Wednesday, April 09, 2003
LEAVING SO SOON?
The Houston trip is almost over. Finally. Today, an old co-worker from my former job canceled dinner plans on me because of a work-related emergency. Aside from that, it was more of the same Camp Gitmo-style torture in the training class, which mercifully ended an hour early. Then a con man tried to get my money. It was quite a final day to a memorable sojourn.
The con man was pretty slick, although he didn't have much stick-to-it-ive-ness. He gunned his white rental car and screeched to a stop between me and the hotel room side door as I was bringing back my drive-through bar-b-cue (yes, they have that in Houston, and thank God). He emerged from the vehicle perfectly coiffed with a starched white shirt, suspenders and slacks, shook my hand, and started prattling on in a deep Texas drawl about how he is down here from Dallas and his credit card is maxed out. I simply said, "No, I can't help you, sorry," and he was on his way to another potential stooge. I quickly scurried to my hotel room to await the next bit of strangeness. Nothing so far, although I have until 7:55 AM tomorrow morning.
You think 12 hours is too much time to wait in the airport?
The Houston trip is almost over. Finally. Today, an old co-worker from my former job canceled dinner plans on me because of a work-related emergency. Aside from that, it was more of the same Camp Gitmo-style torture in the training class, which mercifully ended an hour early. Then a con man tried to get my money. It was quite a final day to a memorable sojourn.
The con man was pretty slick, although he didn't have much stick-to-it-ive-ness. He gunned his white rental car and screeched to a stop between me and the hotel room side door as I was bringing back my drive-through bar-b-cue (yes, they have that in Houston, and thank God). He emerged from the vehicle perfectly coiffed with a starched white shirt, suspenders and slacks, shook my hand, and started prattling on in a deep Texas drawl about how he is down here from Dallas and his credit card is maxed out. I simply said, "No, I can't help you, sorry," and he was on his way to another potential stooge. I quickly scurried to my hotel room to await the next bit of strangeness. Nothing so far, although I have until 7:55 AM tomorrow morning.
You think 12 hours is too much time to wait in the airport?
HOUSTON, WE HAVE BOREDOM
Day 3 brought yet another very long day of training. It turns out that the woman who got up and left early yesterday had wet clothes. She had taken another co-worker back to their hotel during a break because he was sick, and it had been raining heavily at the time. She sat there in the class in silent discomfort for about an hour until she just couldn't take anymore. Very odd.
This episode inadvertently led me to having to take in an Astros game alone. I had bought four tickets when I knew I was coming to Houston, in the hopes that I could get three of my classmates to go with me. The guy who was sick and another female co-worker, not the one with the wet clothing, had indicated that they wanted to go, but when the guy got sick, the woman decided, I suppose, that a night out with me would be less preferable than sitting alone watching TV in a medium priced hotel room in a strange city, which is not a unique appraisal. I don't mind watching baseball games alone, but it's becoming too much of a habit. I think I am the only baseball fan left, sometimes. The 18,547 idiots at Minute Maid Park last night hardly qualify. You can build the people of Houston a beautiful new ballpark, but they still can't show up on time, sit the fuck down and watch the damn game.
Well, it looks like Saddam has joined the choir invisible. His head will be shortly on its way to Kennebunkport to be presented to George H.W. Bush in a bizarre Yale Skull and Bones ritual. And now the real fun starts. Not here of course. I'll be on an uncomfortable flight back to my usual boring life all too soon.
Late note: Paula Zahn is interviewing embedded journalist Luke Hunt on CNN. I thought she said something else when she introduced him by his full name.
Day 3 brought yet another very long day of training. It turns out that the woman who got up and left early yesterday had wet clothes. She had taken another co-worker back to their hotel during a break because he was sick, and it had been raining heavily at the time. She sat there in the class in silent discomfort for about an hour until she just couldn't take anymore. Very odd.
