Anonymous Confession

Group Hug allows people to make anonymous online confessions. Post Secret lets you mail in anonymous postcard confessions. Kleenex's new ad campaign allows you to post anonymously your confessions. I know that the internet is just a tool, neither good nor bad, and its up to us to determine what we do with it. Still, why are these here, and why are these necessary?

I'm not going to pretend to be above it. Part of the reason I go by my initials is so I don't get anyone in trouble, but part of it is so I can confess, and to most of the world, it's anonymous. Some of you know me, and thankfully, none of you have ever really confronted me on the more serious confessions.

What does it say about the state of our society that (ostensibly) these confessions are made online, as opposed to people you trust? I think it sticks with me, mostly because I'd like to think that people aren't truly that isolated, that there are people there for them, and that fairies really do exist, and we need to clap to give them their wings.

***

On a related note, my stress tic returned for about a week. I have a few theories: people, places, things. More to the point, I think it returned because I had to go deal with a lot of strangers, and wasn't reacting well to it in the leadup. It went fine, in the end, not nearly as bad as I'd feared. However, it's kind of funny that such a simple thing as strangers make me twitch, isn't it?

Race Update

Wednesday, February 20, 2008. 2213 EST. Apartment in Virginia. Cold, cloudy, can't find the lunar eclipse.

Training for the five kilometer race continues. If I have not mentioned it here, I have been training for a five kilometer race. This week, I've started the interval training, a hellish concept of sprinting as fast as I can for short bursts. I don't remember the theory, but this continued sprinting actually makes you faster overall, thereby allowing you to run further in the same amount of time, or something. Its asinine.

What is my goal for this race? I don't know. In high school, when I ran cross country, my best ever time for a race was around twenty-nine minutes. It was roughly an average nine minute mile. For this race, under twenty-five minutes would be amazing, seeing as how that would be a (roughly) eight minute average mile. If training continues at this rate, twenty-five minutes is entirely possible. I just need the internal fortitude to keep up.

Too Early

Sunday, February 17, 2008. 0514 EST. Apartment in Virginia. Dark, cold.

I can either go to sleep and automatically wake up in a couple of hours or stay up. Haven't decided yet, but boy do I hate my circadian rhythms.

***

An ice storm travailed through Virginia, coating everything in a cold-shiny rind. This happened to also shut down the Mixing Bowl for seven hours (the intersection between Interstates 95, 395 and 495). It made my personal travels hell. At a slight dip in the road, two cars had spun out at least 180 degrees, as both were facing me. Another car spun out towards the median and ended up backwards. A fourth car tripped right into the grassy median, speckled with snow and ice. I slowed down to about five miles per hour and made it through straight. The sports utility vehicle behind me also spun out onto the median. Behind that, the sedan dropped to five miles an hour. Since I was just half a mile from my apartment, I went five miles per hour for the rest of the trip. Not a single car attempted to pass me.

***

"Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?" Heaven only knows. Dick's famous story served as the basis for Blade Runner, a movie I have yet to see. It's not bad, but not great, this story. His prose is fairly utilitarian, doesn't detract, but doesn't really add to the story either. The dialogue is clunky at times, with a lot of repetition being more annoying than emphatic. His ideas are unique, especially for the time, and the theme of artifice versus realism really strikes at you from several angles, especially with the empathy boxes and dialing up emotions that, though the humans feel, are nothing more than a fake. Meanwhile, the androids that cannot use these empathy boxes actually show some emotion (and some sociopathic behavior). Raises a lot of questions about what really is human. There were a couple of plot points that, at first, seemed to raise the question about whether Deckard, the android bounty hunter, was himself an android. Upon second thought, they were just absurd plot points, and even within the context of the story, unbelievable. Would probably not read again.

***

If this link http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pw4Bhmm22xo is correct… Go watch it. It's plausible and compelling, though the sample size is admittedly tiny. We're inundated with the current state of matters, but if we had more samples from ten years ago, and all were of similar quality as that displayed in the video, well.

***

One of the side effects of being in Law School was that it shot my professional self-confidence all to hell. I stopped caring, and my work suffered. I probably could've cared, and it wouldn't have made a difference, I don't think. It was never the right fit.

I got a couple of compliments on my work at work, and didn't know how to take it. It's been a long time since I felt competent in a work setting. I did feel that way occasionally at L.M., but how hard is it to take notes, something I've been doing for ever and ever?

***

I have to read this article http://www.cracked.com/article_15231_7-reasons-21st-century-making-you-miserable.html once every few weeks to keep myself grounded and remind myself that some misery is good.

Random Note

I dream of flying.

Mercurial Mood

Monday, February 11, 2008. 2022 EST. Apartment in Virginia. Dark, cold enough to raise goosepimples on my legs as I walked inside in shorts and a t-shirt.

I've been tetchy all day long. I cursed every single driver on the road to and from work for being on the road. I've been coughing all day due to my allergies hitting hard. Q.L. stole my whoopie cushion at work (though I deserved it because I left it inflated on her chair). I ate too much for lunch and felt really sick for most of the afternoon. The drive home took almost an hour because of a car accident. I came back to a five-day warning/eviction notice, even though I paid my rent five days before the due date, and have the bank statement online showing the check cancelled by my apartment complex.

At the same time, I had a great morning. Nice bowl of cereal and yogurt for breakfast. Calm morning, calm day really. Met the deadline and submitted something for the client at work. Started organizing an impending Popeye's fried chicken eating contest. I ran four miles for the first time in a very long time. Made it home safe, and was able to prove that I paid the rent bill. And now, I get to watch the train wreck embarrassment that is American Gladiators. There's even a preliminary plan for me to start a work-only blog, which would let me separate Writ in twain.

How much of our perception of the events around us is colored by our moods? Probably significantly. This day had its up and downs, just like any other day. I made it home safe, and I'm healthy for another day, and I want to see tomorrow.

Wow, it's been a long time since I could say that, honestly. I want to see tomorrow.

Weird. Is my life where I thought it would be ten years ago? No. Is it where I'd love it to be right now? No. Am I good to go for at least one more day? Yes. Well, this has been a hell of a day. Ah, to be bi-polar.

Book Nook

Sunday, February 10, 2008. 1659 EST. Apartment in Virginia. Sunny, chilly but bearable.

Inspired by my semi-annual living space cleaning, a book check:

Currently reading: A Feast for Crows by George R.R. Martin

Books on the shelf not yet read (by myself, at least)*:

Code Complete by Steve McConnell
Next by Michael Crichton
Unconventional Success by David F. Swensen
Philip K. Dick: Four Novels of the 1960s (The Man in the High Castle, The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, Ubik)
The Bridge by Iain Banks
Beyond Tells by James A. McKenna
Escape from China by Zhang Boli
Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy by John LeCarre
The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien
The Road by Cormac McCarthy
Atonement by Ian McEwen
American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis
Century Rain by Alastair Reynolds
Redemption Ark by Alastair Reynolds
Absolution Gap by Alastair Reynolds
One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert M. Pirsig
Foucault's Pendulum by Umberto Eco
Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

*This list is probably not complete. There are likely books hiding somewhere in the piles that I have yet to unearth.

I'll be done with A Feast for Crows in a few days, week tops. Then, the problem is which book do I want to read the most. These all are interesting me, now that I look at the list, and have them on my shelf lined up in a row according to height, more or less.

Heavens, I'm such a geek. I'd go join a monastery and cloister myself away from humanity, but for the fact that I couldn't own books. Everything else, I would be OK with giving up.

***

Good heaven, was last week busy. At the company meeting, I actually broke out my laptop, not to dick around, but to continue working. There's something wrong with that, but I'm not sure what.

I've already left my mark on T.S., if the meeting was any indicator. As the "[T.S.] Awards for Outstanding Achievement in the Field of Excellence" were handed out, we saw a parade of the usual suspects in the Info-tech discipline. Best project management, best developer, best business analyst, best salesperson, general excellence. And then, the ultimate award, entitled "Work Hard Eat Harder." Yes, gentle folk, the founders of T.S. created an award lauding the gustatory efforts of A.C. He even received the actual plaque, crystal slab supported in wooden frame. Yes, it said "2007 Work Hard Eat Harder."

