For Your Amusement

This is something I read a little earlier today.

Enjoy.

David: Hey, Bart! Did you have a good weekend? Get a lot done, like you wanted to?

Bart: Yeah, it was great! You?

David: Well, let's see... I outlined my next couple projects, set up a filing system for my notes, and downloaded a productivity program... then I read an article about time management and filed it away in the new system. Then brainstormed over instant-messaging for a while, while watching Youtube clips for "inspiration." I spent so much time being creative, I forgot to be productive.

Bart: I took some meth and cleaned my kitchen for three days!

The Days of DC - Part 7: Home

I’ve decided that I will go on holiday for a little while from traveling. Of course, when people say “go on holiday,” they (aside from being British) mean that they will travel somewhere. I am traveling away from traveling, which translates into being not mobile.

Thursday around noon was my closing time with my work conference. I checked out and mingled for a little bit in the lobby before I had to leave for the airport. I sat down with a person from a school in Kentucky. I met him earlier, probably the second or third day. He knew I was from California, and of course, figured that the entire state was Hollywood.

“So what kind of theaters do you have in Santa Cruz?”

“Uh…we have two mainstream theaters—“

“No, I’m not talking that mainstream bullshit. I mean, good artsy shit that liberals just eat up.”

“Oh, well, we have two. There’s the Del Mar and the Nickelodeon. They’re our two art-house theaters.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about. I bet you get a lot of celebrities coming out of those places.”

“Well, Santa Cruz isn’t very ‘filmy.’ More of that happens in Southern California. More in the Hollywood area. We’re in Northern California—"

“I know that. But you got to have something! I mean, come on, you’re California! I mean, look at who your governor is!”

“True, but it’s a very large state. A lot of that movie industry stuff mostly exists in the Southern—"

“No, I’m sure you get your share of celebrities; you probably just don’t know it.”

I let him end it with that. He was right, I was wrong. My small beach town; I just don’t know anything.

Shortly after, I wound up at National Airport (I refuse to call it what it is actually named) and saw that my plane to Dallas was delayed due to bad weather from the gunslinging state. They reworked my arrangements because of the delay, I would then miss my Dallas flight to San Jose. I found my gate and continued reading my Dave Eggers book.

Finally the plane was ready to board.

I was in the middle seat. The person to my left had a small dog that she brought onto the plane. She had it in a very small and cube shaped suitcase. It was placed right by her feet. When I approached the seats, I told her I was in the middle. She wouldn’t budge.

“I have a dog,” in a very low whisper “if I move my feet, he’ll bark.” All I could think was how the hell do you expect me to get over. But, like most people, she didn’t hear my thoughts and therefore didn’t move or do any sort of action to help me in my situation. So, I placed my bag in my seat (reached over her). And since I have very elongated legs, I pulled a Mr. Fantastic and simply stretched over her. I think my butt skinned her face, but I didn’t care.

Once I sat down, the person to my right (the window seat) then arrived. The same lecture came from Ms. Dog. He looked a bit awkward from that. I probably had the same look on my face. He did a similar move. He was shorter though; I did my best to make his maneuver and smooth landing. When he sat down, he wanted to talk to Ms. Dog.

“Do you travel a lot with your dog?”

“I can’t talk; if he hears my voice he’ll get really excited and will bark.”

“Oh, my wife and I travel a lot with our dogs.”

“I can’t talk; if he hears my voice he’ll get really excited and will bark.”

“Oh, yeah, my dogs have done that. Usually what we do—“

“I can’t talk; if he hears my voice he’ll get really excited and will bark.”

I wanted to slap both of them. Ms. Dog was a goddamn automated message with that same damn response, and Mr. Magoo over here won’t shut up about his dog travels, and won’t even listen to Ms. Dog.

The plane landed and I was in Dallas.

Dallas is a place I will never ever visit. Probably all of Texas too, although Austin I may, if needed, visit. I spent too much time in the Dallas airport. The airport is huge; probably the biggest one I’ve been to yet. When I landed, we arrived in Terminal C, my connecting flight was in Terminal A. Terminal A is on the other side of the lot, which requires using their monorail system.

