This made me think of you.  Remember the time when you went from blond to black and did not recognize yourself in the mirror …

 

 

All because one night in Las Cruces, NM, we were getting drunk at a bar called the double eagle. I was drinking top shelf margaritas. I think it was my going away party.

 

Anyway, I had just dyed my hair black and in the course of getting drunk forgot. At some point in the evening I had to walk across a dance floor to get to the ladies. One wall of the dance floor was a mirror. I saw the reflection of the hallway to the bathroom in the mirror and tried to walk down it. When I bumped into the mirror I looked up and thought I had bumped into this bitch with black hair.

 

I said "You go that way and I'll go this way."

 

Bitch bumped into me again. I said "Stop bumping into me" and tried to walk down the hallway. 

 

Finally I started screaming and threatening to hit her. The bouncer came over and pointed out I was walking into a mirror.

 

Tres embarrassing.

 

Same night, I got up on the table and gave a speech about something.

 

Next day at work I was massively hung over and Arthur tried to get me to eat a piece of key lime pie.

 

Ick.

 

I still love key lime pie but haven't had a margarita since.

 

 

there's a first time for everything

I have a nemesis at work...another consultant who is always fucking up stuff at client sites because he comes up with the stupidest, most complex solutions to problems. Then I have to go in and clean up the mess. But, because he has seniority over me (he's worked at the company for 20 years) we end up in scenarios where he gets a 6 month engagement and I only get 2 weeks to fix all the problems after his 6 month engagement fails.

Which is insane. But, that's the way my company works.

So he's currently trying to pawn off a total disaster client on me and is only giving me 48 hours to fix a huge problem. I told him no. So he back channeled my manager and said I was refusing work even though I have nothing on my schedule. My manager (surprisingly) forwarded me the email and asked what was up.

I explained to him my take on the "assignment" and said I didn't want to get involved.

My manager called me this morning and said he wanted more details from me. I gave them to him and he said he's going to have a meeting with my upper management to call the asshole consultant on his bullshit. And then he said to me "This question is probably going to make you think I'm even stupider than you already think I am" (the question was about what one of the software tools that he sells is supposed to do). I was like whoa. Is it that obvious? Then I felt bad, even though he has, in the past, been pretty much a jerk to me.

Maybe someone told him I'm looking for a new job. But it was nice of him to call and to back me up. I resolve to try to be nicer to him.

ever wonder what a stuffed animal would look like inside out?

Wonder no more. This is a great article on NPR about creative thinking.

coincidence, chaos, and all that math jazz

I've been reading this great math book called Coincidence, Chaos, and all that Math Jazz. I just read a chapter about the golden rectangle.

But it's making me feel bad. I keep looking at examples of rectangles and can never pick the golden rectangle. I always pick the fucked up rectangle. I'm so annoyed. Like, 99% of the population can pick out the golden rectangle.

What's wrong with me?

the resolution of the class

Finally, Wednesday afternoon, I got an email from the help desk that the issue with the license and the elab availability had been resolved. I spent two hours updating license files for the 15 elab instances.

So what do you think happened on Thursday?

15 minutes before the class was supposed to start I get a phone call from the class coordinator saying the customer canceled Thursday's class because not enough people were available. FIFTEEN FUCKING MINUTES before class.

What do you think happened on Friday?

I got a call at 6 am asking why I hadn't logged on to the class yet. Turns out the training coordinator gave the people who moderate the class a different start time than the people who were taking the class (class was scheduled with the students to start at 8 am MST, moderator was told 8 am EST). Luckily I was awake.

And then the customer brought 15 new students (i.e. not in the original class) in 4 hours before the class was supposed to end. He asked me to train these 15 new students on what is essentially 24 hours of class material. Compress 24 hours into 4 hours? Nightmare.

I did my best.

And luckily have a job interview this week to work somewhere else.

Ech.

the stupidest company in the world

So, tomorrow and Friday I'm supposed to be teaching an online class. It's a makeup for an online class I taught a month ago. We have to have a make up class because the last time the lab environment wasn't available the first day (the idiot who set up the class didn't order it) and when we finally got into the lab half way through the second day (so, 16 hours into a class that is 80% lab) the license for the software the students use was expired. Meaning, of 14 hours of lab work the students ended up getting 2 hours.