This has two ramifications for me. One, I have to get off my ass and start planning more eating contests. But two, perhaps more important, despite my unintentional efforts to murder my coworkers with elevated cholesterol counts, I have actually had a tangible effect on team morale. Now, if only I could make such an effect with my work, but I guess we'll have to give that more time.

***

I broke my only cereal bowl a while back (OK, months back). It didn't stop me from eating cereal, but I was eating it out of a lot of Tupperware. That was kind of sad, so today, while procuring cleaning supplies, I went to the food storage section. Almost picked up a Tupperware bowl (again), when I looked over to the pyrex section, and picked up a pyrex bowl.

Form follows function. F*ck traditional dinnerware. I'm going to now assemble a plate/bowl set of nothing but pyrex. Doubles as food storage, hard to break (already dropped it once), but still an understated effect. This stuff will match pretty much anything I ever get, because it's clear. As you all know, I've got zero style, so need as much help as possible, or the opportunity to minimize style choices.

A quick search on the internets reveals it will be harder than I thought to purchase. Damn you, porcelain. Damn you.

***

Finally had time to decompress. Much needed; I slept so, so much. It makes me want to organize another tackle football game, or go back to sleep.

Midweek Recap

Wednesday, February 6, 2008. 2332. Back in the apartment in Virginia. Dark, but I'm guessing it is surprisingly warm outside, as it was the entirety of today.

I got to listen to 107.5, The River, while en route to the client site. One morning, they went absolutely nuts that someone cursed on the air, which finally justified their time-delay airing. On and on they bragged about having to use the bleeper, and this was only the second time in ten years they'd been given the chance to do so. Twice in ten years. In the D.C. metro area, we're lucky it's not more frequent than twice an hour that someone gets bleeped.

***

The struggle for a project name continues. Since it incorporates Queues, several client employees refer to the project as the "Queue Thang." Not "Queue Thing," "Queue Thang." This may stick, but boy, I hope it don't. Have you heard me affect a southern accent? It not pretty.

***

I'd always considered myself fairly easy to comprehend, accent-wise. Yes, this despite most peoples' inability to comprehend me because I mumble, talk really fast, and use language on occasion which was a better fit for the sixteenth century (but I'm getting better on that last one, I swear). Then, I get down to Tennessee.

There's just something about my Yankee accent that was off-putting. At the same time, I think I mentioned it before, I couldn't understand their Southern drawl unless I was looking directly at them and concentrating. It's basically all the same, and apparently, it's not at all the same. I wonder what this says about our brains and our pattern recognition? A big part of language is just pattern recognition, hearing what someone said before, linking it up to a meaning. It's also why language falls apart when I talk to little kids and animals. They don't understand what the hell I'm saying at some times. The patterns are unfamiliar.

Despite my horrendous ability to adopt an accent, I had toyed with trying to make myself more a southerner. Given that most people took me for Hispanic, wouldn't a Spanish accent have been more appropriate? Damned if I know. Still, perhaps there's a need to watch more reruns of Hee-Haw before I take this on.

***

For the women out there: During one meeting, we were talking with a vendor. T.K., a woman, and J.M., another woman, and the vendor representative, discussed about ninety percent of all the relevant issues, while the rest of us (men) sat there like lumps on a log, with nothing relevant to add. Boy, the world has changed.

***

For the developers out there: I hate virtual machines. Instability, thy name is VMWare. Great in theory, questionable in practice. Granted, it might just be about my level of familiarity with technology. If I didn't read all the time, books would probably scare and confuse me in much the same manner. There are so many of them, and all of them so different, but they're useful somehow?

***

So tired.

Travel's End

For now, my incessant travel cessated (ceased?). So long semi-regular posting, until I travel again. I still have a few leftover points to post, but will do those later. Kind of tired right now, what with it being 0420 and all.

***

Thursday, January 31, 2008. 1815 EST. Nashville International Airport, awaiting flight back to Baltimore. Rainy, dreary. It's sheeting down the window panes, and would be almost beautiful if I didn't have to go out in the middle of it in about an hour.

After two weeks, I don't think I did a great job, but I think I've done a somewhat competent job. Lots of improvement possible. Going to have to work on it in the coming weeks and months.

***

I went and got breakfast at Jack in the Box. The lady actually said "Go ahead and have a seat. I'll bring you your food." She did. That would never happen in Baltimore.

At Chick-fil-A, all of the workers were around sixteen years of age. This makes sense, as I'd gone a few hours after school let out, and you gotta make your money somewhere. Still, that happens more and more where everyone around me is younger than me. I see it at work also, and it sort of makes me feel decrepit. Well, no sort of about it. I do feel decrepit.

I had the opportunity to go to a Sonic fast food restaurant. Near D.C., you see commercials for them all the time. I'd never figured out if there was one nearby, though. Also found out they had tater tots. Tots!

Went to a Thai restaurant, and the woman at the front automatically assumed I'd come there to pick up some food. As she was also Asian, I've determined that I just need to go to the right places to find Asians in Tennessee, such as Asian restaurants.

Had a nice breakfast this morning at Waffle (Awful?) House. Their All-Star Special breakfast consists of a waffle (to which I added butter and syrup), three slices of bacon, two slices of buttered toast (plus multi fruit jelly), scrambled eggs, and hash browns. Washed it down with three diet cokes. Lunch was at Stroud's Restaurant, a barbecue beef sandwich with slaw and pickles, along with a large diet coke.

Yes, I'm not missing the irony of getting diet cokes all day.

I also ended up dragging all day, and felt really stupid and useless.

You'll notice that I ate a hell of a lot of junk food this week, which definitely can't be conducive to mens corpore sans corpora. Now, I think that means "healthy mind in a healthy body", but I'll bet you if you translated that, it probably comes closer to something like "have a mind without the body." The point is it was quick and easy and I think I ended up suffering mentally and physically because of it.

Hence, my wack job idea: from now on, when I travel, I'm going vegetarian. I'm already on the run, in unfamiliar environs, and probably not exercising as much because I'm busy. The temptation, since food is expensed to the client, is too great to get whatever, and so I'll end up getting the worst food known to man. Plus, it'll probably be embarrassing if I have to show up without a belt because I got too fat for my clothing in a week.

***

One morning, as I drove to the client site, I got stuck behind a remarkable individual, weaving in and out of our one lane on a two lane road. At eight in the morning (nine EST). Yes, this individual came within about twenty-five feet of slamming headfirst into an oncoming tractor trailer, or veering off the road into a ditch. I had my phone out, and dialed nine, one, and was waiting on the one.

Drunk at eight in the morning and driving. This is something you also don't see in Baltimore, though it's because people are drunk and inside sleeping it off that early.

***

There was a half-price book store without a science fiction section, though it had several rows chock full of religious texts and devotionals.

***

My conceptualization of time zones are so screwed up. I keep thinking that I'm one hour behind EST (which I am), but I look at my watch and laptop (still on EST) and add one hour to get the current time for CST (when I should be subtracting; this act puts me in the Atlantic Ocean, time wise). This is also why I can't schedule flights correctly, and why I end up flying at screwed up times, because my math was all off.

***

This Wednesday, there was one moment at which I felt like it was law school all over again. There was so much information in such a small amount of time, and my mind felt melted down. The feeling passed in about five minutes, but still. Not a bad thing, but something to watch.

The bad food may also have had something to do with all this. It also contributed to my feeling of ineptitude today, when nothing was sticking in my mind.

***

What we have here is a failure to communicate. My yankee accent confuses them, their southern accent confuses me. It turns out if I'm not actively talking to someone, and they just ask me a question when I'm not paying attention to them, I cannot decipher what they said.

