Friday, May 15, 2009

Tequilla Texting...

Okay, so when you check your text log after a twelve pack of coors light, two bottles of Conundrum and some sort of strawberry rum concoction, it is a belittling experience. It is safer than drunk dialing, you know, but not a really good idea none the less. Waking up this morning with Spaghettio's stuck to my beard, Aaron sleeping on the couch, and the Jerry Springer show blaring in the background - then looking down at my text log - hell, that was a great way to really boost the old ego. I guess there is a reason that I have not been straying off the reservation too much lately - I am not only a bad drinker, but hell, I apparently have the ability to text with lightning speed - sort of like pulling the pin on the grenade and watching the body parts fly after I hit the send button. I think I am going to start carrying around a speak and spell whenever I head down to the local watering hole - not only will it allow me to text, but it will also allow me to increase my limited 11th grade level vocabulary.

The great thing is to get the text back "You really should get a book about not drinking" - considering that my head was sandwiched in between two cinder blocks, a volkswagon jetta, and a boat this morning, I really need a book about how to drink better - not to mention having to scrub a pot of spaghettios and clean up sticky strawberry stuff from the kitchen counter. Today was a good day to just mark Personal Time Off on the timesheet, drop a few drops of visine in the eyes, eat some very bland white toast, and watch Court TV (or fall asleep while Court TV was on) - and that was exactly what I accomplished today. Now that is is 3:00 - I am feeling more human again - at least to the point where I can use a toothbrush without gagging, and may even venture over to the swimming pool to try and chlorinate some of the vodka sweat pouring out of my body. The thought of going to Taco Bell is runnng through my mind right now, so I must be feeling better...or at least enough to eat a couple of bean burritos that will wreck my digestive system into feeling a little bit better.

Tonight, there is the soccer practice, today, there was a deliverable to do - but I could not, and still cannot bear the thought of scrolling through spreadsheets - and I am hoping that a six PM rainstorm comes barrelling through to cancel the soccer as well - tonight would be the perfect night to turn the air conditioner down the "meat locker" setting, order some pizza, and rent a couple of movies with the kiddos - but, that is enough whining for now - if you play, you must pay, and my body is certainly cashing the check that I wrote last night...

That brings up some good ideas for top ten lists though - I must be feeling a little better if ideas are actually popping into my head (ideas other than "Man, some more aspirin would be great right now" or "Need more water"), and with that being said - the top ten list just that quickly disappeared from my head. I guess I will give it a feeble attempt:

TOP TEN THINGS THAT I REMEMBER FROM LAST NIGHT:

1. Mens Softball Teams are not really a sports team, they are more like guys who like striped tube socks.

2. Never guess some girls age higher than 32 - telling the 29 year old she looks 37 - not a good idea.

3. Toyota Prius's are very quiet - but they are not quiet enough to sneak by sobriety check points.

4. Non-Alcoholic beer serves a purpose - just not for me or my friends.

5. I cannot find my shirt, and I suspect that I may have torn in off in the middle of the parking lot as I proclaimed my mastery as "Resident of the Month"

6. Spaghettios compound the hangover, and are a bitch to get out of bedsheets.

7. Strawberries, creamsicles, rum, margarita mix and gin are not a mixed drink. It is a vomit precursor.

8. I am deleting all of the depressing music from my I POD and replacing it with Barney, The Wiggles, and Captain Kangaroo songs.

9. Even when drunk, I still cannot play guitar. I can try, but it does not work.

10. Eggs, fish, tortillas, hot stove = setting the fire alarm off at 2:00 am.

Not a valiant attempt, not even a half-hearted attempt, but I suppose not waking up next to Chewbacca or in a corn field in Southern Georgia does warrant a little lee-way for me today.

Until next time,

G

Thursday, May 14, 2009

Paying the Water Bills.