I arrive in Terminal A and I see that my plane is even further delayed due to the storm that Dallas was currently experiencing. I was expected to linger for at least three hours in the airport. What a boy to do? I bought dinner. Although I know it’s incredibly horrible for you, but I figured it was the lesser evil of the options provided. I found a Panda Express and got myself a plate of greasy, MSG induced food. My other options were all topics from Fast Food Nation. I couldn’t get over how popular McDonalds was. There were many little McDonald stands at various gates.

Knowing that I was only twenty pages from finishing my book, I thought it wise to buy some new reading material. The first bookstore only had three books for sale: Harry Potter, The Secret, and a Bill O’Reilly book. Plus there were many gossip magazines and about a dozen newspapers. I figured this airport could do better. I went further down the stretch of airport wonders and saw leather shops, belt buckle kiosks, Dallas Cowboys souvenir shops (although souvenir was spelled “sue v. near.” I don’t know if they were trying to be cute or what.), and the greatest one I saw was an army recruitment stand.

I came across a bookstore that had a wider variety. I saw Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, which I had been intrigued with when I first read about it coming out a while back. I purchased that and went to my gate.

Sitting there, I looked out the window and was witnessing the doom-ridden storm. All I could think was that I am in Dallas, and I am stuck here.

I am in Dallas and it is raining.
I am in Dallas and they misspelled souvenir.
I am in Dallas and there are people solely selling cowboy hats.
I am in Dallas and everyone is eating McDonalds.
I am in Dallas and there are army recruiters.
I am in Dallas and the man next to me is wearing a shirt without any sleeves, and he has not seen a dermatologist.
I am in Dallas and it is raining, and I am stuck here.

An announcement came from above discussing the flight to San Jose. The woman indicated that flight number #### will now be departing from gate C17. I was at gate A20. I have to go back on that monorail.

I am in Dallas and this is becoming hell.

I make myself comfortable at C17. I finished my book. I still have another forty minutes until the expected boarding time.

Now, I am on board. I sit next to an older man who is from Livermore (east bay area). He was really fun to talk to. The passengers across the aisle from me were crazy. I couldn’t place the language they were speaking; I thought Spanish, but there was something alternative about it, then I thought Portuguese or maybe Italian. Either way, they were not silent at all. And the family (they all looked the same) was huge. There were at least four of them in my area, and three more in the front end. The way I knew this was that they decided to move around and talk to each other when the seatbelt sign was still lit. We just left the runway and they were in wandering mode. The flight attendants had to keep forwarding them back to their seats. The one right next to me from the aisle whipped out his cell-phone a couple times (during the same time when all electronic items are to be turned off). It was never a dull moment with this family.

We all arrived safely in San Jose. I made a decent eighty-page dent in my new book. I waited for my airport shuttle. I got to my car and still had to do my highway 17 excursion. I was at my house at about 12:20 am. What a long day. And to think that I gain hours since I was traveling west bound. Going to sleep was rough since I could still feel the airplane motions in my body.

I lost count on how many Harry Potter readers there were.

The Days of DC - Part 6: The District by Gaslight

It was dark, but I found light.

The Days of DC - Part 5: Climate Control and Meaningless Rings

From my last visit to the DC/Virginia area, I remember it being incredibly hot and incredibly humid. This was something everybody warned me about and I took those warnings and became prepared. Of course, visiting this area a matter of weeks later, I figured this would still be the case. My suitcase is full of t-shirts, collared shirts, a few pants, and a pair of shorts. I brought one long sleeve shirt that is actually pretty thin, so not too warm. The problem I am encountering is that since most of my days are in the hotel (due to the various seminars, receptions, and mingling), I am walking around in a climate controlled environment; it’s sixty degrees where ever you walk. It’s freezing here. And I only have one long sleeve shirt.

Today is the last full day; tomorrow there is a morning session, lunch, and a closing part. Then everybody flies off to their merry homes. Right now I am in my little hour break post-lunch, pre-next-seminar. Yesterday was the first day of the second conference, so now I am alone. My colleague flew back yesterday early afternoon so now I really have to make a point of representing my institution. At the different sessions, I am constantly chiming in, providing insight on what my department does for solicitations and other areas.