***

Such a culture shock from New York to Tennessee. Everyone is so polite down here. My nonscientific theory on why (which J.L. has backed me up on)? Space. In New York, everyone is crammed together. If you expend the energy to be polite to everyone, it would drive you crazy. You need to carve out some space of your own to survive. In Tennessee, on the other hand, there is space. You can afford to expend the energy to make your life better, by being polite to others. It's all just a matter of space.

Busy Week

Sunday, January 27, 2008. 1622. Gate A4, Thurgood Marshall Baltimore-Washington Airport, awaiting flight to Tennessee. Sunny, surprisingly warm, though not warm enough to forego the overcoat.

Inertia is ruling my life at this point. An object in motion tends to stay in motion. An object at rest tends to stay at rest. I feel like I am constantly in motion these days, especially on the weekends when I must take care of all the things I let slide during the week. Not that this is a bad thing. I think I'm one of those people that need to be kept busy, or else my mind will start wandering, and I'll start wondering. We all know how dangerous thought can be.

Right now, I'm sitting with my back to the terminal windows, four foot glass panes tiered up six-high. The sun hangs heavy in the sky, ready to bust open and leak light every which way. Oh, wait, it is already doing so. Shine on, blessed sun, shine on.

The carpet below me is new enough that it still retains the distinct aquamarine and teal hues in its abstract thread pattern. (I am apparently comfortable enough with my e-sexuality to use the words "aquamarine" and "teal.") However, the carpet is old enough to see where bits of humanity have started embedding themselves in it. A pulled thread where someone tripped. A few strands of loose thread, trailed away from someone's fraying sock. Some of the carpet panels are starting to peel up at the edges, others have tamped down.

I see a man talking on his iPhone. He's taped several pieces of paper to the back, probably his name and address in case he loses it. This man is not concerned about his iPhone being a consumer gadget; the taping overlaps and was quick enough to have taken five minutes. He wears a black and gray plaid scarf around hid neck, as well as a suit coat, dark gray, that reflects as much light as it absorbs. He keeps taking calls. Grey sweater sleeve, an electronic watch, perhaps Timex, a class ring on his left ring finger. Another businessman on the road. As he talks, his jaw works as he listens. Is it gum? Is he talking?

A nun garbed in all white has sat down next to me, save her hood is all black. She has her left hand to her chin, holding it, presumably thinking? I dare not take too many looks, for fear of having to explain that I'm writing on my blog, and taking in what I see. She seems quite contemplative. I wonder if nuns are not averse to reading over my shoulder either, though with the sunlight and reflection, she might not even be able to read what I’m typing. Hell, I can hardly read what I’m typing.

***

R.Y. and I were having a discussion, as we are wont to do. Somehow, It rolled over to the topic of unconditional love. It was my preposition (supposition?) that unconditional love is idiotic, to which R.Y. expressed some surprise. He asked me if that meant that unconditional love was an idiot's ideal, and only idiots could unconditionally love. As usual, I did not use my words precisely, my eternal failing. Ah, blue heaven, teach me how I can use my words more precisely.

What I meant by my words was that unconditional love is, by logical measures, foolish, of or like an idiot, not that it was what only idiots could do. Unconditional love, love without condition, without asterisk. I used the example of parents. They unconditionally love the screaming wet lump that just came out of one of them, but there's no real logic to that. You know nothing about it, it isn't even a person, yet you'll love it no matter what. Remove emotion, and it makes no sense.

Strange thought coming from a self-styled romantic, but romanticism doesn't have to track with naivete.

***

Eight hours of uninterrupted sleep in a dark, quiet room make me a whole new man. I've average four hours of sleep a night this weekend, and I'm burned out and ready to give up and crawl under this seat I'm sitting on and live in the airport for a couple of days. In contrast, during the week, I had the privilege of sleeping full and sleeping well, and it was a revelation. I swear, we get everyone enough sleep, and this world would be a much better place.

***

Thje rental care I picked up had a whole 500 miles on it. Basically a new silver Pontiac G5. Damn, that was nice, driving a new car. The doors' locks weren't broken (Lady Surfer's rear driver's side lock is starting to malfunction). Acceleration and deceleration don't constitute an exercise in patience. I'm sure this car could pass every emissions test on the first run, and the engine light didn't come on intermittently for weeks at a time. There were no dings that I noticed, and starting the car in the morning didn't bring that little dread-lump to my throat asking whether or not the car was going to start.

When I returned from my trip, damned if I didn't almost decide right then and there to buy a new car. Never had a new car of my own, and yes, it is a luxury, but oh, to luxuriate in My Own New Car.

Then, I took the shuttle to the parking lot, found Lady Surfer, stowed my gear, and hopped in. And I noticed several things about her, things that I never noticed until the drive in the rental car made them more obvious. The seat, for one thing, was configured correctly. I didn't have to keep adjusting it back and forth every day. The wheel also felt just right in my hands, not that chunky wheel with all the ridges and grips that made it hard to let go of. The funny sounds during the drive back to Virginia that I drown out with the FM radio (no CD player). Even the way I had to pull up and brake early in the parking spot because Lady Surfer's getting old, too old, felt right.

I can wait a little while longer.

***

For the entire month of January, I will have spent at least some part of every weekday, if not the entire weekday, in a non-DC metro area state.

***

Why is there MS-13 in Tennessee?

***

At the hotel, I held the door as two men sporting the Bluetooth headsets (a matching pair) stepped on. One was discussing something to either a ghost or a voice in his head (and isn't it wonderful that technology has legitimized schizophrenia by making it OK to talk to yourself in a non-prayerful way?). I asked them "Floor?" He responded "Two, er, dos." Yes, ladies and gentlemen, he thought I was Hispanic. Some people see what they want to see. Next time, I will ask a person, "Hey, mang, what floor joo want?"

***

Highways are all the same: long stretches and expanses of pavement, highlighted with bright green signs emblazoned with large white letters that are supposed to tell us something.

***

On the flight back to BWI from Nashville, the cabin was not sold out to capacity. This meant that all middle seats were left unoccupied, allowing everyone a little space. I turned my head and looked all around, because my group of three had just me. Each other group, save for one or two in the very back, had at least two people. Ah, subtle racism, how you have your slight advantages.

I still stayed in my window seat, and looked out the window when I wasn't asleep. The lights below, they looked like bunches of silk strands stretched out across a black sea, light clinging to each as if they were dewdrops. Was man meant to beat back the night in such a brazen manner? Was man meant to appreciate this attempt to beat back the night? If you took someone from the middle ages into a plane and showed them Baltimore at night, what would their reaction be?

I turned to my right to get someone's attention, but alas, there was no one there.

***

The sun's near the horizon, like a blood orange ready to bust wide open. As it sets, the sky above fades into a powder blue rolling into dusky night. On the wall in front of me, everything is silhouetted against that same orange-redness.

***

Last week at the client site mentally tasked me like I haven't been in a very long time. I didn't realize just how burned out my mind was until I was sitting on Friday listening to someone, concentrating on what they were saying, and none of it stuck. Didn't think it would be that bad. After all, all I'm doing right now is learning business processes and charting workflows on the white board.

Of course, my poor handwriting plagues and curses me. No one has a problem comprehending my Baltimoron accent, but everyone looks at my handwriting and just sort of shakes their head. Hell, when I look at it right after, I shake my head. Even when I transcribe onto paper for future use, when I show it to others, they still shake their heads. It really is a mess. Were the information not proprietary, and were I not afeared of the consequences, I'd snap a camera phone pic and show you just how bad the handwriting is.

This just contributes to my local legend at the client site. They see me as an aberration, though not because I'm Hispanic. T.K., my project manager, sold me out at the kick-off meeting. I forgot to mention to her not to say anything, but I think part of me thought she wouldn't say anything. Instead, when she introduces me, the first thing she says is "[K.T.] is the business analyst, and he's also a lawyer barred to practice in Maryland."

Bloops.