This episode inadvertently led me to having to take in an Astros game alone. I had bought four tickets when I knew I was coming to Houston, in the hopes that I could get three of my classmates to go with me. The guy who was sick and another female co-worker, not the one with the wet clothing, had indicated that they wanted to go, but when the guy got sick, the woman decided, I suppose, that a night out with me would be less preferable than sitting alone watching TV in a medium priced hotel room in a strange city, which is not a unique appraisal. I don't mind watching baseball games alone, but it's becoming too much of a habit. I think I am the only baseball fan left, sometimes. The 18,547 idiots at Minute Maid Park last night hardly qualify. You can build the people of Houston a beautiful new ballpark, but they still can't show up on time, sit the fuck down and watch the damn game.
Well, it looks like Saddam has joined the choir invisible. His head will be shortly on its way to Kennebunkport to be presented to George H.W. Bush in a bizarre Yale Skull and Bones ritual. And now the real fun starts. Not here of course. I'll be on an uncomfortable flight back to my usual boring life all too soon.
Late note: Paula Zahn is interviewing embedded journalist Luke Hunt on CNN. I thought she said something else when she introduced him by his full name.
Monday, April 07, 2003
THE HOUSTON CHRONICLES, CONTINUED
Ok, try this three-word phrase on for size: Strip Mall Churches. That's Houston.
Also, you have the Irresistible Force of Arctic Air Conditioning ever doing battle with the Immovable Object of Stifling Arm Pit Humidity.
My fellow trainees are feeling about as frisky for this class as I am. Today I witnessed the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. With about 5 minutes left in one of the longest days I've ever endured, one of my classmates inexplicably started packing up her things and simply left, while the instructor was in mid-sentence. Another woman in the class had ridden with the first woman from their hotel, so she had no choice but to leave also. The rest of us looked at each other, a bit stunned. The instructor, faced with a mutiny, simply stopped talking and said, "OK, see you tomorrow." Sheer brilliance. If only she had done it 20 minutes earlier.
Ok, try this three-word phrase on for size: Strip Mall Churches. That's Houston.
Also, you have the Irresistible Force of Arctic Air Conditioning ever doing battle with the Immovable Object of Stifling Arm Pit Humidity.
My fellow trainees are feeling about as frisky for this class as I am. Today I witnessed the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. With about 5 minutes left in one of the longest days I've ever endured, one of my classmates inexplicably started packing up her things and simply left, while the instructor was in mid-sentence. Another woman in the class had ridden with the first woman from their hotel, so she had no choice but to leave also. The rest of us looked at each other, a bit stunned. The instructor, faced with a mutiny, simply stopped talking and said, "OK, see you tomorrow." Sheer brilliance. If only she had done it 20 minutes earlier.
JUNKET BONDING
I'm writing this in a hotel room in Houston, a city that is a diverse, cosmopolitan mecca of commerce, and also a sprawling, garish, Southern white-trash, Christian Coalition hick town at the same time. And it seems very comfortable in its own peculiar skin. I'm here for a training class, which I intend to mentally process the same way I do reruns of "Wings", which is to say, with extremely detached and very, very slight amusement. So, basically, it's a junket, a chance to escape the mundanity of my normal work week for another, slightly different mundanity in another city.
So far, it's been fun. I was greeted by a wake-up cockroach in my bathtub, which is always a nice touch. The high-speed Internet connection is working, which it should considering you could pay about a hundred migrant workers to hand carry notes back and forth to their destinations for the amount of money they are charging.
I should mention that I once lived in the suburbs of Houston for six years, so this is also a homecoming of sorts. It should give me a chance to connect with some old friends and see the old places, all of which I will probably forego to look at porn on the Spectravision.
More later as my adventure unfolds. Now, where's that remote?
I'm writing this in a hotel room in Houston, a city that is a diverse, cosmopolitan mecca of commerce, and also a sprawling, garish, Southern white-trash, Christian Coalition hick town at the same time. And it seems very comfortable in its own peculiar skin. I'm here for a training class, which I intend to mentally process the same way I do reruns of "Wings", which is to say, with extremely detached and very, very slight amusement. So, basically, it's a junket, a chance to escape the mundanity of my normal work week for another, slightly different mundanity in another city.
