New HD DVD player and implications
I have now upgraded every element of my home AV system to High Def. I have the DirecTV package with HD channels. I have a huge (8 feet wingspan) antenna to bring in the local HD channels. I have the Playstation 3 for games and Blu Ray movies. And now I have the Toshiba HD DVD player.
Life is good!
Only I noticed a small issue recently. When watching HD movies on the Toshiba, dialogue from low-voiced male characters was distorted. Didn't really notice it immediately. But once I did take note it became quite bothersome.
I had it hooked up via the optical audio out. So I played with the cable a bit, plugged the cable into various other inputs, etc. But nothing worked. So I bought a new cable. That didn't work either.
2 weeks ago, Toshiba sent a DVD with a firmware upgrade. My hopes were high. They weren't very clear on exactly what it was supposed to fix, but I upgraded with high hopes. No luck. Still very noticeable distortion.
Now you'll note above that I am using the optical out, not the HDMI. That's because my Sony ES receiver was built before HDMI, so it can't switch that signal. And the optical is the only digital out on the Toshiba (I guess they saved some money by not including coax digital).
And of course, since I had screwed around for so long the initial 90 day warranty was up on the Toshiba. So what to do?
Well, what any other red-blooded American would do - UPGRADE!
I had been looking for an excuse to upgrade the receiver to an HDMI-compatible version ever since I got the HDTV. But they were very expensive, and the HDMI standard was still evolving. So I put it off. With this new motivation I went looking.
The first thing I found was that the top of the line Sony ES had just been replaced. So that $1500 unit was now available for 1/2 price. I scanned the specs of old and new and decided that the old one would suit my needs just fine. I made the purchase Thursday morning and it arrived Saturday afternoon.
I had just finished a run on Saturday at 4:30, and walked expectantly past the front door. No love - the package wasn't there. So I went upstairs and took a shower. When I came down my curiosity got a hold of me and I went to the FedEx site to see when it would arrive. As I was searching I heard the kids goofing off in the garage, but I let them be for now - I had bigger fish to fry!
I was confused when the status of my order came up as delivered. That's a little odd. Then I checked the delivery time. 5:07. Then I checked current time. 5:10. Then I realized the kids weren't home! Score!! My new toy was here!
I wanted to hook it up immediately but of course it required new HDMI cables. So I ran off to Radio Shack to buy some. They came in at $70 each! Sure, they're Monster cables, but damn! I've spent less for components! Oh well.
I drove home, hooked everything up quickly (no mean feat in my system) and put in an HD DVD right off. And it worked! No distortion! I was in heaven.
It took me all of 20 minutes to revise the programming in the smart remote, and I was off. I checked everything out. All sources worked perfectly. I have 6 fewer cables running behind my TV - and only 1 cable running from the receiver to the TV! Awesome.
Now it's 3 days later, the excitement is wearing off, and I'm starting to coolly asses the situation. So basically what I did was spent nearly $1000 on a new receiver and cables to fix a $300 DVD player.
Now I'm sure that doesn't make sense to some people, but I'm still smiling!
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Why it sucks to be 1/2 Asian
Our little school is going High Tech. They are now fully on-board with the information revolution. Yes. They have grades posted on-line. And not just final grades either. Grades for every test and everymajor project/homework assignment.
Tonight Mimi and I sat down with Boy 1 to see how he was doing.
You can just tell this isn't going to go well, can't you?
Well we start looking at grades, and immediately a number of things catch Mimi's eye.
"You got a 60 on that test? What happened that day?"
"Oh, that low score on the homework assignment was because you forgot to do it then turned it in late."
"Looks like you had a rough string of scores there, what's going on?"
In 5 minutes he had tears brimming in his eyes. Poor kid.
Here's the kicker - he has 6 classes. He is currently scoring one A+, 4As, and an A-. And he was in tears. That's tough parenting love! This is why Harvard is 50% Asian.
You slacker caucasians think you've got the stones to make you kid cry when he's bringing home a 4.0 GPA? Didn't think so.
Our little school is going High Tech. They are now fully on-board with the information revolution. Yes. They have grades posted on-line. And not just final grades either. Grades for every test and everymajor project/homework assignment.
Tonight Mimi and I sat down with Boy 1 to see how he was doing.
You can just tell this isn't going to go well, can't you?
Well we start looking at grades, and immediately a number of things catch Mimi's eye.
"You got a 60 on that test? What happened that day?"
"Oh, that low score on the homework assignment was because you forgot to do it then turned it in late."
"Looks like you had a rough string of scores there, what's going on?"
In 5 minutes he had tears brimming in his eyes. Poor kid.
Here's the kicker - he has 6 classes. He is currently scoring one A+, 4As, and an A-. And he was in tears. That's tough parenting love! This is why Harvard is 50% Asian.
You slacker caucasians think you've got the stones to make you kid cry when he's bringing home a 4.0 GPA? Didn't think so.
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
First ride to the Rec Center
It has finally dawned on me that Seamus is 4. OK, I actually knew that. But it finally dawned on me the kinds of things the other boys were doing at age 4 that he hasn't done yet.
One example is Denis rode down to the rec center and back for the first time at age 2.5 on a tricycle. Liam did the same, if not a little earlier. Seamus has never done it.
This day being a Holiday, freed (as much as possible) from the demands of work, made it the perfect time to rectify the situation.
Now cines Seamus is 4.5 he's well past the trike stage. In fact he's been riding the training-wheel bike all spring/summer. And he's quite good at it. So I decided to take him down on that one.
By now I can predict the sequence of events that unfold after informing a child of this decision:
1. Elation - Wow! I get to ride to the park!
2. Fear - I can't make it down that huge hill!
3. Exhaustion - Man, this is a lot harder than I thought it would be.
Naturally, Seamus flew through the first two of these. But I told him I'd spot him down the hill and he was good to go. I think it helped that the older two rode off by themselves in front of him. Naturally he wants to be like them, so he was off in earnest pursuit.
Getting down the hill was pretty easy. Like the others, at the start he can only really focus on one thing at a time. If he's pedaling, he won't steer straight. If he looks at a car he stops pedaling. If he's going down a hill the feet come off and he freaks. No biggie. Been there.
He made it to the bottom without much drama.
We hung out down at the rec center for a while and watched Mimi finish the race. #4 overall female and first Evendale resident. Same as always. Think she's won that 6 times now.
When it was time to head back I was resigned to impending back pain. You see, while it take a bit of effort on my part slowing them down hills, it takes a hell of a lot more pushing them up. In a crouched position that is certainly damaging nerve endings every time I do it.
But it's good for them. So I do it. Seamus took off up the rec center hill, which is pretty mild, and made it most of the way up. I was impressed. On the hill by Tim's house he struggled. So I pushed him almost all the way.
The next hill is long, but not too steep. I told him I wanted to see how far he could get by himself. To the driveway? Got it! To the mailbox? Sure. To the fire hydrant? You bet. And just like that he was at the top! He made it up 100% by himself. This was a surprise. I think maybe Denis and Liam did at this age, but this was his first ever try. I remember having to work both of them through it over multiple occasions.
The last hill is the huge one. I struggle getting up it! So he didn't stand a chance. He got up to the For Sale sign and lost it. I resigned myself to a long push. But 2 minutes in, with most of the hill still to go, he got his second wind. "Let go, Dad! I want to do it by myself!"
OK, this was new. Neither of the other boys had ever done this. I knew he couldn't make it, but I sure wasn't going to hold him back from trying. And of course he didn't. And I started pushing again. Another minute later he was on his own again. He kept this up the whole way up the hill. Rest a bit, push hard, rest again.
This boy's got a strong spirit. He's the smallest of all. He started the latest, and yet I bet he'll conquer the hill earlier than either brother. He may only weigh 40 pounds, but an awful lot of it is heart!
It has finally dawned on me that Seamus is 4. OK, I actually knew that. But it finally dawned on me the kinds of things the other boys were doing at age 4 that he hasn't done yet.
One example is Denis rode down to the rec center and back for the first time at age 2.5 on a tricycle. Liam did the same, if not a little earlier. Seamus has never done it.
This day being a Holiday, freed (as much as possible) from the demands of work, made it the perfect time to rectify the situation.
Now cines Seamus is 4.5 he's well past the trike stage. In fact he's been riding the training-wheel bike all spring/summer. And he's quite good at it. So I decided to take him down on that one.
By now I can predict the sequence of events that unfold after informing a child of this decision:
1. Elation - Wow! I get to ride to the park!
2. Fear - I can't make it down that huge hill!
3. Exhaustion - Man, this is a lot harder than I thought it would be.
Naturally, Seamus flew through the first two of these. But I told him I'd spot him down the hill and he was good to go. I think it helped that the older two rode off by themselves in front of him. Naturally he wants to be like them, so he was off in earnest pursuit.
Getting down the hill was pretty easy. Like the others, at the start he can only really focus on one thing at a time. If he's pedaling, he won't steer straight. If he looks at a car he stops pedaling. If he's going down a hill the feet come off and he freaks. No biggie. Been there.
He made it to the bottom without much drama.
We hung out down at the rec center for a while and watched Mimi finish the race. #4 overall female and first Evendale resident. Same as always. Think she's won that 6 times now.
When it was time to head back I was resigned to impending back pain. You see, while it take a bit of effort on my part slowing them down hills, it takes a hell of a lot more pushing them up. In a crouched position that is certainly damaging nerve endings every time I do it.
But it's good for them. So I do it. Seamus took off up the rec center hill, which is pretty mild, and made it most of the way up. I was impressed. On the hill by Tim's house he struggled. So I pushed him almost all the way.
The next hill is long, but not too steep. I told him I wanted to see how far he could get by himself. To the driveway? Got it! To the mailbox? Sure. To the fire hydrant? You bet. And just like that he was at the top! He made it up 100% by himself. This was a surprise. I think maybe Denis and Liam did at this age, but this was his first ever try. I remember having to work both of them through it over multiple occasions.
The last hill is the huge one. I struggle getting up it! So he didn't stand a chance. He got up to the For Sale sign and lost it. I resigned myself to a long push. But 2 minutes in, with most of the hill still to go, he got his second wind. "Let go, Dad! I want to do it by myself!"
OK, this was new. Neither of the other boys had ever done this. I knew he couldn't make it, but I sure wasn't going to hold him back from trying. And of course he didn't. And I started pushing again. Another minute later he was on his own again. He kept this up the whole way up the hill. Rest a bit, push hard, rest again.
This boy's got a strong spirit. He's the smallest of all. He started the latest, and yet I bet he'll conquer the hill earlier than either brother. He may only weigh 40 pounds, but an awful lot of it is heart!
Stuffed cat naming conventions
Liam has had a 45 year old stuffed cat for a couple years now. He got it from his Great Aunt in Japan. It used to be her childhood toy. She was very generous (she always is) and shared it with Liam. I'm not sure why, but he gave it the name White Muffin.
Now it seems that White Muffin was actually one of a pair of animals (this is starting to sound like Toy Story 2). There was also a black one. On Mimi's last trip to Japan she came home with a black version. Liam, adhering to ANSI stuffed animal naming standards, was quick to christen this one Black Muffin.
So now for his First Communion Liam naturally scored all kinds of loot. Gerry chipped in and got him a toy that he can plug his iPod shuffle into. It sings along to the music, purrs, blinks, etc. It's in the shape of a cat. So the new member of the family?
iMuffin!!
And he thought it up all by himself. Clever.
Liam has had a 45 year old stuffed cat for a couple years now. He got it from his Great Aunt in Japan. It used to be her childhood toy. She was very generous (she always is) and shared it with Liam. I'm not sure why, but he gave it the name White Muffin.
Now it seems that White Muffin was actually one of a pair of animals (this is starting to sound like Toy Story 2). There was also a black one. On Mimi's last trip to Japan she came home with a black version. Liam, adhering to ANSI stuffed animal naming standards, was quick to christen this one Black Muffin.
So now for his First Communion Liam naturally scored all kinds of loot. Gerry chipped in and got him a toy that he can plug his iPod shuffle into. It sings along to the music, purrs, blinks, etc. It's in the shape of a cat. So the new member of the family?
iMuffin!!
And he thought it up all by himself. Clever.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
To the Dermatologist!
About a year ago, Mimi's constant harassment finally got me motivated to make an appointment with a dermatologist. She had been to this guy previously, and while he was billed as a cantankerous old man, he was supposed to be really good. So I agreed.
I set up my appointment for the week of July 4. The lady on the phone confirmed that I would be around that week, and on my agreement set the date.
About a week before the appointment she called back. Well, guess what? After pinning me down on the date, now it turns out the doc is going to be on vacation. So she left a message for me to call back and schedule an appointment.
Which I did. Fully 10 months later! When I got the next nice lady on the phone she asked me for the old appointment date. I told her July 6. She looked and looked and couldn't find me. Oh! Right! I said. July 6, 2006. Silence. Yeah - took me a while to get around to rescheduling. Turns out they don't keep records that long, so she took my word for it and I got scheduled for June 29, almost exactly a year late.
The nice thing was I had already filled out all my forms, so when the day came all I had to do was show up. Mimi had prepped me with many warnings. It'll take forever. He's really brusque. No bedside manner, etc. I was agonizing over how I would play it. As the nicest guy ever and highlight his behavior via contrast? Or give as good as I got? Naturally I decided I'd play it by ear.
Registration was easy. I simply handed in my forms. But as she was reviewing them she called me over. How old are you? She asked. As I'm thinking up my reply (honestly after I hit 30 I never really paid attention to my age. I seriously have to figure it out every time someone asks) I look past her to my sheet where it declares I'm 40. But of course I'm not 40. I'm 41.
That's odd. I'm generally pretty good at subtraction. How'd I make that mistake? Oh yeah! I filled in the form a year ago!! I was 40 back then. I didn't bother to explain this to her, just said 41 and got admitted.
When the doc came in he was the absolute personification of caring old doctor. How are you? Warm handshake. Some small talk. If he didn't have a name tag I would have wondered who I got. He was great.
He asked me the reason for my visit. "Nagging wife" was my response. He liked that one. Then he took a look at the spots on my face that Mimi had sent me in for. I was sure they were just age spots, freckles, whatever. Not exactly. Turns out it's AK (Actinic Keratoses). Oh hell. I don't know what's worse: that I have a skin condition, or that Mimi was right all along. Damn!
