Author: fifteenkey (Page 61 of 96)

(Written Friday…)

I’m back. Back in a tin can, with Vegas back in the desert dust and depression. The title of this post is a great line from Wilco’s “How to Fight Loneliness,” the first song to pop from mypod on the flight home. The APA show was good for me. It was great to chat with many of our customers. They are so hungry for that dialogue… that relationship. I’ll do it again next month at the SHRM show and I’ll be better prepared after this weeks experience.

As for off-hours observations, the first is that smoking is allowed in the casinos and you have to navigate them to get to the conference center, restaurants, etc… There’s no avoiding the maze of craps and cards and it’s 24/7. One morning I walked down in search of caffeine. I was darkened by the drooping dropping ashes into cups detained desperately by one armed dreamers downing one more drink… It was 6:30am.

Still, I do love the fakeness of it all. Fake skies, fake cities, fake tits (not that there’s anything wrong with that…), fake love and fake Elvi… Depraved Disney.

Just today the whole Memorial Day thing dawned on me. It also occurs to me I have no plans at all. I’m sure I’ll take the boy to see “Pirates of the Caribbean.” Hey, maybe it’s at the local Drive-In. I hear it’s hot back home.

Update: The tech support folks at the basketball hoop manufacturer responded to my plea with a possible solution to the “This step cannot be reversed” quandary:

“You will need to make sure that there isn’t any hardware on the poles, take a piece of cardboard or a blanket and place it on your driveway, kneel down and hold the pole horizontal (flat) about waist high while you are kneeling, you will then drop the pole from waist high onto the blanket or piece of cardboard about 50-60 times and the vibration should release the poles.”

I guess I do have plans.

A sweet combination of 0’s and 1’s are currently digitally empowered via push technology to eDeliver Social Distortion’s “Winners and Losers” to exceed the expectations of my synapses and soul. Yeah, I’m in Marketing. Anyway, I’ve never seen the band, but plan to soon. Here’s a current lineup of local summer shows I hope will tickle my cochlea and undress my last retinal nerve.

Thu 06/28/07 Wilco Bank of America Pavilion
Mon 07/16/07 Jason Isbell T.T. The Bear’s
Sun 07/29/07 Social Distortion Hampton Beach Casino
Fri 08/24/07 John Hiatt Summer Music Series – Lowell
Fri 09/07/07 Bob Newhart Boston Convention Center

Note: I don’t wish to smell, touch or taste any of these people. As for my sixth sense, well, it’s always engaged.

It must be the altitude, radiation or smorgasbord of smells in the bathroom, but my brain seems to take on the qualities of the one planted into Peter Boyle by Gene Wilder in “Young Frankenstein.” For those of you who’ve been deprived of this Mel Brooks classic, the brain was obtained by the hump-backed “Igor,” played by Marty Feldman. When “the monster” begins to exhibit behaviors not assimilated at charm school, Wilder’s “Dr. Frederick Frahn-ken-steen” inquires about the brain:

Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: Igor, would you mind telling me whose brain I did put in?
Igor: And you won’t be angry?
Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: I will NOT be angry.
Igor: Abby someone.
Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: Abby someone. Abby who?
Igor: Abby Normal.
Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: Abby Normal?
Igor: I’m almost sure that was the name.
Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: Are you saying that I put an abnormal brain into a seven and a half foot long, fifty-four inch wide GORILLA?
[shakes and grabs him]
Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: IS THAT WHAT YOU’RE TELLING ME?

Anyway, when this tin can finally pushes to the gate I should be in Sin City. This is my first of three trips to Vegas in 2007. This one is for the American Payroll Association Congress and it’s at Bally’s. The Society for Human Resources Management conference is in June, followed by our own customer conference in early November. I believe both of those are at the Venetian, a fabulous hotel and the home of a Guggenheim Museum.

Aside from chatting with customers and learning about what else is happening in the world of payroll, I hope to catch a show at the Improv at Harrah’s. I consider it primary research…

They say the road to a freaking nervous breakdown is paved with good intentions… Oh, “they” don’t? Well I guess I just made it up. My good intentions today resulted in the wrong hole lined up with the slot in bottom pole (BP) and a consequence of the proverbial irreversible pole stuck in a hole. Um, a basketball pole. Adding injury to insult, I scored a nice blood blister on the middle finger of my left hand trying to reverse the permanent blunder. See? I frantically scanned the directions for a solution, but only received a rebuking: “This step cannot be reversed.” Like answering “yes” to the “do these pants make my butt look big” question, some things just cannot be reversed…

It’s times like these I’m glad I have my stair-climber and that I didn’t have to assemble it. In 30 minutes I rediscovered the humor in the situation and devoured a 40 page report of bars, lines and fourth order polynomials. All while abusing my eardrums with the cure to my almost everything: rock and roll.

