Author: fifteenkey (Page 18 of 95)

In the last week I’ve made reservations for three work trips during October and November, all of them on Southwest Airlines… I’m not too crazy about traveling twice during my favorite tinted month of ten, but the aerial to and fro through Manchester can provide a breathtaking, burning vista. Colors aside, October also is home to Maddy’s birthday, Mickey Mantle’s birthday, and other dates of significance. Sadly, instead of being here, I’ll be being there:

Disney Caribbean Beach Resort – Sure, it will be nostalgic to revisit the site of a wonderful March, 1999 vacation with Megan and Kyle as the internet bubble completely inflated. During one mid-day break, I noticed a $5 stock I’d bought was $35. No. Of course I didn’t sell. We finished each night with a frozen drink by the pool. Strawberry Daiquiri for Megan and a “Lava Lamp” for Kyle. When my presentations and small talk are done, I’ll surprise Dad in “the Villages” for his 77th.

Mirage, Las Vegas – Just attending a conference is so chill compared to presenting at or organizing part of one. This is one of those, plus, instead of spending my birthday night on a plane, pal Pete will hang with me for hookers and blow in Sin City. (OK, do I have to say I’m only kidding about that part? I wouldn’t want to get either of us fired… or worse!)

MGM Grand, Las Vegas – I’m already sick of Vegas and I’m not even there for trip #1 yet. Maybe I need to develop a gambling habit to really enjoy myself there. Our customer conference is always fun and I’m anxious to see how our efforts positively impact customers this year. Plus, Robert Reich is our keynote speaker!

I’m saddened to be missing some important dates involving people I love, but Maddy at 3 will have fun at a party for her Sunday, October 17th. Late that morning I’m also planning to meet a friend for coffee at a local Starbucks. I want to thank her.

On Saturday afternoon as we strolled Boylston Street from the Isabella Stewart Gardner museum back toward Copley Square, Joyce bowled over in laughter a couple times (anyway), mostly in reaction to my valiant efforts to sell her Red Sox tickets. “SOX TICKETS! WHO NEED TWO?” I would bellow out at any random passersby, and for the most part, we wouldn’t even get a look. “GET YER SOX TICKETS HERE!” Nothing. I will say Joyce tried a couple little yips (they weren’t even close to bellows) and got a nibble at the hotel from some guy who offered her $50 for her $180 worth of Section 18. Hey, it’s a supply and demand market and there’s not much demand for our nine as the season slowly drains empty.

Anyway, just as we were descending toward the Hynes Convention Center, for some reason we began discussing the days when one had to only circularly dial 7 digits to reach a neighbor, friend or foe. Joyce then asked if I remembered the lettered prefixes the used to represent the first 2 numbers. I recalled the concept, but didn’t remember any the way she did. There was “KEy” (53) in Leominster and “DIamond” (34) in Fitchburg. Back then, when you gave someone your number, you’d say something like, “DIamond 5-7654.” Researching this post, I found the way cool Telephone EXchange Name Project, where you too can check out your old lettered prefixes, if you were old enough to have one.

It’s funny how we remember things like that. While I’m not old enough (I couldn’t resist…) to remember my actual lettered prefixes, I will probably never forget “245-8654.” That was Mike Gonnella’s number when we were growing up in Wakefield. I dialed it on our yellow rotary phone in our kitchen, and I was pretty fast, too. You had to be, because when it was busy (and with four brothers, it often was), it was busy. There was no call waiting, voicemail or even manual tape answering machines. You just had to keep dialing that memorized number and hope “Buckwheat” was off the freakin’ phone. Now that I think about it, I don’t even know Joyce’s number. I just press one button on my phone and it dials. Oh, wait. I remember her home phone. It’s “DIamond” something… I’ll never forget that one either.

Where did a year go? This week last year, I was headed to a Marketing offsite in Newport and 363 days later, I’m preparing for a similar trip, only without Newport and with far less anticipation than last year, when a past company reunion occurred simultaneously, 96 miles North in Boxborough, MA.

Since then, my life has changed much for the better. A long time friend of mine attended that reunion and “stood in” for me in two important ways. First, he was “arm candy” for the fabulous Gigi, and he had a long conversation with an old friend on my behalf that I almost certainly would have mangled. Thankfully, he did not.

Thanks, Mr. Kimmel.