Stacks of unpaid water bills are what I am waking up to these days - I am not quite sure what I am supposed to with them (besides the obvious pay them) but I keep sending them money, and they keep voiding the payments - sort of a game of cat and mouse - I spoke with the good looking apartment complex rental agent (case in point for all folks looking for an apartment - they are all good looking - as if to say "Hey, in this complex, we only have good looking folks" - it is a lie, a vicious lie to lure you into their buildings only to be sadly disappointed that your neighbors happen to be two single ladies - unfortunately, they are Phyllis Diller and Joan Rivers....) - and she had little to say other than, well, at least they never turn off the water to the apartments here....that's good to know - now I can shower, flush, dishwash, and laundry with little or no risk - and just continue to send in money orders (again, another point I must explain - I think that I have ordered checks once in my life, and that was in Tallahassee as a student/party planner, and those checks just ended up becoming raquetballs in banks throughout Northwest Florida) - only to have a bill that comes back with a payment that says "VOID" - it must be part of the Obama Recovery Package for Water Resellers throughout the Country - in order to get the federal funds, they must turn back every payment from anyone whose last name starts with the letter "B" - today must be my lucky day.

Pleasant surprises come in many forms, this morning, I had an email that said I had a fairly large deposit coming my way into my account from my separated partner - and that was a great surprise - you see, we have this deal that she pays me and I pay her and that way, the agreement is a convoluted mess of legalese, jargon, arrangements, and restrictions. We would not have it any other way. Back to the point, it was nice to see that. I was proud for her - and not downplaying the contribution of being a stay at home mother with our two children over the years (I think I have spoken to my ability to raise children - the last time that I did it longer than three days in a stretch, she came home to find me in diapers, eating rice cereal, and sleeping in a basinette along side the other two) - but I know that she feels good about the contribution financially, and I hope she understands that I am proud of her for that - us finance guys try and get into the emotional bank account every once in a while, it is hard to put a price tag on being a stay at home mom, it is hard to determine what that salary should be for them - we know that it is necessary, we know that we, given the same situation, would have been requested to find a room in Chattahootchie (for non-Floridians, this is where Florida keeps their "less than stable" folks until they are able to cope with reality in more permanent or medicated ways). I imagine being a mother is what she always wanted to be, and I guess what I am trying to say here, is that she is a good mother and leader for our two - and that yup, I am incapable of performing the same duties without large amounts of xanax, candy bribes, and video games.

That goes back to paying the water bill - so now I have this unexpected windfall, and this stack of unpaid water bills - hell, it is sort of like a stimulus package check, and I would feel completely Unamerican if I did not blow it on a Chinese made stereo, french wine, or to have an illegal immigrant come mow the grass...(no offense here - but it is what it is). I mean the extra money is burning a hole in my pocket, sort of like heroin in the hands of a dope fiend outside the local blood bank - really, I am imagining all of the wonderful things that I can do - I can get a haircut, and speaking of hair, buy some of that rogaine styling mousse - (I tried it for a while, and unfortunatly for me, it only made my nose and ear hairs grow more, and I think a few sprouted on my back - I apparently have follicle confusion, so at least I know my general confusion can be related directly back to a physical ailment, not one of those garden variety emotional ailments), maybe buy one of those "as seen on TV" gadgets that would make my life easier (I can see it now, the envy of the apartment complex as I am cleaning my patio with the Shark Super Steam Degreaser and Sterilizer), get a new shirt from Steinmart that was cool last year, make the minimum payment on my life support credit cards, hell the possibilities are endless....notice I did not say save for a rainy day, that, my friends, would be too smart, and I have been and never will be accused of being somewhat intelligent.

I, in my infinite lack of wisdom, have come up with the top ten things that I might do with this money, feel free to send me more, I could always use some team participation on this one:

1. Buy a crap pot of scratch off tickets and sit on a milk crate in front of the store scratching them. Granted I could win a large amount of money, but even if I did not when everyone knows "When you play, we all win" - so that would explain the victory screams that I would make at random intervals, and the greeting I would give to everyone as they came in to buy their sundry items "Hey - I play so you can win".

2. Go to a fancy day spa and get a Brazilian. I am not sure what a Brazilian is - but from what I understand it is a life changing experience.

3. Get some rims for my Mazda. I always wanted to have a cheap foreign car that has all of those "Fast and Furious" things on it that make it look really really fast, but actually add weight that slow it down. With any of the left over money, I could go to a garage sale and get a big woofer for the trunk, so that whenever I turn on the radio, my car rattles like a bag of recycled aluminum.

4. Buy some of those used video games from the video store - you know the ones - they are the ones that nobody rents, like "Spit from a Tall Building for Wii" or "How to play the Recorder for Wii" or "Let's Play Construction Worker for Wii" - I am sure they are fun, pointless, but fun, and whenever I have people over to the apartment, they could be amazed at my huge collection of crappy Wii games.

