Signing Ceremony
Hotel Timeo, Taormina
The lilac peak of Etna dribbles pink,
Visibly seething in the politest way.
The shallow vodka cocktails that we sink
Here on the terrace at the close of day
Are spreading numb delight as they go down.
Their syrup mirrors the way lava flows:
It’s just a show, it might take over town,
Sometimes the Cyclops, from his foxhole, throws
Rocks at Ulysses. But regard the lake
Of moonlight on the water, stretching east
Almost to Italy. The love we make
Tonight might be our last, but this, at least,
Is one romantic setting, am I right?
Cypresses draped in bougainvillea,
The massed petunias, the soft, warm night,
That streak of candy floss. And you, my star,
Still walking the stone alleys with the grace
Of forty years ago. Don’t laugh at me
For saying dumb things. Just look at this place.
Time was more friend to us than enemy,
And soon enough this backdrop will go dark
Again. The spill of neon cream will cool,
The crater waiting years for the next spark
Of inspiration, since the only rule
Governing history is that it goes on:
There is no rhythm of events, they just
Succeed each other. Soon, we will be gone,
And that volcano, if and when it must,
Will flood the slope with lip gloss brought to boil
For other lovers who come here to spend
One last, late, slap-up week in suntan oil,
Their years together winding to an end.
With any luck, they’ll see what we have seen:
Not just the picture postcard, but the splash
Of fire, and know this flowering soil has been
Made rich by an inheritance of ash.
Only because it’s violent to the core
The world grows gardens. Out of earth we came,
To earth we shall return. But first, one more
Of these, delicious echoes of the flame
That drives the long life all should have, yet few
Are granted as we were. It wasn’t fair?
Of course it wasn’t. But which of us knew,
To start with, that the other would be there,
One step away, for all the time it took
To come this far and see a mountain cry
Hot tears, as if our names, signed in the book
Of marriage, were still burning in the sky?
-Clive James
Friday, December 12, 2008
Thursday, December 11, 2008
excess email charge
I regret to inform you that, due to the current economy, I am going to have to start charging a fee for every email unless you are a gold member of our frequent emailer club (that would be my dad, Hilton Hotels, David Cseke a.k.a. Daffy Duck, and that guy from Ethiopia who claims he's going to give me a million dollars).
The fee will be $15 for every email, unless it is over sized, in which case you will have to pay $75. If your email weighs over 50 pounds you will be charged $45.
It's quite possible that, with these new fees in place, people who are not frequent emailers will stop sending me email. It's hoped that, with the over sized email fee in place, people will stop forwarding their junk mail to me, which includes shit I read back in 1996 (the Smithsonian letter comes to mind), those stupid chain letters, or emails with pictures of soldiers, hearts, or puppies.
I accept cash only, preferably a currency that's not depressed.
The fee will be $15 for every email, unless it is over sized, in which case you will have to pay $75. If your email weighs over 50 pounds you will be charged $45.
It's quite possible that, with these new fees in place, people who are not frequent emailers will stop sending me email. It's hoped that, with the over sized email fee in place, people will stop forwarding their junk mail to me, which includes shit I read back in 1996 (the Smithsonian letter comes to mind), those stupid chain letters, or emails with pictures of soldiers, hearts, or puppies.
I accept cash only, preferably a currency that's not depressed.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
and just when things seemed to be calming down...
This evening at my client site, just when I thought things couldn't get worse, a bitter male employee took down all of the company's servers. I heard the sys admins over the cube wall (from my new cube, which is the old cube of the brawler, who keeps walking by glaring at me because he thinks that I asked for his cube forcing him to be moved, great, guess I'm next on the hit list) tracking the employee trying to figure out what he was doing. Then everyone started yelling "we're going down!" like we were on the fucking Titanic or something.
All hell broke loose and I realized sitting next to the lead sys admin was a bad thing. The web site went down and there were about 20 people in my cube area. The CIO came running in, pointed at me, and yelled "get her the FUCK out of here!"
The network take down was poorly timed since auditors were at the site to give a rating on their network reliability. The good part is the models I've been working on out here could be used to show what applications were critical and which servers needed to be brought up first. Though, my customer just looked at me when I told him that.
So I went on mandatory break outside by request of my customer POC, who promised to come get me and let me back in when things calmed down. It was about to rain. And me without my umbrella, in a white shirt. It did start raining so I sat down on a table that had an umbrella on it. The customer came out 15 minutes later and said "you need to take your things and leave - just work from your hotel". I was like whatever bitch, 9 hours in this looney bin is enough for me, and I headed home. Did I just say that? I meant, I headed to the hotel.
Where, as I was smoking outside, I was invited to take an "exciting ride" on the Crowne Plaza Miami International Airport hotel shuttle's newly installed ramp for wheel chairs. I was told it was "free" and that I would "really enjoy it". So I stood on the ramp with a hotel employee and we were hoisted up into the bus. Then we pretended to be in a wheel chair so the guys could practice strapping the chair in. Then we were lowered off the lift. Whee.
Not the first time a man has promised me an exciting ride and failed to deliver.
All hell broke loose and I realized sitting next to the lead sys admin was a bad thing. The web site went down and there were about 20 people in my cube area. The CIO came running in, pointed at me, and yelled "get her the FUCK out of here!"
The network take down was poorly timed since auditors were at the site to give a rating on their network reliability. The good part is the models I've been working on out here could be used to show what applications were critical and which servers needed to be brought up first. Though, my customer just looked at me when I told him that.
So I went on mandatory break outside by request of my customer POC, who promised to come get me and let me back in when things calmed down. It was about to rain. And me without my umbrella, in a white shirt. It did start raining so I sat down on a table that had an umbrella on it. The customer came out 15 minutes later and said "you need to take your things and leave - just work from your hotel". I was like whatever bitch, 9 hours in this looney bin is enough for me, and I headed home. Did I just say that? I meant, I headed to the hotel.
Where, as I was smoking outside, I was invited to take an "exciting ride" on the Crowne Plaza Miami International Airport hotel shuttle's newly installed ramp for wheel chairs. I was told it was "free" and that I would "really enjoy it". So I stood on the ramp with a hotel employee and we were hoisted up into the bus. Then we pretended to be in a wheel chair so the guys could practice strapping the chair in. Then we were lowered off the lift. Whee.Not the first time a man has promised me an exciting ride and failed to deliver.
Rough Neighborhood
I'm on a very weird engagement in Miami.
First, I was informed on Monday that I could only smoke in a certain area outside the building. The area literally is the Everglades. I was warned about alligators, and laughed, until I realized the guys were being serious. So now every time I smoke I have to keep an eye out for creatures that might want to eat or maim me.
Then, yesterday, there was a bomb threat on the building. I am not working for the government, I'm working for a small company in an industry that is not known for being dangerous. It's a phone shop. Ridiculous.
Now, today, I've been moved from my cube to a conference room across from my cube because a male employee physically assaulted a female employee. He was not fired because no one saw the incident. So they are moving him to my cube because my cube has two cameras trained on it (wish I had known that before - I probably wouldn't have eaten so many cookies yesterday - the guards were probably like "oh my god - she ate 5 cookies! Look, she's eating another one!"). Theoretically he could still hit someone off camera, like me, because the conference room does not have a camera and I'm in his line of sight, but try to tell the security here anything.
And, nice to know consultants are so trusted.
I won't even go into the shit show hotel IBM put me in, except to say the front desk called me because I left four pennies in the change tray in my rental car and they were worried someone would break in and take the change. So I had to go down the elevator, using my key to get access to the ground floor, and not taking the stairs because the stair well doors are all locked (ask me how I know that), and then walk through a gate to get to my car. Then repeat the process to get back into the hotel and up to my room. And the first night I was scolded by the parking lot guard for walking a mile down the street at 8 PM because "there are gangs!" and if I wanted to walk I was advised to use the gym facility in the hotel, which requires me to go through 3 key checkpoints to access, only to discover the treadmill isn't working right.
I need hazard pay...
First, I was informed on Monday that I could only smoke in a certain area outside the building. The area literally is the Everglades. I was warned about alligators, and laughed, until I realized the guys were being serious. So now every time I smoke I have to keep an eye out for creatures that might want to eat or maim me.
Then, yesterday, there was a bomb threat on the building. I am not working for the government, I'm working for a small company in an industry that is not known for being dangerous. It's a phone shop. Ridiculous.
Now, today, I've been moved from my cube to a conference room across from my cube because a male employee physically assaulted a female employee. He was not fired because no one saw the incident. So they are moving him to my cube because my cube has two cameras trained on it (wish I had known that before - I probably wouldn't have eaten so many cookies yesterday - the guards were probably like "oh my god - she ate 5 cookies! Look, she's eating another one!"). Theoretically he could still hit someone off camera, like me, because the conference room does not have a camera and I'm in his line of sight, but try to tell the security here anything.
And, nice to know consultants are so trusted.
I won't even go into the shit show hotel IBM put me in, except to say the front desk called me because I left four pennies in the change tray in my rental car and they were worried someone would break in and take the change. So I had to go down the elevator, using my key to get access to the ground floor, and not taking the stairs because the stair well doors are all locked (ask me how I know that), and then walk through a gate to get to my car. Then repeat the process to get back into the hotel and up to my room. And the first night I was scolded by the parking lot guard for walking a mile down the street at 8 PM because "there are gangs!" and if I wanted to walk I was advised to use the gym facility in the hotel, which requires me to go through 3 key checkpoints to access, only to discover the treadmill isn't working right.
I need hazard pay...
Monday, December 8, 2008
snakes on a plane, on a train, the hotel must be next
I have had the worst nightmares about snakes (still) for the past three days. I thought by watching the darjeeling limited again I might get rid of my nightmares, which were caused by the scene where the snake gets loose in the brothers' train compartment (it suddenly occurred to me, after racking my brain, that the origin of the skinny cobra snake in a previously mentioned nightmare came from that movie - this was confirmed when I watched it again friday, or saturday, forget which day).