The University of Washington, Seattle has taken me under their wing. It’s a fun little bunch. One of their assistant directors, Kim, is usually in the same sessions with me. When she found out that we were on the same floor, this got her really excited. Now, she tends to come by to see if I’m there, and if so, she wants to know what I am up to, or if she can check her email. I decided that she is secretly in love with me. So what if she has one of those little metallic circular items on her ring finger? She keeps talking about some individual named Dave, who, apparently, is her husband. I realized that Dave is just an acronym for “Doesn’t Appear Valid, Eh?” So, I will let her have her fun with me.

Throughout the conference there are various sponsors located outside of the conference rooms. One of them was a mail vendor that one of my superiors mentioned before I left. I went and made a point of talking to the representative. After his description on how great the company is, he then asked about the university I worked for.

“Hey, aren’t you guys the number one party school?” you know, you’re not making a great impression with me right now.

“Well, apparently if you work for Rollingstone and interview one person who smokes a lot of weed and happens to go to school here, then you can make it sound like that that school is a party school,” he laughed at that. Then I went on a giant tirade of the numerous accomplishments that my university has offered; everything from better understandings of the universe, enhancement of the human genome project, disease prevention, internationally known farming programs, and outstanding arts and lecture series. But apparently weed and parties is all people can think about. Too bad Chico State left yesterday.

Anyway, I will continue my adventures here. I am thoroughly amused by the amount of schools from the South that are here. It’s interesting how some schools will focus all their solicitation efforts on football, fraternities, and Jesus. Weird shit.

Tonight, people are planning a twilight tour of DC. I think I’ll try to attend that. I’ll be sure to have my camera handy for that one.

The Days of DC - Part 4: Anticipating Upcoming Sports Seasons

Over the past year and a half since I’ve been with this job, I’ve been sent to at least three conferences (this one being the third). The appealing part about doing these functions is meeting new people. My first conference was in San Francisco and it was represented by various non-profit institutions in Northern California. The second one was in Pomona, California, which had a lot of universities from Southern California, but some from the northern area. Now, with this one, mostly everyone is from the east of the Mississippi River. Aside from me, the only other California school is Chico State. For west coast schools, University of Washington, Seattle is here also.

Everyone at these types of things know that they are on a limited amount of time, so they might as well make the most of it. So, people tend to try to make friends with you fast. Every little seminar, that “friend” will ask to sit next to you; come lunch time you all sit at the same table, and what ever the event for the evening is, you will all cling together. I don’t mind this. I appreciate the new faces. Since mostly everyone is from some drastically different area of the nation, it’s fun to get alternative perspectives on random topics and discussions.

I do my best, with these conferences, to do as much mingling and networking as possible. I like to hear people’s stories. This evening I had a gentleman ask me how my night was going. I told him it was going just fine. He then asked me what school I was with. I realized that I was in foreign territory and not everyone knows the layout of California, so Santa Cruz may not be known to all. I said a school in Northern California. I asked him the same question.

“University of Alabama!” in the thickest southern accent possible “can’t wait for football season to start!” of course you can’t.

I sat at a table with some random folks. One was from University of Southern Illinois, one was from Saint Louis University, and the other from the University of William & Mary. As I spoke some more, the one from Illinois asked me something that I have been asked in the past.

“Are you British?”

I was always curious on why I was asked this, but then over time, it all clicked. So I responded back.

“Why do you ask? Is it because I talk fast, have pale skin, blonde hair, and bad teeth?”

“Uh…I…uh...I…mean, no…I…just thought…I” then some laughter came from the other persons at the table. I hadn’t made somebody uncomfortable in a while so this was my quota for the day. He didn’t really talk to me after that.

Anyway, here’s some more pictures to feast your eyes on.

My money was on the woman in pink. She came in a close second.

When asked about the downsizing of torture, President Bush said there will be less spikes involved, less fire usage, and less screenings of Pauly Shore movies.

Home of true celtic pride: FBI headquarters (FBI: Full Blooded Irish. Get it? Ha!)

Boo!

Scientists have proven that politcians evolved from dinosaurs.

Apparently there's a large beastiality problem on capital hill.

And a pedophile problem too.

This is where Ronald Reagan was shot; he was attending a special viewing of Tootsie, and a man named Boutros Boutros Ghali shot him, saying he was trying to impress Sissy Spacek.