So far, it's been fun. I was greeted by a wake-up cockroach in my bathtub, which is always a nice touch. The high-speed Internet connection is working, which it should considering you could pay about a hundred migrant workers to hand carry notes back and forth to their destinations for the amount of money they are charging.
I should mention that I once lived in the suburbs of Houston for six years, so this is also a homecoming of sorts. It should give me a chance to connect with some old friends and see the old places, all of which I will probably forego to look at porn on the Spectravision.
More later as my adventure unfolds. Now, where's that remote?
Saturday, April 05, 2003
JUST HELPING OUT
Remember, everyone, tomorrow is the end of Daylight Savings Time, so turn your clocks back! This year, of course, due to war restrictions, Department of The Homeland Bill Ridge has asked us to turn the clocks back 2 hours, to help save on foreign oil imports. So Spring Back everybody!!! And make sure to check the batteries in your George Foreman grill, just in case.
Remember, everyone, tomorrow is the end of Daylight Savings Time, so turn your clocks back! This year, of course, due to war restrictions, Department of The Homeland Bill Ridge has asked us to turn the clocks back 2 hours, to help save on foreign oil imports. So Spring Back everybody!!! And make sure to check the batteries in your George Foreman grill, just in case.
Friday, April 04, 2003
DESPERATION HAS SET IN
Ok, I'm so hard up for blog fodder, I've resorted to the Friday Five. However, I'm going to let Iraqi Information Minister Muhammad Said al-Sahhaf answer the questions for me.
1. How many houses/apartments have you lived in throughout your life?
"The Infidels will perish if they continue to occupy our land. Allah has allowed us glorious victories in this marvelous jihad."
2. Which was your favorite and why?
"We will continue until utter defeat of the evil invaders has been completed. Allah is great."
3. Do you find moving house more exciting or stressful? Why?
"Our great and glorious leader, Saddam Hussein, has decreed that all Iraqis should fight in the streets to repel the hordes of vile zionists."
4. What's more important, location or price?
"Allah has given us favor on the battefield, and he will continue to shine on us."
5. What features does your dream house have (pool, spa bath, big yard, etc.)?
"Oh, I'd like a nice Corian countertop, and possibly a humidor. Allah is great."
Ok, I'm so hard up for blog fodder, I've resorted to the Friday Five. However, I'm going to let Iraqi Information Minister Muhammad Said al-Sahhaf answer the questions for me.
1. How many houses/apartments have you lived in throughout your life?
"The Infidels will perish if they continue to occupy our land. Allah has allowed us glorious victories in this marvelous jihad."
2. Which was your favorite and why?
"We will continue until utter defeat of the evil invaders has been completed. Allah is great."
3. Do you find moving house more exciting or stressful? Why?
"Our great and glorious leader, Saddam Hussein, has decreed that all Iraqis should fight in the streets to repel the hordes of vile zionists."
4. What's more important, location or price?
"Allah has given us favor on the battefield, and he will continue to shine on us."
5. What features does your dream house have (pool, spa bath, big yard, etc.)?
"Oh, I'd like a nice Corian countertop, and possibly a humidor. Allah is great."
Thursday, April 03, 2003
IF IT DOESN'T WORK FOR US, MAKE IT WORK AGAINST THEM
Once again, because there are tumbleweeds rolling through the space where ideas should be coming from, more e-mail from Texas:
This one is particularly salient, because the conservatives here took their own insipid slogan from the War on Drugs, which failed utterly and is still failing every day, and turned it against everyone's favorite loony leftist, as if Martin Sheen is any threat to the Christian Right Drive for Hegemony. Next up: Don Rumsfeld vs. Ed Begley, Jr.!
Once again, because there are tumbleweeds rolling through the space where ideas should be coming from, more e-mail from Texas:
This one is particularly salient, because the conservatives here took their own insipid slogan from the War on Drugs, which failed utterly and is still failing every day, and turned it against everyone's favorite loony leftist, as if Martin Sheen is any threat to the Christian Right Drive for Hegemony. Next up: Don Rumsfeld vs. Ed Begley, Jr.!