This morning I woke up at 3 am and was sure there was a snake in my hotel room. How could that be possible, you might ask. You're on the 5th fucking floor. But snakes are quite devious. I mean, if one of those little reptilian bastards could bring down the entire garden of eden (with Adam being all like "Yo, Eve, why were you talking to that snake? What's wrong with you?" and Eve being like "What ever Adam. All you do is golf. I needed someone to talk to and the snake was there." and then Adam being like "Oh, so you're saying it's all MY fault we have to wear clothes now. Next I guess you'll say that all future men will be obsessed with naked women and that there might even be a magazine showing them in lingerie." and then Eve saying "Shut up and go away asshole. I have cramps.").
So, humor me for a second. A snake gets a job working at a laundry. When he finds out I'm checking in he manages to conceal himself in my towels. After the maid does her normal shit show job of stacking my linens in the bathroom, not noticing the snake hidden in the billion towels she leaves for me even though I specifically requested only one towel, well, guess it's hard to count when you're taking crack cocaine like it's a cough drop, the snake makes himself comfortable in my bed. Watches something on TV, probably a movie that he charges to my room (causing my expense report to be rejected).
Then, when he hears me opening the door when I get home at night, he hides behind a pillow. As I am a creature of habit (sort of), he knows I'll be leaving in 15 minutes to go to the gym and then get food. When I return he strategically conceals himself as a wrinkle in the comforter.
I get into bed. He waits until I'm about to fall asleep and then sneaks out of the comforter right near my face. He opens up his hood and then sprays poison in my eyes. While I'm all like "Dammit, stop it! I just had an eye operation!" he bites me. Or worse, stabs me.
And that's why I checked every drawer in my room when I got home tonight. Took all the pillows off the bed. Put my suitcase against the door so he couldn't sneak under the gap. And am currently trying to figure out how to brush my teeth without putting my feet on the floor.
Fucking snakes...
This morning I woke up at 3 am and was sure there was a snake in my hotel room. How could that be possible, you might ask. You're on the 5th fucking floor. But snakes are quite devious. I mean, if one of those little reptilian bastards could bring down the entire garden of eden (with Adam being all like "Yo, Eve, why were you talking to that snake? What's wrong with you?" and Eve being like "What ever Adam. All you do is golf. I needed someone to talk to and the snake was there." and then Adam being like "Oh, so you're saying it's all MY fault we have to wear clothes now. Next I guess you'll say that all future men will be obsessed with naked women and that there might even be a magazine showing them in lingerie." and then Eve saying "Shut up and go away asshole. I have cramps.").
So, humor me for a second. A snake gets a job working at a laundry. When he finds out I'm checking in he manages to conceal himself in my towels. After the maid does her normal shit show job of stacking my linens in the bathroom, not noticing the snake hidden in the billion towels she leaves for me even though I specifically requested only one towel, well, guess it's hard to count when you're taking crack cocaine like it's a cough drop, the snake makes himself comfortable in my bed. Watches something on TV, probably a movie that he charges to my room (causing my expense report to be rejected).
Then, when he hears me opening the door when I get home at night, he hides behind a pillow. As I am a creature of habit (sort of), he knows I'll be leaving in 15 minutes to go to the gym and then get food. When I return he strategically conceals himself as a wrinkle in the comforter.
I get into bed. He waits until I'm about to fall asleep and then sneaks out of the comforter right near my face. He opens up his hood and then sprays poison in my eyes. While I'm all like "Dammit, stop it! I just had an eye operation!" he bites me. Or worse, stabs me.
And that's why I checked every drawer in my room when I got home tonight. Took all the pillows off the bed. Put my suitcase against the door so he couldn't sneak under the gap. And am currently trying to figure out how to brush my teeth without putting my feet on the floor.
Fucking snakes...
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
3 cups of tea
I finished reading the book 3 cups of tea two weeks ago. It's a decent book, inspiring in its way, but the one story that I found the most remarkable in the book is the story about Greg and his wife.
Greg was "dating" some woman who was, in marine parlance, a fucking asshole. She leaves him for some guy with more whatever (money, security, etc.). Then he leaves for Pakistan to build a school. At some future date the asshole comes back and wants to be with him. He tells her to fuck off.
Then, at some black tie event, Greg meets his soon to be wife. They spend all night talking. She says "welcome to my life" and he responds "welcome to my heart". They spend the rest of the week hanging out together. Get married 7 days later. Procreate. Etc.
Of all the things in the book (kidnappings, abject poverty, etc.) this is the part that left me the most stunned. I'm sure this happens to people all the time, but every time I hear a story like this it revives the whole myth of meeting some person who is so perfect you can figure all of your relationship shit out in 7 days or less and go on to live happily ever after together. Most of me does not think I believe something like that could actually happen. But I guess part of me believes that it can.
In theory, at least. Of course, in theory there are 11 dimensions in the universe. Good luck experiencing any but the first 4.
Greg was "dating" some woman who was, in marine parlance, a fucking asshole. She leaves him for some guy with more whatever (money, security, etc.). Then he leaves for Pakistan to build a school. At some future date the asshole comes back and wants to be with him. He tells her to fuck off.
Then, at some black tie event, Greg meets his soon to be wife. They spend all night talking. She says "welcome to my life" and he responds "welcome to my heart". They spend the rest of the week hanging out together. Get married 7 days later. Procreate. Etc.
Of all the things in the book (kidnappings, abject poverty, etc.) this is the part that left me the most stunned. I'm sure this happens to people all the time, but every time I hear a story like this it revives the whole myth of meeting some person who is so perfect you can figure all of your relationship shit out in 7 days or less and go on to live happily ever after together. Most of me does not think I believe something like that could actually happen. But I guess part of me believes that it can.
In theory, at least. Of course, in theory there are 11 dimensions in the universe. Good luck experiencing any but the first 4.
Monday, December 1, 2008
why I dislike TV
TV is about the most disorganized thing I have encountered outside the government. It's a wonder people still continue to watch it after all these years.
For example, last night I was trying to find this show about detectives that track down killers (it's called something with the word "48" in it and it's about real people who died). It used to be on channel 32, but now that channel is a different channel. I don't understand why every TV can't use the same numbers all the time. Stupid.
Anyway, I found this show called History or something that was about Osama Bin Laden. I started watching it because I'm reading The Looming Tower (great book). Anyway, I never would have known what show I was watching except that they kept flashing this History thing in the corner of the screen. I guess that is the name of the show.
Then, when that show was done, they had a commercial for another show. I don't know why you have to have commercials for shows when people know (theoretically at least) what show is going to be on that channel. Isn't that like having a pop up on the Yahoo web site that says "next on...Yahoo!". Anyway, the commercial for the show said the show was going to be on Tuesday, but then it was on right after the commercial! What sense does that make? If I were relying on the TV to know what day it was I would think it was Tuesday. No one said anything about the show being on Sunday and Tuesday. So annoying.
And a final thing, at my sister's house, my mom showed me how to push this button that makes an index of everything in the TV and what time it's on. The problem was the index was wrong. It said this one channel had a show on it but it wasn't on and the channel was something else entirely. I guess there's a web site to look this stuff up for a TV but that seems like too much work. Also, I pressed a bunch of buttons on the TV in my hotel room to try to find that special button but it didn't seem to work on my TV.
I think TV would be better if it were like the internet. I could just type in a web address for the show I wanted and it would be there. I hate having to look at channels to see if I can find the one I'm looking for.
And that's why I don't watch TV and refuse to own one.
For example, last night I was trying to find this show about detectives that track down killers (it's called something with the word "48" in it and it's about real people who died). It used to be on channel 32, but now that channel is a different channel. I don't understand why every TV can't use the same numbers all the time. Stupid.
Anyway, I found this show called History or something that was about Osama Bin Laden. I started watching it because I'm reading The Looming Tower (great book). Anyway, I never would have known what show I was watching except that they kept flashing this History thing in the corner of the screen. I guess that is the name of the show.
Then, when that show was done, they had a commercial for another show. I don't know why you have to have commercials for shows when people know (theoretically at least) what show is going to be on that channel. Isn't that like having a pop up on the Yahoo web site that says "next on...Yahoo!". Anyway, the commercial for the show said the show was going to be on Tuesday, but then it was on right after the commercial! What sense does that make? If I were relying on the TV to know what day it was I would think it was Tuesday. No one said anything about the show being on Sunday and Tuesday. So annoying.
And a final thing, at my sister's house, my mom showed me how to push this button that makes an index of everything in the TV and what time it's on. The problem was the index was wrong. It said this one channel had a show on it but it wasn't on and the channel was something else entirely. I guess there's a web site to look this stuff up for a TV but that seems like too much work. Also, I pressed a bunch of buttons on the TV in my hotel room to try to find that special button but it didn't seem to work on my TV.
I think TV would be better if it were like the internet. I could just type in a web address for the show I wanted and it would be there. I hate having to look at channels to see if I can find the one I'm looking for.
And that's why I don't watch TV and refuse to own one.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
bad snake dream
Don't know if it's the altitude or what, but I had the weirdest nightmare last night...
I dreamed that I was in the kitchen of my sister's house, except it was only half the size, and one wall was missing. The house was open to the outside and right where the wall was supposed to be was a pool with the carcass of a dead man floating in it. The carcass was missing the arms, legs, and head, and it had a big bite taken out of the middle of it. Inside the pool was a huge great white shark.
I wanted to jump into the pool because I thought the shark could protect me from this psycho man, who kind of looked like one of my ex-boyfriends. The psycho man had a stick and kept poking this long green snake. Every time he poked the snake it would flare up into a cobra. I was panicking and wanted to get away from the man and his snake. He was trying to pick the snake up by the tail, supposedly to throw the snake out of the house so I would be safe.