When in doubt...waffles.

The Days of DC - Part 3: Hate, Jerks, and Odd Noises

Many may remember that I was actually in this neck of the woods about three weeks ago. I was visiting my friends Steph and Vic who I had attended college with and worked with as well. I figured since I was in their neighborhood again, it wouldn’t hurt to visit them one more time.

We made contact last night and contemplation was made on where to go for dinner. When I was on the phone with Vic, he mentioned that their friends Alex and Liz were coming along too. I then asked, “Wait, Alex and Liz? But don’t they hate me?”

Now, the reason I asked this question was due to something stupid I did when I last visited them. The weekend of my visit, I met this couple that are friends with Steph and Vic named Alex and Liz. They came over to the apartment on Sunday evening (the night before we all took off). We were all enjoying each other’s company, playing some games and enjoying mixed beverages. This is the same night that Steph and Vic’s dog, Cokey, drank alcohol and soda, which led it to the veterinarian’s office the next morning. After some drinks, of course, I transitioned into a different state. At one point, Alex went outside to smoke a cigarette and Liz followed him. Once they left, I simply stated (some may say yelled), “She’s hot!” That’s all.

Well, once they came back from their cigarette excursion, Liz had a slightly snappy tone to her; she said, “We’re going to leave.” All of us were slightly shocked. It was sort of a 180 from what we were experiencing earlier. They grabbed their things and left a couple of minutes after that. Victor followed them out. Once he returned he said that they left due to what I said. We all gasped at this. I asked if he was kidding but he said no. I kept asking that over and over, I didn’t want to take Vic seriously, but he was remaining serious. My stupid comment on saying that Liz was hot made them leave? Boy, I am jerk, was all I could think. Right after all this settled in, I became immediately depressed and absolutely quiet. Everyone kept asking me what was wrong and all I could say was that I ruined their night by some ridiculous comment.

Going back to last night, Vic mentioned that Liz and Alex were coming to dinner as well. I asked if they knew I was coming and Vic said yes. When I asked Vic about them hating me, he said they didn’t. I guess it was all a joke from the last visit. I think there was something else going between the two and Vic used my comment as the excuse. I must say I felt better once I realized that I wasn’t the result of their end to that Sunday evening.

We met for dinner at a nearby Mexican/Peruvian/Guatemalan restaurant that was a few blocks from my hotel. It was fun but the night ended somewhat early since Vic was starting his new job tomorrow (my Vic is all grown up!).

I retired to my bedroom once everyone left. I was plowing through my book, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius. I had a mixed playlist on the computer going as background music. While I was reading, I heard some commotion from the hotel room next to mine (you know how every hotel room has a door connected to the next one, but they’re usually locked?). I got close to the door and all I could hear were the sounds of, well, sex (or working out, you never know). Once this all connected, I thought two things: either my neighbor is watching porn or two people are having some fun.

I turned my music up a little and then continued my reading. Maybe a half an hour later and forty pages plus, I received a knock on my door. It was a slightly older man. He asked me if I could turn my music down because he was trying to go to bed. I thought it was amusing that I needed to turn my music down when it wasn’t that loud (it was R.E.M.’s “Electrolyte” at that moment). The man then indicated that he was next door to me. I asked which side and he said the left one, which is the one I shared my door with. I then asked if he was by himself and he replied, “Yes.” Ha ha! I got my answer on what the noises were. He walked away and I bit my lip from asking him to turn his porn down but I didn’t because that’s not me.

The Days of DC - Part 2: All this and I still haven't worked yet.

Today is the first day of my work related conference. The cool thing is that it doesn't start until 2:45pm on the second floor lobby. As I write this, it's only 1:45pm, so I still have an hour to kill.

This morning I woke up and went for a walk around the district. My hotel is on the corner of K Street and 16 Avenue, which therefore puts me in walking distance of many recognizable things.

The nation's very first cannon. You can really notice the evolution of cameras.

John Wayne's ancestor.They call it the House of Secrets.That's actually a quote from Donald Trump.The nation's very first Barnes & Noble Bookstore.A statue of the nation's first UFC team.Right after this picture was taken, a large foot came down on the monument. The person may have to get a tetanus shot.