5. Buy a years supply of Ramen Noodles. Not only do those nifty square packages make creative shelving units, but you can actually eat them too. I would not recommend a diet of them (my sodium count is very, very high, and for some reason I sweat chicken broth).

6. Actually go out an buy toothpaste and shaving cream. I stay in hotels A LOT - so I have hundreds of those little bars of soap, little plastic packages of shaving cream, and those mini-toothpaste tubes that they give you for free - it would be nice to have adult sizes of each of those - granted I would not use them, but at least it would be nice to have them...

7. Get a group of friends and roll into the dollar store like a boxing entourage before fight night, and exclaim "You all go buck wild up in here, and buy yourself something nice." Man, what a vision of silly string, ugly knick knacks, wrapping paper, and generic food that would be.

8. Go to the bank and request all of it in pennies, and make the teller help me haul it to my car, then go to another bank, ask them to make it nickels, then another, and have them make it dimes, then another, have them make it quarters, then another, and have them make it back to the original denomination. I know this is not buying anything, but right now, I am at a stretch to think of anything else, so while I do that I could probably think of something to do with the funds.

9. Rent a storage unit, and tell my friends that I have two places - then have a housewarming party at the Rental Unit - that would be great - and when it was time for them to leave, I could impress them with the extra money I spent on the automatic door opener for the rolldown door.

10. Buy something that is Blue Tooth capable. I am not quite sure what Bluetooth is, or how it works, but from what I understand all the neat things run off Bluetooth, and my smart phone continually tells me that Bluetooth is in range - should I go to Dentist?

Now - as you can see, I am somewhat mentally limited - so feel free to share what I should do with the money - I mean let's all chip in and do our part to help me help America Revive!

G

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Dirty Kitchens and Dog Crap.


Yesterday was one of those days that you choose to forget, and then choose to eat apples and peanut butter with Frosted Flakes. You can obviously see that my motivation to clean the god forsaken mess I created while putting together that culinary delight and palate pleasing concoction is still sitting in the sink, the counter, the floor, and there are probably a few pieces strewn about the couches as well - nothing can quite describe the exhilaration one feels when biting into the first of many bites of Fuji Apples, Publix Peanut Butter, and Frosted Flakes all swimming around in three week old 1% Milk - I figured I got all of the food groups into that one dish - (actually it was not a dish, it was a recycled Chinese Food container - those Chinese folks are so ingenious, a square dish that fits everything into a space - almost like it was designed for mixing anything in the kitchen into a Martha Stewart nightmare...)

Conference calls, emails, and spreadsheets pretty much filled the day yesterday - that's what I do for a living - I am oddly comfortable in rows and columns, even though if one was to spend any Friday night with me, they would think it impressive that I did not soil my big boy pants, but for some reason, I can move numbers around like the Rainman - maybe we all gravitate to what we are comfortable doing - for me, it is moving numbers around and getting to the bottom of the things. Don't get me wrong here, anytime someone mentions the word "Geometry" or "Calculus" or "Flux Capacitor" my head starts hurt with little yellow dots in my eyes as if the math migraine gods are about to start dancing on my groin area...once again, I digress.

Normally, I like things in order - clean and neat, and things that smell like febreeze really make me happy. I like the smell of Lysol four in one cleaner, and the being able to look at a counter top and not notice apple cuttings, peanut butter, and chunks of congealed frosted flakes (which, by the way, have the power to create a glue that is virtually impossible to scrape from any surface) - but last night and yesterday was just not one of those days that really mattered too much to me. There was enough paper shuffling, agreement writing, financial disclosures, and other legal stuff that just sucked the need for cleanliness and order right out of my anal retentive mind. Actually, it felt good to have the place look like it was lived in by that Legend of Greystoke guy - not really sure if the dishwasher was for clothes, storage, or moving one pile of gung from the sink to the nifty hole in the cabinets with a shiny door.

With that being said, and as you can tell by me spending my lunch break blogging, that I still have little, if any, motivation to clean that crap up. It is really easy to clean an apartment - the square footage, somewhat comparatively close to what my garage was before, is minimal, the distance from counter to sink to trash can is sort of like dropping a quarter in a phone booth (this dates me - for the kids out there a phone booth is a glass closet on a street corner where you make cellular phone calls without a cellular phone), and the trash compactor is just a short walk down the parking lot. (Again, another point of frustration - you have to always watch out for piles of dog crap in community living arrangements - even though there are all those little dog crap pick up gloves and bags for everyone to use, it just seems easier to let your little pookie shit right in the middle of the path to the trash compactor - when I am home I do a large amount of people watching, and it is always the "bigger" people who let their little Pekingese noisemakers crap, and then they give it the "did anyone see me let my dog crap on the sidewalk look" and, as if they farted in the elevator, walk away gingerly - I digress again...)