The man and the snake kept getting closer and closer to me. I was standing on the edge of the pool pleading with the guy to let me jump in, but he kept saying "I know you think that shark won't bite you, but it will."
Then the guy grabbed the snake by the tail and the snake started lashing out at me. It was getting really close and I was screaming so the guy threw the stick to me and said "If it gets close to you just hit it with the stick." I picked up the stick right as the guy dropped the snake and the snake was at my ankle. I felt like I was going to faint and then I looked down to see if maybe by standing still the snake wouldn't bite me. Right as I looked down the snake was flared like a cobra and bit me right in the heart and then I was like "Damn, I'm going to die. I knew I should have jumped into the pool with the shark." Then I woke up and was so scared from the dream I couldn't go back to sleep.
Maybe I should stop eating tuna fish sandwiches for dinner. I've had a lot of bad dreams this past week...
I dreamed that I was in the kitchen of my sister's house, except it was only half the size, and one wall was missing. The house was open to the outside and right where the wall was supposed to be was a pool with the carcass of a dead man floating in it. The carcass was missing the arms, legs, and head, and it had a big bite taken out of the middle of it. Inside the pool was a huge great white shark.
I wanted to jump into the pool because I thought the shark could protect me from this psycho man, who kind of looked like one of my ex-boyfriends. The psycho man had a stick and kept poking this long green snake. Every time he poked the snake it would flare up into a cobra. I was panicking and wanted to get away from the man and his snake. He was trying to pick the snake up by the tail, supposedly to throw the snake out of the house so I would be safe.
The man and the snake kept getting closer and closer to me. I was standing on the edge of the pool pleading with the guy to let me jump in, but he kept saying "I know you think that shark won't bite you, but it will."
Then the guy grabbed the snake by the tail and the snake started lashing out at me. It was getting really close and I was screaming so the guy threw the stick to me and said "If it gets close to you just hit it with the stick." I picked up the stick right as the guy dropped the snake and the snake was at my ankle. I felt like I was going to faint and then I looked down to see if maybe by standing still the snake wouldn't bite me. Right as I looked down the snake was flared like a cobra and bit me right in the heart and then I was like "Damn, I'm going to die. I knew I should have jumped into the pool with the shark." Then I woke up and was so scared from the dream I couldn't go back to sleep.
Maybe I should stop eating tuna fish sandwiches for dinner. I've had a lot of bad dreams this past week...
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Mayor's Christmas Ball
My friend David Cseke, whom I've talked to for maybe a total of two hours, sent me an email today saying that he, David Cseke, is upset because I only mentioned him in one paragraph in my blog, where as I mentioned Betty more times, and wrote an entire blog about a TV.
David Cseke thinks he deserves more recognition in my blog, maybe because he made fun of me more than Betty did, or maybe because he sent me a warning email (too late, I might add) that I would likely get eaten by an elk on my evening walk.
David Cseke is also upset that I don't capitalize the "T" in the Banff Centre. This might have been what led to the comment that I shouldn't make fun of loonies because "you're a girl named Franki". And while we're making the list, he said I use too much profanity on my blog and therefore David Cseke won't be showing it to his boss. Or inviting me to the Mayor's Christmas Ball. Which is such a shame because it means I'll have to find something else to do over the holidays.
I may spend the holidays cleaning since I will finally be rid of my house pest. For those interested, David Cseke is a self proclaimed clean freak who recently moved to a house that has deer in the back yard. The ones that move, not the plastic kind. Or, he says they're real. Could be the bleach fumes...
David Cseke thinks he deserves more recognition in my blog, maybe because he made fun of me more than Betty did, or maybe because he sent me a warning email (too late, I might add) that I would likely get eaten by an elk on my evening walk.
David Cseke is also upset that I don't capitalize the "T" in the Banff Centre. This might have been what led to the comment that I shouldn't make fun of loonies because "you're a girl named Franki". And while we're making the list, he said I use too much profanity on my blog and therefore David Cseke won't be showing it to his boss. Or inviting me to the Mayor's Christmas Ball. Which is such a shame because it means I'll have to find something else to do over the holidays.
I may spend the holidays cleaning since I will finally be rid of my house pest. For those interested, David Cseke is a self proclaimed clean freak who recently moved to a house that has deer in the back yard. The ones that move, not the plastic kind. Or, he says they're real. Could be the bleach fumes...
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
It's For You, TV
I've seen a TV do a lot of things, for example, play TV shows, play video games, and play movies. But today I saw a TV answer a phone call.
I was in a conference room at my customer's site, using this huge TV as a projector. I've taken to calling the TV "Fuzzy" because the picture is completely unclear but the TV is so complicated no one can figure out how to fix the resolution, and we can't use the projector since the TV cost so much money that it has to be used. Fuzzy has a big sign on him that says "Leave Your Ink On The Table!", apparently because someone wrote on him with a marker. There are some TV markers you can use to highlight stuff on the screen but unfortunately when I tried to use them I activated something because it's a touch screen it caused me to crash the software I was demonstrating. Oops.
That's not the only bad thing Fuzzy has done. He likes to go into sleep mode right at crucial parts of my presentation and someone has to smack him on the screen to wake him up. I am no longer allowed to touch the screen since the aforementioned software crash and also because I was eating pumpkin cupcakes today and not wiping my hands off. Fuzzy also turns on his video display and then, all of the sudden, there we all in the conference room are projected on the TV. For the record, I don't think I look 10 pounds heavier on Fuzzy, but I do look more tired.
Anyway, at the end of the day today I was talking to some data base admins (one of whom went to high school with me) and suddenly we heard a phone ringing. Everyone reached for their crackberries except for me because I never turn my ringer on. Then we realized someone was calling the TV. It turns out Fuzzy had phone capabilities for doing remote conference calls. It was a telemarketer calling to tell Fuzzy if he had any credit problems he had a place to turn. It took us a few minutes to figure out how to hang up his phone. I wonder if people can leave him messages while he's asleep. And if he has an email address too.
I like to send copies of my blog to people when I make fun of them.
I was in a conference room at my customer's site, using this huge TV as a projector. I've taken to calling the TV "Fuzzy" because the picture is completely unclear but the TV is so complicated no one can figure out how to fix the resolution, and we can't use the projector since the TV cost so much money that it has to be used. Fuzzy has a big sign on him that says "Leave Your Ink On The Table!", apparently because someone wrote on him with a marker. There are some TV markers you can use to highlight stuff on the screen but unfortunately when I tried to use them I activated something because it's a touch screen it caused me to crash the software I was demonstrating. Oops.
That's not the only bad thing Fuzzy has done. He likes to go into sleep mode right at crucial parts of my presentation and someone has to smack him on the screen to wake him up. I am no longer allowed to touch the screen since the aforementioned software crash and also because I was eating pumpkin cupcakes today and not wiping my hands off. Fuzzy also turns on his video display and then, all of the sudden, there we all in the conference room are projected on the TV. For the record, I don't think I look 10 pounds heavier on Fuzzy, but I do look more tired.
Anyway, at the end of the day today I was talking to some data base admins (one of whom went to high school with me) and suddenly we heard a phone ringing. Everyone reached for their crackberries except for me because I never turn my ringer on. Then we realized someone was calling the TV. It turns out Fuzzy had phone capabilities for doing remote conference calls. It was a telemarketer calling to tell Fuzzy if he had any credit problems he had a place to turn. It took us a few minutes to figure out how to hang up his phone. I wonder if people can leave him messages while he's asleep. And if he has an email address too.
I like to send copies of my blog to people when I make fun of them.
Monday, November 10, 2008
the final days of Banff
I found out something interesting slogging through my final day on Saturday as a volunteer at the Banff film fest. A woman I've been working with, Betty (see previous post), is the originator of the film fest. She and her husband used to invite people to their house to watch movies. Eventually this event was co-opted by the Banff Centre, the movies became more pornographic (from an athletic perspective), and now Betty gets to rip tickets for events.
I worked the door of Saturday's film fest with one David Cseke. I'll give you a loonie if you can pronounce his last name correctly. Over the course of my time knowing Dave, he made fun of me for writing "theater" instead of "theatre", predicted I would get eaten by an elk (do they even eat people?) during one of my evening forays along the cliff heading up to the Banff Centre, called me a geek for my mad math skills (jealous, I know), and told me that the reason the front desk refused (before I offered money) to print my boarding pass for my flight home is that in 2001 an attendant got a paper cut and now it's illegal for them to print out anything for customers. Okay, that last thing, I think he made up. He also said he felt like my "Banff book bitch", due to a mis-understanding caused by translation from Canadian to civilized English.
David, where's my fucking book?
Favorite part of the film fest: evening walks up to the lake, which had nothing to do with the film fest - exactly
Worst part of the film fest: getting stalked by an old dude who looked like a wolf 3 months away from getting shot to put him out of his misery - luckily R. shooed him off though it was a bit embarrassing later when I showed up at the airport only to find myself in line right behind him
I worked the door of Saturday's film fest with one David Cseke. I'll give you a loonie if you can pronounce his last name correctly. Over the course of my time knowing Dave, he made fun of me for writing "theater" instead of "theatre", predicted I would get eaten by an elk (do they even eat people?) during one of my evening forays along the cliff heading up to the Banff Centre, called me a geek for my mad math skills (jealous, I know), and told me that the reason the front desk refused (before I offered money) to print my boarding pass for my flight home is that in 2001 an attendant got a paper cut and now it's illegal for them to print out anything for customers. Okay, that last thing, I think he made up. He also said he felt like my "Banff book bitch", due to a mis-understanding caused by translation from Canadian to civilized English.
David, where's my fucking book?