The friendly doc goes on, in his early stage dementia manner, that this is what they call pre-cancer. OK. Well, I guess it's better than post cancer. Which means you're dead. Or a 5 time Tour De France winner. But I think the odds of the second case are somewhat lower.
So my skin has been damaged from the burning rays of the sun. So what's the treatment? Well burn it off, of course! Why didn't I think of that? And what is he going to use to burn it off? Something cold, naturally. It struck me that I was going to have a hard time explaining this to the kids. I could already see the confusion on their faces.
I thought you said he burned it off?
I did
But don't you use heat to burn?
And isn't cold the opposite of heat?
If they're opposites, how can they both burn?
Ummmm
Well the doc steps out for a sec, then strolls back in with what looks like a hand-held propane torch. Only it's not propane, it's liquid nitrogen in the tank. "This is going to sting a bit" he mentions as if the thought just now struck him (after doing this for what would appear to be the better part of 100 years). Then comes the Coors Silver Bullet train straight into my face. Yeah. That stings just a bit.
He nails me twice on the face, then once on the back. I ask what happens next. Oh, nothing. They just fall off.
Oh great. Now I've got to be careful eating lest a part of what-was-once-my-face falls into my soup. I feel like a leper-wannabe. I take a look in the mirror and can already see the skin bubbling up under the freckles. Lovely. And I have to go to work now. For a series of 1-1 meetings. Wonder if I can stop by the costume shop and pick up an elephant-man mask on the way. "I am not an animal!!"
So the moral of the story? Wear sunscreen. And a hat. And spf 50 clothing. And never go outside. Revel in your pallid countenance. Milky white is the way to go!!!!
About a year ago, Mimi's constant harassment finally got me motivated to make an appointment with a dermatologist. She had been to this guy previously, and while he was billed as a cantankerous old man, he was supposed to be really good. So I agreed.
I set up my appointment for the week of July 4. The lady on the phone confirmed that I would be around that week, and on my agreement set the date.
About a week before the appointment she called back. Well, guess what? After pinning me down on the date, now it turns out the doc is going to be on vacation. So she left a message for me to call back and schedule an appointment.
Which I did. Fully 10 months later! When I got the next nice lady on the phone she asked me for the old appointment date. I told her July 6. She looked and looked and couldn't find me. Oh! Right! I said. July 6, 2006. Silence. Yeah - took me a while to get around to rescheduling. Turns out they don't keep records that long, so she took my word for it and I got scheduled for June 29, almost exactly a year late.
The nice thing was I had already filled out all my forms, so when the day came all I had to do was show up. Mimi had prepped me with many warnings. It'll take forever. He's really brusque. No bedside manner, etc. I was agonizing over how I would play it. As the nicest guy ever and highlight his behavior via contrast? Or give as good as I got? Naturally I decided I'd play it by ear.
Registration was easy. I simply handed in my forms. But as she was reviewing them she called me over. How old are you? She asked. As I'm thinking up my reply (honestly after I hit 30 I never really paid attention to my age. I seriously have to figure it out every time someone asks) I look past her to my sheet where it declares I'm 40. But of course I'm not 40. I'm 41.
That's odd. I'm generally pretty good at subtraction. How'd I make that mistake? Oh yeah! I filled in the form a year ago!! I was 40 back then. I didn't bother to explain this to her, just said 41 and got admitted.
When the doc came in he was the absolute personification of caring old doctor. How are you? Warm handshake. Some small talk. If he didn't have a name tag I would have wondered who I got. He was great.
He asked me the reason for my visit. "Nagging wife" was my response. He liked that one. Then he took a look at the spots on my face that Mimi had sent me in for. I was sure they were just age spots, freckles, whatever. Not exactly. Turns out it's AK (Actinic Keratoses). Oh hell. I don't know what's worse: that I have a skin condition, or that Mimi was right all along. Damn!
The friendly doc goes on, in his early stage dementia manner, that this is what they call pre-cancer. OK. Well, I guess it's better than post cancer. Which means you're dead. Or a 5 time Tour De France winner. But I think the odds of the second case are somewhat lower.
So my skin has been damaged from the burning rays of the sun. So what's the treatment? Well burn it off, of course! Why didn't I think of that? And what is he going to use to burn it off? Something cold, naturally. It struck me that I was going to have a hard time explaining this to the kids. I could already see the confusion on their faces.
I thought you said he burned it off?
I did
But don't you use heat to burn?
And isn't cold the opposite of heat?
If they're opposites, how can they both burn?
Ummmm
Well the doc steps out for a sec, then strolls back in with what looks like a hand-held propane torch. Only it's not propane, it's liquid nitrogen in the tank. "This is going to sting a bit" he mentions as if the thought just now struck him (after doing this for what would appear to be the better part of 100 years). Then comes the Coors Silver Bullet train straight into my face. Yeah. That stings just a bit.
He nails me twice on the face, then once on the back. I ask what happens next. Oh, nothing. They just fall off.
Oh great. Now I've got to be careful eating lest a part of what-was-once-my-face falls into my soup. I feel like a leper-wannabe. I take a look in the mirror and can already see the skin bubbling up under the freckles. Lovely. And I have to go to work now. For a series of 1-1 meetings. Wonder if I can stop by the costume shop and pick up an elephant-man mask on the way. "I am not an animal!!"
So the moral of the story? Wear sunscreen. And a hat. And spf 50 clothing. And never go outside. Revel in your pallid countenance. Milky white is the way to go!!!!
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Bathroom Break
A few months ago, the 8-year-old had a sudden bout of bed-wetting. This was odd. He'd been potty trained for years. I chalked it up to the fact that Mimi was out of the country and that he was just a bit out of sorts.
When Mimi came back it stopped. Well, almost. There were a couple more small accidents. But he's been dry for the last couple months.
Last night I was the last one downstairs. Mimi was already in bed with the lights out. So I turned out the downstairs lights, and stumbled up in the dark. When I got to my sink I started to get ready to brush my teeth - still with the lights off to be considerate. I was just about to start when I heard some movement, then saw that the light had gone on downstairs.
Now I don't know what would bring Mimi downstairs since she was already in bed, but hell, since she was up there was no reason to brush in the dark. I flipped the light on, and immediately saw Mimi lying in bed! OK. That's odd. If Mimi's there, who is downstairs?
I put down the toothbrush and walked downstairs. As I turned the corner into the kitchen I see Liam. He's standing in front of the trash can, penis in his hand, peeing!!!!! Right into the trash. Well, not right in, of course. He's still 90% asleep, and his aim isn't so good. But mostly into the trash can. Huh.
"Liam!" I yell. "What are you doing?" Poor kid. He's asleep. "What?" is the only reply he can muster. "Why are you peeing in the trash?" You can guess the response: "What?" I can tell this is going to be a productive conversation! So what can I do?
I just wait for him to finish, tell him to get a paper towel and clean up his misses, and send him off to wash his hands. He finished all his tasks in a daze and stumbled up to bed, still totally out.
Before I went to bed I went into his room. He was still 'awake.' I teased him a little bit "Hey Liam, if you have to go to the bathroom again, could I get you to do me a small favor and get you to pee in the toilet?" Naturally his response: "What?"
This morning I pulled him aside and asked him if he remembered last night. Oh sure, he said. I made a sign for my lemonade sale this weekend. No, I tell him. After that. He had no recollection whatsoever. No surprise there.
You should have seen his face when I told him what he did. He was stunned. He couldn't have been more shocked if I had told him he flew during the night. The only problem was he seemed to think it was kind of cool. He had the slightest smile on his face. I can see the wheels turning. "Man! If I just pretend to be asleep I can get away with anything!" I'm going to have to be careful for the next few weeks!
A few months ago, the 8-year-old had a sudden bout of bed-wetting. This was odd. He'd been potty trained for years. I chalked it up to the fact that Mimi was out of the country and that he was just a bit out of sorts.
When Mimi came back it stopped. Well, almost. There were a couple more small accidents. But he's been dry for the last couple months.
Last night I was the last one downstairs. Mimi was already in bed with the lights out. So I turned out the downstairs lights, and stumbled up in the dark. When I got to my sink I started to get ready to brush my teeth - still with the lights off to be considerate. I was just about to start when I heard some movement, then saw that the light had gone on downstairs.
Now I don't know what would bring Mimi downstairs since she was already in bed, but hell, since she was up there was no reason to brush in the dark. I flipped the light on, and immediately saw Mimi lying in bed! OK. That's odd. If Mimi's there, who is downstairs?
I put down the toothbrush and walked downstairs. As I turned the corner into the kitchen I see Liam. He's standing in front of the trash can, penis in his hand, peeing!!!!! Right into the trash. Well, not right in, of course. He's still 90% asleep, and his aim isn't so good. But mostly into the trash can. Huh.
"Liam!" I yell. "What are you doing?" Poor kid. He's asleep. "What?" is the only reply he can muster. "Why are you peeing in the trash?" You can guess the response: "What?" I can tell this is going to be a productive conversation! So what can I do?
I just wait for him to finish, tell him to get a paper towel and clean up his misses, and send him off to wash his hands. He finished all his tasks in a daze and stumbled up to bed, still totally out.
Before I went to bed I went into his room. He was still 'awake.' I teased him a little bit "Hey Liam, if you have to go to the bathroom again, could I get you to do me a small favor and get you to pee in the toilet?" Naturally his response: "What?"
This morning I pulled him aside and asked him if he remembered last night. Oh sure, he said. I made a sign for my lemonade sale this weekend. No, I tell him. After that. He had no recollection whatsoever. No surprise there.
You should have seen his face when I told him what he did. He was stunned. He couldn't have been more shocked if I had told him he flew during the night. The only problem was he seemed to think it was kind of cool. He had the slightest smile on his face. I can see the wheels turning. "Man! If I just pretend to be asleep I can get away with anything!" I'm going to have to be careful for the next few weeks!
Monday, June 25, 2007
While we don't have any significant offices in England these days, a meeting with Google London brought me from Cincinnati and my West Europe colleagues from Geneva. The plan was fly in Sunday/Monday. Meetings Tu - Th, then Friday as a free day to explore.
I had never been to England before. So this was a trip I was looking forward to. I have seen the history of places like Rome and Paris. But this felt somehow closer to me personally, and so I had been excited at the prospect.
The flight over was one of the easiest I can remember. The flight left on time and arrived on time. In between everything went according to plan. Mostly. About the only deviation was dinner. I ordered the steak. When it finally came out I assaulted it with the plastic cutlery I had been given. I made no progress. The meat was hideous. A rubbery texture that actually made me feel a little sick in my stomach. I succeeded in lancing off one bite, and ate it with difficulty. The prospect of 15 more of those caused my stomach to turn again. So I hit the call button and waited for my attendant.
Now, per company policy on overseas flights, recall that I am sitting in business class. We pay an extra $4000 or so for the flight, and one of the benefits is supposed to be decent food. They make quite a show of it. Real bottles of wine and all that. So I felt quite comfortable in pointing out that the meal was not up to business class standards.
When the attendant finally arrived I could immediately tell she didn't feel the same way. I told her the meat was hideous, and asked if they had any of the chicken left. Her expression was a blank. I guess I was the only one to complain. Not my issue the rest are sheep. For a $5500 ticket I expect something edible. And I wasn't prepared to go the next 8+ hours with nothing in my belly. So she went off to get me some chicken.
Did I get an apology? Sorry the food sucked? Uh, uh. Nothing. In any restaurant above McDonalds I'd expect some kind of remorse at the delivery of substandard food. Not here. I wonder if I ended up eating one of the crew meals? If I did I saved them from a dry tasteless chicken. They should have thanked me!
After the meal (in spite of the meal?) I actually slept after. This is a breakthrough for me. I can't normally get any decent sleep on the flight over. This is why I go the day before. I always need time to recover. But on this one I closed my eyes after dinner was cleared. And while I wouldn't say I slept soundly, I slept in decent fits until I smelled breakfast cooking. Things were looking up!
As we landed, since I was in no particular hurry, and since I always like to mix with the locals on trips like this, I headed off to the trains instead of getting a cab. I had looked this up online and saw that there is a train direct from the airport to a train station not far from my hotel. So I got onto the Gatwick express and began my adventure.
I was actually a little disappointed to find it wasn't much of an adventure! The trains were depressingly simple. The express left me at Victoria station, and from there it was 5 stops on the Circle Line to my stop. Total time was less than an hour. Total cost about $40. I found out later than one of my less adventurous colleagues took a cab. That took him 2 hours and cost nearly $200. Wasn't I feeling clever!
It was a short lived emotion. I got to my hotel and attempted to check in. Note that this is the part of my note where normally I'd say I checked in. Notice the extra word in the sentence above? Yeah. I made an attempt. It was about 11:00 when I got to the hotel. Now I know that rooms aren't guaranteed to be ready until 3, but I've never actually had to wait before. For this one I went to the nice lady at the desk and she gave me the strict party line. I replied that I had just gotten off a flight from the US, that I was tired, and that I'd really appreciate getting one of the early rooms. OK, she said, and I thought things were looking up. Maybe I'd have a 15 minute wait? But then she continued "Why don't you come back in a couple hours and I'll see what I can do for you?" A couple hours? Oh hell.
And that was it. No offer to take my luggage. No free drink tickets for the hotel bar. No free wireless internet code (yes, this is an expensive hotel, which of course means they charge $30/day for the access you get for free at a $30 room in the US. Go figure). No nothing. "Next!"
So I went off to the Café to grab a coffee and pay to get some work done. At this point I reflected on how lucky I was that I was able to get some sleep on the plane. On previous trips I would have been totally beat, and this time would have been torturous. In this case it was simply annoying. I worked for a good 2.5 hours (now 1:30) and thought certainly my room would be ready now. Right?
Actually no. Try back in another hour. So off to the café again. More coffee, more work, and it's 2:45. I was pleased to see I was able to score my room 15 minutes early. What great guys! That's British customer service at its finest. And in fact over the course of my week I would come to realize that in fact that was as fine as it was going to get! I didn't care. I had my room.
I did my normal time zone routine. I hit the gym, lifted for an hour. Ran for a bit, then came back to the room for a shower. After that I felt much better, and went out for a walk. I found a couple local grocery stores, and stocked up on supplies. Water, Coke, snacks, and breakfast bars. I could now survive a nuclear explosion or a week in London!