There are a million reasons for me not to clean up the kitchen today - I have a ton of work to do, I am lazy, the lived in feeling is sort of disgustingly nice, I have not noticed any roaches yet, etc etc etc - but, when push comes to shove, it just has to do with motivation, and I just don't have that today to loan to dirty dishes and sticky counter tops.

Motivation to Clean...


Yesterday was one of those days that you choose to forget, and then choose to eat apples and peanut butter with Frosted Flakes. You can obviously see that my motivation to clean the god forsaken mess I created while putting together that culinary delight and palate pleasing concoction is still sitting in the sink, the counter, the floor, and there are probably a few pieces strewn about the couches as well - nothing can quite describe the exhilaration one feels when biting into the first of many bites of Fuji Apples, Publix Peanut Butter, and Frosted Flakes all swimming around in three week old 1% Milk - I figured I got all of the food groups into that one dish - (actually it was not a dish, it was a recycled Chinese Food container - those Chinese folks are so ingenious, a square dish that fits everything into a space - almost like it was designed for mixing anything in the kitchen into a Martha Stewart nightmare...)

Conference calls, emails, and spreadsheets pretty much filled the day yesterday - that's what I do for a living - I am oddly comfortable in rows and columns, even though if one was to spend any Friday night with me, they would think it impressive that I did not soil my big boy pants, but for some reason, I can move numbers around like the Rainman - maybe we all gravitate to what we are comfortable doing - for me, it is moving numbers around and getting to the bottom of the things. Don't get me wrong here, anytime someone mentions the word "Geometry" or "Calculus" or "Flux Capacitor" my head starts hurt with little yellow dots in my eyes as if the math migraine gods are about to start dancing on my groin area...once again, I digress.

Normally, I like things in order - clean and neat, and things that smell like febreeze really make me happy. I like the smell of Lysol four in one cleaner, and the being able to look at a counter top and not notice apple cuttings, peanut butter, and chunks of congealed frosted flakes (which, by the way, have the power to create a glue that is virtually impossible to scrape from any surface) - but last night and yesterday was just not one of those days that really mattered too much to me. There was enough paper shuffling, agreement writing, financial disclosures, and other legal stuff that just sucked the need for cleanliness and order right out of my anal retentive mind. Actually, it felt good to have the place look like it was lived in by that Legend of Greystoke guy - not really sure if the dishwasher was for clothes, storage, or moving one pile of gung from the sink to the nifty hole in the cabinets with a shiny door.

With that being said, and as you can tell by me spending my lunch break blogging, that I still have little, if any, motivation to clean that crap up. It is really easy to clean an apartment - the square footage, somewhat comparatively close to what my garage was before, is minimal, the distance from counter to sink to trash can is sort of like dropping a quarter in a phone booth (this dates me - for the kids out there a phone booth is a glass closet on a street corner where you make cellular phone calls without a cellular phone), and the trash compactor is just a short walk down the parking lot. (Again, another point of frustration - you have to always watch out for piles of dog crap in community living arrangements - even though there are all those little dog crap pick up gloves and bags for everyone to use, it just seems easier to let your little pookie shit right in the middle of the path to the trash compactor - when I am home I do a large amount of people watching, and it is always the "bigger" people who let their little Pekingese noisemakers crap, and then they give it the "did anyone see me let my dog crap on the sidewalk look" and, as if they farted in the elevator, walk away gingerly - I digress again...)

There are a million reasons for me not to clean up the kitchen today - I have a ton of work to do, I am lazy, the lived in feeling is sort of disgustingly nice, I have not noticed any roaches yet, etc etc etc - but, when push comes to shove, it just has to do with motivation, and I just don't have that today to loan to dirty dishes and sticky counter tops.

Monday, May 11, 2009

Morning Coffee..