Favorite part of the film fest: evening walks up to the lake, which had nothing to do with the film fest - exactly
Worst part of the film fest: getting stalked by an old dude who looked like a wolf 3 months away from getting shot to put him out of his misery - luckily R. shooed him off though it was a bit embarrassing later when I showed up at the airport only to find myself in line right behind him
Friday, November 7, 2008
the underbelly of Banff
I ran into more Amazing Race people today. I saw the hot guy and his friend running down Bear Ave. As they ran by me in a group of about 10 people, all wearing these yellow tied on Amazing Race signs, he yelled "Fucking Franki!" and tried to high five me. I can't believe he recognized me, though I guess I'm the only one in town with a pink down jacket.
This caused R, from the other evening, who was walking down the other side of the street, to run over to me. We ended up having tea at Starbucks. R suffers from arthritis, and was taking some kind of meds that made his pupils really small. He blew off his volunteer shift so we could go drinking, and I imagine it would have been something more potent had I not warned him I had a client telecon to attend to in a few hours.
I had a fun time listening to his stories of eating hash in Morocco (he said you know the buzz is kicking in when you hear the wind in your ears) and traveling through Africa with a guy from the French Foreign Legion. Between the two of us we managed to remember, in Latin, the first three paragraphs of Caesar's Gallic wars, the first 10 lines of the Iliad, and, in a total latin geek moment, we recited our favorite silly Latin poems (mine "Latin is a language, dead as dead can be / first it killed the Romans, now it's killing me").
The two interesting travel tips I learned from R are the following:
-if you are in an explosion open your mouth so that your ears won't get blown to bits; in addition, if you pull into a village and see all the kids standing around with their mouths open run away quickly because something is about to get blown up
-to find out the status of a country, change some money every day because the money changers really know what's going on - once in Algeria R was changing money and the guy offered 10 times the going rate if R would give him american dollars instead of whatever the french currency was at the time - a day later there was a coup - he said the CIA should have figured this out years ago, but hasn't
I started the day off at 630 am because I went to a publishers' workshop. I didn't learn a whole lot but did get inspired to put together a pitch for my next book which will likely be published way before my first book (or, not published at all, but I can dream can't I). The talk of the festival, which kept getting mentioned in the workshop, is some woman who got on the Oprah show. I sat in on her lecture yesterday. It's funny because to her face everyone says how great it all is. Then when she's gone they talk about how bad her lecture was (I agree), how she just used other people's material to write the book (just bought the book so can't say if that's true or not), and how she isn't that good of a writer so why did Oprah pick her. It's funny how two faced most people are here about stuff like that.
It's true especially of the women. There is a woman here who wrote a book about her husband dying; she ended up marrying his best friend. Packs of women were standing around talking about the book, and personal details about this woman's life, basically shredding her.
As the recycling nazi today I guess they felt comfortable saying these things around me. I mean, who would worry about talking in front of someone wearing a big green apron yelling "that doesn't go in there! it goes HERE!" as people try to throw their trash away. I had one little dude cower and scamper off with his trash rather than deal with me (this is 6 hours into my shift as a recycling ambassador, after only 5 hours of sleep, I was perhaps being a cranky bitch). This pack of old dudes, who I swear are stalking me, kept showing up with cups and asking "where would you like this to go, your highness?" even though they knew damn well where to put their coffee cups. I yelled at Jim Donini for trying to put a cup made of potato starch into the plastic recycling bin when it was supposed to go into the organic recycling bin. I ended the shift with my apron tied around my neck like a super hero cape, mostly because I was fucking bored, and also to shake the interest of a Banff Centre worker who, after hanging out with me for an hour, told me she thought I was "so juicy" and proceeded to ask me a question that isn't fit for this blog. The answer to the question was "NO!"
That woman was replaced with a woman named Betty that I worked with yesterday. We talked about cruisers and our obsession with walking. She told me the most interesting factoid about Banff. Apparently no one ever gets murdered here, except for once a few years ago. The police ended up going door to door to canvass the neighborhood (something they would do in my 'hood if they gave a shit). They discovered that 40% (Betty's number) of the people living in Banff were on the lam from the law! Great place to hide, I will admit. Of the people on the lam most were murderers from, according to Betty, Ontario. She told me to stop walking in town by myself at night. She should have come to visit me in Baltimore to experience what it's really like to live in a city of murderers.
I worked part of the morning with a kid named Sam who is from Australia. He wasn't good as a recycling ambassador (he couldn't keep the bins straight and showed up late; he kept telling people "I'm tired, so please take your trash somewhere else") but he was entertaining to talk to. My favorite thing he did was shake out his long dreds and then put on his hair band, right at the busiest recycling time, blocking people from throwing their trash away. I was like "dude, move!" and he just smiled at me and said "must look pretty before all things!" He tried to talk me into ditching my ambassador role at 1030 to go have a beer with him but I declined.
I should also mention, on the subject of guys, I finally had an encounter with the wine guy. I was walking down the street last night around 930 after a perfectly boring slide show, looking for food, when I saw him coming the other way. First of all, he was wearing these weird shoes and socks. And also wearing these shiny black pants that looked like basketball shorts but way longer. Ugh. And if that isn't bad enough, a green and black flannel shirt, but not cool flannel, just a shirt with one box of black next to one box of green, ad naseum. It was hideous. I tried to make small talk with him while not getting blinded by the street lights shining off his pants, especially after he mentioned having an entire case of cab that needed to be eradicated by Monday, but I couldn't get past the shoes. I mean, if I went to drink wine with him, at some point he would probably want to get comfortable and take his shoes off, then I would have to look at them in all their unsightly glory, and would surely lose my buzz.
I rounded the day out with a walk to Lake Vermilion. I'm supposed to go to Bruno's this evening because it's open mike night or something and Sam is going to be playing his diggery doo. Not sure I'll make it though. It's so warm in my room, I have writing to do, and it's cold outside.
A closing thought - at Topher Donahue's slide show last night he was talking about a parent-child relationship evolving to "dad as buddy" through climbing. Funny that I've been thinking about that a lot as it perfectly describes the relationship I have with my dad. He's a great buddy, totally reliable, enthusiastic about having adventures together, and someone I will never mind doing a 24 hour hike with or getting up at 3 o'clock in the morning to hang out with.
And I'm not just saying that because it's almost Christmas :D
This caused R, from the other evening, who was walking down the other side of the street, to run over to me. We ended up having tea at Starbucks. R suffers from arthritis, and was taking some kind of meds that made his pupils really small. He blew off his volunteer shift so we could go drinking, and I imagine it would have been something more potent had I not warned him I had a client telecon to attend to in a few hours.
I had a fun time listening to his stories of eating hash in Morocco (he said you know the buzz is kicking in when you hear the wind in your ears) and traveling through Africa with a guy from the French Foreign Legion. Between the two of us we managed to remember, in Latin, the first three paragraphs of Caesar's Gallic wars, the first 10 lines of the Iliad, and, in a total latin geek moment, we recited our favorite silly Latin poems (mine "Latin is a language, dead as dead can be / first it killed the Romans, now it's killing me").
The two interesting travel tips I learned from R are the following:
-if you are in an explosion open your mouth so that your ears won't get blown to bits; in addition, if you pull into a village and see all the kids standing around with their mouths open run away quickly because something is about to get blown up
-to find out the status of a country, change some money every day because the money changers really know what's going on - once in Algeria R was changing money and the guy offered 10 times the going rate if R would give him american dollars instead of whatever the french currency was at the time - a day later there was a coup - he said the CIA should have figured this out years ago, but hasn't
I started the day off at 630 am because I went to a publishers' workshop. I didn't learn a whole lot but did get inspired to put together a pitch for my next book which will likely be published way before my first book (or, not published at all, but I can dream can't I). The talk of the festival, which kept getting mentioned in the workshop, is some woman who got on the Oprah show. I sat in on her lecture yesterday. It's funny because to her face everyone says how great it all is. Then when she's gone they talk about how bad her lecture was (I agree), how she just used other people's material to write the book (just bought the book so can't say if that's true or not), and how she isn't that good of a writer so why did Oprah pick her. It's funny how two faced most people are here about stuff like that.
It's true especially of the women. There is a woman here who wrote a book about her husband dying; she ended up marrying his best friend. Packs of women were standing around talking about the book, and personal details about this woman's life, basically shredding her.
As the recycling nazi today I guess they felt comfortable saying these things around me. I mean, who would worry about talking in front of someone wearing a big green apron yelling "that doesn't go in there! it goes HERE!" as people try to throw their trash away. I had one little dude cower and scamper off with his trash rather than deal with me (this is 6 hours into my shift as a recycling ambassador, after only 5 hours of sleep, I was perhaps being a cranky bitch). This pack of old dudes, who I swear are stalking me, kept showing up with cups and asking "where would you like this to go, your highness?" even though they knew damn well where to put their coffee cups. I yelled at Jim Donini for trying to put a cup made of potato starch into the plastic recycling bin when it was supposed to go into the organic recycling bin. I ended the shift with my apron tied around my neck like a super hero cape, mostly because I was fucking bored, and also to shake the interest of a Banff Centre worker who, after hanging out with me for an hour, told me she thought I was "so juicy" and proceeded to ask me a question that isn't fit for this blog. The answer to the question was "NO!"
That woman was replaced with a woman named Betty that I worked with yesterday. We talked about cruisers and our obsession with walking. She told me the most interesting factoid about Banff. Apparently no one ever gets murdered here, except for once a few years ago. The police ended up going door to door to canvass the neighborhood (something they would do in my 'hood if they gave a shit). They discovered that 40% (Betty's number) of the people living in Banff were on the lam from the law! Great place to hide, I will admit. Of the people on the lam most were murderers from, according to Betty, Ontario. She told me to stop walking in town by myself at night. She should have come to visit me in Baltimore to experience what it's really like to live in a city of murderers.