People behold me with wonder and confusion for these things, this strange career path, this illegible handwriting, this childish wit (can wit be childish?). I am really strange, my life is really strange. It's gotten to the point where I don't need to worry about racism, because once people get to know me, they'll find plenty of other reasons to look at me like I've lost my mind. Because I have lost my mind.

***

I really should iron my clothing, but this entire day has been filled with constant transition. Just want to sit here and do nothing.

Wandering Sunday

Sunday, January 20, 2008. 1349. Thurgood Marshall Baltimore-Washington Airport, waiting for flight to Nashville, Tennessee. Sunny, with a chill that bit right through my running shoes and swiped at my toes.

What is it that I hate about flying? It's no longer the flying itself. I welcome the enforced opportunity to fall asleep for a couple of hours and take a nap that I wouldn't normally be given the opportunity to take. No, it's the constant background chatter. There are just few enough people that I can make out distinct conversations, yet not enough to make them all blend into a cacophonous mix. Either quiet, or indecipherable noise. The inbetween combines the worst of both worlds.

Most of this weekend was spent running errands and catching up on business. Now, I'm right back out into the wilds. It's interesting, though, these past few weeks have taught me that I need to leave Virginia, and likely leave the tri-state area. Again, I am constantly reserving judgment for when this gets old, but so far, it is still kind of nice. Breaking up the monotony, I think, is the key. Video games are a way to change things up, but ultimately, it's more exciting to go out and see different places.

***

I parked my car in the long term lot, with hopes that I would be able to walk to BWI. Ah, naïve me. In the end, it turned out that the airport was a few miles from the parking lot. I could have walked it, yes, and then I'd end up just in time to miss my flight.

Just one of the many signs that I haven't flown enough in this postmodern/terror-driven world. At least it isn't as bad as when there were military with AK-47s at security in the months immediately following 9/11, and I've flown once or twice since then, but the last time was a few years past.

Now, Baltimore-Washington Airport is so much brighter and expansive than I remember. Even though it all remains as an enclosed structure, they've been revising and reconstructing and retconning the 'port. This is the result.

***

This is me en route to the south. The flight will also hit Ontario thereafter. The overwhelming majority of these individuals are white. There are a few African Americans, and I am the only Asian person. Thoughts of ethnicity dance through my head. Where in blue heaven am I going, and what should I expect?

An Indian woman comes up to the gate, with bags under her eyes so deep you'd think she was in the midst of a medical residency. Thank goodness I'm not the only Asian here. That's a big part of the issue, isn't it? That Me versus World attitude that has driven me and held me back.

The cattle call has begun. I guess I'll have more thoughts when I arrive, and once I get situated.

***

One thing I did want to touch upon: How crazy is it that we strap ourselves into giant metal balloons and allow ourselves to be catapulted across the country? Back in the day, when they catapulted people, it was a punishment. Now, it's a tool/reward. This world is kind of crazy, and I'm, as always, kind of a part of it, kind of separated from it.

Happy Trails

Friday, January 18, 2008. 1830. Train from Penn Station, en route to Union Station. Dark, chilly, but not overly cold.

This is me leaving the client site. This is me wondering if I'll be sent back to the same project in the future.

***

As we were wrapping up this afternoon, R.S. and A.G. asked me where I was going after this project, then asked me on what I would be training the new client. I told them I was actually going down for requirements gathering and design documentation. This surprised them a little. My best guess is they'd assumed I was a dedicated freelance trainer at T.S. In a way, this bodes well, in that I must have performed my training well. Well enough, at least, to have fooled them into thinking I knew what I was doing.

It's also kind of strange, when I asked S.G. how long he'd been on the project, he told me two weeks, the about the same amount of time I've been on the project. He said he was part time, and wasn't ready to train, and didn't know anything about the system. Boy, howdy, did that show when he took over a training session this afternoon. I forgot to tell him about this, but the one thing I hoped he wouldn't say to the session, the one thing that would completely undermine him as a trainer, he said within the first five minutes. "Bear with me, this is my first time doing this."

You never admit you've never taught this class before. They'll pick up on it, especially if they know that training hasn't been going on for too long. You just bite your tongue and go with it. Muddle through, make your mistakes, do it without excuses.

F.G. wasn't much better. Hell, in a way, it was worse, because he'd been on the project for much longer, and tore through it as if it were a hambone and he were a ravenous dog. He finished every slide in a maximum of thirty seconds. Then, today, to show how much he knew, at one point, when a question was asked, he chimed in with an irrelevant point. Useful, yes, covered by the training materials, no, but he threw it in there just to show how smart he was.

Of course, there was also the moment when F.G. gave an answer, L.D. (the project manager) looked up from his book and shook his head no, and F.G. gave a different answer. This answer was even more incorrect, and L.D. was shaking his head wildly.

I'm not worried all that much about R.S. and A.G. They're competent, knowledgeable about the system, and will do fine. It's when S.G. and F.G. are alone (or, even worse, paired together) that things will go downhill quickly.

***

We had some incredible responses and quotes. One guy swore to me that a certain section of the system would never work because it ran counter to all of human evolution. Human beings had been conditioned to accept paper, and thus, would never accept an electronic system. I like to think of him as full of shit.

One kindly gentleman raised his hand at 0930 and told us that they normally took a coffee break at 0940. I only found out later that his coffee break was supposed to be 1000-1015 due to his union contract. It didn't matter for the union guys, they all took their sweet time and came back whenever they felt like it.

I was personally helping a man who was about to celebrate his fiftieth year at the company. He did not use computers at all, and told me that he signed stuff when they gave it to him, and he would send emails every so often. I kept working with him on the system, showing him what and where to go, and he finally asked if he could have me as an assistant over his shoulder to help him use the system. Nice old man, with the hair so white it looked canary yellow, I wish I could help you. You were one of the nicest gentlemen there, even if you'd never really be able to use the system.

One person berated L.D. for not living in the real world, and not knowing how the employees did their work. L.D. took most furious offense at this, but kept his mouth shut. After all, his wife just had a baby, and he needs to be able to help support his family. Still, L.D. got real pissed at that point.

You had your normal assortment of doubters and ne'er-do-wells criticizing the system. Some of them actually had legitimate comments, and I appreciate full well their help in getting this system to where they will ultimately need it to be. Some of them were just making shit up to be difficult (I swear). And some just had no clue about the system whatsoever. One gentleman would disregard my comments, then ask me the question just after I talked about them.

I just fell asleep for ten minutes and woke up to two pages of semi-coherent gibberish. How am I already falling asleep at 1900?

***

I had White Castle, but it wasn't good. No, it was out and out great. 4 burgers, fries and onion rings, plus a large drink, for less than nine dollars. Is it any wonder this trip will make me a giant fat ass?

***

This week has basically compressed itself into a two day period. I trained for most of the week, twice a day, saying the same damned thing over and over, then concluded by commenting and critiquing on other presenters.

It's not a stretch to say that over these past two weeks, I simultaneously said both more and less than I have over the past three months. Many many more words left my mouth; indeed, that was probably the wordiest I have ever been, or ever will be. At the same time, did I say anything of substance? Well, maybe. D.I. expressed surprise/pride that I was able to learn some of the client's business processes after coming in with no knowledge of the project whatsoever. Then again, will it actually make a difference? God only knows. At least I've given them the opportunity to try to learn their system, if they even cared.

There's part of me wondering why the lady next to me is reading this. Yes, lady, this means you.

***

This morning, as I was waiting in the lobby for someone to pick me up, I saw the people coming into the building. About one in twenty, I recognized. Not a clue about their names, but I knew their faces. That's kind of scary. I probably directly trained about one hundred people, and was in the room for one hundred and sixty total. That's kind of horrifying, don't you think?

The question, has this turned me off from teaching? Not at all. It was kind of cool, in a perverted way. Plus, teaching, I'd be able to different things every day. It wouldn't be the same damned thing over and over.

***

I feel like reading for a while. Next up: Tennessee.