I took some today toward running the 2011 Falmouth Road Race in, um, Falmouth. I hope to get a number too, because as I may have previously mentioned, “My girlfriend has a house down the Cape,” and Falmouth “residents” get some consideration for runner numbers. Anyway, on Saturday I worked with a cool runner chick at Marathon Sports in Melrose and invested the sweet ride ASICS Men’s GEL-Nimbus 11’s in the 2E width. Man, they are cushy and comfy. Not as sweet as my mandals, mind you, but for running, they are dripping with high fructose corn syrup. I also accessorized with some Zensah Calf Compression Sleeves in an attempt to protect my pull-prone calves. Last night as I proudly modeled the sleeves and my new pups, Joyce wasn’t exactly endorsing the look, and seemed concerned someone might see me in my geeked out gear and (the horror) then associate me with her. “Whatever” I muttered (to myself) and then galloped, gazelle-like from the living room, and swooshed like an autumn breeze through the dining room and into the kitchen.

Today I pulled up, laced up and drove about ¼ mile to the gym. After employing my newly learned calf stretches for both the Gastrocnemius and the Soleus, I stepped on a treadmill, walked for 2 minutes, then moved from jogging to running pain and pull free. As I was calculating the 30 minute, 2.25 mile workout, I saw Joyce walking in. I thought she was there to congratulate me and crown me with a golden olive wreath like they do at the Boston Marathon, but she was only there to cancel Nick’s membership. I walked up behind her, touched her back and told her of my feets feat. Then I proudly pointed to the compression sleeves cruelly mocked just hours before. She smiled, then looked at the kid behind the desk and said, “I don’t know this guy.”

Baby steps.

If I had to make a living as a writer, this is one of those times I’d be starving. Those that make their living by advising wanna-be writers suggest “just write” at times like these. It usually works, especially if your goal as a writer is to um, write. Right on.

Today may be the last New England weekend “beach day” of the summer…

[Ten hours later…]

I’m back. Ten hours were consumed by not the beach, but the mundane of making pancakes, CVS shopping, grocery shopping, putting away groceries, cooking some groceries, washing dishes, napping, surfing (the dry kind), dropping Kyle off at his mom’s on first day of school eve, and finally, searching and finding a decent cigar… So, just write.

• I miss my girlfriend and need to think about baseball, so… “Who the hell is Atchison!?” That was the exasperated text I received from her last night… Yeah, he’s a back of the bullpen guy who gave up a game-losing dinger in the 10th, but Red Sox ace Clay Buchholz lost his own game last night with an errant pickoff throw that’s still rolling in St. Pete. Still, the home team competes every night with a roster full of AAA talent and refuses to be mathematically eliminated. I hope they’re still in it on September 18th when she has 2 great tix.
• I keep hearing the newest Celtics pickup needs a nickname. How ‘bout Shaquille “I brought my ass to camp in shape for once” O’Neil? Speaking of Celtics retreads named O’Neal, they’re paying Jermaine like $26M??? To mis-quote Pete Townshend, I don’t call that a bargain.
• I don’t care if the damn eye of Hurricane Earl is centered over Falmouth this weekend, because I plan to be there starting Friday.
• My cousin Jimmy “Meat” Daley throws one hell of a cookout. He worked his ass off yesterday throwing more meat at us than Ron Jeremy in his prime.  Dogs, burgers, sausage & peppers, pork loin, beef brisket… Ma’ don! Oh, and then there was that giant glass urn of Absolut sucking the life out of fresh pineapple since Wednesday. Amazing. Thanks, cuz!
• I am so dismayed at the state of the union, I can’t even argue with my right-wing Muslim and Obama hating whack job friends on Facebook anymore. Hey, maybe they’re right. They’re not, but the American public is buying into their agenda of fear. It’s a “mosque” (ooooohhhhhhh), led by an Imam (ooooohhhhhhhh), a “radical” one at that, according to many on the fearful right, including their retread “intellectual,” Newt Gingrich. It’s the “Ground Zero” (ooooohhhhhhh) Mosque, sitting right there on the footprint of one of the fallen towers… Oh, it’s not? It’s two blocks away? How far away, exactly, does a Muslim community center need to be before it’s not disrespectful to the victims of 9/11? Wall Street, the home of thieves who are killing American people much more efficiently than 18 Muslim extremists ever could, is only 1,500 feet away… Is that cool?
• OK, that’s depressing. Let’s get back to happy, unicorn loving Leo… I hugged my boss on Thursday before leaving work. “Work Joyce” is off till after Labor Day and I will miss her. That’s not sucking up, is it?
• My cigar, my Maker’s and daylight are nearly gone. The mosquitoes have arrived. I need to end this mess with something positive.
• I had lunch with my only nephew on Thursday. I’m proud of Michael and the way he’s stayed strong after losing his brother. He’s everything I admire in a young man. He’s caring, smart and funny. He’s working full time and starts college tomorrow. Please wish him luck.