After my walk I went back to the room and watched a DVD. Anything to stay awake a few more hours! Gross Pointe Blank (one of my all-time favorites now) did the trick. When it finished it was 7pm, which was fine time for me to sack out.
Following the theme of easy travel, my sleep was perfect. I set my alarm for 8am, and if it hadn't gone off I would have slept another couple hours with no problem. Maybe I've just been sleepy lately? Don't know. Generally I have a rough first night of sleep. I'll wake up at 3 totally awake and take 45 minutes to get relaxed again. Not this time. I was out!
Work during the day was OK. I met with my new West Europe partner, Mourad. After we split I went back to my room to do a little more work. I had my Coke, but it was warm. You see, since the hotel was a nice one they didn't have a fridge. They had one of those minibars where if you even look at an item it's charged to your bill. So I couldn't make room for my 2litre bottle. No bother, right? I'll just go to the ice machine that it located on every floor of every hotel in the world. Yeah? Of course not. They don't have them! I don't know if this is a new feature of expensive hotels or what, but they had no ice for me. I decided to go native and drink it warm. It actually wasn't that bad.
That night Bogdan joined us, and we had a forgetful dinner at the hotel sports bar. A burger that was so lousy that we ordered more food after picking at it. The British have a well deserved reputation for the world's worst food. And it seems their talents aren't limited to their own cuisine. They can destroy American food as well.
Day two of work went well. Good meetings, and a nice lunch at the Japanese place on the top of the hotel. Dinner that night was a curious choice. We got a local recommendation for a very nice place. As you all know, I'm not a seafood fan, so I'm always curious to see the place we're heading into. Well, as we walk into this one there is an oyster bar. Not a good sign. And a decidedly nautical motif. Again, not good. They do have meat on the menu, but only 2 or 3 choices. I am somewhat bummed, as across the row is a Chop House that I'm sure does meat very well. But I don't want to kill the party. However when we order it turns out that all 5 of us select from the 3 meat entrees! I make the suggestion to go next door, but we're settled, so we don't. After a second night of poor food (this time at $200/person) I decide that the only food to eat in London is ethnic. Although I'm sure the Chop House would have been better. Still, the company was nice, and the views impressive (at the base of the tower bridge) so it wasn't a total loss.
I think the thing I liked best about the trip was the fact that I didn't have to get up for early meetings any of the days I was here. Each morning began with me waking up at 9:15 or so. A leisurely shower and breakfast, then work at 10. I could get used to this! Maybe I was meant to work in Europe?
Thursday was another decent day of work, and it ended nice and early at 5. I got back to the hotel and John and I - being the only two left - decided to try our luck at an adventure. Several months (years?) ago I got a Anthropological study of English Pub Life. I loved it. I read it cover to cover (do you say that with a pdf?) the day it arrived in my inbox. And since I was actually in England, I desperately wanted to try it for myself. In the bar the previous evening I had gotten two recommendations. Towns that were not far away, both of which were sure to have good local pubs.
So we went to the concierge and asked. Hendley and Maindenhead? Never heard of them! So what does he do to help us? Searches on Google! Hell; I could have done that myself. Probably more successfully. In fact I am sure of it as he came up with absolutely nothing. This was very disappointing. But not to worry. He knew a place we'd love. "Interesting," he called it. Camden Town. For a long while I was convinced it sounded familiar. But then I realized there's a baseball park called Camden Yard, so I guess it was not familiar after all.
As he's giving us directions to the town, he tells us take the first train to station A, then train 2 to station B, then train 3 to station C. Three trains doesn't impress me, but as I looked over his shoulder at the map it sure looked like B and C were very close to one another. "Or we could just walk from B to C" I offered. I was touristing, after all. Seeing more sights is always a good thing. He didn't get it. "Oh, no" he replied. "You see they are on different lines. You have to switch trains." OK. I knew that part. They just looked close. I tried one more time "But they sure seem close, like you could walk between them." No dice. "You see, sir. You switch at station B to the 3rd train." Alright. Sold. I'll switch to train 3. Don't know why, but it's clearly very important to him. 3 trains it was.
Camden town was interesting. A little like the street in Seattle where the freaks all hang out. Only slightly less freaky. We walked a bit, then found a pub that looked interesting. They were advertising 5 bands for 4 pounds. I tried the American approach of shooting past the doorman so fast they think you belong. Lo and behold - It worked! We were in and drinking bitters in no time. Gotta like the assertive approach. The rest of my time there was spent watching others get accosted and pay up with a smug smile on my lips.
The bands were distinguished mostly by being loud. Really loud. I was impressed by this. But was more impressed by the fact that a women at the next table seemed very relaxed while having a conversation on her cell phone. I couldn't communicate with John on the other side of a 4 foot table and she's on the phone. Say what you will, but kids these days have some skills!
We didn't make too much of a night of it since John had to get up early to catch a flight the next morning. I went up and worked a bit more when we got back to the hotel, and spent some time plotting my plan for my day of real tourism. I have to believe I'll be back to London at some point in my life, so I didn't feel that I had to do and see everything. But there were a few must-sees. The Tower of London was one. Big Ben and Parliament another. And anything else a bonus.
I got another good night's sleep and went downstairs to check my route with the concierge. I don't know why I bothered. They were less than useless. I guess they did confirm that my route was a good one, but offered nothing of use beyond that. No matter. I was ready!
First stop was the Tower of London. Trivia question. How do you know that the tourist attraction is not in the US? Answer: when it has been a tourist attraction for 300 years. Not that it's been around for 300 years (this would be enough in the US), but that it's been a tourist attraction for 300 years! That's impressive! And it had been around for 700 years before the tourists started flocking. In fact, it was still being used housing and harming prisoners even as it was attracting tourists. It was an impressive sight. Honestly, anything 1000 years old that's still standing must be. But on top of that the stories were impressive. 300 prisoners had been condemned to death there. But when the dug up those killed to give them a decent burial they found 1500 skeletons. Oops! Where the other 1200 come from? These guys were not shy.
The other interesting part of the tour was they spent a significant portion of the space on a multiple room explanation of the gunpowder rebellion. It seems a few hundred years back a group of religious extremists plotted an act of terrorism against the government. Sounds like today, eh? They were to kill the King and Queen and most of the Lords. The most interesting thing was the terrorists themselves. Those religious terrorists who would kill in the name of their heinous god? Yup - Catholics. Gotta love that.
I spent several hours here. Much more than I had planned. But eventually I realized that I couldn't spend the entire day in one place, so I moved on. I hopped another train and got to Big Ben/ The London Eye / Parliament / Westminster Abbey / 10 Downing street. Quite a few sites in a very packed area. It called forth a reference about the English Royalty from the recesses of my mind. Can't even remember when I read it. It said the main purpose of the monarchy was as a tourist attraction. It really hit home there. It was really like I was in the world's oldest theme park. A very odd feeling. But it reinforced the feeling I had at the Tower. At the end of the tour the Beefeater (the Gin-free variety, unfortunately) who was our guide was thanking us for accompanying him. And as people walked out they were offering him tips. I expected him to refuse them. He is, after all, still on active service. He was chosen for his post after 25+ years of active service in the armed forces. But instead of refusing it was "Oh and thank YOU very much sir!" It's just tourism. Oh well. It was still impressive.
I got back to the hotel and still had my last evening. But I was alone. My initial impulse was to pop in a DVD and get room service. But I fought that back. I was going to be adventurous. So I relaxed for a bit, then headed down to the concierge. Why bother? Good question. Here's exactly what I told them: "I'm looking for a pub with decent food and good beer. It doesn't matter where in the city it is. I've got an all-day rail pass and plenty of time to kill." So - where do you suppose they sent me? No, no, after they suggested the hotel bar. Where? To the pub at the end of the block! ADVENTURE indeed. Ah well. I didn't want to wander aimlessly (well, any more), so I gave it a shot. After about 10 minutes there I remembered why I don't do this. Excepting my brief conversations with the wait staff "Another beer please." I said not a word to anyone there. Not a howdy to the couple to my right. Not a 'sup to the boys on my left. Nothing. I drank 3 beers and at my pasta in complete silence. I'm pathetic. I should have just watched a movie!
When I got back to my room I started to pack. My flight was at 10, and it took an hour to get to the airport. So I'd have to leave the hotel at 7 to be there the prescribed 2 hours early. I didn't want to have to do anything in the morning but wake up, shower, and go. I got packed, and set 2 alarms plus a wake-up call. This is my total panic scenario. I have been known to oversleep. And I am always terrified that I'll do it the night of a return flight, and that I'll be stuck in the country for another day. So I set up multiple wake points to relax myself so I can sleep.
I should have saved my effort. I work up in a panic at 1:30 (yes - after 90 minutes sleep). I looked at the clock, saw it was 1:30, added 5 hours since I was in Europe, and realized it was 6:30. DAMNIT! None of my alarms had gone off. I was luck to be awake. I needed to get going immediately!!!! I sprinted to the bathroom.
Once I got there it slowly dawned on me. The clock said 1:30?? But the clock is on the TV. It's part of the hotel. It's on local time. It really is 1:30. Oh hell. My heart is going 120 and I'm supposed to be sleeping still. Oh this is going to be a long night. I woke up again at 2:15. Then at 4. At this point it was light outside, which is always good for inducing panic. But no, still nowhere near time to get up. Finally after 2 or 3 more starts my blackberry alarm goes off. OK. Honestly at this point I'm happy to be awake. It wasn't like I was getting much out of lying in bed and bursting up every 20 minutes or so.
Funny thing was my panic was well earned. Of my 2 alarms only one went off. And the wakeup call never came. Love that British service!
The morning went exactly to plan. I got up. Showered. Did the last minute packing, and headed off for the station. Even at this hour the train was the fastest way to the airport. And 1/4 the cost of a cab. I got to the station, bought my ticket, and went to the platform. There are two lines that come to that platform. Circle (my line) and Wimbledon. The first train was a W. And the one after as well. When the third W train pulled up I started to get a little worried. I happened upon a worker and asked about the circle. "Oh, it's not running today" she replied very nonchalantly. Um, OK. But then how do I get to Victoria station? Easy enough! Train 1 to station A, 2 to station b, then 3 takes you to Victoria. Hoo boy. Good thing I practiced this routine previously in my trip.
I knew I'd get there fine. But the extra trains were costing me time. I was starting to get worried that I'd be tight on my flight. I had no worries about missing the flight, but I didn't want to be hassled when I arrived - "Yes, sir. I know your flight doesn't leave for 90 minutes, but you're supposed to be here 2 hours early and we've given your Business class seat away." That sort of thing. I made the best time I could, and got to Victoria just in time to miss the 7:45. No biggie, I caught the 8:00 and was on my way.
Since I had time to kill, I checked into my blackberry. I did stare at the countryside for a bit, but it gets repetitive. So I connected I checked in. And what's the first message a see? From Delta Airlines. And what do you suppose the odds are that it was good news? Slim? None? Yup. My flight has been delayed 2 hours! And the message hadn't been sent until I was already on the train. So all the panic of the previous evening? The early rising? The rush? All for nothing. I was not happy. But - what can you do? You can't even really yell at anyone, as whatever caused your delay is not the poor soul facing your wrath. So I slipped further into my iPod and waited to get to the airport.
When I arrived I went to check in. I knew I'd be waiting a while, but wanted to get security over with. At check in the guy asks if I'm checking any bags. No; I reply. I never check bags. Even for a week in Europe. If I can't fit in in my carry on I don't need it. "Well then, how many bags are you bringing on board?" Just the one I say, pointing to my carry-on. "What about your backpack?" he asks. Well, that doesn't count as a bag, does it? Like a ladies purse doesn't count? It's always one bag plus a small tote. And it is. Just not at Gatwick. But don't worry. Just cram your backpack into your carry on, get it through security, and you can take them apart after. Well gee, normally I'd be too rushed to do that. But since you guys have been kind enough to delay my flight 2 hours I guess I can spend 15 minutes re-packing everything.
It takes a while, but I get it crammed in. Off to security I go. And what's the first thing I see when I get there? One of those 'size-wise' bag grids. You know - the things that determine if your bag is too big. And naturally, since I had crammed my entire backpack inside, it now was. So back to check in I go. I can't believe what this would have been like traveling coach. Their check in line was 45 minutes long! And I would have had to have come through it a second time. Not good. That thought was the only thing that kept me from yelling at the idiot with the clever suggestion my last time through. I repacked everything *again*, checked my carry-on (guess I need a new name for it now), and headed off to security.
Security wasn't bad. Everyone got patted down, but nothing crazy. And since I'm in business class I can use the crown room. But you want to know how shitty the Gatwick Delta Crown Room is? They don't have wireless internet. But you know what's even worse? They know the code to the wireless in the Emirates lounge (the signal is strong enough to reach them) and they happily hand it out to their customers!! I make a mental note to check the chips on board to see if they stole them from Emirates. Wouldn't put it past the cheap bastards!
We got called at 11:30, and went off to board. No problems with luggage any more. They took care of that but not letting anyone bring any on board!! But after I got into my seat the dreaded announcement comes on. Yup, delayed again. No pilot. Curse them! We finally get into the air about 1:00. Fully 4 hours after schedule. But you know what the funny thing is? With media reports of travel nightmares I actually am relieved. They have successfully lowered the bar on us.
Maybe Mom is right. Does Greyhound go to Europe?
I had never been to England before. So this was a trip I was looking forward to. I have seen the history of places like Rome and Paris. But this felt somehow closer to me personally, and so I had been excited at the prospect.
The flight over was one of the easiest I can remember. The flight left on time and arrived on time. In between everything went according to plan. Mostly. About the only deviation was dinner. I ordered the steak. When it finally came out I assaulted it with the plastic cutlery I had been given. I made no progress. The meat was hideous. A rubbery texture that actually made me feel a little sick in my stomach. I succeeded in lancing off one bite, and ate it with difficulty. The prospect of 15 more of those caused my stomach to turn again. So I hit the call button and waited for my attendant.
Now, per company policy on overseas flights, recall that I am sitting in business class. We pay an extra $4000 or so for the flight, and one of the benefits is supposed to be decent food. They make quite a show of it. Real bottles of wine and all that. So I felt quite comfortable in pointing out that the meal was not up to business class standards.