Ethically Questionable

I just agreed to take the Multistate Professional Responsibility Examination for no other reason than C.S. asking me if I would. This has no benefit to me personally as I didn't score high enough on the multiple choice section of the bar exam to waive into the District of Columbia bar (missed it by three points). The only reason I'm going to do this is because my friend asked.

Probably not going to even study that hard for it, as it is an ethics exam, and I'd like to think that I've cultivated a fairly sharp sense of ethics over the years. Really, I'm just going in for firsthand moral support. Is this the essence of friendship? Probably not, but I'm sacrificing a Saturday morning potentially, so maybe it is.

It feels strange, though. It's cracking open long crusted-over wounds, but instead of pain, I just sort of feel neutral. None of the experience ever happened to me. I just went to sleep for three and a half years and awoke with this knowledge. And now, perhaps this coda to the experience. At least, until I am forced to pay dues to renew my Maryland bar membership.

Blog Dump

Sunday, January 13, 2008. 7:58 P.M. Train en route to NY, stopped at a Delaware train station. Rainy, cold, though I expect it to become snowy and cold the further north I travel.

I went to the front desk of the hotel last week to get their phone number. As usual, hindsight and contemplation make me a genius, but dropped in the middle of a situation, I am naught but baseline idiot.

K.T.: Hi, can I get your number?
Female Concierge (F.C.): Sure.
[PAUSE]
What number did you mean?
K.T.: The hotel's number.
F.C.: Oh.

She actually looked a little depressed when I told her that I meant the hotel's phone number, and I didn't figure it out until a while later.

***

I've been doing some work on the train, and now I'm just going to keep it on for the duration of this trip. The man behind me is yakking away on his phone, and as engrossing as I find his family business, I think I'd rather listen to anything but on the train. The techno music on my laptop isn't perfect, but at least I chose it, as opposed to him yammering on and on about him not getting enough sleep. Don't care.

Have I had a weekend? Sure, there was a period where I wasn't working. If I count from when I got to my apartment on Friday night/Saturday morning to when I reached Union Station today, there was almost a good forty-one hours.

So, what have I done? Got some late night food with J.L. after he was so kind and gracious in picking me up from the metro stop. Slept for a few hours, then woke up to the upstairs neighbor's music. It struck me as a little weird that I slept so well in the hotel rooms over the past few weeks, until I realized that there's no sound, and blackout curtains. That's what's missing from my life, and is probably the only reason I'm going to buy a house eventually (aside from all the logical reasons, such as equity, and having a place to call home). If I can set up a place where I can avoid upstairs neighbors, and put up thick curtains, I may be able to get more sleep.

When I woke, I went straight to the laundry room and ran two full weeks' worth of the good stuff. This is what I get for not returning to Virginia (just typed and deleted "Maryland." Always Maryland.). Then, I ironed my clothes, and watched a great show on the History Channel about samurai. I ended up watching that channel for the next 5 hours, also taking in a special on Hell's Angels, MS 13, and the Latin Kings. Lapsed out from being so tired, then drove up to take my parents out to the dinner.

It turns out that Korean barbecue can be very filling, and each plate of meat serves 2-3 people, not 1. We gorged ourselves. I talked with my parents about the happenstances of the past few weeks, and they seem genuinely happy that I'm fairly happy with what's been going on. Of course, my mom asked if I would talk to her friend this week about a legal issue. I, of course, forgot the damned phone in my apartment.

I finished packing my luggage on Sunday morning, in preparation to go play some football before I had to leave the tri-state area again. Please note here I am not a smart man. Final personal injury tally: elbow to the face while I was on my back, skinned knees (through my sweatpants), knee to the calf resulting in charley horse, strained hamstring when I was pushed from behind and ran forward for another five steps before losing my balance, extension on the coughing/phlegm, constant thirst (Why am I so thirsty???).

As we were waiting for everyone to arrive, a second group congregated. Large men, actual jerseys, throwing a football around. We were thrown off, thought they'd reserved the field. Then, they went over to another field, and about an hour later, we saw them playing flag football. Come on.

Thereafter, Chipotle run, then congregating at G.B.'s place to watch the game. And how did the Chargers win? That was a spectacular fourth quarter, and I can't wait to see which players Peyton Manning throws under the bus after this loss. Alas, I had to leave to catch this train, this train which they've now just informed me is arriving at Philadelphia, the city of brotherly love.

I apologize for being so scatterbrained, but as I look out the train, there are throngs waiting to board coach class, while I sit here in business class taking up two seats and comfortable enough to just fall asleep (we did play football for three hours). From now on, if I have to take the train anywhere, it's going to be business class. I may be sheepish, sheep-like in following the crowd, but I don't want to be treated like steerage.

I rarely drive to the District, because I hate driving in the district. I allotted myself eighty minutes to get to my train, which I figure would be more than enough time, about twice as much as I would need. It turned out this time that I made a very good decision.

So, I didn't get lost, but I did avoid taking a left turn because there was a no left turn sign, along with some words beneath. I think now that those words might have been the times when no left turns were allowed, and I probably fell outside of that range.

I ended up getting on several major freeways and driving all over the damned place, getting later and later, closer and closer to missing my train. Thoughts of just quitting T.S. and going to work as a hot dog vendor run through my head. I wonder if they'll let me exchange a ticket that I didn't use. I roll down the windows, despite the rain, because the windows are starting to fog up. The clock on my dash taunts me.

Finally, I do find the directions I used last time I drove myself to Union Station, and those saved me. With about ten minutes to go, I arrive, and tear through the parking lot to park. I have no idea where I parked, just that it's somewhere in the parking structure. Despite my gimpy legs, I manage to run through to the station itself, tear down several escalators, and just as I make it inside, they announce the final boarding call for my train.

Oh, shit.

I run up to the automatic ticket kiosk. There's no time. I put my credit card in and yank it out. Nothing. I try it again, and it tells me to slowly remove the card. A bit of a rush, I force myself to slide it in and out very slowly, and soon enough, my ticket prints out. I go running down the platform, finally able to get to the car, wherein I get in panting and freaked out. However, I did make it. I did make it.

And now, it is time to nap. I've had a busy weekend, and a good game, and I get to rest for a bit.

I wonder if the Giants beat the Cowboys. [They did, 21-17. Wow. –K]

Transit Time

Friday, January 11, 2008. 6:44 PM. Train en route to Union Station, D.C. Flickering fluorescent lighting, but outside is nonetheless kind of dark.

I asked a woman at the end of the train whether or not a seat was taken, and she said that it was already taken, but there was another seat just across from her that wasn't. After I sat down, five minutes in, I saw her reach into the coach bag across from her, pull some stuff out, then sit down in it. Nice move, lady. Go fuck yourself.

A little while later, it turns out that she actually was saving it for someone, who is apparently getting wasted in the club car. Good for her.

***

This is me as an intellectual mercenary. I go to the highest bidder, do my job, and get out, only to go on to the next job. Form no emotional attachments, don't get involved, just do your job and get out.

***

I'm semi-convinced that all those people convinced emotion is a crutch are just afraid of being hurt. And by that, I mean "I myself feel that…".

***

While eating dinner at Penn Station, a man came up to the person sitting across from me and asked for a dollar. That man replied he had no change. Then, the same man turned to me and asked if I had a dollar.

K.T.: Excuse me?
Strange Man (S.M.): Can you give me a dollar?
K.T.: Oh.
S.M.: I am trying to get something to eat, so anything you can give me would be appreciated.
K.T.: I'll give you a dollar if you tell me a joke.
S.M.: OK, thank you.
[PAUSE]
K.T.: I'll give you a dollar if you tell me a joke.
S.M.: Thank you.
[PAUSE]
K.T.: A joke.
S.M.: What?
K.T.: I'll give you a dollar if you tell me a joke.
S.M. A joke?
K.T.: Yes, a joke.
[PAUSE]
S.M.: Man, I don't know any jokes.
K.T.: Come on, something, anything.
S.M.: Man, I don't know any jokes.
K.T.: Come on, you got to have something.
S.M. I don't know no jokes, but I can dance.