Maddy just came out on the dark deck. As I typed, she reached out and touched the cigar butt, dying in an ashtray… She’s been wanting to for a couple hours…
Me: “You just had to do that, huh?”
Maddy: “I can’t help myself.”
Me: (Picking her hp for a hug and a kiss.) “Baby, I love you.

Much to my surprise, Joyce is totally impressed by the new phone flash. One thing she loves is the cool little sounds it makes, like this one for an incoming email, and this tripped out one for an incoming text. Of course she also appreciates that her picture comes up when she calls or emails, but what she really gets a kick out of is that video of her singing “Sweet Caroline” at Fenway.

I think it’s great that she’s so supportive. Don’t you?

Note: That’s “Silicon,” not “Silicone.” We have no need for the latter right now, but hey, maybe in a future post…

Recently VerizonWireless dutifully informed me I was now eligible for a “New Every Two” phone upgrade. That was so nice of them, wasn’t it? I was so excited to run right down there and plunk down $100 for some cool new “smart” phone and in the process, indenture myself to Big Red for another two years… On a recent day off I escaped the surface of Mercury heat and ducked into my local Verizon hot spot (which was cool) to check out the smokin’, new “Droid X,” a large hunk of Motorola hardware running Google’s hyped “Android” software. Complicating the whole thing is some iEnvy regarding Apple’s imperfect phone. So it drops some calls… It’s still über cool and there’s an app that simulates drinking a cold one from it. Isn’t that why we want a phone after all? Still… I pondered making the switch to AT&T’s maligned (mostly by Verizon) network…

Aside from all the feature/function/form/coolness juggling was an internal battle resembling the old video game asteroids occurring in my head between me, the raging consumerholic who wants another cool toy, and me, the principled anti-big business individualist who hates how products are shoved down our corn-fed pie holes whether we need them or not. Actually, upon inspection, the Droid X left me wanting. It’s fast and that 4.3” screen is sweet for surfing, but even with the additional acreage, the on-screen virtual keyboard didn’t perform much better than the one already on my two year old Samsung Omnia i910. My Omnia… It’s been a good phone, and while the iWannabe “Winterface” purchased software simulated the iPhone look, it wasn’t an iPhone. Plus, the phone was a little buggy, producing occasional irritation from issues with the memory, touchscreen and receiving email…

I’m a researcher, a lifelong learner who loves to read and know everything I can about a product before and after I purchase it. I also enjoy tinkering with technology and trying the latest, although I don’t have the time for that I once did. However, a recent Monday off when I had plans change, I found myself with a block of time to enjoy some home cooking. “Cooking” in the smartphone world is slang for creating software implementations to replace those imposed on us by our wireless carrier, in this case Verizon. These programmer “cooks” usually scrap much of the crappy, sometimes outdated software on the phone and replace it with software combinations, a “ROM,” that are not only cool, but they work much better than the software the phone originally came with. The one little problem is that if you want to “flash” your phone with one of these cool ROM’s, there’s a little risk:

i910 ONLY — FLASH AT YOUR OWN RISK —

Please remember that you flash at your own
risk and I am not responsible for any
bad things that happen to your device.

The “bad thing” is that you can “brick” your phone, which means it will perform like a brick (i.e. dead phone), except you can’t use it to build stairs… I calculated the risk and rationalized a new Droid X in case I rendered my Omnia brick-like. The process was a little techno-scary, but not too complicated, and when it was over I had a “new” phone with speed, shiny cool weather graphics, no memory issues, improved screen response, and email that performs so well that I receive my work email on the phone the same time I receive it on my laptop! To which Joyce dryly replied, “and you consider that a plus?” Joyce’s teasing techno-me aside, I love my new phone. Hopefully it’ll continue to infatuate me until an iPhone comes to VZ.

Tonight As I went upstairs to take a quick shower after exploding my left calf muscle on an aborted “run,” my thoughts were downstairs with a worried mom. Her son had called to tell her cuts were being announced tonight after only two days of soccer camp at UVM. I thought about my effort to walk-on to the baseball team at the University of Arizona and hearing, “Son, you’re not good enough” from legendary UA coach Jerry Kimball. I thought about writing this and what came next was, “that experience didn’t happen tonight for one freshman at UVM.” I stepped out, still lost in thought and hope and the anxious mother downstairs. Tugging up trousers, I felt some emotion and to no one in particular, I broadcast the request, “please give the kid a chance.”

I went downstairs and Joyce’s phone rang.

Nick made the team.