IT'S JUST A DUMB MOVIE REFERENCE, PEOPLE!
This is not what I had in mind.
Sorry for not posting much lately. It's a combination of anticipation of a business trip next week, some actual work going on here, and, uh, a complete lack of ideas. And war overload. And the baseball season starting. And the realization that, maybe, just maybe, I'm not the only person with an allegedly snarky web log, and that most people who stop by here are looking for information on the CROSSBOW HOME GYM or KAREN GRASSLE NUDE!!!! Had to get that in. By the way, it's highly debatable whether Karen Grassle even showers in the nude, let alone has her photo taken so that it can posted on the Internet, so, you know, what the fuck is wrong with you morons?
That is all.
This is not what I had in mind.
Sorry for not posting much lately. It's a combination of anticipation of a business trip next week, some actual work going on here, and, uh, a complete lack of ideas. And war overload. And the baseball season starting. And the realization that, maybe, just maybe, I'm not the only person with an allegedly snarky web log, and that most people who stop by here are looking for information on the CROSSBOW HOME GYM or KAREN GRASSLE NUDE!!!! Had to get that in. By the way, it's highly debatable whether Karen Grassle even showers in the nude, let alone has her photo taken so that it can posted on the Internet, so, you know, what the fuck is wrong with you morons?
That is all.
Monday, March 31, 2003
BYE, JINGO?
Much to my delight and surprise, everyone acted like perfect gentlemen and ladies, and when Meunier-Lebouc unexpectedly outdueled Sorenstam and brought a two-shot lead to the final hole, the gallery at the 18th, mostly consisting of corporate executives, old geezers, and various other People of Ungodly Wealth, i.e., Republicans, stood and cheered as the final group walked past. After Meunier-Lebouc finally tapped in the winning putt, once again the crowd exulted, and then urged the French champion to uphold the long tradition of jumping into the pond near the final green. After signing her scorecard, Patricia, along with her husband and her caddy, merrily obliged, and the throng once more cheered the soaking wet winner. It was a terrific scene and made for great television. For a brief moment, I was proud of the American sports spectator, who had put aside feelings of nationalism, the fighting in Iraq, and the diplomatic situation with our ally, France, and had given this French citizen her due as the winner of this prestigious championship with all the fervor they could muster.
But then, I realized, they mostly wanted to see if her nipples would show through her blouse.
And after that, I realized, so did I. They didn't. So I switched over to the NCAA basketball tournament to check out the cheerleaders.
As I do many Sundays, I parked in front of the television watching sports yesterday. There was a full bill of fare, including the men's college basketball tournament, the Players Championship golf tournament, and the first major championship of the Women's golf tour this season, the Kraft Nabisco Championship. The Kraft Nabisco Championship particularly intrigued me for two reasons, one being the presence of the 6-foot tall, 13-year-old Michelle Wie, who can outdrive all the adult women on the tour, and the expected battle between two-time defending champion Annika Sorenstam and the Frenchwoman Patricia Meunier-Lebouc. I watched the final pairing of Sorenstam and Meunier-Lebouc very closely, looking to see if any of the yokels in the crowd would give the Frenchwoman a hard time. This was, after all, Rancho Mirage, CA, near Palm Springs, also known as the place that elected Sonny Bono to Congress.
Much to my delight and surprise, everyone acted like perfect gentlemen and ladies, and when Meunier-Lebouc unexpectedly outdueled Sorenstam and brought a two-shot lead to the final hole, the gallery at the 18th, mostly consisting of corporate executives, old geezers, and various other People of Ungodly Wealth, i.e., Republicans, stood and cheered as the final group walked past. After Meunier-Lebouc finally tapped in the winning putt, once again the crowd exulted, and then urged the French champion to uphold the long tradition of jumping into the pond near the final green. After signing her scorecard, Patricia, along with her husband and her caddy, merrily obliged, and the throng once more cheered the soaking wet winner. It was a terrific scene and made for great television. For a brief moment, I was proud of the American sports spectator, who had put aside feelings of nationalism, the fighting in Iraq, and the diplomatic situation with our ally, France, and had given this French citizen her due as the winner of this prestigious championship with all the fervor they could muster.