I worked part of the morning with a kid named Sam who is from Australia. He wasn't good as a recycling ambassador (he couldn't keep the bins straight and showed up late; he kept telling people "I'm tired, so please take your trash somewhere else") but he was entertaining to talk to. My favorite thing he did was shake out his long dreds and then put on his hair band, right at the busiest recycling time, blocking people from throwing their trash away. I was like "dude, move!" and he just smiled at me and said "must look pretty before all things!" He tried to talk me into ditching my ambassador role at 1030 to go have a beer with him but I declined.
I should also mention, on the subject of guys, I finally had an encounter with the wine guy. I was walking down the street last night around 930 after a perfectly boring slide show, looking for food, when I saw him coming the other way. First of all, he was wearing these weird shoes and socks. And also wearing these shiny black pants that looked like basketball shorts but way longer. Ugh. And if that isn't bad enough, a green and black flannel shirt, but not cool flannel, just a shirt with one box of black next to one box of green, ad naseum. It was hideous. I tried to make small talk with him while not getting blinded by the street lights shining off his pants, especially after he mentioned having an entire case of cab that needed to be eradicated by Monday, but I couldn't get past the shoes. I mean, if I went to drink wine with him, at some point he would probably want to get comfortable and take his shoes off, then I would have to look at them in all their unsightly glory, and would surely lose my buzz.
I rounded the day out with a walk to Lake Vermilion. I'm supposed to go to Bruno's this evening because it's open mike night or something and Sam is going to be playing his diggery doo. Not sure I'll make it though. It's so warm in my room, I have writing to do, and it's cold outside.
A closing thought - at Topher Donahue's slide show last night he was talking about a parent-child relationship evolving to "dad as buddy" through climbing. Funny that I've been thinking about that a lot as it perfectly describes the relationship I have with my dad. He's a great buddy, totally reliable, enthusiastic about having adventures together, and someone I will never mind doing a 24 hour hike with or getting up at 3 o'clock in the morning to hang out with.
And I'm not just saying that because it's almost Christmas :D
Thursday, November 6, 2008
hostess cupcake
This morning, at 8 am, while I was mulling over my plans for my day off from the festival (gondola ride and a hike) I received an email asking if I could be a hostess for an author event this afternoon. I immediate said yes, and imagined myself grandly meeting guests as they entered the event, yelling at waiters "bring more canapes!" and having everyone tell me "thanks for inviting me to your party, your theater is so beautiful" to which I would reply "yes, we like it".
Turns out being a hostess here isn't the same as being a hostess in, for example, an Alfred Hitchcock movie. I had to rip tickets, check tickets, direct people to the washroom, deal with one corybantic author who wanted to make sure all her relatives distant and close got into the event for free and felt the best way to do that was to scream at me while trying to put post it notes that listed their names on my badge. I also had to keep people from slamming doors, and shush the annoying people who left their cell phones on. My favorite person was a woman who unplugged camera equipment so she could plug her iBook in and type loudly during one poor author's presentation.
My favorite presentation was by this guy who tracks megafish. Those are fresh water fish that get really big. There was one carp thing that weighed 500 lbs. I also learned that there are freshwater sting rays. The author, Zeb Hogan, showed a video of himself getting drunk with Malaysian fishermen in an attempt to get them to respect him so they would listen to him and stop killing all the megafish. After doing many shots he had to play cards with the fishermen, and he commented that he wasn't sure if he was winning or losing, only that the fishermen kept punching him. The next scene shows him in the early morning after the drunkfest, standing in the rain in water up to his knees, looking like he was dead. Funny.
I also bought four books on accident (well, it's better than shoes). I'm hoping that when I repack my suitcase everything fits...I also managed to squeeze in a 25 minute shopping trip at the Gap to get clothes for monday since I'm not going to have time to go home before my consulting engagement starts. It was a great experience. I walked in, explained to this girl that I needed professional clothes to wear for next week, and asked her to put together some outfits for me while I answered some work emails on my crackberry because I hate shopping. She did make me try everything on before she would let me buy the clothes, but what she picked out was perfect. It turns out she is the niece of the guy who runs the Banff Centre, and she said she would shop for me anytime. I would actually fly her to Denver so I would never have to shop again. She is going to track down some shoes for me to try on tomorrow in between my work schedule, which is going to be very busy.
Tonight I go see Tabin and Topher Donahue talk about...something. The book awards are tonight too. I might try to crash that party by using my publisher's name in vain, or maybe R from last night can sneak me in. I keep getting invited in to stuff, I think because I'm the only one in this town that smiles and talks to people. Most of the female staff at the BC run around like world war 3 has started and they keep yelling at people, especially me, because I do things like let some little old dude into a talk even though he can't find his ticket. They even fucked with Jim Donini for not having his ticket last night for the party I worked. Really...
Turns out being a hostess here isn't the same as being a hostess in, for example, an Alfred Hitchcock movie. I had to rip tickets, check tickets, direct people to the washroom, deal with one corybantic author who wanted to make sure all her relatives distant and close got into the event for free and felt the best way to do that was to scream at me while trying to put post it notes that listed their names on my badge. I also had to keep people from slamming doors, and shush the annoying people who left their cell phones on. My favorite person was a woman who unplugged camera equipment so she could plug her iBook in and type loudly during one poor author's presentation.
My favorite presentation was by this guy who tracks megafish. Those are fresh water fish that get really big. There was one carp thing that weighed 500 lbs. I also learned that there are freshwater sting rays. The author, Zeb Hogan, showed a video of himself getting drunk with Malaysian fishermen in an attempt to get them to respect him so they would listen to him and stop killing all the megafish. After doing many shots he had to play cards with the fishermen, and he commented that he wasn't sure if he was winning or losing, only that the fishermen kept punching him. The next scene shows him in the early morning after the drunkfest, standing in the rain in water up to his knees, looking like he was dead. Funny.
I also bought four books on accident (well, it's better than shoes). I'm hoping that when I repack my suitcase everything fits...I also managed to squeeze in a 25 minute shopping trip at the Gap to get clothes for monday since I'm not going to have time to go home before my consulting engagement starts. It was a great experience. I walked in, explained to this girl that I needed professional clothes to wear for next week, and asked her to put together some outfits for me while I answered some work emails on my crackberry because I hate shopping. She did make me try everything on before she would let me buy the clothes, but what she picked out was perfect. It turns out she is the niece of the guy who runs the Banff Centre, and she said she would shop for me anytime. I would actually fly her to Denver so I would never have to shop again. She is going to track down some shoes for me to try on tomorrow in between my work schedule, which is going to be very busy.
Tonight I go see Tabin and Topher Donahue talk about...something. The book awards are tonight too. I might try to crash that party by using my publisher's name in vain, or maybe R from last night can sneak me in. I keep getting invited in to stuff, I think because I'm the only one in this town that smiles and talks to people. Most of the female staff at the BC run around like world war 3 has started and they keep yelling at people, especially me, because I do things like let some little old dude into a talk even though he can't find his ticket. They even fucked with Jim Donini for not having his ticket last night for the party I worked. Really...
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
cabs, crashers, and can't leave
This evening I was a "hostess" for the writer and film documentary dinner. Don't ask how I finagled that, suffice it to say I listened to a Banffian who had control of the volunteer schedule talk for over an hour about his nervous breakdown and got the gig, even though there was already a volunteer assigned to it. I would like to note that my pink long sleeve volunteer t-shirt was taken away from me (full disclosure - it was a bit small) and was replaced with a short sleeve light blue t-shirt (not that I'm complaining, but I was kind of psyched on the pink - I know, I'll live).
The other volunteer, well, let's call him R. He's a Banffian who claimed to be interested in my book, though he never really let me get in a word edgewise about it. We, R and I, were supposed to be taking tickets at the door of the dinner. I was supposed to check people off on a list. The list was incomplete, most people didn't have their tickets, R was letting all the riff raff through because he knows everyone, and at the end I just gave up and decided to let all the crashers in. In between the flux of people arriving I was instructed on terrorism, politics, and gossip about the writers, film makers, and the National Geographic staff.
Then a woman from the Banff Centre invited me in to the dinner because everyone had more or less arrived (Tabin was absent). R followed me (he was invited too, but not necessarily to follow me). We showed up at the bar (R checked out the food first, I was like "tourist!") only to find out they were out of wine (and I was so looking forward to a glass of the cab, which might suck, but which has a cool poster, which I know because I put up a million of them yesterday). Out of the corner of my eye I spotted the hot guy from the wine sponsor, who was making his way over to me. Hooray! I thought. HE can get me wine, and, more importantly, he's hot.
Ah, but R, still mentally entangled in some comment I had made about the middle east, proceeded to get us some water (ech) and then shuffled me off to a corner so he could hear me better. I met a few of the writers in passing as they came over to pay their respects to R. I had my picture taken about 100 times by this photog for what ever reason, while R looked on and said (I swear I'm not making this up) "I'm NOT posing for a photo. This is NOT the way to do this at all! Just circulate and catch us speaking naturally!" Then as an aside to me he said "She OBVIOUSLY doesn't know her job. I don't know where [name redacted] is getting his interns!"
The wine guy approached twice but was turned away by R as I sat there like the biggest fucking idiot on the planet and let it happen. I've lost my game, what can I say...
Then, when it seemed things couldn't get any more bleak (loss of t-shirt, loss of wine guy flirting op, pic taken with old dude that might end up on a web site somewhere) R's wife showed up. Turns out she's one of the people I met yesterday who works at the Banff Centre. She was NOT HAPPY when she happened upon R and I in a "secluded" corner, discussing in what probably appeared to be a suspicious manner the Joseph Conrad book The Secret Agent (thought I was the only one on the planet who read it). She came over, gave me the look, gave R the look, and stormed off. I was like "Dude, um, why don't you go see where your wife went?" and he was like "I have the car keys." Power. Makes the world go round.