Well, the idiot (same person) who set up the make up class only ordered the lab for the second day. I've been trying since last Wednesday, when I caught the error, to ensure that the lab will be available tomorrow. The "help" desk has closed the ticket twice without resolving it and the idiot I spoke to change the lab date from 2 march to 3 march (I had requested 1 & 2 march - perhaps the enterprising little fuck nut thought I meant 1 + 2 and got 3).

I still don't know if the lab is going to work tomorrow.

Oh, and the license file for the lab is STILL expired. I just received an email that the due date for the ticket I opened 24 February (which wasn't created until 27 February) has a due date of 9 March. And the notes say specifically that the class is being run 1 March.

I need a new job.

hooray! it's done! (sort of)

I just finished my book!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yea!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

EXTREME WRITING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Now I just have to edit it by Wednesday so I can send it in to the contest. Special thanks to Kevin C. from my writer's group who has done some editing for me!!!!!!!!!!!!

I've made a bunch of revisions, will try to post some sections later.

For now, here's the section (not edited yet) where the giant man, kangawrong, and croco-diamond go to deliver the mittens to the whitey biteys:

And so they embarked out onto the wharf. First the croco-diamond, in charge of the mission, went out thump thump skrrrr, swinging his tail from side to side to clear any possible splinters as to protect the kangawrong. Next the kangawrong hop hip hop hop bump. And finally the giant man, carrying all of the parts for the siege craft thum shudder thum shudder.

boom! (from when he set the parts of the siege craft down on the wharf).

The giant man helped the kangawrong set up the kangapult while the croco-diamond read off his instructions, occasionally checking by the position of the sun to be sure things were happening on time. He paced back and forth in front of the kangapult frantically consulting his papers as the giant man and the kangawrong wrapped twine, placed parts, and adjusted angles, until finally -

“If I could have your attention PLEASE!” Commanded the croco-diamond. “Is the spoon situated?”

And though he could see it was, as it was right in front of him, he insisted the kangawrong give a little HOP! that it was situation.

“And the flip flop fastened?”

HOP!

“The twine…er…twound?”

HOP!

“The mitten positioned?”

HOP!

“Then by my order, as a croco-diamond, leader of this mission, and member of the royal order of this croco-ttalion…”

He had made that up, actually, but thought it sounded official.

“…on this day, at this particular time…”

He checked the position of the sun then referred to his piece of paper to make sure they were right on time.

“…for the mission on which we’ve embarked, for the good people of the oceans, here after referred to by their formal name, of which the name is and shall be the whitey biteys, of the genus charcharodon whitemous…”

He noticed that perhaps the giant man and kangawrong were becoming a bit bored, so he decided to skip the part of his speech about the dorsality and chillianisimmi of the whitey biteys and get on with the mission.

“I hereby command, ye there forward kangawrong, the preparing for, and, ye, the commencement of…”

And with that the kangawrong hopped high up onto the flip flop (a bit early but the croco-diamond excused the poor thing for being nervous and resolved to finish his speech later, at dinner, there were at least 10 more pages left). The flip flop side of the zippy shoe skate, correction, the kangapult, hit the wharf, which shuddered with a wooden creak brrrm. The spoon shot into the air and the mitten in its bowl arced gracefully up, up in the air, flying! In flight!

And then landed rather anticlimactically on the croco-diamond’s snout.

The kangawrong’s ears fell flat. Its eyes went PLOCK PLOCK.

“One moment, I’m checking the plan…” The croco-diamond shuffled through his papers, muttering, “But, but I’m GOOD at physics.”

And suddenly an ocean wind blew across the croco-diamond’s nose, carrying the mitten off the wharf! And into the water!

“Quick! Quick!” shouted the croco-diamond. “We must…”

Just then a triangular fin broke the surface. And a rotund head with two black eyes popped up, bearing a mouth full of boy that’s a lot of teeth, and looked at all who stood on the wharf. The creature slipped a fin into the mitten and disappeared again beneath the water.

“As I was, ahem, saying, we must have included some extra steps in the plan which, in the interest of efficiency, I now think we can eliminate.”

He gestured with his front foot at the kangawrong.

 “Carry on with the plan.”