But then, I realized, they mostly wanted to see if her nipples would show through her blouse.
And after that, I realized, so did I. They didn't. So I switched over to the NCAA basketball tournament to check out the cheerleaders.
Friday, March 28, 2003
YET EVEN MORE WAR-LARITY FROM TEXAS
Yes, this little Iraq conflict has its lighter moments, as my arch-conservative brother-in-law notes...
I thought you might enjoy this photograph of one of the US Air Force's latest high technology stealth fighter bomber aircraft. It's being prepared to depart for an "unnamed" air base in the Middle East. Of course it goes without saying that you should treat this picture as very confidential, and control any further unsecured distribution of it.
Yes, this little Iraq conflict has its lighter moments, as my arch-conservative brother-in-law notes...
I thought you might enjoy this photograph of one of the US Air Force's latest high technology stealth fighter bomber aircraft. It's being prepared to depart for an "unnamed" air base in the Middle East. Of course it goes without saying that you should treat this picture as very confidential, and control any further unsecured distribution of it.
Thursday, March 27, 2003
Wednesday, March 26, 2003
EVEN MORE STUFF MY RIGHT-WING TEXAN BROTHER-IN-LAW SENDS ME
You know the drill.
This photo was debunked at snopes.com last October. Not that I care much for Daschle, but it's the principle of the thing.
You know the drill.
This photo was debunked at snopes.com last October. Not that I care much for Daschle, but it's the principle of the thing.
Tuesday, March 25, 2003
MORE STUFF MY RIGHT-WING TEXAN BROTHER-IN-LAW SENDS ME
In this continuing feature, here is another e-mail from my brother-in-law, who is "keeping it real" deep-in-a-hearta.
In this continuing feature, here is another e-mail from my brother-in-law, who is "keeping it real" deep-in-a-hearta.
Monday, March 24, 2003
MERCAPTAN OF INDUSTRY
My wife, seemingly along with the rest of a tired, weary nation, has finally succumbed to the Atkins Diet. Since I approach most things in my marriage much like the French approached World War II (quick surrender followed by a plucky underground resistance), I am also, for the time being, on the Atkins Diet. This particular regime entails the consumption of large amounts of protein and limited amounts of carbohydrates. To that end, we have been eating a significant amount of leafy and/or stalky green vegetables, such as asparagus. Asparagus has a unique property in that it can cause one's, how shall we say, urine, to, how shall we say, stink. Being an industrious sort, and armed with a high-speed link to a world of information, I discovered that the cause of the stinky pee is a chemical compound known as methyl mercaptan. This is the same compound that is mixed with natural gas so that if the gas starts to leak, a foul odor will be detected. Evidently, methyl mercaptan is a by-product of the digestion process, and accumulates in the bladder within minutes of eating the offending sprouts.
Furthermore, it seems that in a study done by someone whose donors have far more money than sense, only about 40% of all adults tested are capable of producing methyl mercaptan in their urine after eating asparagus, and an even smaller percentage can smell the methyl mercaptan they produce. Apparently, this "ability" is genetically determined.
Well, as you may have already gleaned, I'm a producer and a smeller. This is certainly one of the prouder moments of my life. Not only do I now have one recognizable talent, but two!
My wife, seemingly along with the rest of a tired, weary nation, has finally succumbed to the Atkins Diet. Since I approach most things in my marriage much like the French approached World War II (quick surrender followed by a plucky underground resistance), I am also, for the time being, on the Atkins Diet. This particular regime entails the consumption of large amounts of protein and limited amounts of carbohydrates. To that end, we have been eating a significant amount of leafy and/or stalky green vegetables, such as asparagus. Asparagus has a unique property in that it can cause one's, how shall we say, urine, to, how shall we say, stink. Being an industrious sort, and armed with a high-speed link to a world of information, I discovered that the cause of the stinky pee is a chemical compound known as methyl mercaptan. This is the same compound that is mixed with natural gas so that if the gas starts to leak, a foul odor will be detected. Evidently, methyl mercaptan is a by-product of the digestion process, and accumulates in the bladder within minutes of eating the offending sprouts.