The evening ended with R offering me a ride home (I declined because I'm pretty sure his wife wanted to stab me), the wine guy leaving with his friends, and then coming back only to find me STILL talking to R, and then leaving again, and then me finding out R is on the book review committee and (wink wink) if the book ever gets done...yeah, please invite me to Banff again. Time of my life.
I retired to my hotel room, where the thermostat reads 72 degrees (liar), and I tried to change my flight reservation to fly out Saturday instead of Sunday since I have to be at a customer site on Monday, in DC. It was not to be. I now am flying from Calgary to Denver on Sunday, then to Dulles, getting in at 1 am Monday morning, appearing at the customer site 6 hours later. And I have to buy some clothes and shoes since I have nothing work related with me.
Fuck extreme sports. Bring me the skiers. Those bitches would cry after living my life for a month...
Quote of the evening, from Timmy O'Neill: "I didn't recognize you at first because I'm sober."
The other volunteer, well, let's call him R. He's a Banffian who claimed to be interested in my book, though he never really let me get in a word edgewise about it. We, R and I, were supposed to be taking tickets at the door of the dinner. I was supposed to check people off on a list. The list was incomplete, most people didn't have their tickets, R was letting all the riff raff through because he knows everyone, and at the end I just gave up and decided to let all the crashers in. In between the flux of people arriving I was instructed on terrorism, politics, and gossip about the writers, film makers, and the National Geographic staff.
Then a woman from the Banff Centre invited me in to the dinner because everyone had more or less arrived (Tabin was absent). R followed me (he was invited too, but not necessarily to follow me). We showed up at the bar (R checked out the food first, I was like "tourist!") only to find out they were out of wine (and I was so looking forward to a glass of the cab, which might suck, but which has a cool poster, which I know because I put up a million of them yesterday). Out of the corner of my eye I spotted the hot guy from the wine sponsor, who was making his way over to me. Hooray! I thought. HE can get me wine, and, more importantly, he's hot.
Ah, but R, still mentally entangled in some comment I had made about the middle east, proceeded to get us some water (ech) and then shuffled me off to a corner so he could hear me better. I met a few of the writers in passing as they came over to pay their respects to R. I had my picture taken about 100 times by this photog for what ever reason, while R looked on and said (I swear I'm not making this up) "I'm NOT posing for a photo. This is NOT the way to do this at all! Just circulate and catch us speaking naturally!" Then as an aside to me he said "She OBVIOUSLY doesn't know her job. I don't know where [name redacted] is getting his interns!"
The wine guy approached twice but was turned away by R as I sat there like the biggest fucking idiot on the planet and let it happen. I've lost my game, what can I say...
Then, when it seemed things couldn't get any more bleak (loss of t-shirt, loss of wine guy flirting op, pic taken with old dude that might end up on a web site somewhere) R's wife showed up. Turns out she's one of the people I met yesterday who works at the Banff Centre. She was NOT HAPPY when she happened upon R and I in a "secluded" corner, discussing in what probably appeared to be a suspicious manner the Joseph Conrad book The Secret Agent (thought I was the only one on the planet who read it). She came over, gave me the look, gave R the look, and stormed off. I was like "Dude, um, why don't you go see where your wife went?" and he was like "I have the car keys." Power. Makes the world go round.
The evening ended with R offering me a ride home (I declined because I'm pretty sure his wife wanted to stab me), the wine guy leaving with his friends, and then coming back only to find me STILL talking to R, and then leaving again, and then me finding out R is on the book review committee and (wink wink) if the book ever gets done...yeah, please invite me to Banff again. Time of my life.
I retired to my hotel room, where the thermostat reads 72 degrees (liar), and I tried to change my flight reservation to fly out Saturday instead of Sunday since I have to be at a customer site on Monday, in DC. It was not to be. I now am flying from Calgary to Denver on Sunday, then to Dulles, getting in at 1 am Monday morning, appearing at the customer site 6 hours later. And I have to buy some clothes and shoes since I have nothing work related with me.
Fuck extreme sports. Bring me the skiers. Those bitches would cry after living my life for a month...
Quote of the evening, from Timmy O'Neill: "I didn't recognize you at first because I'm sober."
Amazing Race
Walking to work today the most interesting thing, so far, of the festival happened. I was walking up to the Banff Centre, listening to my mp3 player, when two guys coming down from the centre started waving at me. I ignored them until one of them, who was pretty hot, walked up to me and pulled my head phones out and then shouted "Where's the fucking bicycle obstacle course?"
I then noticed he was wearing this weird Canadian shirt, and his companion (who was nice, and also an explicit user of the f word, but, unfortunately, not as hot) was wearing a Tony Roma's apron over his back. While I was processing that the hot guy explained to me that they are on the Amazing Race, which is a TV show about something, and they had to find the course. I looked in my backpack for my map but hadn't brought it, so I suggested to them that they try this bike trail I've been walking on. It turns out I guessed right, and hopefully will see them again so I can collect the offered drink that I couldn't accept when I ran in to them because I was on my way to work.
I might watch the Amazing Race but I don't know how to find something on TV.
I then noticed he was wearing this weird Canadian shirt, and his companion (who was nice, and also an explicit user of the f word, but, unfortunately, not as hot) was wearing a Tony Roma's apron over his back. While I was processing that the hot guy explained to me that they are on the Amazing Race, which is a TV show about something, and they had to find the course. I looked in my backpack for my map but hadn't brought it, so I suggested to them that they try this bike trail I've been walking on. It turns out I guessed right, and hopefully will see them again so I can collect the offered drink that I couldn't accept when I ran in to them because I was on my way to work.
I might watch the Amazing Race but I don't know how to find something on TV.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Radical Reels
So today I completed my first day of "work" as a Banff volunteer. I went from having 2 hours of assignments to working the whole day (guess it's hard to find competent volunteers). I knew things would work out when, upon showing up at the Banff Centre, they put me in charge of the wine. The rep for the wine was super hot (the free wine hookup also foremost in my mind) but I was bitch blocked by some bleach blond tramp who kept following the guy around. I also put up a bunch of posters and decorated the room where they're setting up all the vendors. I was given a volunteer shirt that hooray! is pink.
Then tonight I went to Radical Reels, which is a collection of extreme sport movies. The show opened with Timmy O'Neill, more sober than usual, going off about something that made no sense, followed by these kids from the audience jumping on stage and playing Eye of the Tiger in some game called Guitar Hero. It was fairly retarded and was a waste of 10 minutes of my life I'll never get back.
The films this year were exceptionally good, especially compared to last year's kind of boring documentaries. My favorite was either Crux, which had such a good sound track that I'm going to download it (http://cdbaby.com/cd/corduroykid) or Massive, an amazing ski movie. The Sonny Trotter movie came partially thanks to Will Gadd who apparently organized some funding so he could finish his movie If You're Not Falling.
After the intermission we had to suffer through another song, this time Blondie, though the kids were around 14 (how do they know these songs?). There is a way to "win" Guitar Hero though I'm not sure how. And it was kind of gay to see some kid jumping around on stage with the equivalent of a plastic toy. Like, dude, those aren't the kind of plastic toys that get a girl hot. Goes to show how little 14 year old boys know...
Then there was this weird Mountain Idol contest thing. These kids got $100 for being "ambassadors", what ever that means. Some kayaker guy won the Mountain Idol contest and was given $1,000. Didn't get what that was about at all.
As for victims, so far I've racked up three. I heard from Tami Knight, illustrator and author extraordinaire, that Banff is a huge hook up opportunity. Since I've been slacking around doing my own thing today was my first interaction with the male species hanging out here. Most of them are Canadian (read: timid virgins with no game that likely only get laid because some events have alcohol).
My first encounter was with a sound engineer who is two inches shorter than I am (and that's an even bigger number in centimeters) who kept following me around today while I was trying to decorate. I had to hide in the women's bathroom for 5 minutes and then lock the room I was working in to lose him. Then there was the documentary film maker who thought he was sneaking a picture of me with his camera phone while I was having a smoke (it was about as subtle as a shark attack) and then texting his friends about me when he was standing RIGHT NEXT to me and I could see the messages. Lame. I ditched him in the crowd going into the auditorium to watch Radical Reels. Then there was the guy, kayaker, age 25, who thought I was 23, and who seemed overly excited about the fact that I have a job. Ech.
I did, oddly enough, end up sitting next to a guy who works for New Belgium who lives in Ft. Collins and who knows some people that I know. I am supposed to meet him and his friends out for a drink later this evening but it's almost 1130 and, hell, I'm old.
If I could transport myself anywhere right now, it would be to a ski slope with 2 feet of fresh powder and with my new skis, and maybe one of the guys from Massive to give me ski lessons. Then, back in my hotel room, if someone brought me sushi I would think I had died and gone to heaven.
The sushi in Banff...well, that's another story.
Tomorrow I work until 9 PM and will hopefully get myself invited to some parties. Not that I'll go, I just like being invited places, especially if I also get a badge to get in to the parties.
Then tonight I went to Radical Reels, which is a collection of extreme sport movies. The show opened with Timmy O'Neill, more sober than usual, going off about something that made no sense, followed by these kids from the audience jumping on stage and playing Eye of the Tiger in some game called Guitar Hero. It was fairly retarded and was a waste of 10 minutes of my life I'll never get back.
The films this year were exceptionally good, especially compared to last year's kind of boring documentaries. My favorite was either Crux, which had such a good sound track that I'm going to download it (http://cdbaby.com/cd/corduroykid) or Massive, an amazing ski movie. The Sonny Trotter movie came partially thanks to Will Gadd who apparently organized some funding so he could finish his movie If You're Not Falling.
After the intermission we had to suffer through another song, this time Blondie, though the kids were around 14 (how do they know these songs?). There is a way to "win" Guitar Hero though I'm not sure how. And it was kind of gay to see some kid jumping around on stage with the equivalent of a plastic toy. Like, dude, those aren't the kind of plastic toys that get a girl hot. Goes to show how little 14 year old boys know...