Waking up next to two children crammed into a queen size bed is a great and brilliant way to start any Monday - I don't get that very often - the tired "I don't want to go to school", followed immediatly by, "Can you take my temperature", none the less, it is a different way to start a Monday - no harried, frantic trips to the airport or throwing a few golf shirts and ties into a suitcase - it is a more peaceful and meaningful start - with cereal and milk and jokes and kisses and tired little eyes that eventually smile and say good morning.

Adjusting to fixing the pot of coffee and not having someone say "Good Morning Mr. Bennett" as they fix me an omlette is a different thing - you see, as travellers - we get lazy. Not in the sense of not taking care of things, but those folks in hotels and at airline ticket counters get paid to make us feel at home - and you get used to those perky friendly smiles every morning - being at home, that takes a little more work - the coffee pot groans - it actually complains and sputters, the milk, it is not as fresh as the milk in the hotel, and the omlette - hell who am I kidding - there is a better chance of the disciples sharing their thoughts reincarnate with me as there is of me waking and fixing myself an omlette. You don't have the same noises of dishes clanging in the background and business women planning out the marketing meeting and musak piped in over the loudspeakers playing some catchy Brittany Spears tune that you will hum the rest of the day. Instead, you have a couple of tired eyes, a noisy caffeine maker, and the occassional sounds of your stomach complaining about Honey Nut Cheerios and old yogurt.

It is a different pace when you are readjusting to home - me, I have the next ten days - and I know it is going to seem like an eternity - I could actually drive into the office - but why make the forty five mile drive in traffic to waste a few hours, when I could spend that time taking care of work. I guess I could establish some routine on 3" x 5" notecards and check them off as I finish them (this is my habits of highly effective people method that actually is used) but that would make things seem like work - and besides, who keeps notecards in a batchelor pad anyway - I relish taking my notes on the past due water bill that I cannot figure out how to pay. The air conditioning unit is actually a welcome sound, it serves as the ringing office phone, or the reminder from Outlook that you have another meeting scheduled.

Don't take this the wrong way, I am not, by any means complaining - it is just different - and change takes some getting used to - I am usually a part of a team that guides folks through massive amounts of change - hell, I live in mergers and acquisitions - so I am a good guide for the abrupt and sometimes brutal changes that folks have to face to get a paycheck - I am just in need of a guide to actually being at home - stupid simple things, like, how long do you need to defrost pork chops before they are okay to cook - or better yet, how long CAN you defrost pork chops before they become slimy, disease ridden, slabs of warm pork that you should not cook? Maybe that is the next great novel - "Being a Batchelor for Dummies" - it amazes me, that I am really that stupid and simple about things around the house - for instance - when did they condense laundry detergent into syrup? Now, from what the directions say, you only need a little bit to go a long way - me, I call bullshit on that one, and still pour two lids of the blue grease into the load - and wonder why I smell like bedsheets when I put on my clothes. When did cable get 957 channels - I can only watch three - and most of the time, it is for noise value - most hotels give me a choice of maybe twenty channels - and that is overwhelming. There are actually entire aisles in the grocery store devoted to animal feed, and although I have no pets, I am still enticed to walk down that aisle just in case they are hiding something on that aisle that I might need - you never know, and I want to be aware of the things that are coming out these days. How long has it been since you were not able to bank, do dry cleaning, get Starbucks, and grocery shop all at the same time - walking into the grocery these days is like walking into a mall condensed and refined with sparkly fruit and happy soccer moms chatting it up about Bruce being out of town this week and Susan having some troubles at home with Jeff. They even have live cooking demonstrations and flower arranging seminars in those places - and oddly enough, that change to me is a grandiose example of why I like life in the simple hotel - when they change things, they make a big deal of it - like the new super sleep beds or softer sheets, or toilet paper that is now two ply - spoon fed change.

I ramble on this morning - that's the morning coffee for me - even the tone of this blog is just like the change - it, for some, is easy to grasp and move forward with, and to me, needs an explanatory pamphlet complete with diagrams of smiling people (sort of like the safety cards in airplanes) - they should make people like me wear an orange vest and a visitor tag in these new places - and have a guide that walks you through the aisles 'That, Mr. Bennett, is an air freshener that knows when people are there - and then it sprays on ITS OWN' or 'Yes, Mr. Bennett, there are fourteen different varieties of sports drink and Gatorade is now know as 'G' and the other Gatorade is known as 'G2' and there are more Doritos than just Doritos, they come in flavors like Late Night Tacostand and Hot Wings and Blue Cheese' (I thought Doritos were a flavor - but now there are subcategories of Dorito flavors).