When the attendant finally arrived I could immediately tell she didn't feel the same way. I told her the meat was hideous, and asked if they had any of the chicken left. Her expression was a blank. I guess I was the only one to complain. Not my issue the rest are sheep. For a $5500 ticket I expect something edible. And I wasn't prepared to go the next 8+ hours with nothing in my belly. So she went off to get me some chicken.
Did I get an apology? Sorry the food sucked? Uh, uh. Nothing. In any restaurant above McDonalds I'd expect some kind of remorse at the delivery of substandard food. Not here. I wonder if I ended up eating one of the crew meals? If I did I saved them from a dry tasteless chicken. They should have thanked me!
After the meal (in spite of the meal?) I actually slept after. This is a breakthrough for me. I can't normally get any decent sleep on the flight over. This is why I go the day before. I always need time to recover. But on this one I closed my eyes after dinner was cleared. And while I wouldn't say I slept soundly, I slept in decent fits until I smelled breakfast cooking. Things were looking up!
As we landed, since I was in no particular hurry, and since I always like to mix with the locals on trips like this, I headed off to the trains instead of getting a cab. I had looked this up online and saw that there is a train direct from the airport to a train station not far from my hotel. So I got onto the Gatwick express and began my adventure.
I was actually a little disappointed to find it wasn't much of an adventure! The trains were depressingly simple. The express left me at Victoria station, and from there it was 5 stops on the Circle Line to my stop. Total time was less than an hour. Total cost about $40. I found out later than one of my less adventurous colleagues took a cab. That took him 2 hours and cost nearly $200. Wasn't I feeling clever!
It was a short lived emotion. I got to my hotel and attempted to check in. Note that this is the part of my note where normally I'd say I checked in. Notice the extra word in the sentence above? Yeah. I made an attempt. It was about 11:00 when I got to the hotel. Now I know that rooms aren't guaranteed to be ready until 3, but I've never actually had to wait before. For this one I went to the nice lady at the desk and she gave me the strict party line. I replied that I had just gotten off a flight from the US, that I was tired, and that I'd really appreciate getting one of the early rooms. OK, she said, and I thought things were looking up. Maybe I'd have a 15 minute wait? But then she continued "Why don't you come back in a couple hours and I'll see what I can do for you?" A couple hours? Oh hell.
And that was it. No offer to take my luggage. No free drink tickets for the hotel bar. No free wireless internet code (yes, this is an expensive hotel, which of course means they charge $30/day for the access you get for free at a $30 room in the US. Go figure). No nothing. "Next!"
So I went off to the Café to grab a coffee and pay to get some work done. At this point I reflected on how lucky I was that I was able to get some sleep on the plane. On previous trips I would have been totally beat, and this time would have been torturous. In this case it was simply annoying. I worked for a good 2.5 hours (now 1:30) and thought certainly my room would be ready now. Right?
Actually no. Try back in another hour. So off to the café again. More coffee, more work, and it's 2:45. I was pleased to see I was able to score my room 15 minutes early. What great guys! That's British customer service at its finest. And in fact over the course of my week I would come to realize that in fact that was as fine as it was going to get! I didn't care. I had my room.
I did my normal time zone routine. I hit the gym, lifted for an hour. Ran for a bit, then came back to the room for a shower. After that I felt much better, and went out for a walk. I found a couple local grocery stores, and stocked up on supplies. Water, Coke, snacks, and breakfast bars. I could now survive a nuclear explosion or a week in London!
After my walk I went back to the room and watched a DVD. Anything to stay awake a few more hours! Gross Pointe Blank (one of my all-time favorites now) did the trick. When it finished it was 7pm, which was fine time for me to sack out.
Following the theme of easy travel, my sleep was perfect. I set my alarm for 8am, and if it hadn't gone off I would have slept another couple hours with no problem. Maybe I've just been sleepy lately? Don't know. Generally I have a rough first night of sleep. I'll wake up at 3 totally awake and take 45 minutes to get relaxed again. Not this time. I was out!
Work during the day was OK. I met with my new West Europe partner, Mourad. After we split I went back to my room to do a little more work. I had my Coke, but it was warm. You see, since the hotel was a nice one they didn't have a fridge. They had one of those minibars where if you even look at an item it's charged to your bill. So I couldn't make room for my 2litre bottle. No bother, right? I'll just go to the ice machine that it located on every floor of every hotel in the world. Yeah? Of course not. They don't have them! I don't know if this is a new feature of expensive hotels or what, but they had no ice for me. I decided to go native and drink it warm. It actually wasn't that bad.
That night Bogdan joined us, and we had a forgetful dinner at the hotel sports bar. A burger that was so lousy that we ordered more food after picking at it. The British have a well deserved reputation for the world's worst food. And it seems their talents aren't limited to their own cuisine. They can destroy American food as well.
Day two of work went well. Good meetings, and a nice lunch at the Japanese place on the top of the hotel. Dinner that night was a curious choice. We got a local recommendation for a very nice place. As you all know, I'm not a seafood fan, so I'm always curious to see the place we're heading into. Well, as we walk into this one there is an oyster bar. Not a good sign. And a decidedly nautical motif. Again, not good. They do have meat on the menu, but only 2 or 3 choices. I am somewhat bummed, as across the row is a Chop House that I'm sure does meat very well. But I don't want to kill the party. However when we order it turns out that all 5 of us select from the 3 meat entrees! I make the suggestion to go next door, but we're settled, so we don't. After a second night of poor food (this time at $200/person) I decide that the only food to eat in London is ethnic. Although I'm sure the Chop House would have been better. Still, the company was nice, and the views impressive (at the base of the tower bridge) so it wasn't a total loss.
I think the thing I liked best about the trip was the fact that I didn't have to get up for early meetings any of the days I was here. Each morning began with me waking up at 9:15 or so. A leisurely shower and breakfast, then work at 10. I could get used to this! Maybe I was meant to work in Europe?
Thursday was another decent day of work, and it ended nice and early at 5. I got back to the hotel and John and I - being the only two left - decided to try our luck at an adventure. Several months (years?) ago I got a Anthropological study of English Pub Life. I loved it. I read it cover to cover (do you say that with a pdf?) the day it arrived in my inbox. And since I was actually in England, I desperately wanted to try it for myself. In the bar the previous evening I had gotten two recommendations. Towns that were not far away, both of which were sure to have good local pubs.
So we went to the concierge and asked. Hendley and Maindenhead? Never heard of them! So what does he do to help us? Searches on Google! Hell; I could have done that myself. Probably more successfully. In fact I am sure of it as he came up with absolutely nothing. This was very disappointing. But not to worry. He knew a place we'd love. "Interesting," he called it. Camden Town. For a long while I was convinced it sounded familiar. But then I realized there's a baseball park called Camden Yard, so I guess it was not familiar after all.
As he's giving us directions to the town, he tells us take the first train to station A, then train 2 to station B, then train 3 to station C. Three trains doesn't impress me, but as I looked over his shoulder at the map it sure looked like B and C were very close to one another. "Or we could just walk from B to C" I offered. I was touristing, after all. Seeing more sights is always a good thing. He didn't get it. "Oh, no" he replied. "You see they are on different lines. You have to switch trains." OK. I knew that part. They just looked close. I tried one more time "But they sure seem close, like you could walk between them." No dice. "You see, sir. You switch at station B to the 3rd train." Alright. Sold. I'll switch to train 3. Don't know why, but it's clearly very important to him. 3 trains it was.
Camden town was interesting. A little like the street in Seattle where the freaks all hang out. Only slightly less freaky. We walked a bit, then found a pub that looked interesting. They were advertising 5 bands for 4 pounds. I tried the American approach of shooting past the doorman so fast they think you belong. Lo and behold - It worked! We were in and drinking bitters in no time. Gotta like the assertive approach. The rest of my time there was spent watching others get accosted and pay up with a smug smile on my lips.
The bands were distinguished mostly by being loud. Really loud. I was impressed by this. But was more impressed by the fact that a women at the next table seemed very relaxed while having a conversation on her cell phone. I couldn't communicate with John on the other side of a 4 foot table and she's on the phone. Say what you will, but kids these days have some skills!
We didn't make too much of a night of it since John had to get up early to catch a flight the next morning. I went up and worked a bit more when we got back to the hotel, and spent some time plotting my plan for my day of real tourism. I have to believe I'll be back to London at some point in my life, so I didn't feel that I had to do and see everything. But there were a few must-sees. The Tower of London was one. Big Ben and Parliament another. And anything else a bonus.
I got another good night's sleep and went downstairs to check my route with the concierge. I don't know why I bothered. They were less than useless. I guess they did confirm that my route was a good one, but offered nothing of use beyond that. No matter. I was ready!
First stop was the Tower of London. Trivia question. How do you know that the tourist attraction is not in the US? Answer: when it has been a tourist attraction for 300 years. Not that it's been around for 300 years (this would be enough in the US), but that it's been a tourist attraction for 300 years! That's impressive! And it had been around for 700 years before the tourists started flocking. In fact, it was still being used housing and harming prisoners even as it was attracting tourists. It was an impressive sight. Honestly, anything 1000 years old that's still standing must be. But on top of that the stories were impressive. 300 prisoners had been condemned to death there. But when the dug up those killed to give them a decent burial they found 1500 skeletons. Oops! Where the other 1200 come from? These guys were not shy.
The other interesting part of the tour was they spent a significant portion of the space on a multiple room explanation of the gunpowder rebellion. It seems a few hundred years back a group of religious extremists plotted an act of terrorism against the government. Sounds like today, eh? They were to kill the King and Queen and most of the Lords. The most interesting thing was the terrorists themselves. Those religious terrorists who would kill in the name of their heinous god? Yup - Catholics. Gotta love that.
I spent several hours here. Much more than I had planned. But eventually I realized that I couldn't spend the entire day in one place, so I moved on. I hopped another train and got to Big Ben/ The London Eye / Parliament / Westminster Abbey / 10 Downing street. Quite a few sites in a very packed area. It called forth a reference about the English Royalty from the recesses of my mind. Can't even remember when I read it. It said the main purpose of the monarchy was as a tourist attraction. It really hit home there. It was really like I was in the world's oldest theme park. A very odd feeling. But it reinforced the feeling I had at the Tower. At the end of the tour the Beefeater (the Gin-free variety, unfortunately) who was our guide was thanking us for accompanying him. And as people walked out they were offering him tips. I expected him to refuse them. He is, after all, still on active service. He was chosen for his post after 25+ years of active service in the armed forces. But instead of refusing it was "Oh and thank YOU very much sir!" It's just tourism. Oh well. It was still impressive.
I got back to the hotel and still had my last evening. But I was alone. My initial impulse was to pop in a DVD and get room service. But I fought that back. I was going to be adventurous. So I relaxed for a bit, then headed down to the concierge. Why bother? Good question. Here's exactly what I told them: "I'm looking for a pub with decent food and good beer. It doesn't matter where in the city it is. I've got an all-day rail pass and plenty of time to kill." So - where do you suppose they sent me? No, no, after they suggested the hotel bar. Where? To the pub at the end of the block! ADVENTURE indeed. Ah well. I didn't want to wander aimlessly (well, any more), so I gave it a shot. After about 10 minutes there I remembered why I don't do this. Excepting my brief conversations with the wait staff "Another beer please." I said not a word to anyone there. Not a howdy to the couple to my right. Not a 'sup to the boys on my left. Nothing. I drank 3 beers and at my pasta in complete silence. I'm pathetic. I should have just watched a movie!
When I got back to my room I started to pack. My flight was at 10, and it took an hour to get to the airport. So I'd have to leave the hotel at 7 to be there the prescribed 2 hours early. I didn't want to have to do anything in the morning but wake up, shower, and go. I got packed, and set 2 alarms plus a wake-up call. This is my total panic scenario. I have been known to oversleep. And I am always terrified that I'll do it the night of a return flight, and that I'll be stuck in the country for another day. So I set up multiple wake points to relax myself so I can sleep.
I should have saved my effort. I work up in a panic at 1:30 (yes - after 90 minutes sleep). I looked at the clock, saw it was 1:30, added 5 hours since I was in Europe, and realized it was 6:30. DAMNIT! None of my alarms had gone off. I was luck to be awake. I needed to get going immediately!!!! I sprinted to the bathroom.
Once I got there it slowly dawned on me. The clock said 1:30?? But the clock is on the TV. It's part of the hotel. It's on local time. It really is 1:30. Oh hell. My heart is going 120 and I'm supposed to be sleeping still. Oh this is going to be a long night. I woke up again at 2:15. Then at 4. At this point it was light outside, which is always good for inducing panic. But no, still nowhere near time to get up. Finally after 2 or 3 more starts my blackberry alarm goes off. OK. Honestly at this point I'm happy to be awake. It wasn't like I was getting much out of lying in bed and bursting up every 20 minutes or so.
Funny thing was my panic was well earned. Of my 2 alarms only one went off. And the wakeup call never came. Love that British service!
The morning went exactly to plan. I got up. Showered. Did the last minute packing, and headed off for the station. Even at this hour the train was the fastest way to the airport. And 1/4 the cost of a cab. I got to the station, bought my ticket, and went to the platform. There are two lines that come to that platform. Circle (my line) and Wimbledon. The first train was a W. And the one after as well. When the third W train pulled up I started to get a little worried. I happened upon a worker and asked about the circle. "Oh, it's not running today" she replied very nonchalantly. Um, OK. But then how do I get to Victoria station? Easy enough! Train 1 to station A, 2 to station b, then 3 takes you to Victoria. Hoo boy. Good thing I practiced this routine previously in my trip.
I knew I'd get there fine. But the extra trains were costing me time. I was starting to get worried that I'd be tight on my flight. I had no worries about missing the flight, but I didn't want to be hassled when I arrived - "Yes, sir. I know your flight doesn't leave for 90 minutes, but you're supposed to be here 2 hours early and we've given your Business class seat away." That sort of thing. I made the best time I could, and got to Victoria just in time to miss the 7:45. No biggie, I caught the 8:00 and was on my way.