Then there was this weird Mountain Idol contest thing. These kids got $100 for being "ambassadors", what ever that means. Some kayaker guy won the Mountain Idol contest and was given $1,000. Didn't get what that was about at all.
As for victims, so far I've racked up three. I heard from Tami Knight, illustrator and author extraordinaire, that Banff is a huge hook up opportunity. Since I've been slacking around doing my own thing today was my first interaction with the male species hanging out here. Most of them are Canadian (read: timid virgins with no game that likely only get laid because some events have alcohol).
My first encounter was with a sound engineer who is two inches shorter than I am (and that's an even bigger number in centimeters) who kept following me around today while I was trying to decorate. I had to hide in the women's bathroom for 5 minutes and then lock the room I was working in to lose him. Then there was the documentary film maker who thought he was sneaking a picture of me with his camera phone while I was having a smoke (it was about as subtle as a shark attack) and then texting his friends about me when he was standing RIGHT NEXT to me and I could see the messages. Lame. I ditched him in the crowd going into the auditorium to watch Radical Reels. Then there was the guy, kayaker, age 25, who thought I was 23, and who seemed overly excited about the fact that I have a job. Ech.
I did, oddly enough, end up sitting next to a guy who works for New Belgium who lives in Ft. Collins and who knows some people that I know. I am supposed to meet him and his friends out for a drink later this evening but it's almost 1130 and, hell, I'm old.
If I could transport myself anywhere right now, it would be to a ski slope with 2 feet of fresh powder and with my new skis, and maybe one of the guys from Massive to give me ski lessons. Then, back in my hotel room, if someone brought me sushi I would think I had died and gone to heaven.
The sushi in Banff...well, that's another story.
Tomorrow I work until 9 PM and will hopefully get myself invited to some parties. Not that I'll go, I just like being invited places, especially if I also get a badge to get in to the parties.
IKEA epic - the corrections
After a, well, let's just call it a discussion, Con Way requested the following corrections be made to the IKEA epic story (see pic at left of CW punishing a wall that made fun of his driving):
He DID listen to me about closing the passenger door. What happened was he opened it to tie rope around it that was being used to hold the back door closed after we got everything loaded, and when he opened the door a box that had been resting on the arm rest fell and that's why we couldn't get the door closed and had to unpack. I did not realize that was what happened because I was at the back of the car and so I falsely assumed that he (being male) ignored me. He said he told me that he thought it was a good idea when I first mentioned closing the passenger door. I probably wasn't listening when he said that because I was busy cursing him in my head for buying so much fucking stuff at IKEA.
He is a good driver, even though he is Asian. He just occasionally forgets he's driving. For the record I rode to Brooklyn, the doughnut shop, and to the Flushing mall on the back of his motorcycle and only once feared for my life. I heartfully apologize for being racist regarding my comments on the way Asians drive.
(It must just be a coincidence that none of them can drive, and have nothing to do with them being Asian - I mean shit, if Asians could drive wouldn't Lucy Liu have had an Asian driver in Kill Bill? Con Way, I'm KIDDING! KIDDING!)
I did something bad, which I failed to mention. After we got everything packed up Con Way asked where the cookies were and I told him they were not accessible, when in fact they would have been very easy to get to.
I also forgot to add that earlier in the afternoon Con Way and I were giving piggy back rides to each other (CW's idea) to get in a leg workout. So by the time we got to IKEA we were both kind of tired, leg wise, though our piggy backs provided great amusement for at least one couple that was watching us act like total idiots in the park.
So, CW, the record is set straight, or straighter. Please don't be mad at me anymore...
Monday, November 3, 2008
the three Fs
At Bachtoberfest I started talking to a woman named Claire, mostly, to be honest, because she said she wanted to set me up with her son, a Marine Colonel currently serving in Iraq. Yum. But then she told me he's married to, as she described his wife, "a ding dong" that she was hoping her son would divorce upon return from Iraq (enter me, stage left, according to her plan).
I told her I wasn't interested in her little scheme, and then we started making fun of men (at a party where we were served 4 types of german wieners, it was hard to not chuckle every time we saw a guy), and discussing our bad behavior with them over the summer. She told me that she had a procedure for men, which she called "the three Fs": find him, fuck him, forget him.
Claire, I should mention, is 72 but looks 42. She was married, had three kids, drop kicked her husband, and has followed the three Fs since. I can't help but think she's right. As a woman, if you have a job and don't need a man for anything other than sex, why invest all the energy and money into a real relationship? You know the asspipe you're with is going to fuck someone else sooner or later. Wouldn't it be nice to have not wasted your resources on him?
A movie I watched recently, Romance and Cigarettes, had a line along this theme. Susan Sarandon finds out her husband is cheating on her and during an argument screams at him "It's just a hole!" Since the movie was written by a man I thought the line was very profound. That's the difference between men and women. When a man is fucking you, you are just a hole. For women (again, as in the movie) it's hard to think that way when you're having sex (for the record, I don't actually think the movie was about a guy who cheats on his wife - it was about a guy dying of lung cancer - oops, spoiler - and I think that's why there was an emphasis on "the hole", as in smoking even though you know it will kill you and maybe that's the equivalent of cheating on your spouse, which, now that I think about it, should somehow be a theme in the book I'm no longer writing, but with climbing instead of smoking...hm...I digress).
Likely women feel differently because, if you aren't careful, nine months after something goes in something comes back out. Men don't ever have to understand that or feel responsible for their actions once they have sex. This is why there are mis-understandings between the sexes that can never be resolved. I know people stay together, happy or unhappy, for reasons that usually don't make any sense, but can be boiled down to a feeling of security for the woman and a feeling of dependence on the part of the man. Yawn.
And they call it love.
I told her I wasn't interested in her little scheme, and then we started making fun of men (at a party where we were served 4 types of german wieners, it was hard to not chuckle every time we saw a guy), and discussing our bad behavior with them over the summer. She told me that she had a procedure for men, which she called "the three Fs": find him, fuck him, forget him.
Claire, I should mention, is 72 but looks 42. She was married, had three kids, drop kicked her husband, and has followed the three Fs since. I can't help but think she's right. As a woman, if you have a job and don't need a man for anything other than sex, why invest all the energy and money into a real relationship? You know the asspipe you're with is going to fuck someone else sooner or later. Wouldn't it be nice to have not wasted your resources on him?
A movie I watched recently, Romance and Cigarettes, had a line along this theme. Susan Sarandon finds out her husband is cheating on her and during an argument screams at him "It's just a hole!" Since the movie was written by a man I thought the line was very profound. That's the difference between men and women. When a man is fucking you, you are just a hole. For women (again, as in the movie) it's hard to think that way when you're having sex (for the record, I don't actually think the movie was about a guy who cheats on his wife - it was about a guy dying of lung cancer - oops, spoiler - and I think that's why there was an emphasis on "the hole", as in smoking even though you know it will kill you and maybe that's the equivalent of cheating on your spouse, which, now that I think about it, should somehow be a theme in the book I'm no longer writing, but with climbing instead of smoking...hm...I digress).
Likely women feel differently because, if you aren't careful, nine months after something goes in something comes back out. Men don't ever have to understand that or feel responsible for their actions once they have sex. This is why there are mis-understandings between the sexes that can never be resolved. I know people stay together, happy or unhappy, for reasons that usually don't make any sense, but can be boiled down to a feeling of security for the woman and a feeling of dependence on the part of the man. Yawn.
And they call it love.
Friday, October 24, 2008
IKEA epic - the Con Way Renovation Story
I think someone should offer me my own home renovation show. I’ve spent the past 4 weekends helping people renovate their places (with one weekend off for Bachtoberfest). But last night showed how willing I am to risk my life so a friend can have a closet.
I’m staying with my friend Con Way in NYC*. I arrived Sunday to find his apartment in a state of utter disrepair. I spent the evening ripping a closet out and sustained many wounds and bruises, and also touched an exposed switch that shocked me so bad I’m pretty sure I saw Jesus waving me over to the open bar. He’s been renovating everything in his apartment, at the same time, but not finishing anything, so the place is a mess of drywall, clothes, furniture, exposed wires, rotting insulation, and wood shavings.
After ripping out the closet, CW informed me that we would be going to IKEA to get a new closet, which is blue. Sounds simple enough, I thought to myself and agreed to help him. His friend Chris spent the night Wednesday night and he and CW spent 4 hours discussing the set up of the new closet. It was starting to sound more complicated than just putting up a new cabinet, but I figured CW knew what he was doing.
After consuming, I am not making this up, five, yes FIVE, doughnuts as an afternoon “snack” CW (who makes me look fat) rented a Toyota Scion zip car and we headed to New Jersey. CW had no idea where the IKEA was, so, as the driver, I was subjected to many last minute changes in direction and was even admonished because the map software on my black berry “sucked”, that being the excuse of why we got so lost. I tried to explain to him that some of the driving maneuvers he suggested were okay for him because he’s Asian, but not for me because I’m a good driver, but he wouldn’t listen.
At IKEA I perused the cookies and jams while CW spent 2 hours (it seemed like 10) with the closet lady trying to figure out what he needed for his “little” project. At one point I was so bored I hid in a closet, planning to scare him when he opened it. But after about 5 minutes he didn’t open the closet so I walked out, scaring instead, on accident, a family with a small child.
Finally, inventory list in hand, we ran down to the self service area to pick up part of the order, the other part being pulled for us. I should have, at the time, questioned WHY we couldn’t pull everything ourselves. We had to run to pull stuff because it was 9:25 PM and IKEA closes at 10 PM.
After checking out, CW pulled the car to the loading zone and went in to get the rest of his order. He arrived with a pallet containing three 93 inch glass doors. They weighed a lot. This is going to be interesting I thought, surveying the mess of boxes that had to fit into the poor little Scion.