At this juncture, he busts out with a smooth series of moves lifted from the 80s, pop-locking and pointing at the man across from me and myself. The man across from me scowls, while I smile a little broader than I should. I give the man the dollar.

S.M.: Thanks, I was just trying to get something to eat.
K.T.: I just wanted to smile a little.

The reason for that needed laugh will be hinted at later. He offered me a copy of the Onion (normally free), which I declined. As he left, I hoped he would actually get some food, though really, he would just as likely end up getting boozed up and lapsing out somewhere.

Ten minutes later, a new man had sat across from me, and S.M. came through again, this time offering to sell the man a copy of the Onion for a dollar. The man declined. Then, S.M. turned towards me, scowled, and waved his hand down at me, blowing me off.

I sat there chewing my chicken as if it were made of rubber and ashes.

***

It was a regular occurrence for myself and TK to show up at the client site around 0745 and get our visitor badges. The security personnel came to recognize us, though we still had to show our ID cards. That is, until Thursday.

Security Person 1 (S.P.1): Hey, I know you two. [T.K.], right?
T.K.: Uh-huh, that's me.
S.P.1: How's it going, [T.]?
K.T.: Pretty good, you?
Security Person 2 (S.P.2): I don't even remember your names.

The most notable moment of all this was that she called me by my last name, something that's happening more and more as I get older. I'm almost on the verge of just telling everyone to refer to me by my last name (though I've never been posted at a British boarding school). But the fact that a stranger referred to me so, well.

She wasn't the only one to do so. One of the individuals I helped train raised his hand and said "[T.], I have a question." I'd only introduced myself once, at the very beginning, yet he called me by my last name. Cool.

***

T.K. will be my project manager for my next project, but as we both had some free time, we both were posted to this New York project, to get to know each other, and to help with the T.S. bottom line. This involved training end users on how to use the system T.S. helped implement.

T.K.'s experience shows. She has the famed southern manners, and is much more easy-going as a trainer than I am. I'm usually so amped up that I tend to take on a very serious attitude, in order to keep myself from wetting myself.

This contrast usually leads to T.K. getting more questions from the audience. They feel much more comfortable around her. Me, they tend to say much less, because I just have, not an angry look and feel, but more tense, more uptight.

On the few occasions in which I have attempted to inject levity into the training session, the end result has been silence. My delivery has been so deadpan, they are not sure how to react, so the safest route is silence.

Lordy, lordy. Some day, some day.

***

More people have boarded the train. The woman, now sitting across from her son, had no choice but to let a third person have a seat. However, rather than lift her bags up and let the woman sit down next to her, she sold out her son, whom is now seated next to the woman. What a bitch.

***

One of the great things about training is the mix of individuals you get. Some are so old, they fall asleep during the class (though this may be a testament to my utter failure to inject much-needed liveliness into the training. I feel so bad for them, they're so at peace, I don't want to wake them up.

Then there's the union people. You can tell these guys fairly quickly. One of them actually raised his hand at 9:35 and told us "We usually get a break at 9:40." Ballsy. Come on, dude, you've been here for seventy minutes. We break at ten.

Then there was the guy looking at a power point slide of the world's ten strangest animals. During the class, while I was walking around helping people through an exercise. Most people checked their email (and I couldn't really say much, I'd be doing the same damned thing in a training session). What really got me was when I called him out on it, and he just kept clicking.

This same guy, long, curly hair, rimless glasses, could be a hipster if he weren't in a corporate setting, he was falling asleep several times during the session, so I was clapping my hands out of nowhere and getting really excited to try and wake him.

There are the ones that come out both guns blazing, attacking you, ready to verbally eviscerate you for attempting to foist upon them a system they don't want. What can you do but nod and say their issues will be addressed?

***

I got to give that woman credit, she let her son put his besocked feet on her knee for an extended period of time. Maybe we're all a little bit sinner, a little bit saint.

***

We generally held a morning training and an afternoon training session. During one of the morning sessions, I had one of the most rambunctious groups of end users I'll ever see. These guys belonged in an Ivy League fraternity house.

There was one gentleman that kept quieting them down, telling them to keep quiet so I could talk. Then, a little later, he asked me when the break was, and I told him it would be around 1000. Turned out he wanted to get out on time so he could move his car.

Owning a car in New York is as much hindrance as convenience. Apparently street sweepers twice weekly scourge the pavement, forcing drivers to relocate their armored carriages. Then, there's the cost of daily parking. Cheapest deal I saw was around eighteen dollars on the day. Eighteen freaking dollars, 8 freaking hours. One garage offered a half hour's parking time for the low price of almost ten dollars. Ten freaking dollars. I didn't learn about these prices until after this man, and started putting it all together. Had I known this, I would've let the guy out even earlier.

This is in addition to the prices of parking and traffic tickets, reaching up to the triple digits. Ridiculous, a racket. One of the many reasons that it's fun to visit New York, especially on business trips, but living there would be what we would term Mistake One-A. (You can guess what Mistake One is reserved for, now and forevermore.)

***

Woman's kid is hyper off the charts. The longer I sit here, the more I see a sympathetic figure, a tired mother, once beautiful, now caking on makeup and a fresh hair style in an attempt to stave off inevitable age, reading a book by Norman Vincent Peale entitled "The Power of Positive Thinking" (Have I read this?), trapped in a life she may not have necessarily wanted for herself, but has now taken on, taking her ten-year old son to the dining car in an attempt to help keep him from going crazy and pissing off all the train passengers around him.

***

Caught a nice disease from T.K., some sort of cold. Probably got it when I lent her my mouse to use. Racked my throat something fierce. She was also sick as a dog. This is good when your two primary trainers are having trouble speaking, that they have to give half-day training sessions.

Nowhere was this more painful than at the apex of my sickness, when I was doing a followup session. One boorish, overly large gentleman sat down in the seat next to me, and said he wanted to be able to hear me. Then he keeps telling me to speak louder and louder.

I'm sitting right next to you, you Dr. Robotnik knockoff. Go polish your head somewhere else, and get out of my sight.

Because of this sickness, I had to break down and go get some meds. Go to a walk-in clinic after work one day and fill out a series of forms. Wait for an hour, then get seen by the doctor for two minutes. He asks me the same damned questions that the forms did, then writes me a prescription for an antibiotic. Tells me to wait for two days, and if it doesn't get better, then I can go get the scrip. Until then, normal cold medicines and rest should do the trick.

Thanks, doc, for overprescribing antibiotics and not really paying attention.

I resisted for the longest time, but ended up taking the antibiotics. They really helped. I'm also somehow contributing to the new strain of antibiotic-resistant bugs. Damnit.

***

During one of the training session breaks, I was having a talk with one of the end users about the system. He was really getting into it, talking about it and what it could do. Finally, he asks me:

End User (E.U.): So, tell me, what do you do, are you an engineer?
K.T.: No, I'm a business analyst.
E.U.: Oh.

Just like that, the joy left him, and he left the room. I don't even recall what he looks like now.

***

G.H. emailed me while I was in New York and informed me that Subway caters six-foot long subs, and they were going to attempt to organize two teams of five people each to go to town on the sub. I told him that I'd plan for that.

Then I found out that I was extended for a week, and would not be able to coordinate in person. I offered to coordinate from New York, but they don't even have the drive to get people together.
Turns out that a lot of the time, you need one person to do the work, and the rest will follow. The difficulty is in finding that one person. Right now in the office, there's no one that stepped up to fill my temporary/permanent void. This also means that all my hard work is going down the tubes. At least I will be back in the office on a more permanent basis within a month or two. By that point, will there be anyone not on travel?

We are just intellectual mercs.

***

A.A. is on one of his medical rotations in New York. We decided to meet up to grab some food. He leads us down the street and says "I know this great place that sells kabobs."

Thirty minutes later we continue to wander through the city. At this point, he tells me:

A.A.: You know, I should have paid more attention when I went there.
K.T.: Good call.
A.A.: I probably shouldn't have had fourteen beers right before.
K.T.: The f*** is wrong with you?
Why don't you tell me this s***?
G** D*** [A.A.], G** D***.