I have some note cards with images like this by Mark Rothko.

They’re cool, but $72,840,000?

The Edward Hopper show at the MFA is one I’m looking forward to. He paints isolation in a way I really identify with. Here are a few isolated reviews…

The Phoenix

Newsweek

Camille Pissarro is my favorite of the Impressionists. Pissarro: Creating the Impressionist Landscape is coming to the Milwaukee Art Museum June 9–September 9, 2007.

Jerry Falwell died this week. I won’t miss his deluded self-righteous bluster from the wing on the right. We can thank him and other nuts like Pat Robertson for brainwashing enough people who don’t think on their own to get “W” elected.

It will be interesting to see how Roger Clemens pitches for the Yanks. Amazingly, at 45 he’s still hurling, just like his idol and fellow Texan, Nolan Ryan. As for the Yankees, I hope they get it together and make it a race. It’s not very compelling or fun without them.

Wilco put out a new record today, “Sky Blue Sky.” It’s been 12 years since the release of their first, “AM” on Mar 28, 1995. With one click, Apple depleted $9.99 from my checking account and with props to Bob Metcalfe, the music is flowing. It’s a “mood” record that sounds like it was recorded in the pre-dawn still. It’s warming my soul like sitting in one of two matching bathtubs overlooking a stunning valley sunset touching fingertips with my woman while the drugs kick in. Yeah, something like that. Upon first listen, it’s got me. It’s nice to listen to new Wilco. It doesn’t have any baggage.

Wilco is on Letterman tonight and will bring it June 28 at the Bank of American Pavilion. I’ve got my tickets.

I’m worried about this world we live in. Yesterday, as I waited for Jessica to come out of the grocery store, I observed as a woman emptied her grocery cart and walked it toward the store. Suddenly, she pushed it forward and watched as it rolled TO THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD. Satisfied with her effort, she turned and walked back to her car, backed out of the space and drove away. I was stunned. As I retrieved the empty carriage of this equally vapid dope, I wondered, “where do these people come from and why am I in the midst of them?” Unfortunately, those of us burdened with thought are living in a sequel to George Romero’s, “Night of the Living Dead,” and what’s dead are brain cells. I mean, if you have even half a brain, you are so outnumbered by those with just a stubby brain stem loosely connected to a crumply mass of mushy pork rinds.

The decline of the American Empire is upon us. Brain cells are down. Fat cells are up and our investments are dominated by stuff that blows up. While we play out the string of wasted lives and wasted capital spawned by a failed president elected by these red state yahoos, countries like China and India are investing in education and infrastructure to support their dominance of the 21st century. Of course instead of acknowledging that we’ve put ourselves in this situation, the right wing will instead dust off the menace of “Red China” and another spiral of conflict will ensue. The last hot flash will arrive while the zombies sit in front of their TV’s watching “reality.”

The inside of an aluminum tube may be the most conducive writing environment for me. It’s um, pretty contained. There’s no WiFi (yet) or phone. Mostly, my mind is bursting at the front or back of a business trip. I arrived Saturday and hung with Dave, Georgia and Joe. It was great to see them. Joe is now six and he likes to play his GameCube. He’ll have a new game soon courtesy of our friends at the online store named for a river… or jungle. Flow of goods or mind-numbing warehouse? Whatever. Georgia and I caught up over some Greek takeout while Dave tried to enjoy his post-blender lemon soup. He’s on a liquid diet because the scarring from 20+ surgeries has left sections of his intestines the diameter of a straw. No, not that kind. Dave’s processing food through a straw like the ones they strand olives on in a martini. Yeah, like a straw, it sucks. I often think, “when is this nightmare going to end for this husband and father?” I quickly dismiss the notion because the answer is a Philbinesque final one. We’ll pass on that. Dave’s got quite a bit more to do.

The balance of the week was spent with a few hundred of my favorite co-workers in meeting rooms, restaurants and the lobby bar. The highlight was a bike odyssey organized by my friend, the fabulous Barb. Many of my co-workers, some in tears, stood in its conclusion to say it was the best team building event they’d ever attended. Yeah. Ever. It was for me.

With now over 20 years in business, I’m finally comfortable with the whole networking thing. Much of that gets done in the lobby lounge or even the Tiki Lounge if the venue is the Fairmont in SF. Anyway, while liquor does help many overcome the shy thing, it isn’t pretty when some reach, um, the tipping point. Yesterday I met with my team back at the field-described “Mecca” (corporate office). My advice was pretty simple: “When attending a group event like that Sales meeting, don’t be a jackass.”

Best line of the week in a meeting the morning after: “I’m not doing math in my head right now.”

It’s now Saturday. When the plane landed Thursday night, I arrived to a changed world. If I learned anything this week it’s that courage is necessary to change us from the inside and to handle it from the outside. I’m going to succeed at both.