Since I had time to kill, I checked into my blackberry. I did stare at the countryside for a bit, but it gets repetitive. So I connected I checked in. And what's the first message a see? From Delta Airlines. And what do you suppose the odds are that it was good news? Slim? None? Yup. My flight has been delayed 2 hours! And the message hadn't been sent until I was already on the train. So all the panic of the previous evening? The early rising? The rush? All for nothing. I was not happy. But - what can you do? You can't even really yell at anyone, as whatever caused your delay is not the poor soul facing your wrath. So I slipped further into my iPod and waited to get to the airport.
When I arrived I went to check in. I knew I'd be waiting a while, but wanted to get security over with. At check in the guy asks if I'm checking any bags. No; I reply. I never check bags. Even for a week in Europe. If I can't fit in in my carry on I don't need it. "Well then, how many bags are you bringing on board?" Just the one I say, pointing to my carry-on. "What about your backpack?" he asks. Well, that doesn't count as a bag, does it? Like a ladies purse doesn't count? It's always one bag plus a small tote. And it is. Just not at Gatwick. But don't worry. Just cram your
It takes a while, but I get it crammed in. Off to security I go. And what's the first thing I see when I get there? One of those 'size-wise' bag grids. You know - the things that determine if your bag is too big. And naturally, since I had crammed my entire backpack inside, it now was. So back to check in I go. I can't believe what this would have been like traveling coach. Their check in line was 45 minutes long! And I would have had to have come through it a second time. Not good. That thought was the only thing that kept me from yelling at the idiot with the clever suggestion my last time through. I repacked everything *again*, checked my carry-on (guess I need a new name for it now), and headed off to security.
Security wasn't bad. Everyone got patted down, but nothing crazy. And since I'm in business class I can use the crown room. But you want to know how shitty the Gatwick Delta Crown Room is? They don't have wireless internet. But you know what's even worse? They know the code to the wireless in the Emirates lounge (the signal is strong enough to reach them) and they happily hand it out to their customers!! I make a mental note to check the chips on board to see if they stole them from Emirates. Wouldn't put it past the cheap bastards!
We got called at 11:30, and went off to board. No problems with luggage any more. They took care of that but not letting anyone bring any on board!! But after I got into my seat the dreaded announcement comes on. Yup, delayed again. No pilot. Curse them! We finally get into the air about 1:00. Fully 4 hours after schedule. But you know what the funny thing is? With media reports of travel nightmares I actually am relieved. They have successfully lowered the bar on us.
Maybe Mom is right. Does Greyhound go to Europe?
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Courage
By Denis Jei McGrath
Courage is like the stars lighting up the night without the moon
Or like a dolphin swimming across the Pacific Ocean by himself
It is like a tiny dragon, ready to fly for his first time
Courage is like a yellow chickadee, flying through a blizzard
[The result of the most recent artist in residence program at SVF. This round was a writer.]
By Denis Jei McGrath
Courage is like the stars lighting up the night without the moon
Or like a dolphin swimming across the Pacific Ocean by himself
It is like a tiny dragon, ready to fly for his first time
Courage is like a yellow chickadee, flying through a blizzard
[The result of the most recent artist in residence program at SVF. This round was a writer.]
Wasabi Dies
Denis and Liam both got fish almost 2 years ago. They were what we would have called Siamese fighting fish. These days they're called Beta's. Or maybe they're different? Who can tell?
Anyway, about 6 months ago they suddenly went from very active and good looking to sluggish and mottled. So there was a late-night rush to the pet store, where we invested in everything we could find that was supposed to improve their condition.
And they didn't die. Not immediately anyway. Actually they lasted quite long. But yesterday Liam's fish, Wasabi, finally succumbed. I came down in the morning to find him crying into his cereal. I knew immediately what had happened. Wasabi had barely moved the previous day, and I guessed his time with us was coming to an end. I was right. And Liam was devastated.
I had a VB game that night, so I wasn't around for the funeral. Liam made and decorated a casket for him. Then he went off by himself for a bit, came back, and they went into the garden to bury him. Liam marked the grave with a lovely shell.
The next night I had just gotten home from work and was in the family room with Mandy and Mimi. Liam was sitting in a chair next to us. Mandy looked at him, and asked if I knew what happened to his head. His head? Hell, as long as it was still attached I was cool. Still - I looked. No blood. That was good. Then I noticed that the top of his head did look odd. There was a line across his hair. Not a line of ink or anything like that. His hair was in a very sharp line about at the top of his head, from ear to ear. It looked very odd.
I asked him what had happened. He answered very slowly. You could tell he was wondering if he would get into trouble. He began to relay the story of the previous day. When Wasabi died and was to be buried he couldn't bear the thought of them being apart. So he snuck off, found a pair of scissors, and cut off a section of his hair, which he put into the casket with Wasabi!
I looked at him, stunned. I know there are plenty of cultures who bury cherished items with them, group burials, etc. But I'm fairly sure he hasn't been exposed to much of that. It was something he came up with all by himself. You could tell it was something very meaningful for him.
He didn't get into trouble. He could have cut it all off if this was what he had in mind. I still get choked up even thinking about it.
Denis and Liam both got fish almost 2 years ago. They were what we would have called Siamese fighting fish. These days they're called Beta's. Or maybe they're different? Who can tell?
Anyway, about 6 months ago they suddenly went from very active and good looking to sluggish and mottled. So there was a late-night rush to the pet store, where we invested in everything we could find that was supposed to improve their condition.
And they didn't die. Not immediately anyway. Actually they lasted quite long. But yesterday Liam's fish, Wasabi, finally succumbed. I came down in the morning to find him crying into his cereal. I knew immediately what had happened. Wasabi had barely moved the previous day, and I guessed his time with us was coming to an end. I was right. And Liam was devastated.
I had a VB game that night, so I wasn't around for the funeral. Liam made and decorated a casket for him. Then he went off by himself for a bit, came back, and they went into the garden to bury him. Liam marked the grave with a lovely shell.
The next night I had just gotten home from work and was in the family room with Mandy and Mimi. Liam was sitting in a chair next to us. Mandy looked at him, and asked if I knew what happened to his head. His head? Hell, as long as it was still attached I was cool. Still - I looked. No blood. That was good. Then I noticed that the top of his head did look odd. There was a line across his hair. Not a line of ink or anything like that. His hair was in a very sharp line about at the top of his head, from ear to ear. It looked very odd.
I asked him what had happened. He answered very slowly. You could tell he was wondering if he would get into trouble. He began to relay the story of the previous day. When Wasabi died and was to be buried he couldn't bear the thought of them being apart. So he snuck off, found a pair of scissors, and cut off a section of his hair, which he put into the casket with Wasabi!
I looked at him, stunned. I know there are plenty of cultures who bury cherished items with them, group burials, etc. But I'm fairly sure he hasn't been exposed to much of that. It was something he came up with all by himself. You could tell it was something very meaningful for him.
He didn't get into trouble. He could have cut it all off if this was what he had in mind. I still get choked up even thinking about it.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Where did that come from?
I was on my way home from work today, driving along as always. Suddenly, in the lane to my left I heard a loud noise. It sounded like someones engine had just dropped out of their car. As I looked I realized it was something even more odd.
The car was an old green Oldsmobile. Achieva or something equally unremarkable. There were three teenage boys inside. They were all looking at me. And they were revving their engine!
I have to explain. I'm 41 years old. I drive a Volvo. A Volvo! Teenage boys do not dare me to race. And yet, here they were. The passenger even rolled down his window - presumably to lay down the challenge. As much as I wanted to hear his offer I held back. Because not only was I an old man in a staid sedan, but we were stopped at a light. And were, in fact, both stuck behind big SUVs. Where the hell were we going to race to anyway?
Didn't seem to bother them. They kept right on revving away, looking my way, smiling. I smiled back. When the light turned green the two lanes branched off to the left. But I was going straight. So we inched forward in sync. Then the car in front of me veered left, leaving the road clear in front. I hit the gas and disappeared. Because while I do drive a Volvo, it is the high-pressure turbo, with 247hp going through a manual transmission (I think there's a Beach Boys song in there somewhere). I was gone in a flash!
But sure enough, 1/2 mile down the road there's the green Olds behind me again. Still revving his engine as we cruise at 25, stuck behind another car. Finally, I got bored, swung across the yellow, and passed poky. My new friends do me one better, swinging past our roadblock and me! Now it's their turn to show off. I'm guessing they were quite confused about their inability to pull away from me. Heh, heh! After a mile or so of trying to lose me they ended up turning, I'm guessing back to their original route. I honked and waved as they left. They turned a boring commute into some fun for me. Been a long time since that has happened.
Thing I still can't grasp is why on earth they'd try to race me? Think it was the Flying Spaghetti Monster on the back?
I was on my way home from work today, driving along as always. Suddenly, in the lane to my left I heard a loud noise. It sounded like someones engine had just dropped out of their car. As I looked I realized it was something even more odd.
The car was an old green Oldsmobile. Achieva or something equally unremarkable. There were three teenage boys inside. They were all looking at me. And they were revving their engine!
I have to explain. I'm 41 years old. I drive a Volvo. A Volvo! Teenage boys do not dare me to race. And yet, here they were. The passenger even rolled down his window - presumably to lay down the challenge. As much as I wanted to hear his offer I held back. Because not only was I an old man in a staid sedan, but we were stopped at a light. And were, in fact, both stuck behind big SUVs. Where the hell were we going to race to anyway?
Didn't seem to bother them. They kept right on revving away, looking my way, smiling. I smiled back. When the light turned green the two lanes branched off to the left. But I was going straight. So we inched forward in sync. Then the car in front of me veered left, leaving the road clear in front. I hit the gas and disappeared. Because while I do drive a Volvo, it is the high-pressure turbo, with 247hp going through a manual transmission (I think there's a Beach Boys song in there somewhere). I was gone in a flash!
But sure enough, 1/2 mile down the road there's the green Olds behind me again. Still revving his engine as we cruise at 25, stuck behind another car. Finally, I got bored, swung across the yellow, and passed poky. My new friends do me one better, swinging past our roadblock and me! Now it's their turn to show off. I'm guessing they were quite confused about their inability to pull away from me. Heh, heh! After a mile or so of trying to lose me they ended up turning, I'm guessing back to their original route. I honked and waved as they left. They turned a boring commute into some fun for me. Been a long time since that has happened.
Thing I still can't grasp is why on earth they'd try to race me? Think it was the Flying Spaghetti Monster on the back?
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
They're dead, Jim! [In my best Dr. McCoy voice]
I don't know what it is about new construction. Certainly nothing in the actual building of our house was this well timed. But the self destruct in two of the kitchen appliances have now gone off.
3 weeks ago it was the garbage disposal. No big deal there. All garbage disposals built in the last 50 years have a standard mount. Just pop off the old one, pop on the new, and you're in business. Right? Sure. Unless your cheap-arsed builder used a $10 knock off bought on special in Korea (probably North, where the standard mount hasn't caught on yet). Yeah. 10 minute job turned into two sweating hours under the sink cracking it off section by section praying I wasn't going to chip the sink. But I got it on. It runs great. And it's so silent I wasn't sure it was working at first. (Hint - don't check if it's working by reaching inside it!)
This weekend - it was the dishwasher. It had started to get a little temperamental. It would stop in the middle of a cycle, sit there for a while, then start back up again. Or not. Finally when it gave me a near heart attack by noisily starting back up as I reached for a glass in the cabinet above it I decided it was time. I found a nice Consumer Reports Best Buy at Sears and brought it home. I am pleased to report that there was nothing funky about the install. Electric, water in, and drain tube were all standard pieces. The total job took less than an hour. Not bad for my first time. And no leaks! So life is good.
Or is it? Kind of makes you wonder what's next. I can't imagine the stove or oven are ready to die. But what about the things you never see? The water heater? The furnace? I am not looking forward to either of those going out - though replacing both of them with larger, more efficient units does have an appeal. Something tells me it won't be long!
BTW - I have to give a shout out to the village. I wasn't at all sure they'd take it, but the garbage guys took the old dishwasher from out by the curb. Thanks, guys!
I don't know what it is about new construction. Certainly nothing in the actual building of our house was this well timed. But the self destruct in two of the kitchen appliances have now gone off.
3 weeks ago it was the garbage disposal. No big deal there. All garbage disposals built in the last 50 years have a standard mount. Just pop off the old one, pop on the new, and you're in business. Right? Sure. Unless your cheap-arsed builder used a $10 knock off bought on special in Korea (probably North, where the standard mount hasn't caught on yet). Yeah. 10 minute job turned into two sweating hours under the sink cracking it off section by section praying I wasn't going to chip the sink. But I got it on. It runs great. And it's so silent I wasn't sure it was working at first. (Hint - don't check if it's working by reaching inside it!)
This weekend - it was the dishwasher. It had started to get a little temperamental. It would stop in the middle of a cycle, sit there for a while, then start back up again. Or not. Finally when it gave me a near heart attack by noisily starting back up as I reached for a glass in the cabinet above it I decided it was time. I found a nice Consumer Reports Best Buy at Sears and brought it home. I am pleased to report that there was nothing funky about the install. Electric, water in, and drain tube were all standard pieces. The total job took less than an hour. Not bad for my first time. And no leaks! So life is good.
Or is it? Kind of makes you wonder what's next. I can't imagine the stove or oven are ready to die. But what about the things you never see? The water heater? The furnace? I am not looking forward to either of those going out - though replacing both of them with larger, more efficient units does have an appeal. Something tells me it won't be long!
BTW - I have to give a shout out to the village. I wasn't at all sure they'd take it, but the garbage guys took the old dishwasher from out by the curb. Thanks, guys!
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Derby Night!
Last night was Pinewood derby night for the older boy's Cub Scout den. This is always a time of much stress in the house. For the boys, as they would love nothing more than to show up their friends. And for me, as I am the lucky guy who runs this event.
Historically, the boys have not fared well in this activity. Last year there were 33 cars in the race. Denis ended up in 32nd place. Liam did somewhat better, all the way up in 26th. There should be no reason to complain about this. We did our cars in one evening (the one before the race, naturally). We spent all our time cutting and sanding that there was no time for speed tricks (if we knew any). And while there was no reason to complain, that sure didn't stop Denis. He was very upset. In tears at one point (after his third straight 3rd place finish).