Albeit simple, that is what I am thinking about - us travellers, we know the road, we know conference rooms, we know places and sites and landmarks and kitschy little local coffee shops, but all in all, do we know what we think we do?

Good morning.

Morning Coffee...

Waking up next to two children crammed into a queen size bed is a great and brilliant way to start any Monday - I don't get that very often - the tired "I don't want to go to school", followed immediatly by, "Can you take my temperature", none the less, it is a different way to start a Monday - no harried, frantic trips to the airport or throwing a few golf shirts and ties into a suitcase - it is a more peaceful and meaningful start - with cereal and milk and jokes and kisses and tired little eyes that eventually smile and say good morning.

Adjusting to fixing the pot of coffee and not having someone say "Good Morning Mr. Bennett" as they fix me an omlette is a different thing - you see, as travellers - we get lazy. Not in the sense of not taking care of things, but those folks in hotels and at airline ticket counters get paid to make us feel at home - and you get used to those perky friendly smiles every morning - being at home, that takes a little more work - the coffee pot groans - it actually complains and sputters, the milk, it is not as fresh as the milk in the hotel, and the omlette - hell who am I kidding - there is a better chance of the disciples sharing their thoughts reincarnate with me as there is of me waking and fixing myself an omlette. You don't have the same noises of dishes clanging in the background and business women planning out the marketing meeting and musak piped in over the loudspeakers playing some catchy Brittany Spears tune that you will hum the rest of the day. Instead, you have a couple of tired eyes, a noisy caffeine maker, and the occassional sounds of your stomach complaining about Honey Nut Cheerios and old yogurt.

It is a different pace when you are readjusting to home - me, I have the next ten days - and I know it is going to seem like an eternity - I could actually drive into the office - but why make the forty five mile drive in traffic to waste a few hours, when I could spend that time taking care of work. I guess I could establish some routine on 3" x 5" notecards and check them off as I finish them (this is my habits of highly effective people method that actually is used) but that would make things seem like work - and besides, who keeps notecards in a batchelor pad anyway - I relish taking my notes on the past due water bill that I cannot figure out how to pay. The air conditioning unit is actually a welcome sound, it serves as the ringing office phone, or the reminder from Outlook that you have another meeting scheduled.

Don't take this the wrong way, I am not, by any means complaining - it is just different - and change takes some getting used to - I am usually a part of a team that guides folks through massive amounts of change - hell, I live in mergers and acquisitions - so I am a good guide for the abrupt and sometimes brutal changes that folks have to face to get a paycheck - I am just in need of a guide to actually being at home - stupid simple things, like, how long do you need to defrost pork chops before they are okay to cook - or better yet, how long CAN you defrost pork chops before they become slimy, disease ridden, slabs of warm pork that you should not cook? Maybe that is the next great novel - "Being a Batchelor for Dummies" - it amazes me, that I am really that stupid and simple about things around the house - for instance - when did they condense laundry detergent into syrup? Now, from what the directions say, you only need a little bit to go a long way - me, I call bullshit on that one, and still pour two lids of the blue grease into the load - and wonder why I smell like bedsheets when I put on my clothes. When did cable get 957 channels - I can only watch three - and most of the time, it is for noise value - most hotels give me a choice of maybe twenty channels - and that is overwhelming. There are actually entire aisles in the grocery store devoted to animal feed, and although I have no pets, I am still enticed to walk down that aisle just in case they are hiding something on that aisle that I might need - you never know, and I want to be aware of the things that are coming out these days. How long has it been since you were not able to bank, do dry cleaning, get Starbucks, and grocery shop all at the same time - walking into the grocery these days is like walking into a mall condensed and refined with sparkly fruit and happy soccer moms chatting it up about Bruce being out of town this week and Susan having some troubles at home with Jeff. They even have live cooking demonstrations and flower arranging seminars in those places - and oddly enough, that change to me is a grandiose example of why I like life in the simple hotel - when they change things, they make a big deal of it - like the new super sleep beds or softer sheets, or toilet paper that is now two ply - spoon fed change.