Furthermore, it seems that in a study done by someone whose donors have far more money than sense, only about 40% of all adults tested are capable of producing methyl mercaptan in their urine after eating asparagus, and an even smaller percentage can smell the methyl mercaptan they produce. Apparently, this "ability" is genetically determined.
Well, as you may have already gleaned, I'm a producer and a smeller. This is certainly one of the prouder moments of my life. Not only do I now have one recognizable talent, but two!
Saturday, March 22, 2003
WI THE FI?
I just got back from Starbucks, where I was testing out my new Wi-Fi wireless modem for my Pocket PC. It works great, but for some reason, I can't update TCP from there.
The fact that this really disappoints me, not to mention that I even tried it to begin with, I believe amply certifies me as one of the biggest geeks in the universe.
I just got back from Starbucks, where I was testing out my new Wi-Fi wireless modem for my Pocket PC. It works great, but for some reason, I can't update TCP from there.
The fact that this really disappoints me, not to mention that I even tried it to begin with, I believe amply certifies me as one of the biggest geeks in the universe.
STUFF MY RIGHT-WING TEXAN BROTHER-IN-LAW SENDS ME
My brother-in-law from Texas is a Texas A&M graduate who also works in the oil business. For some unfathomable reason, he e-mails me stuff. In what may just become a recurring item, because God knows I could use some ideas, here is a recent example:
Subject: Dixie Chicks In The News!
TCP, keeping watch on the pulse in the trenches of the man on the street in Middle America since, oh, this afternoon.
My brother-in-law from Texas is a Texas A&M graduate who also works in the oil business. For some unfathomable reason, he e-mails me stuff. In what may just become a recurring item, because God knows I could use some ideas, here is a recent example:
Subject: Dixie Chicks In The News!
TCP, keeping watch on the pulse in the trenches of the man on the street in Middle America since, oh, this afternoon.
Friday, March 21, 2003
SADDAM HAS LEFT THE BUILDING?
In what must be record time, a conspiracy theorist has already spotted possibly deceased Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein pumping gas into his car in the Western United States. "Yup, it was Saddam, all right," claimed unemployed welder Clyde Drucker of Winnemucca, Nevada. "I was picking up a Slurpee at the 7-11, and there was Hussein, filling up his Chrysler Le Baron with hi-test. Damnedest thing I ever saw."
Hussein may have been killed by a precision U.S. bombing raid on Wednesday night, but Drucker is hearing none of it. "Oh, come on, are you kidding me? That's what the government would like you to believe. First it was Roswell, then Elvis, and now this. But I seen him, I'm telling you. He was wearing jeans, an 'Old Navy' t-shirt, and snakeskin boots. Now how could I make that up?" The FBI and CIA have refused comment. "See?" asked Drucker.
In what must be record time, a conspiracy theorist has already spotted possibly deceased Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein pumping gas into his car in the Western United States. "Yup, it was Saddam, all right," claimed unemployed welder Clyde Drucker of Winnemucca, Nevada. "I was picking up a Slurpee at the 7-11, and there was Hussein, filling up his Chrysler Le Baron with hi-test. Damnedest thing I ever saw."
Hussein may have been killed by a precision U.S. bombing raid on Wednesday night, but Drucker is hearing none of it. "Oh, come on, are you kidding me? That's what the government would like you to believe. First it was Roswell, then Elvis, and now this. But I seen him, I'm telling you. He was wearing jeans, an 'Old Navy' t-shirt, and snakeskin boots. Now how could I make that up?" The FBI and CIA have refused comment. "See?" asked Drucker.
Wednesday, March 19, 2003
MARCH MADNESS!
Ok, everybody, get your brackets and your entry fee back to me by tonight at 8 PM. I've filled in the first "casualty" already, for your convenience.
Ok, everybody, get your brackets and your entry fee back to me by tonight at 8 PM. I've filled in the first "casualty" already, for your convenience.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)