I was determined to do better this year. And how would any good father address this challenge? With a trip to the hardware store, of course! Over $100 of tools later, and suddenly we were in business. I got a Dremel, some new hacksaw blades, hobbyist metal file, and a few other odds and ends. And we started early on the cars. Not exactly the day we got them, in early December. And not exactly during Christmas break as we had thought. Well, Wednesday night, actually. But this was still an entire day earlier than last year!
And the Dremel came with a DVD with some helpful tips. Naturally, as with most construction projects, when they are presented the tips sound like the simplest things in the world. Doing them? Another matter entirely. Still, we used the idea of drawing out the design and tracing it on the wood black for cutting guidance. And I learned how to smooth the wheels and axles. So not a total waste.
The construction was pretty straightforward - this is our 3rd year after all. And you could tell the go-fast tricks really helped. Liam brought down last year's car. We spun the wheel. It went around 4 or 5 times and stopped. No wonder it was slow! Then we spun a wheel on the new car. Oh my! You couldn't even count the rotations. The improvement was incredible. I started to foster some hopes, still tempering them with the knowledge that there were Dads who had been working on this for months. Who have secret family tuning secrets that they'll never share which they've passed down through the generations. But still - hope was glimmering.
I got everyone registered and ready to go, and before long Denis came up in a heat. I was so nervous! And in looking at him I could tell he was too. The board dropped, and his car jumped out of the gate. The other cars closed, but he held them off. He won his heat! This was a first. And the smile on his face was a mile wide.
Next was Liam's turn. And he won too! Now the smile was on my face. I was one of the 'in' dads now. I had the secrets to pass to future generations of McGraths. Denis came up again, and won again. Liam ran again, and took second. Life was good. The last prelim heat was the nervewracker. Denis vs. Liam. Someone wasn't going to be happy. It was close, but Liam won, with Denis taking second.
So after the prelim rounds Denis and Liam were tied for the 6 seed out of 27 cars. I was ecstatic. We had still put almost no effort into the car, and they were among the fastest in the field. Awesome.
After the prelims are the elimination rounds. The top 3 come out of there and go to the finals. It took several rounds for Liam to come up. He ran, and came in a close second. So he was out. But still very pleased with his result.
Next was Denis. He ran, and also took second. He was now out also. And was he happy? Pleased with his incredible improvement from last year. Of course not! No - he was running out into the hallway near tears again.
I have to confess I was a little frustrated. He told me his car sucked. I couldn't believe it. We spent no time on the project, he was in the top 1/4 of the cars. He was way better than last year. And he was still mad. I'll never get him.
On the plus side, as we talked about it on the way home he perked up a bit. And when he told Mimi he left off the 'sucked' part. And today they both seem to have good feelings about the results.
And for me? The Access application I wrote to manage the process worked flawlessly. Including projecting heats up onto a screen so everyone could see who was racing. Many compliments from the parents. So I still rock.
But for both the cars and the software I've already got ideas for improvements for next year!
Can't wait!
Last night was Pinewood derby night for the older boy's Cub Scout den. This is always a time of much stress in the house. For the boys, as they would love nothing more than to show up their friends. And for me, as I am the lucky guy who runs this event.
Historically, the boys have not fared well in this activity. Last year there were 33 cars in the race. Denis ended up in 32nd place. Liam did somewhat better, all the way up in 26th. There should be no reason to complain about this. We did our cars in one evening (the one before the race, naturally). We spent all our time cutting and sanding that there was no time for speed tricks (if we knew any). And while there was no reason to complain, that sure didn't stop Denis. He was very upset. In tears at one point (after his third straight 3rd place finish).
I was determined to do better this year. And how would any good father address this challenge? With a trip to the hardware store, of course! Over $100 of tools later, and suddenly we were in business. I got a Dremel, some new hacksaw blades, hobbyist metal file, and a few other odds and ends. And we started early on the cars. Not exactly the day we got them, in early December. And not exactly during Christmas break as we had thought. Well, Wednesday night, actually. But this was still an entire day earlier than last year!
And the Dremel came with a DVD with some helpful tips. Naturally, as with most construction projects, when they are presented the tips sound like the simplest things in the world. Doing them? Another matter entirely. Still, we used the idea of drawing out the design and tracing it on the wood black for cutting guidance. And I learned how to smooth the wheels and axles. So not a total waste.
The construction was pretty straightforward - this is our 3rd year after all. And you could tell the go-fast tricks really helped. Liam brought down last year's car. We spun the wheel. It went around 4 or 5 times and stopped. No wonder it was slow! Then we spun a wheel on the new car. Oh my! You couldn't even count the rotations. The improvement was incredible. I started to foster some hopes, still tempering them with the knowledge that there were Dads who had been working on this for months. Who have secret family tuning secrets that they'll never share which they've passed down through the generations. But still - hope was glimmering.
I got everyone registered and ready to go, and before long Denis came up in a heat. I was so nervous! And in looking at him I could tell he was too. The board dropped, and his car jumped out of the gate. The other cars closed, but he held them off. He won his heat! This was a first. And the smile on his face was a mile wide.
Next was Liam's turn. And he won too! Now the smile was on my face. I was one of the 'in' dads now. I had the secrets to pass to future generations of McGraths. Denis came up again, and won again. Liam ran again, and took second. Life was good. The last prelim heat was the nervewracker. Denis vs. Liam. Someone wasn't going to be happy. It was close, but Liam won, with Denis taking second.
So after the prelim rounds Denis and Liam were tied for the 6 seed out of 27 cars. I was ecstatic. We had still put almost no effort into the car, and they were among the fastest in the field. Awesome.
After the prelims are the elimination rounds. The top 3 come out of there and go to the finals. It took several rounds for Liam to come up. He ran, and came in a close second. So he was out. But still very pleased with his result.
Next was Denis. He ran, and also took second. He was now out also. And was he happy? Pleased with his incredible improvement from last year. Of course not! No - he was running out into the hallway near tears again.
I have to confess I was a little frustrated. He told me his car sucked. I couldn't believe it. We spent no time on the project, he was in the top 1/4 of the cars. He was way better than last year. And he was still mad. I'll never get him.
On the plus side, as we talked about it on the way home he perked up a bit. And when he told Mimi he left off the 'sucked' part. And today they both seem to have good feelings about the results.
And for me? The Access application I wrote to manage the process worked flawlessly. Including projecting heats up onto a screen so everyone could see who was racing. Many compliments from the parents. So I still rock.
But for both the cars and the software I've already got ideas for improvements for next year!
Can't wait!
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
More travel fun
I'm off at a conference in Salt Lake City this week. OK, technically it's Deer Valley, but close enough. Incredible area. The views are stunning, and the amount of wealth running around threatens to dwarf the mountains. No matter how well off you think you are, come out here for a week and you'll be feeling downright poor (at least by comparison).
I'm staying at a 'hotel' called The Chateaux at Silver Lake at Deer Valley. Quite the name, eh? And notice that I put the noun in quotes. There is good reason for this. Here's how check in went.
I go to the front desk. Perfectly normal. They take my credit card and give me a room key. Fine. I head off to my room (which, naturally, since I'm carrying all my ski equipment, is in another building). I get to the room, open the door, and look around. OK, this is a little different.
The first thing I see is my breakfast table. With 4 chairs. That's a little much for a hotel room.
Next impression is the cooking island. Huh? With bar stool. That, naturally, leads my eye to the kitchen. Not kitchenette, kitchen! How do I distinguish between the two? Well, if it's got a full size subzero refrigerator it ain't no stinkin' 'ette!'
And that's not all. This kitchen is complete. Oven. Pots and pans. Glasses and dishes. Microwave. Coffee maker. Blender!! Toaster. Coffee bean grinder! Probably more I didn't even find.
Wow! I am well on my way to being impressed. I'm a VIP presenter at the conference, and I'm starting to think that I got the seriously upgraded room.
This perception is short-lived.
After dropping my bags I look around for the bedroom. There are a bunch of interior doors. I open the coat closet by the door and it's the bathroom. OK. I'm flexible.
I try the next 4 doors. 3 are locked, and the last is the closet. And that's all the doors there are. Hmmmm. I scan the rest of the room. Couch. Coffee table. 2 chairs. Fireplace. All very nice, but, um, where the hell's my bedroom??
I call the front desk. "Hey guys, hate to bother you and all, but where exactly is my bedroom?"
"Oh, sir, you have a Murphy bed."
"OK, and is in the Murphy bedroom? Is this like the White House or something?"
"Oh, no, sir. You pull it out of the wall!"
"I what?"
"Pull it out of the wall."
It's about now that I notice the expanse of wall paneled is such a way that it doesn't really match the rest of the room. With two handles. You have got to be kidding me! But no. I pull it down and check it out. It's actually pretty comfortable. And it's nice to sleep on.
So it turns out this isn't really a hotel. They rent the rooms like one, but the rooms are condos owned by the various rich people I've been seeing around. When the owners come to visit, they open all those locked doors and have a lovely 3 bedroom, 3 bath, suite with a nice kitchen (that'd be my room!)
Thing is, though, if you have someone checking in to your 'hotel,' don't you think this is the kind of thing that you might mention? Or maybe not. Perhaps the only fun the staff has here is watching the hapless guests try to figure out where to sleep.
I wonder how many have ended up on the couch.
I'm off at a conference in Salt Lake City this week. OK, technically it's Deer Valley, but close enough. Incredible area. The views are stunning, and the amount of wealth running around threatens to dwarf the mountains. No matter how well off you think you are, come out here for a week and you'll be feeling downright poor (at least by comparison).
I'm staying at a 'hotel' called The Chateaux at Silver Lake at Deer Valley. Quite the name, eh? And notice that I put the noun in quotes. There is good reason for this. Here's how check in went.
I go to the front desk. Perfectly normal. They take my credit card and give me a room key. Fine. I head off to my room (which, naturally, since I'm carrying all my ski equipment, is in another building). I get to the room, open the door, and look around. OK, this is a little different.
The first thing I see is my breakfast table. With 4 chairs. That's a little much for a hotel room.
Next impression is the cooking island. Huh? With bar stool. That, naturally, leads my eye to the kitchen. Not kitchenette, kitchen! How do I distinguish between the two? Well, if it's got a full size subzero refrigerator it ain't no stinkin' 'ette!'
And that's not all. This kitchen is complete. Oven. Pots and pans. Glasses and dishes. Microwave. Coffee maker. Blender!! Toaster. Coffee bean grinder! Probably more I didn't even find.
Wow! I am well on my way to being impressed. I'm a VIP presenter at the conference, and I'm starting to think that I got the seriously upgraded room.
This perception is short-lived.
After dropping my bags I look around for the bedroom. There are a bunch of interior doors. I open the coat closet by the door and it's the bathroom. OK. I'm flexible.
I try the next 4 doors. 3 are locked, and the last is the closet. And that's all the doors there are. Hmmmm. I scan the rest of the room. Couch. Coffee table. 2 chairs. Fireplace. All very nice, but, um, where the hell's my bedroom??
I call the front desk. "Hey guys, hate to bother you and all, but where exactly is my bedroom?"
"Oh, sir, you have a Murphy bed."
"OK, and is in the Murphy bedroom? Is this like the White House or something?"
"Oh, no, sir. You pull it out of the wall!"
"I what?"
"Pull it out of the wall."
It's about now that I notice the expanse of wall paneled is such a way that it doesn't really match the rest of the room. With two handles. You have got to be kidding me! But no. I pull it down and check it out. It's actually pretty comfortable. And it's nice to sleep on.
So it turns out this isn't really a hotel. They rent the rooms like one, but the rooms are condos owned by the various rich people I've been seeing around. When the owners come to visit, they open all those locked doors and have a lovely 3 bedroom, 3 bath, suite with a nice kitchen (that'd be my room!)
Thing is, though, if you have someone checking in to your 'hotel,' don't you think this is the kind of thing that you might mention? Or maybe not. Perhaps the only fun the staff has here is watching the hapless guests try to figure out where to sleep.
I wonder how many have ended up on the couch.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Stories from Geneva
I am now in a new role and work, with a new manager. This required a trip to Geneva to meet with him and my new Western European counterpart. It was a very productive trip from a business POV (which it had better be working 38 hours in 3 days). Clarified our roles and expectations. Gave ourselves titles. And Agreed to working principles. All good there.
The personal side was, as always, entertaining. Some small vignettes from the tour:
As usual, I arrived in the morning on a Tuesday, but didn't work that day. I stayed up as long as I could (6pm), slept as long as I could (7am) and did my best at work Wednesday. It worked fairly well. I was set to get a good long night's sleep on Wednesday night. It didn’t' happen. Dinner went late, but not too bad. I was back to the hotel at 10:30 and ready to sleep. So I set the alarm for 8 and fell into bed. I was sleeping soundly when the alarm went off. Only it was much louder that I am used to from my small watch. This was VERY loud and insistent. BEEP-BEEP-BEEP. I grabbed for my watch, fumbled with the buttons, but the beeping didn’t stop. It was about now that I realized that the TV was on. OK. Strange. I didn't turn it on the previous evening. But there it was, glowing the in the dark of the room. And as I started to come into consciousness I realized that the beeping was also coming from the TV set. My only thought was "I have to turn off the TV!" I didn't know why it had decided to switch itself on, but I wanted it off. I had a vague fear that this was some kind of emergency - the hotel was on fire maybe? No idea. I fumbled for the light switch, turned it on, and saw the remote next to the TV set. I reached for it, still in a panic, yet finally able to read the words on the screen. "You have a message from the front desk!" WHAT?!?!! A message. NOW? [Picture John McEnroe] "You can NOT be serious!" But sure enough. Enter my room number - 404 - and here's the payoff. Someone has left me a present. How nice. Now shut the hell up and let me get back to bed! To bed, but not to sleep. That's lost to me now. Shit.