I ramble on this morning - that's the morning coffee for me - even the tone of this blog is just like the change - it, for some, is easy to grasp and move forward with, and to me, needs an explanatory pamphlet complete with diagrams of smiling people (sort of like the safety cards in airplanes) - they should make people like me wear an orange vest and a visitor tag in these new places - and have a guide that walks you through the aisles 'That, Mr. Bennett, is an air freshener that knows when people are there - and then it sprays on ITS OWN' or 'Yes, Mr. Bennett, there are fourteen different varieties of sports drink and Gatorade is now know as 'G' and the other Gatorade is known as 'G2' and there are more Doritos than just Doritos, they come in flavors like Late Night Tacostand and Hot Wings and Blue Cheese' (I thought Doritos were a flavor - but now there are subcategories of Dorito flavors).

Albeit simple, that is what I am thinking about - us travellers, we know the road, we know conference rooms, we know places and sites and landmarks and kitschy little local coffee shops, but all in all, do we know what we think we do?

Good morning.

Wednesday, May 6, 2009

Last Chances and Long Flights….

Orange squares are just about all you can see from this high in between Sacramento and St. Augustine – you come over the Greyhound Bus like ride on a pothole filled road as you fly over the mountain – and there you are, over the great plains – endless miles of flat land – and from 34,000 feet, it appears as if you were watching the world on a television set posted to your right. Generally the movie is about as edited and entertaining as the food is good, but today, it was reasonable –the apples were crisp, the pineapple was pineapply, and the grapes, well, they had not fermented all of the way yet. The turbulence was limited (at least it has been thus far, that is surely an omen for there to be some magnificent roller coaster riders into Atlanta) – but all in all – after 11 days of business and pleasure and back to back meetings – the flight is the last part of the journey taking me to my navy blue sheets and my paintings and my quiet bed. My bed. What a novel concept these days.

I did not start life this way, addicted to the road and the pressure, and too selfish to sacrifice this life for my ex-wife or for my children – and now, it is something that is a part of who I am – but if there was ever some piece of real advice – pure refined simple advice – I would guess it would have to do with how you build your life – and what you condition your mind to do – of course, that is much easier said than done – but that is where I am today on this flight from Sacramento to San Diego (actually, I am right now positioned over Kansas City – and that makes this life more difficult – that was where my son was born – and I am sensitive today about those things – 11 days makes everything more sensitive.)

So Last Chances – there are always last chances – and then there are always first times – I like both of them – they are new and old and the decisions that we as travelers have to make just about every week - we have to decide to make it the first time or the last time – here are a couple of last chances that I think all of us should stand back and look at – just once – maybe twice, but we all need to make sure that any assessment we are making or any decision to turn around or start over is founded in a few simple last chances – remember after all – last chances are just what they say….

Don’t turn away from your spouse. Turn into her or him and be honest. You never know what the last chance you will have – bad things happen – and we travelers cannot stay distant and let that piece of our lives disappear. Sure, it gets easy to ignore, easy to accept the things you don’t like, accept the nagging, the quirks, but my point is, how many times until the last time when things break. Take the opportunity to be honest, spend real time, and never forget why you married them in the first place.

Don’t forget to call your children. Eleven years my son was born – I still have photographs in my briefcase of him in my old steel toed boats – just last week, we talked about his upcoming puberty discussion – it was just that fast – I got on a plane and one day, he was eleven and talking about puberty. My daughter, she knows me only by every other weekend, and I have regrets about that – take the time you do have away from airports and fancy dinners, and invest in them. They love us – and they deserve that time.

Challenge your life. I have just as many hang-ups as the next guy – but I question when my last chance will be to fix something – whether be the amount of debt that I carry, the apology to my former in-laws, me relationship with my mother, dropping the extra sixteen pounds or so – that might have been right before I stepped on this plane today – and I have to say, it is difficult to answer in the affirmative knowing that you looked a last chance in the eye, and ignored it.

Love and Celebrate life and death – that is an interesting concept! How can we embrace living the last chance if we cannot embrace the fact that we are fragile, and that our life is short – we need to appreciate the end so that we can desire to live today and design the life that we want without ignoring that Last Chance.

Keep Friendships – Being a navy brat, and moving endlessly throughout the years – I developed some friendships, and let those friendships disappear – sort of interesting when you talk to those folks who have kept their friendships since high school, grade school, hell since they were diaper clad children running around the backyard. Sometimes that phone call you ignore because you are too busy, or the hurt feelings about a comment, or the ignored invitation – how many last chances do you have to keep that relationship intact?