“There’s two more pallets I have to bring out.” CW said, running back into IKEA before I could protest.
It turns out that CW decided to buy TWO closets instead of one, explaining the now four VERY HEAVY glass doors and extra boxes. I knew we were in trouble when the IKEA staff made themselves very scarce instead of offering to help us load the car as they normally do for customers.
“Dude, we are so fucked,” I said.
“Dude, this is going to fit!” CW retorted, waving a tape measure in my face.
With only 5 minutes until IKEA's closing I realized the stuff would HAVE to fit.
Thus began a long ordeal of loading the heaviest fucking boxes on the face of the planet into this poor little Scion. The highlights of the loading process was probably when a box slid over onto the shifter, causing the shifter to get a little crushed, and causing us to have to completely unload and reload. In the process of the reload, against my suggestion, CW left the front passenger door open, and then we couldn’t close it because a box, on the bottom of course, was sticking out too far.
So we unpacked the VERY HEAVY glass doors AGAIN, plus some other fucking heavy boxes, and reshuffled the boxes AGAIN, this time managing to get the front door closed while at the same time not blocking the gear shifter. There was a moment of panic when CW tried to move the gear shifter after we freed it from the boxes, fearing we had broken it by piling, oh, let’s estimate about 600 lbs on top of it, and it wouldn’t move. I let him freak out for a minute or two before telling him that the car had to be turned on for the shifter to move. We also lost the tuner button for the radio and never found it.
We couldn’t get the back of the Scion closed so we had to tie it shut with twine. I watched CW fuck around with the twine for a while and then asked him if he knew what he was doing. He immediately put me in charge of knot tying and hopefully realized that hanging out with a climber has advantages.
At approximately 10:45 PM the car was loaded. We argued over who had to drive and CW lost so he got into the driver seat, started the car, and then realized he couldn’t see to the right at all because boxes were stacked seat to ceiling from the very back of the car all the way up to the windshield. After ANOTHER reshuffling of boxes, and an improvised solution involving propping my Vitamin Water bottle between two layers of cardboard to provide some right side visibility, we decided we were ready to head back to Manhattan (go system engineers!).
CW drove around the parking lot while I stood outside the car watching for bad things. There was only about two inches of clearance between the car frame and the wheels but it seemed to be okay. I got in the back seat, wedged myself between boxes, and ducked my head under the twine that was wrapped around the door frame to hold the back door closed. It was, shall we say, a bit uncomfortable.
Then we took our first major left turn. All the boxes shifted over on top of CW and I. He ended up wedged under about 5 flat boxes that landed on his shoulder. I got crushed against the car door. We were later laughing that if the boxes had shifted more we could have been crushed and trapped in the car. We imagined the IKEA staff driving by the Scion and staring at us as our faces were mushed against the windows and our limbs impaled by particle board.
We managed to get back to Manhattan with only a few little mishaps like when CW almost drove into a guard rail because he forgot he was driving and was looking at something that wasn’t the road, and when a guy who got pissed that we were going slow (with the hazards on) decided to cut us off right before a red light. We seriously missed hitting him only because he then ran the red light. We arrived home at midnight.
Then began the process of unloading all this shit from the car and carrying it up two flights of stairs. I’ll spare you the details. Suffice it to say I can barely move today. To his credit CW talked a sushi bar into letting us do take out at 1 AM (I was so hungry I was ready to eat my own arm) and after only a bit of complaining opened a good bottle of wine (all I had to do was gently imply that he was one dead fuck if he didn’t pour me a drink post haste and he popped the cork). Then we ate most of the cookies we bought at IKEA and passed out around 2 am.
I would like to point out that, after getting everything into the apartment last night, CW now refers to his place as "a blue closet with an apartment". He'll probably rent it out as a bedroom.
and the rest of us had to get up early for work this morning…
*Full disclosure: he said I could write this story making fun of him only if I linked to his company (www.xerpi.com).
I’m staying with my friend Con Way in NYC*. I arrived Sunday to find his apartment in a state of utter disrepair. I spent the evening ripping a closet out and sustained many wounds and bruises, and also touched an exposed switch that shocked me so bad I’m pretty sure I saw Jesus waving me over to the open bar. He’s been renovating everything in his apartment, at the same time, but not finishing anything, so the place is a mess of drywall, clothes, furniture, exposed wires, rotting insulation, and wood shavings.
After ripping out the closet, CW informed me that we would be going to IKEA to get a new closet, which is blue. Sounds simple enough, I thought to myself and agreed to help him. His friend Chris spent the night Wednesday night and he and CW spent 4 hours discussing the set up of the new closet. It was starting to sound more complicated than just putting up a new cabinet, but I figured CW knew what he was doing.
After consuming, I am not making this up, five, yes FIVE, doughnuts as an afternoon “snack” CW (who makes me look fat) rented a Toyota Scion zip car and we headed to New Jersey. CW had no idea where the IKEA was, so, as the driver, I was subjected to many last minute changes in direction and was even admonished because the map software on my black berry “sucked”, that being the excuse of why we got so lost. I tried to explain to him that some of the driving maneuvers he suggested were okay for him because he’s Asian, but not for me because I’m a good driver, but he wouldn’t listen.
At IKEA I perused the cookies and jams while CW spent 2 hours (it seemed like 10) with the closet lady trying to figure out what he needed for his “little” project. At one point I was so bored I hid in a closet, planning to scare him when he opened it. But after about 5 minutes he didn’t open the closet so I walked out, scaring instead, on accident, a family with a small child.
Finally, inventory list in hand, we ran down to the self service area to pick up part of the order, the other part being pulled for us. I should have, at the time, questioned WHY we couldn’t pull everything ourselves. We had to run to pull stuff because it was 9:25 PM and IKEA closes at 10 PM.
After checking out, CW pulled the car to the loading zone and went in to get the rest of his order. He arrived with a pallet containing three 93 inch glass doors. They weighed a lot. This is going to be interesting I thought, surveying the mess of boxes that had to fit into the poor little Scion.
“There’s two more pallets I have to bring out.” CW said, running back into IKEA before I could protest.
It turns out that CW decided to buy TWO closets instead of one, explaining the now four VERY HEAVY glass doors and extra boxes. I knew we were in trouble when the IKEA staff made themselves very scarce instead of offering to help us load the car as they normally do for customers.
“Dude, we are so fucked,” I said.
“Dude, this is going to fit!” CW retorted, waving a tape measure in my face.
With only 5 minutes until IKEA's closing I realized the stuff would HAVE to fit.
Thus began a long ordeal of loading the heaviest fucking boxes on the face of the planet into this poor little Scion. The highlights of the loading process was probably when a box slid over onto the shifter, causing the shifter to get a little crushed, and causing us to have to completely unload and reload. In the process of the reload, against my suggestion, CW left the front passenger door open, and then we couldn’t close it because a box, on the bottom of course, was sticking out too far.
So we unpacked the VERY HEAVY glass doors AGAIN, plus some other fucking heavy boxes, and reshuffled the boxes AGAIN, this time managing to get the front door closed while at the same time not blocking the gear shifter. There was a moment of panic when CW tried to move the gear shifter after we freed it from the boxes, fearing we had broken it by piling, oh, let’s estimate about 600 lbs on top of it, and it wouldn’t move. I let him freak out for a minute or two before telling him that the car had to be turned on for the shifter to move. We also lost the tuner button for the radio and never found it.
We couldn’t get the back of the Scion closed so we had to tie it shut with twine. I watched CW fuck around with the twine for a while and then asked him if he knew what he was doing. He immediately put me in charge of knot tying and hopefully realized that hanging out with a climber has advantages.
At approximately 10:45 PM the car was loaded. We argued over who had to drive and CW lost so he got into the driver seat, started the car, and then realized he couldn’t see to the right at all because boxes were stacked seat to ceiling from the very back of the car all the way up to the windshield. After ANOTHER reshuffling of boxes, and an improvised solution involving propping my Vitamin Water bottle between two layers of cardboard to provide some right side visibility, we decided we were ready to head back to Manhattan (go system engineers!).
CW drove around the parking lot while I stood outside the car watching for bad things. There was only about two inches of clearance between the car frame and the wheels but it seemed to be okay. I got in the back seat, wedged myself between boxes, and ducked my head under the twine that was wrapped around the door frame to hold the back door closed. It was, shall we say, a bit uncomfortable.
Then we took our first major left turn. All the boxes shifted over on top of CW and I. He ended up wedged under about 5 flat boxes that landed on his shoulder. I got crushed against the car door. We were later laughing that if the boxes had shifted more we could have been crushed and trapped in the car. We imagined the IKEA staff driving by the Scion and staring at us as our faces were mushed against the windows and our limbs impaled by particle board.
We managed to get back to Manhattan with only a few little mishaps like when CW almost drove into a guard rail because he forgot he was driving and was looking at something that wasn’t the road, and when a guy who got pissed that we were going slow (with the hazards on) decided to cut us off right before a red light. We seriously missed hitting him only because he then ran the red light. We arrived home at midnight.
Then began the process of unloading all this shit from the car and carrying it up two flights of stairs. I’ll spare you the details. Suffice it to say I can barely move today. To his credit CW talked a sushi bar into letting us do take out at 1 AM (I was so hungry I was ready to eat my own arm) and after only a bit of complaining opened a good bottle of wine (all I had to do was gently imply that he was one dead fuck if he didn’t pour me a drink post haste and he popped the cork). Then we ate most of the cookies we bought at IKEA and passed out around 2 am.
I would like to point out that, after getting everything into the apartment last night, CW now refers to his place as "a blue closet with an apartment". He'll probably rent it out as a bedroom.
and the rest of us had to get up early for work this morning…
*Full disclosure: he said I could write this story making fun of him only if I linked to his company (www.xerpi.com).
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