After work on Thursday I went to dinner at a Thai restaurant. You know how everyone complains that service in Europe is horrible? Well here's why: 1. When we arrive at the restaurant it's 8:30. It's a medium-sized place. Maybe 15 tables. Only 1 is occupied. We approach the head water and say we have two for dinner. He asks - incredulous - "You do not have a reservation??" Um, no. But seeing as you have FOURTEEN EMPTY TABLES perhaps you could see it in the goodness of your heart to seat us anyway, eh? 2. After graciously agreeing to seat us, we are asked if we'd prefer smoking to non-smoking. Non-smoking, naturally. You have to wonder where they'll put the smokers since it's really just one big room. Perhaps there's another room off to the side for the smokers. Me? I don't have to wonder. I know where they put the smokers - AT THE TABLE NEXT TO US! You know, why even waste the breath asking the question? Since he's probably a smoker himself he should probably ration his oxygen. 3. I order my meal. Pad Thai. Not too adventurous, I know. But I like it, and don't have it too often, so I don't feel bad ordering it. After I place my order I was ready to be asked how spicy I want it. I am not asked. OK. So since the waitress speaks English (I'm not about to try this in French) I tell her - I'd like it to a medium level of spiciness. She looks in my direction; and walks away. The meal comes out shortly. My first thought is how well they've spiced it. My question is quickly answered by the waitress, who shows up carrying a small bowl of chili-peppers in an oil mix. Ah, the message is now clear. "OK, Mr. Picky, you want medium spice? Well spice it your damn self!" Lovely. I wonder - if I had wanted clean dishes would I have been given a wash rag?
I had considered getting Mimi an expensive watch for Christmas. Perhaps a Rolex. But soon after I had the thought I ran into a couple who owned them. They said many nice things about them - marvels of engineering, never needs batteries, can dive to any depth, and so on. Then, after laying it on for a bit come out with the other side. Oh yeah, the only thing is they don't keep time very well... Um, pardon me? Isn't it, well, a watch? And one of the most expensive ones on the planet? Isn't it's purpose to tell you what time it is? It would seem not. It will lose 1-2 seconds a day. A DAY! My $20 Casio won't lose that in a year. But the Rolex? Every day. Precision engineering, that. Well, I'm telling this story to my new boss, and my usual exaggerative manner, and I get to the part about them not telling time and I toss out "And it turns out they're pieces of shit! Damn things can't even keep time!" I was watching his expression, and knew that something was up, but kept ranting for another few minutes anyway. Finally, when I finished, and the new boss couldn't contain himself any more, he jumps into the conversation. "Oh, no, Denis. They are such amazing instruments. They are works of art!" "Uh, yeah. Works of art that don't tell time. Why not buy a painting and a Casio instead?" You can imagine where this conversation went. So after all the dust settles? Yup - new boss owns a Rolex! Several, in fact. Actually, he's a watch collector! Damn! Talk about the wrong foot. He will never wear a watch that requires a battery. The watch on his wrist has a story behind it - some kind of antique. Can't say I really listened to the story. Fun stuff. The cool thing is, though, that even though we held differing points of view, I love hearing people talk about their passions. Doesn't matter what it is. Sports, intellectual pursuits, hobbies, whatever. If they love it, and express themselves well, it's fun to hear. I'm still not in the market for a Rolex though.
I am now in a new role and work, with a new manager. This required a trip to Geneva to meet with him and my new Western European counterpart. It was a very productive trip from a business POV (which it had better be working 38 hours in 3 days). Clarified our roles and expectations. Gave ourselves titles. And Agreed to working principles. All good there.
The personal side was, as always, entertaining. Some small vignettes from the tour:
As usual, I arrived in the morning on a Tuesday, but didn't work that day. I stayed up as long as I could (6pm), slept as long as I could (7am) and did my best at work Wednesday. It worked fairly well. I was set to get a good long night's sleep on Wednesday night. It didn’t' happen. Dinner went late, but not too bad. I was back to the hotel at 10:30 and ready to sleep. So I set the alarm for 8 and fell into bed. I was sleeping soundly when the alarm went off. Only it was much louder that I am used to from my small watch. This was VERY loud and insistent. BEEP-BEEP-BEEP. I grabbed for my watch, fumbled with the buttons, but the beeping didn’t stop. It was about now that I realized that the TV was on. OK. Strange. I didn't turn it on the previous evening. But there it was, glowing the in the dark of the room. And as I started to come into consciousness I realized that the beeping was also coming from the TV set. My only thought was "I have to turn off the TV!" I didn't know why it had decided to switch itself on, but I wanted it off. I had a vague fear that this was some kind of emergency - the hotel was on fire maybe? No idea. I fumbled for the light switch, turned it on, and saw the remote next to the TV set. I reached for it, still in a panic, yet finally able to read the words on the screen. "You have a message from the front desk!" WHAT?!?!! A message. NOW? [Picture John McEnroe] "You can NOT be serious!" But sure enough. Enter my room number - 404 - and here's the payoff. Someone has left me a present. How nice. Now shut the hell up and let me get back to bed! To bed, but not to sleep. That's lost to me now. Shit.
After work on Thursday I went to dinner at a Thai restaurant. You know how everyone complains that service in Europe is horrible? Well here's why: 1. When we arrive at the restaurant it's 8:30. It's a medium-sized place. Maybe 15 tables. Only 1 is occupied. We approach the head water and say we have two for dinner. He asks - incredulous - "You do not have a reservation??" Um, no. But seeing as you have FOURTEEN EMPTY TABLES perhaps you could see it in the goodness of your heart to seat us anyway, eh? 2. After graciously agreeing to seat us, we are asked if we'd prefer smoking to non-smoking. Non-smoking, naturally. You have to wonder where they'll put the smokers since it's really just one big room. Perhaps there's another room off to the side for the smokers. Me? I don't have to wonder. I know where they put the smokers - AT THE TABLE NEXT TO US! You know, why even waste the breath asking the question? Since he's probably a smoker himself he should probably ration his oxygen. 3. I order my meal. Pad Thai. Not too adventurous, I know. But I like it, and don't have it too often, so I don't feel bad ordering it. After I place my order I was ready to be asked how spicy I want it. I am not asked. OK. So since the waitress speaks English (I'm not about to try this in French) I tell her - I'd like it to a medium level of spiciness. She looks in my direction; and walks away. The meal comes out shortly. My first thought is how well they've spiced it. My question is quickly answered by the waitress, who shows up carrying a small bowl of chili-peppers in an oil mix. Ah, the message is now clear. "OK, Mr. Picky, you want medium spice? Well spice it your damn self!" Lovely. I wonder - if I had wanted clean dishes would I have been given a wash rag?
I had considered getting Mimi an expensive watch for Christmas. Perhaps a Rolex. But soon after I had the thought I ran into a couple who owned them. They said many nice things about them - marvels of engineering, never needs batteries, can dive to any depth, and so on. Then, after laying it on for a bit come out with the other side. Oh yeah, the only thing is they don't keep time very well... Um, pardon me? Isn't it, well, a watch? And one of the most expensive ones on the planet? Isn't it's purpose to tell you what time it is? It would seem not. It will lose 1-2 seconds a day. A DAY! My $20 Casio won't lose that in a year. But the Rolex? Every day. Precision engineering, that. Well, I'm telling this story to my new boss, and my usual exaggerative manner, and I get to the part about them not telling time and I toss out "And it turns out they're pieces of shit! Damn things can't even keep time!" I was watching his expression, and knew that something was up, but kept ranting for another few minutes anyway. Finally, when I finished, and the new boss couldn't contain himself any more, he jumps into the conversation. "Oh, no, Denis. They are such amazing instruments. They are works of art!" "Uh, yeah. Works of art that don't tell time. Why not buy a painting and a Casio instead?" You can imagine where this conversation went. So after all the dust settles? Yup - new boss owns a Rolex! Several, in fact. Actually, he's a watch collector! Damn! Talk about the wrong foot. He will never wear a watch that requires a battery. The watch on his wrist has a story behind it - some kind of antique. Can't say I really listened to the story. Fun stuff. The cool thing is, though, that even though we held differing points of view, I love hearing people talk about their passions. Doesn't matter what it is. Sports, intellectual pursuits, hobbies, whatever. If they love it, and express themselves well, it's fun to hear. I'm still not in the market for a Rolex though.
Monday, November 06, 2006
Marathon Weekend
Mimi and I headed up to NY for the NYC Marathon this weekend. Naturally, she was running, and I was pit crew. This has been our arrangement for all 5 of her marathons. For the weekend, she's the elite athlete, and my job is to make sure that everything is taken care of for her so she can focus on the race.
Seems only fair since she takes care of me the other 51 weeks.
We got up early, met Kathleen at the airport, and got into NY right on time. A quick cab ride and a metro and we were at Uncle Jimmy's work. We dumped our bags and grabbed lunch with him. There was an Irish bar/grill nearby called O Farrell's. According to U Jim it used to be a favorite of my Dad's. How could I turn that down? And it was great. Good food. Good beer. I decided I was going to enjoy the weekend.
The Expo was OK. Nothing special. No great deals to be had. A bunch of marathon stuff at full list price. So I didn't get anything. But we did pick up all the required loot, then went back to see U Jim.
Jimmy drove us off to NJ, where we were meeting up with U Tom and family for a little party for Mimi. It was very nice. Quite a few people stopped in. It's always fun hanging out with the family. They are all extremely entertaining. When everyone had left, Terry, U Tom, and I headed out to the local bar for a couple drinks. Getting U Tom by himself is a treat. He's got a ton of good stories, and is very good at telling them all. I got a few nice ones about my Dad, which is fun.
We crashed at U Tom's for the evening, then had him drive us into the City the next morning. We checked into our hotel (got our room with 2 double beds!) and grabbed lunch. Then Tom headed back into Jersey, and Mimi and I went shopping.
I got Mimi hooked on SKII skin care products a few years back. It's an expensive habit. She had a $50 Saks gift card, so we went there to restock her supply. After a brief evaluation, she got 3 items. And her gift card covered about 10% of the cost. Ouch. But there's the Christmas present!
After that it was souvenirs for the kids. We scored most of them, but broke off the trip because we had been walking too much. I didn't want Mimi's legs to be dead, so I strongly encouraged her to head back to the hotel and relax. When Terry came in to join us he and I finished off the shopping.
Dinner was at a nice Italian restaurant. Good food. Awful service. Guy had a real NY attitude. But I enjoyed my meal, and Mimi got her carbs. So we were both OK.
Back at the hotel we had the standard pre-race panics. What should I wear? What should I bring with? Where will we meet after? Terry and I calmed them as much as we could. But it was never going to manage all their jitters. Terry took off for NJ around 10, and we all went to bed soon after. It was not the best sleep.
Kathleen and Mimi woke early, got dressed, and snuck out without really waking me. Quite considerate! I got up with the alarm at 8, and Terry came by soon after. He brought me my coffee and doughnut. Great guy, Terry! We headed off to start our half of the adventure. We got onto the subway, and immediately ran into some other pit crews. We exchanged info on our athletes, made reciprocal cheering arrangements (What's she wearing? What's her name? OK - we'll look for her!), and shared viewing strategies. Ours was to go to 4, 8, 16, 22, 25, and the finish. This would be a record for viewing stops. All credit to Terry for working out the details!
We got to 4 early. We saw the lead men go through. We saw Lance. Then we saw Mimi and Kathleen! Right where we expected them. It was perfect. We were getting cocky about our abilities already. After a quick cheer and a hi-5 they were back to their race and we were back to the subway.
We got to 8, and found a good viewing location. So far there wasn't much of a crowd. Enough people to make the runners feel good, but not too many so that it made our life difficult. Again, right on time, they came through. We did our best to pep them up, and then we were both off to our next stop.
At this point, both of them were looking very strong. They looked happy. As if they were really enjoying themselves. As for Terry and I - we were definitely enjoying ourselves! We were doing the standard marathon cheer. Wait for someone to come by with a name on the shirt. Cheer loudly for them. And get rewarded with a smile or wave. It brings such a good feeling.
The trek to 16 was long. It took us nearly an hour to get there. Thankfully it took them even longer. This was our first challenge of the day. Coming off the Queesnboro bridge the spectator density is the highest on the whole course. They were lined up 5-6 deep here. And they were back behind barriers. Both were new sights for me. And not welcome ones. This was where I was planning on jumping in to pace Mimi for a bit. Damn!
I decided to simply appeal to the good nature of a few spectators and asked if I could jump in front while I waited for my wife. Let's see. Where was I again? Oh yeah. NY. Yeah. That didn't work so well. You'd think I had just asked for the keys to his car. Oh well. When in Rome and all. So I just pushed past him and dared him to do anything about it. He grumbled and complained, but didn't do anything.
It took 10 minutes of frantic scanning to find them. And then it was just Kathleen. I hurdled the barrier, crossed the street, and met up with her. She said Mimi wasn't feeling well and had dropped off the pace. That wasn't good news. She was really hoping to run fast this time. Oh well. I let Kathleen go and waited for Mimi. It was a little awkward. Here I am standing on the side of the road. Inside the barriers. Within eyesight of a cluster of policemen. Not running. No number. Luckily they behaved a NYC's finest are reputed to. They saw nothing.
A couple minutes later Mimi can by. And Kathleen was right. She didn't look good any more. She wasn't smiling. And she sure as hell wasn't talking. And she had 10 miles to go. This is exactly why I don't do marathons! I jumped in and started a stream of one-sided conversations. Told her all about the day so far. What Terry and I had been up to. Who we had met. She didn't so much as look at me. Not good.
It didn't take long for us to get to mile 22 in Harlem. I knew Terry wasn't thrilled about us meeting there. "Not a nice neighborhood" was how he described it. But not too bad at noon on race day. He survived. As we got close to the point where I was to drop out I decided Mimi needed a little more support. So when I spotted Terry I yelled out "I'm sticking with her. I'll see you at mile 25!" He didn't have time to reply before we were gone.
I kept running and talking. Trying anything I could think of to keep her mind off the pain and discomfort. I don't know how it went for her, but it went by very quickly for me. Before I knew it we were at mile 25. And it was packed again! I ran past looking for Terry, but never did see him. No issue there. I wouldn't have been able to get off the course anyway. I kept running, but by now all I was doing was looking at the barriers. As soon as I spotted one of the shorter ones I wished Mimi luck and jumped off the course.
As I crossed the street to get to the side I walked up to a couple watching the race. I said "Well, that's enough for me!" And prepared to hop the fence. The look on their faces was incredulity. "Are you sure?" they asked. "It's less than 1/2 mile to the finish." They thought I had run 25.7 miles and was quitting with 800 meters to go! No wonder they were shocked. I explained that I was just pacing my wife and ran off to find her.