I stepped gingerly into the creamy, lunar-like dust hoping to keep my mandals clean. Yes, mandals. They seemed like a good idea at the time. After all, Joyce has a house down the Cape, but sadly I think she’s at the top of the mandal-haters list, at least mandals that even partially expose my “ugly” hobbit-like toes, but that’s not really important right now…

Standing behind home plate where I had for untold innings long past, all the dimensions snapped into focus. It’s funny how every baseball field has a mound rubber that’s 60’ 6” from home plate, yet depending on the park and its surroundings, the distance can seem to deviate. At familiar Moulton Field in Wakefield, all the infield dimensions seem a little smaller.

Maddy and Kyle were with me, but the time warp bubble I was in made me oblivious to Kyle’s boredom and Maddy’s fascination with the lunar surface. Melancholy mused me at the awful condition of the field while I flashed through the years… At age 13 during my Babe Ruth League tryout, I experienced my first bafflement of a well thrown change-up, courtesy of then 14 year old Mike Boyages. On July 3, 1975, I suffered a fractured zygomatic arch, courtesy of some kid from rival Melrose who crushed my face with his knee as I turned to block home plate. Dude was out, but unfortunately so was my eye nearly from its socket. Around ’87 or ’88, playing for “the Highlife” of the Wakefield “Men’s Twi-League,” I blasted a ball into a centerfield tree for a bases clearing double. Yeah, the luck of it was that if not for the well placed maple, my effort would have been a 370’ out… Behind the plate was the place though… Catcher is the best position on a diamond. It’s the only spot where the entire game is in front of you and you’re in every play. I caught a good game, and one of my favorites was another Highlife tilt when I caught a young rookie in his first visit to “the show,” Paul Gonnella. Which brings me to why this 51 year old was standing behind home plate yesterday at Moulton Field.

My peeps and I were there to attend the “Gonnella Family Reunion” at Wakefield’s “West Side Social Club,” adjacent to that park where we collaborated or clashed with base and basketballs. Sadly, number one son (chronologically only the other 4 would strongly attest…) my best bud Michael was stuck back in Arizona and wasn’t in attendance, but Mark, John, Peter and Paul were there. Yeah, that’s right: Michael, Mark, John, Peter and Paul, and saints they were not… Somehow “Mrs. G” survived five sons, well, six including me. I think I ate every night’s dinner at the Gonnella’s during high school… It was great to see Mr. and Mrs. G and my Italian brothers. Mark and I chatted for a while, as did Mark’s wife of 27 years (!!!), Shelley. Yeah, they met during our Arizona days, and aside from a few grays and some crows counting, they both look great. Shelley actually became family when she killed as AC/DC’s bassist Cliff Williams in our “air-band” battles of the early 80’s in Tucson. I made the rounds with all the bro’s and of course my second parents. We all missed Mike, but that didn’t stop any of us from torturing Dillard about the tats, the Harley, the lo-carb diet and the “Ho Chi Minh” goatee… Dude, we only wish you were there for it in person!

I felt so at home. Mrs. G was all over Maddy and Kyle, just like a great grandmother. Mr. G kept calling me “Number Six,” and all the brothers were imploring me to visit them in Miami, SC, Raleigh and even Harwich. It had been over ten years since I’d seen many of them, but it was as if those years were never lost. Although the Gonnella’s are not my genetic family, in this case, Mrs. G’s spaghetti sauce is much thicker than water.

I can’t believe I never bitc… uh, blogged about it, but back in 2008, I had to part with $2,040.64 to repair a defective transmission in Megan’s 2001 Toyota RAV4. Although it was pretty well known a defect in the cars “ECM,” or “Engine Control Module,” sent bad information to the tranny and caused it to fail, Toyota was sending its customers the wrong signal in the form of an extended middle finger by refusing to take ownership and cover the repair.

Over the couple years since, I’ve received emailings from other frustrated customers who had pooled together in an effort to move the beast, but Toyota never budged, not even last summer when other quality issues put the company in the headlines and hurt their yen for big profits. Until yesterday when the email told of a letter from Toyota extending the warranty on the 2001-2003 RAV4’s! I haven’t received one, but a related article in the New York Times extends coverage on the topic:

“Under pressure from the California Air Resources Board, Toyota said on Tuesday that it was extending the warranty nationwide on automatic transmissions and electronic control modules on almost one quarter of a million 2001–3 RAV4s and offering to reimburse owners who had already paid for repairs.”

So, it looks like our association will now cost Toyota $2,040.64. Oh, I’ll take the money, but the relationship is irreparably damaged. Actually, it’s already cost Toyota $26,556 in potential new car sales (my Acura instead of a comparable Lexus later in 2008) and untold future amounts. You see, after that horrible customer experience, I will never buy another Toyota product and I’ll tell everyone I know about it, including you 4 readers…