Going on endlessly about those important things – maybe this is just as much as a reminder to me – not to forget that it could be my last chance – to make those things right and good – to make those things feel complete, to give closure, and joy, and to remember that there are last chances that we should all look at everyday.

Monday, May 4, 2009

Let's Write a Book...Umphhh

Yeah right - what a novel idea (hell, I crack myself up with the puns - it beats the hell out of moving the half congealed bacon cheeseburger off of the bed for the time being - the Garden Inn is a much more comfortable establishment when curled up next to a cheeseburger) - but I thought to myself, apparently not the only one, that I should finally sit down, put some method to my madness, and try to put forth a book idea to get it on paper, and maybe pay off a few gambling debts with a $200 advance and some sweet royalty checks...for the twelve copies that might actually sell.

Being an author has always been a dream, much like travel was, and now that I am staring at the rainy streets of Sacramento, whoa! I guess, if I really put my mind to it, I could probably rearrange the thoughts somewhere in this blog into a really nifty airplane paperback, and make a few people think - maybe spur a few thoughts, not do anything to severe, create a few laughs, and get to tie a relationship to my grainy picture on the back cover. I can see the comments now from the Julington Creek local ad paper - "Briliiantly Sold in Stores and 7-11's throughout our zip code." - That would be the extent of the publicity. A well justified $200 advance.

Organizing your thoughts is a monumental task - I read alot of non-fiction - in fact, that is pretty much all I am reading these days - the Cassanova perversion factor was exciting, but now I am reading those tame historical references that are impressive to the fifty-somethings on the airplane wearing that nice jewelry their absent husbands bought them to wash their conscience clean from years of dirty business travel and late dinners....

Once again, as with the rest of these little stories, I digress. So anyway, with the sound of Antiques Roadshow furniture guy appraising grandma's strong box, I am salivating at the thought of exposing the past two years or so of my somewhat menial writing to a sharp witted non-fiction agent whose goal in life is to reject folks who have delusions of being an author - or better yet, a published author who actually gets paid to explain to folks how life is for them, sober or not. (Break time - I find it hard to think seriously right now, I think the bed bugs are gnawing at my ankles, and have found the dabbing mouthwash around my feet seems to fend them off a little bit)

So publising a book - according to Google, there appear to be 13,600,000 hits on the web about how to go about getting this thing on paper - I suppose, that I could forego the elliptical, sleeping with the help, the indian casinos, and room service, and get one of those machines that they used to have in high school to make copies of stuff - god knows I did my share of running that steel wheel in high school, blackened fingers for telling the catholic teacher that all catholics were guilt ridden bead eaters that paid for prayer (not a good thing to say during the Reagan Revolution) - but hell again I find myself wandering. That means if I sell one book for every google article on how to sell a book, then I would be able to get that little aluminum boat and that double wide in White House, Florida and be able to pay my bills by pulling orders over at the Publix Warehouse and Distribution Center.

It is not so much anymore about the sales really, it would be nice to live in some avant garde studio in some artsy place in New York where folks where eclectic wool sweaters and those tight pants with no pleats in the front - and have my children with me barefoot in the photographs that those artistic types have hanging from their walls - yup, a best seller, or even the mediocre seller could net enough for a weekend in paradise, or better yet, maybe a few car payments. (Did I mention that everytime I think about my car, I wonder if the battery is dead as it sits in the parking garage at Jax International Airport....maybe this is why I find it so hard to stay focused on writing any sort of book). Knowing that I can express and can touch people has become what it is about. Liking to write and journal is one thing, dumping words on paper is one thing, but expressing and having people realize and recognize, and maybe even think for a moment about a good or sad or warm moment in their lives - that is what this lazy art (lazy for me - naked in an insect infested bed off of Highway 5 in Sacramento on business, yup, that is pretty lazy) means to me. Even I can go back and scroll through dusty journals and twenty year old poems and old photographs - these things do not mean anything to anyone else - they don't hold the same emotion or craft work - but the feelings behind those words - that's what I want to capture - the stoic wrinkles and spirit of Geronimo, the saxophone player on a cold night in Austin, the youthful regret and excitement of a new tattoo, the uneasy fear and silent prayer of passengers on a stormy flight - that's what I want to capture and share.

That is the head of this trail - taught to run, taught to walk, taught to do, and embarking on organizing and the business of getting passion to paper - well , I guess it is worth trying to write that book.

G