By this point I had been on my feet all day, and had run 11 miles or so. Way more than I had planned. I was tired out. But I needed to get to the finish. A park ranger was kind enough to direct me to a tunnel that took me out of the park, and I went to our arranged meeting place. There was nobody there to meet. I walked up and down the block a couple times. Still nobody. I ran over a few blocks to see if they had misunderstood the plan. Nobody. Finally, after about an hour of searching (and freezing my a** off in my slightly damp running clothes) I saw Kathleen. They were forced to take a different exit from the park, and Mimi wasn't strong enough to walk down to the meeting place. OK - but where was Terry? Like a bad joke, he was waiting 10 yards from me on the other side of the dump trucks blocking the street. With all my nice warm clothes in the pack on his back. Man I wish I had walked around the trucks one last time!
We got Mimi - who was indeed in bad shape, got to Kathleen's friend's apartment, and everyone got warmed up. Then Terry was off for NJ, and Mimi and I were off to the hotel. We figured to just take a cab, but there were none to be found. So even though I hated to, we took the subway. You know those stories you hear about rush hour subways in Japan? The scene was kinda like that. Only with stinky, sweaty, tired runners. I felt sorry for them. A woman on the train had a subway map, so I looked it over and picked our exit on 59th. When I gave it back to her she mentioned that she had just finished (pretty obvious, actually) and that she lost her friend and didn't know how to get to her apartment. It was on our way, so I offered for her to follow up. It took no extra time on our part, but you could tell that it meant the world to her. Without some support, I'm guessing she would have just sat down on the curb and cried. In fact she did cry when we got her to her friend. What a great feeling.
We both got showered and into clean clothes, then headed out to our celebration dinner. My cousin Kevin joined us for it. A very nice meal. Ocean Grill on Columbus. Great waiter. Decent food. And OK prices. Mimi learned that Kevin waited on tons of celebrities and that was it for her for the evening. Every question from that point on centered on who he'd met and what they were like. She got her People fix for the next month.
Kevin wanted to take us out for some entertainment afterwards, and to my surprise, Mimi was up for it. He took us to two amazing piano bars. Incredible performers. A level of quality you just don't get in Cincinnati. We stayed until about closing. Then Kevin poured us into a cab to get us back to the hotel. We got to bed late, and both woke up tired and hung over.
Mimi got off to LGA to get back to Cincinnati, and I sit here typing in the lounge at JFK on my way to Geneva. It was a wonderful weekend. We're sore, tired, beat up, but wouldn't have traded it for anything. And I've come away with an appreciation for how wonderful family can be. Between U Jimmy, U Tom, Terry, Kevin, and all the others who made us feel so welcomed we feel very blessed to have such a large and wonderful family.
Now - no beer for a week, and no running for at least that long!
Mimi and I headed up to NY for the NYC Marathon this weekend. Naturally, she was running, and I was pit crew. This has been our arrangement for all 5 of her marathons. For the weekend, she's the elite athlete, and my job is to make sure that everything is taken care of for her so she can focus on the race.
Seems only fair since she takes care of me the other 51 weeks.
We got up early, met Kathleen at the airport, and got into NY right on time. A quick cab ride and a metro and we were at Uncle Jimmy's work. We dumped our bags and grabbed lunch with him. There was an Irish bar/grill nearby called O Farrell's. According to U Jim it used to be a favorite of my Dad's. How could I turn that down? And it was great. Good food. Good beer. I decided I was going to enjoy the weekend.
The Expo was OK. Nothing special. No great deals to be had. A bunch of marathon stuff at full list price. So I didn't get anything. But we did pick up all the required loot, then went back to see U Jim.
Jimmy drove us off to NJ, where we were meeting up with U Tom and family for a little party for Mimi. It was very nice. Quite a few people stopped in. It's always fun hanging out with the family. They are all extremely entertaining. When everyone had left, Terry, U Tom, and I headed out to the local bar for a couple drinks. Getting U Tom by himself is a treat. He's got a ton of good stories, and is very good at telling them all. I got a few nice ones about my Dad, which is fun.
We crashed at U Tom's for the evening, then had him drive us into the City the next morning. We checked into our hotel (got our room with 2 double beds!) and grabbed lunch. Then Tom headed back into Jersey, and Mimi and I went shopping.
I got Mimi hooked on SKII skin care products a few years back. It's an expensive habit. She had a $50 Saks gift card, so we went there to restock her supply. After a brief evaluation, she got 3 items. And her gift card covered about 10% of the cost. Ouch. But there's the Christmas present!
After that it was souvenirs for the kids. We scored most of them, but broke off the trip because we had been walking too much. I didn't want Mimi's legs to be dead, so I strongly encouraged her to head back to the hotel and relax. When Terry came in to join us he and I finished off the shopping.
Dinner was at a nice Italian restaurant. Good food. Awful service. Guy had a real NY attitude. But I enjoyed my meal, and Mimi got her carbs. So we were both OK.
Back at the hotel we had the standard pre-race panics. What should I wear? What should I bring with? Where will we meet after? Terry and I calmed them as much as we could. But it was never going to manage all their jitters. Terry took off for NJ around 10, and we all went to bed soon after. It was not the best sleep.
Kathleen and Mimi woke early, got dressed, and snuck out without really waking me. Quite considerate! I got up with the alarm at 8, and Terry came by soon after. He brought me my coffee and doughnut. Great guy, Terry! We headed off to start our half of the adventure. We got onto the subway, and immediately ran into some other pit crews. We exchanged info on our athletes, made reciprocal cheering arrangements (What's she wearing? What's her name? OK - we'll look for her!), and shared viewing strategies. Ours was to go to 4, 8, 16, 22, 25, and the finish. This would be a record for viewing stops. All credit to Terry for working out the details!
We got to 4 early. We saw the lead men go through. We saw Lance. Then we saw Mimi and Kathleen! Right where we expected them. It was perfect. We were getting cocky about our abilities already. After a quick cheer and a hi-5 they were back to their race and we were back to the subway.
We got to 8, and found a good viewing location. So far there wasn't much of a crowd. Enough people to make the runners feel good, but not too many so that it made our life difficult. Again, right on time, they came through. We did our best to pep them up, and then we were both off to our next stop.
At this point, both of them were looking very strong. They looked happy. As if they were really enjoying themselves. As for Terry and I - we were definitely enjoying ourselves! We were doing the standard marathon cheer. Wait for someone to come by with a name on the shirt. Cheer loudly for them. And get rewarded with a smile or wave. It brings such a good feeling.
The trek to 16 was long. It took us nearly an hour to get there. Thankfully it took them even longer. This was our first challenge of the day. Coming off the Queesnboro bridge the spectator density is the highest on the whole course. They were lined up 5-6 deep here. And they were back behind barriers. Both were new sights for me. And not welcome ones. This was where I was planning on jumping in to pace Mimi for a bit. Damn!
I decided to simply appeal to the good nature of a few spectators and asked if I could jump in front while I waited for my wife. Let's see. Where was I again? Oh yeah. NY. Yeah. That didn't work so well. You'd think I had just asked for the keys to his car. Oh well. When in Rome and all. So I just pushed past him and dared him to do anything about it. He grumbled and complained, but didn't do anything.
It took 10 minutes of frantic scanning to find them. And then it was just Kathleen. I hurdled the barrier, crossed the street, and met up with her. She said Mimi wasn't feeling well and had dropped off the pace. That wasn't good news. She was really hoping to run fast this time. Oh well. I let Kathleen go and waited for Mimi. It was a little awkward. Here I am standing on the side of the road. Inside the barriers. Within eyesight of a cluster of policemen. Not running. No number. Luckily they behaved a NYC's finest are reputed to. They saw nothing.
A couple minutes later Mimi can by. And Kathleen was right. She didn't look good any more. She wasn't smiling. And she sure as hell wasn't talking. And she had 10 miles to go. This is exactly why I don't do marathons! I jumped in and started a stream of one-sided conversations. Told her all about the day so far. What Terry and I had been up to. Who we had met. She didn't so much as look at me. Not good.
It didn't take long for us to get to mile 22 in Harlem. I knew Terry wasn't thrilled about us meeting there. "Not a nice neighborhood" was how he described it. But not too bad at noon on race day. He survived. As we got close to the point where I was to drop out I decided Mimi needed a little more support. So when I spotted Terry I yelled out "I'm sticking with her. I'll see you at mile 25!" He didn't have time to reply before we were gone.
I kept running and talking. Trying anything I could think of to keep her mind off the pain and discomfort. I don't know how it went for her, but it went by very quickly for me. Before I knew it we were at mile 25. And it was packed again! I ran past looking for Terry, but never did see him. No issue there. I wouldn't have been able to get off the course anyway. I kept running, but by now all I was doing was looking at the barriers. As soon as I spotted one of the shorter ones I wished Mimi luck and jumped off the course.
As I crossed the street to get to the side I walked up to a couple watching the race. I said "Well, that's enough for me!" And prepared to hop the fence. The look on their faces was incredulity. "Are you sure?" they asked. "It's less than 1/2 mile to the finish." They thought I had run 25.7 miles and was quitting with 800 meters to go! No wonder they were shocked. I explained that I was just pacing my wife and ran off to find her.
By this point I had been on my feet all day, and had run 11 miles or so. Way more than I had planned. I was tired out. But I needed to get to the finish. A park ranger was kind enough to direct me to a tunnel that took me out of the park, and I went to our arranged meeting place. There was nobody there to meet. I walked up and down the block a couple times. Still nobody. I ran over a few blocks to see if they had misunderstood the plan. Nobody. Finally, after about an hour of searching (and freezing my a** off in my slightly damp running clothes) I saw Kathleen. They were forced to take a different exit from the park, and Mimi wasn't strong enough to walk down to the meeting place. OK - but where was Terry? Like a bad joke, he was waiting 10 yards from me on the other side of the dump trucks blocking the street. With all my nice warm clothes in the pack on his back. Man I wish I had walked around the trucks one last time!
We got Mimi - who was indeed in bad shape, got to Kathleen's friend's apartment, and everyone got warmed up. Then Terry was off for NJ, and Mimi and I were off to the hotel. We figured to just take a cab, but there were none to be found. So even though I hated to, we took the subway. You know those stories you hear about rush hour subways in Japan? The scene was kinda like that. Only with stinky, sweaty, tired runners. I felt sorry for them. A woman on the train had a subway map, so I looked it over and picked our exit on 59th. When I gave it back to her she mentioned that she had just finished (pretty obvious, actually) and that she lost her friend and didn't know how to get to her apartment. It was on our way, so I offered for her to follow up. It took no extra time on our part, but you could tell that it meant the world to her. Without some support, I'm guessing she would have just sat down on the curb and cried. In fact she did cry when we got her to her friend. What a great feeling.
We both got showered and into clean clothes, then headed out to our celebration dinner. My cousin Kevin joined us for it. A very nice meal. Ocean Grill on Columbus. Great waiter. Decent food. And OK prices. Mimi learned that Kevin waited on tons of celebrities and that was it for her for the evening. Every question from that point on centered on who he'd met and what they were like. She got her People fix for the next month.
Kevin wanted to take us out for some entertainment afterwards, and to my surprise, Mimi was up for it. He took us to two amazing piano bars. Incredible performers. A level of quality you just don't get in Cincinnati. We stayed until about closing. Then Kevin poured us into a cab to get us back to the hotel. We got to bed late, and both woke up tired and hung over.
Mimi got off to LGA to get back to Cincinnati, and I sit here typing in the lounge at JFK on my way to Geneva. It was a wonderful weekend. We're sore, tired, beat up, but wouldn't have traded it for anything. And I've come away with an appreciation for how wonderful family can be. Between U Jimmy, U Tom, Terry, Kevin, and all the others who made us feel so welcomed we feel very blessed to have such a large and wonderful family.
Now - no beer for a week, and no running for at least that long!
Monday, October 23, 2006
I know it's not nice to make fun of older people's lack of computer skills, but I just have to share this one.
Mimi and I are going to NY for the Marathon, so I asked Uncle Tom for a list of emails of local relatives.
I asked because he regularly sends out emails to these folks, so I thought it would be an easy task.
First I get an email back saying that he's not computer adept so it'll take a while.
Then I get a call asking for my fax number (!)
Then I get the following email. He's written down everyone's address. Then scanned the page or took a picture of it. Then mailed it to me.
OMG.
I mean, c'mon. The kicker here is that I am 99+% sure he got the email addresses off his computer. And instead of copying and pasting into an email message body he goes this rube goldberg approach.
I am now officially scared of how the kids are going to make fun of me when I'm 75.
Mimi and I are going to NY for the Marathon, so I asked Uncle Tom for a list of emails of local relatives.
I asked because he regularly sends out emails to these folks, so I thought it would be an easy task.
First I get an email back saying that he's not computer adept so it'll take a while.
Then I get a call asking for my fax number (!)
Then I get the following email. He's written down everyone's address. Then scanned the page or took a picture of it. Then mailed it to me.
OMG.
I mean, c'mon. The kicker here is that I am 99+% sure he got the email addresses off his computer. And instead of copying and pasting into an email message body he goes this rube goldberg approach.
I am now officially scared of how the kids are going to make fun of me when I'm 75.
Liam got a new telescope from his book order from school. Magnification up to 50x. He spent an hour today looking through it at the nature in the backyard and making the observations below. Nobody asked him to. He just thought it would be fun. Oh. Yeah. And he's 7. [To be fair - I did correct some of his spelling errors!]
Pine bush log up close is orange from sunlight.
Tree’s leaves look like faces when looking through the holes in the openings.
When a bunch of leaves up close are moving in the wind, it looks like the leaves are joining together in the millions.
The colorful leaves look like a beautiful art picture.
Up close, leaves look like huge nuts in the grass.
Cuts in the big tree, make the tree look like a nice tan smooth piece of a log.
Branches look like big snakes slithering to the trees.
The leaves in the background make all the leaves swirl violently
Pine bush log up close is orange from sunlight.
Tree’s leaves look like faces when looking through the holes in the openings.
When a bunch of leaves up close are moving in the wind, it looks like the leaves are joining together in the millions.
The colorful leaves look like a beautiful art picture.
Up close, leaves look like huge nuts in the grass.
Cuts in the big tree, make the tree look like a nice tan smooth piece of a log.
Branches look like big snakes slithering to the trees.
The leaves in the background make all the leaves swirl violently
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