Random note: No matter when “Gimme Shelter” comes on my iPod, I never skip it.

Yesterdays voyage to Chicago was eventful. I had not traveled since the TSA regulations involving Ziplock bags took place…

As I approached the x-ray machines at security the realization set in that the travel bag I employed for personal hygiene wasn’t going to cut it, so I emptied all of it into one of the plastic bins hoping for a last-minute pardon. Uh, not. “Sir, those need to be in a ziplock bag. Hudson News sells them.” I proceeded to re-dress and shoved all the stuff into my bag for a shopping stop at Hudson’s. I expected the worst in price gouging, but at 35 cents a pop, the large sandwich sized bags were a bargain under the circumstances. I crammed all the items into 2 bags and headed back through the security line. Once there, the TSA boys were ready to pounce…

As the TSA inspector removed and analyzed each and every item, he set aside the items in question: A large Edge Gel shaving cream and a 3.5 ounce tub of American Crew pomade.
“These cannot go on the aircraft.” He explained that by limiting liquids to the sandwich bag size, “it would limit the explosive power if a terrorist tried to get liquid explosives onboard.” I see. My pomade was endangering the lives of all on the flight to Chicago. I had just begun a relationship with this jar Saturday morning removing only the first of many satisfying fingerfulls. My hair looked good too. I had achieved a perfect balance of messiness without the appearance of trying too hard to do it. Yeah, it’s complicated.

Now, luckily, I’m at Dave’s, the “hair stuff” capital of Chicagoland… I’ll go without the shave.

I’ve got nothing cogent to write about. These days my mind is occupied with work, meetings, my kids, paying debt off completely, foul politics, presentations, deadlines, rumors, margin analyses and work. Oh, I’ve been working quite a bit too. I need a house cleaning service, yard service, tree service and car service on the RAV4. I need a service to manage my service needs. I don’t seem to have passion for anything right now. I’m up by 5:30, read the news and Bloglines, have a coffee and a bagel with egg (no cheese), then it’s work with very little respite till 5:30 or 6. I come home and occasionally work out, then lay in bed flipping between O’Reilly, Olberman, Hannity, Scarborough, and Colmes. Thankfully I’m usually asleep before Greta’s nightly updates on Anna Nicole Smith and Natalee Holoway. I usually wake up around 2:00; stagger to the bathroom for a number one, then fall back onto padded springs where I occasionally sleep upon arrival. Sometimes not. I’m also in the third week of a lingering cold that I just can’t lose. I’m much better though. Maybe it’s allergies…

The view from the inside of a life is an interesting one. On the inside, one can see the chipped paint, scratched woodwork and uneven floors. To the outsider, it all looks pretty cool. I am so fortunate to have what I do in my life, but it is feeling burdensome and increasing in drag. I need to do something for me without a Catholic heaping of guilt that somehow my kids will face a lifetime of therapy if I do.

Today there are reports that Toyota passed General Motors in sales in the first quarter, and for the first quarter ever. Oh, and the New York Yankees are in last place in the American League East. I think GM is in far greater trouble than the Yanks. The Toyota Motor Corporation is not the Tampa Bay Devil Rays and as for the pinstripes, just look at your calendar. Yeah, it’s April.

I bought a 2001 Toyota RAV/4 back in October when the Yankees are rarely in last place. I’ve owned American cars over the years but I’ll never buy another. Failed transmissions and water pumps falling into radiators with slicing fan blades were enough for me. The RAV/4 was intended to be a vehicle that would get Megan through her last years of high school and through college, but fate had another plan and I drove it all winter.

Kyle and I did a road trip to Philly for New Years in it and I also measured the gas mileage over a one month period. Overall, the 4 cylinder mini-SUV averaged 22.8 MPG, with the high being 24.1 for our mostly highway trip to Philly. Not bad, but not great either. Weren’t many cars averaging in the low 20MPG range back in the 1980’s?

Now I’m back to driving my 1996 Volvo 850 and it’s still running smoothly after 220,000 miles. My belief is there aren’t many American cars of that vintage still running smoothly after 200K miles. I could be wrong, but as I consider a “Phase 2 mid-life crisis” vehicle purchase, I’m thinking Lexus/Infiniti, not Lincoln or Cadillac. I like my Volvo, but since I purchased it, they were acquired by Ford, who evidently dropped the slogan, “Quality is Job One.” One frustrating constant is the lousy gas mileage cars still get in 2007. Of the mid-sized “luxury” cars I’m looking at, the best MPG is from the Lexus 350ES at 20 city / 30 highway… Sigh.

Anyway, I’m just happy Megan is back driving the Toyota to school. Oh, and I’m rooting for the Yankees to pick themselves off the mat and claw their way back up where they belong. It just won’t be any fun without them.