***

I met up with J.P. at the T.S. New York office to play games over the land area network. Told him I was hungry, so we started walking. He mentioned several options, such as a kabob place (What is it about New York and kabobs?), an all-you-can-eat sushi buffet, and a hot dog joint.

K.T.: Wait, Papaya King?
J.P.: Yeah.
K.T.: OK, we have to go there.

G.B. and someone else told me that I had to go there and get the papaya drink. This was a perfect opportunity. J.P. ordered four dogs with kraut and mustard, fries and a papaya drink. I got a dog with kraut and mustard (when in Rome), fries, and a papaya drink.

Let's put it this way: Papaya King is now my new idolatrous god.

As a bit of what we like to call character building, over the course of the night, J.P. also had two rice krispie treats, a candy cane, several bags of chips, and a couple of root beers (from what I recall).

***

Travel has worn on me physically already (see the sickness), but it hasn't yet worn on me mentally. When will it? Right now, my only real worry is that my mailbox can't hold 11 days worth of junk mail, thus rejecting the two or three important pieces of mail which will get bounced out.

***

T.K.: So, [D.I.] said they're bouncing the server.
[K.T. stares]
K.T.: I don't understand what you mean.
T.K.: They're bouncing it. They're rebooting.
K.T.: Oh.

I hear "bounce" in that context, I think roll out, leave, exit stage left.

***

Due to my sickness, I didn't spend much time running or leaving my hotel room on my off-time. Thus, one fateful Monday night, I decided to turn on American Gladiators for the background.

Why is there so much contrived drama? And why is Crush now my [haha] crush?

G.B. had recorded it, and was watching at a later time. I was talking to him over the internets, when suddenly,

G.B.: HOLY S***
K.T.: What?
G.B.: you're on american gladiators

I sat up straight and looked around. Was G.B. on the drugs? Then I thought back, and one of the male competitors resembled me, only much cockier than I could ever be in an athletic setting. That was me if it was a Super Smash Bros.: Melee tournament. It was weird.

And yes, I won my preliminary round matchup.

***

Though I'm training all day at the client site, I still return to the office from which I'm working every so often, whether to help revise a training manual or drop off my stuff.

In no particular order, here are the accents I hear: Caribbean, Russian, Persian, Souther, New Yorker, Chinese, Scottish, British, and, of course, my own mellifluous slight Baltimoron accent, by way of Sesame Street.

***

I hate hotel housekeeping. Stay the f*** out of my stuff. Had I not just stayed in New York for eleven days, I would've kept the Do Not Disturb sign on my hotel room door the entire time.

***

Saturday saw me go down to Broadway to watch a Broadway play. I had to pass through Times Square to get there.

This is not true. I did not strictly have to, but I wanted to.

It is a complete f***ing spectacle. I went at noontime, and somehow Times Square managed to outshine the noonday sun. How do you do that, outside, in broad daylight? You overuse neon lighting and giant plasma television screens and anything you can think of to shine a bright light every which way.

Thanks to B.M., I found out that there's an organization called TKTS which sells tickets to Broadway plays at half price. Bam. Avenue Q it is, and I only had to wait in line for about twenty minutes.

Avenue Q came highly recommended by both B.M. and R.L. R.L. clinched it when he sent me a link to a song from the musical, entitled "What Do You Do with a B.A. in English." This has now been committed to memory, and will be encoded to a portable music player, probably my phone, and played as my (ironic) theme song when I find it necessary to play one.

***

Almost ninety minutes spent typing this up, and I don't revise blog posts.

Time Enough

I've been exhausted all day, hell, all week. And now, It's almost 1, and I don't want to go to sleep. Not that I'm awake, I'm actually pretty tired. Or is that pretty and tired?

(looks in mirror)

Nope, just pretty tired.

There's no real good reason for me staying up this late, but here I am, whittling away at my sleep time, shaving off precious slivers, till all that's left is a sharp spike that's only going to make me cranky when I wake up, because what was there was just enough to whet my appetite.

I've had no problem sleeping in this hotel room, this foreign room, this room that I have to call home for the next little while. My dreams haven't really been bad, beyond the normal in-a-classroom dreams. A good night's sleep would actually be pretty freaking welcome. So, what's keeping me awake?

Strange as it sounds, this business trip to NY also constitutes a vacation from my normal life. And damn, I did not realize how much I needed it. The working sort of sucks, what with the inconsistencies and problems the project seems mired in. However, up in NY, there's no need to have to deal with all the responsibilities and requirements of "home." Paid off all the immediate debts just before I left, so now I can just do my thing. It feels good, even if most of what I am doing is the same as down there.

This only further whets my appetite for moving out of the DC metro area, or at least back to MD. Most of you I like in one form or another, but not enough of you close enough to me. In addition, some of the best moments in my life have been when I was pretty much alone, out of my comfort zone, and forced to adapt (see: Trip to Europe. Ironically, see also: Law school. One helped me realize I'm likable. The other taught me I can survive).

Here I am, and I do actually need to sleep soon, for we're running low on time to sleep. But I want to hold dearly onto what I have left awake, for it's only a matter of time before I get sucked right back into my normal life, and I don't know if I can readjust so readily.

Freezing Reaction

K.K. asked me if I would want to be frozen alive in order to be reanimated in the future during lunch. I said something to the effect of I would not, as I would need my friends and family also frozen. Then, I said something very strange:

K.T.: You know, I'd rather achieve immortality by being a good person to my friends and family, and having them remember me well, and living on that way. Was there enough sarcasm in my voice? No, I'd rather just become the ruler of a third-world country, oppress my subjects, and be remembered that way.

Thing was, I was completely honest about what I first said, and there was no trace of sarcasm in my voice. Why did I feel the need to dissemble like that? Is this what I've come to, that I can't even reveal myself without hiding it away immediately?

Long Journey

I kept a mini-journal whilst on business travel. Cut and pasted directly from the word document, it follows:

Monday, December 17, 2007. 7:10 P.M. Union Station, Amtrak train, aboard and awaiting trip to New York – Penn Station. Dark, chilly, but not oppressively so.
Over the last six days (and has it only been six days? It feels like it has been so much longer.), I have been distracted constantly, always a little shaky, a little sweaty. I'd stayed late at the office, something I do from time to time to talk to people once my shift is over. P.G. came into my office, and his first words to me were "When it rains, it pours."
(The train has just started, and we're trundling along for right now, but I can definitely see this ramping up very quickly. We're leaving the shelter of the train canopy, headed out into the placid black yonder. I know my journey is not over (hell, it has barely begun), but at least for now, I can rest easier now that I am finally on my way to New York City. If I seemd a little distracted over the past week, it was because I was thinking about this.)
I'd been posted to a project in Tennessee a couple of weeks ago, set to start in late January. Great times, I thought to myself, as this meant I'd finally have the opportunity to travel to the client site and do something different from what I'd been doing. Great times. Now, well, it turned out, I was going to be put on a project just before then, and sent to New York now, today, in order to assist an extant project.
(We're now trucking along. The train shakes much like a metro train, and the scenery outside is blurring by just as quickly as a metro train does overground. The conductor has just come by and punched our tickets, something I thought only happened in the movies. We've also just arrived at New Carrolton from Union Station in just over ten minutes.)
This wreaked havoc with my plans of last minute Christmas shopping, as now every minute was essentially my last minute. Still, I found enough time, somehow, to send stuff out and/or get it into the hands of people that would make sure the presents were distributed correctly. And if I gave you money, I apologize, but there was just not enough time this year otherwise.
I have never traveled long distance for business before. I have gone to the Pentagon on business, which proved a mockery of everything I hold dear (logic AND emotion). However, this journey off to the Newer York, well. You tell me what to think. I think part of this fright is that if something goes wrong when I am driving to work, I lose fifteen, twenty minutes. If something goes wrong leaving the state, I lose hours, maybe days, and can't readily make it up by staying fifteen minutes later.
This is now my role as a consultant. I'm sent out to consult. I am a supposed expert on my field, and have been trained to Make The World A Better Place™. And if you believe that load of bull honkey, I have a bridge in Brooklyn I'd like to sell you. Strangely, I'll probably be next to it in about three hours. How did J.L. put it? "Worry is good. If you're not worried, either you're not being challenged, or you don't care enough." I care. I care desperately. Think of me as a working-class version of Dudley Do-Right, trying to do the right thing at the workplace. I don't know if I am, but I'm trying.
(The foldout "desk", if you can call it that, is shaking worse than an alcoholic without his likker. These landmarks are all foreign to me. Hell, I didn't even realize that we'd re-entered Maryland, and for the next thirty minutes or so, I've regained the legal powers that make me such a "prized commodity.")
Last week and weekend were spent wrapping up everything. However, note my version of wrapping up is much like the present I gave to D.C., M.C. and A.W.: covered in a patchwork wrapping and smothered in duct tape, haphazardly bound and not really neat. It works, but it loses several points on style, though if you're postmodern, it gains in style.
Of course, the T.S. Christmas party (Corporate Headquarters version) took place last Friday, so I had an additional task or two to deal with. Like I said, it was a lot of fun, grand time had by all, and there are pictures floating around. The only problem was that I made it home by three in the ante meridian, and woke up around eight in the ante meridian. Burned, scorched, crisped, damn you circadian rhythm.
Saturday whipped past, spent mostly buying presents and some business casual clothing. At six in the post meridian, I looked at the clock, realized I could make it to C.E. and J.E.'s Christmas party, and told myself it would only be a fifteen minute nap. Then I woke up and it was ten in the post meridian.
Sunday saw me shipping out presents, attempting to clean (the one task I always shirk), and packing. Packing carry-on luggage is a crapshoot, and I'm pretty sure all my clothing will come out of the suit case rumpled and sad. However, I also wrapped up some sweat clothes for a-runnin', because I plan on a-runnin' at least one morning or evening outside in the New York rush hour in the piles of snow.
(We've just arrived at BWI, just under half an hour since we set out from Union Station. I might as well just take the train everywhere from now on, this is freaking incredible. To think that with all the requirements for flying, this trip will take about as much time as if I had flown is boggly to my mindery.)
And so we've been lead to today. Today, where all day, the same questions kept getting asked. Did I lock the front door? Did I lock the car door? Do I have my luggage? Do I have everything I'll need in my luggage? Do I know how to get to Union Station? Am I going to be late? Can I get to my hotel? Have I forgotten to plan anything? What if I get lost? What if they don't like me at the client site? What if I can't do the work? Where am I going, and why am I in a handbasket? Is this right? Is this right?
Though it's become a denigrating term, that I've been able to play Jack of All Trades instills me with a little pride. Vigiliant persistence, eternal flexibility. Something needs be done, and I do it. I may not do it to the best of my abilities (witness law school), but I get it done. Right now, as I'm figuratively and literally leaving my comfort zone, I can't help but look out at the Baltimore slums, and smile at my translucent reflection in the mirror. Because, maybe, just maybe, the question that should have been asked isn't "What if I can't," but "What if I can?"
Wednesday, December 19, 2007, 7:52 PM. 1515, hotel between Madison and 38th. Dark, rainy, chilly.
The toll New York takes on you is quite high. The taxi, the subway, the bus, the food, the rent, the parking, the walking, the smoke, the noise, the everything. These past couple of days, the persistent feeling I've had is that of a country bumpkin recently dislocated from his place in society, junked here, and left to explore. Bright lights, big city, and I cannot help but stare all about me.
One of the most embarrassing things about getting to New York was the simple fact that I'd never called for a taxi before. Here I am, walking in circles in front of the train station, wondering how to flag down a taxi. Every time I raised my hand, another taxi flew past. I eventually had to run up to a taxi stopped at the light and get inside.
Now, taxis are credit card enabled, and the one I got in had a touch screen map/television in the back. The driver referred to me as "boss." This is disorienting. (And I must say, I still cannot get used to some people calling me "Sir" while other people ask "So, are you in high school or college?")
The hotel was nothing special, but I found myself unable to sleep due to nervousness. Tossing and turning all night long, wondering what the next day would be like.
I'm going to refrain from giving too many details about the actual work. It's enough to say that I'm consulting right now. However, the taxi ride to the office the first morning was amazing. Never seen that many near misses in a ten minute cab ride since I went to Taiwan, and cars has roughly six inches to one foot of space between them.
There are a lot of buildings that I pass, and it's kind of ridiculous how many of them call themselves "the best." This is clearly untrue, as every sandwich shop cannot be the best, unless each is equally good (or bad).
Friday, December 21, 2007. 7:54 P.M. Train from Penn Station, en route to Union Station. Dark, unnaturally lighted with the faint glow of the track fluorescence.
Privilege brings distance. The higher the echelon you ascend, the fewer people around you. Look at The Right Stuff by Tom Wolfe, wherein their single combat champions had ascended to heights few had ever known, few would know.
That is one of the reasons why the T.S. corporate headquarters is (perceived as) much more distant, much less cool than the T.S. N.Y. office. I had the opportunity to work from their office this afternoon. It is barely half the size of the T.S. corporate headquarters. They stuff four people into an office that I considered cramped when I saw two people within in the Annandale office. You can cross from one side of the office to the other in a few seconds, and you'll have to pass several cubicles in the middle. Makes it incredibly easy to start up conversation with your coworkers, because going anywhere in the office brings you close to them, by necessity.
Contrast this with the Annandale office, where many people have their own office, and those few that do not at least share an office space. Only our receptionist is accessible to all, and there are even two entry/exit doors to the office. It would be theoretically possible for me to come in to work, do my work, and leave, without being seen by another human.
Another issue is that the Annandale office seems always to be in transit. There, and everywhere, but never here. We are flung much further than our New York counterparts, often within subway distance of the office, and often working on New York projects as far as I can tell.
We're lucky enough to have our own offices, most of us, and because of that, we're lucky enough to be able to get away from each other, to do work without interruption if we so choose.
***
On Thursday night, at a steakhouse, both C.L. and T.K. pinched my cheek, within seconds of each other. I mean, damn. This is supposed to be a professional situation. They're my superiors. And they pinched my cheeks. What do I look like, I'm five? Wait, don't answer that.
***
Working in New York for a few days, (and N.H.'s and J.L.'s words) have shown me that I never quite worked out this wanderlust. When I return to VA, it's going to seem a dump (because it is a dump?). Not that I really did that much in New York, but it was just different. Different is neither inherently bad nor good, it just is different. And, I suppose that if I were able to meet more people, I wouldn't mind so much this life, but it's the same old rut over and over. Not that I'm knocking any of you, just that while a lot of you aren't hindering my goals, it's not exactly helping them either.
Maybe New York isn't the answer. Probably, New York isn't the answer. Then again, what is? Anything but D.C. If I could figure out a way to pay off all my loans, I'd pack up and move, right fucking now. Would I miss you all? Sure. Would it be that bad? No.
***
One of the client administrators spoke with a Russian accent, so I had to add in my mind "Moose and Squirrel" after everything she said, a pale imitation of Natasha from Rocky and Bullwinkle.
***
I met a lot of people in New York. Hopefully I'll be able to match some faces to some names. For better or for worse, a lot of them knew me through Google Talk as the guy with the constant away messages speaking of T.S.
I also had a chance to try to dissuade F.R.'s girlfriend from continuing on in law school. That half a beer really helped my case, I think. At the very least, it stripped me of balance and dignity, really my two biggest barriers towards meeting people (No, really. "I'm sorry for falling on you. By the way, I'm K.T.").
***
Running was so stop-and-go, much like this post. I'd go out ten or fifteen blocks, figure I was running out of time in the morning, then go running back. Ever seen those people jogging in place at intersections, waiting for the traffic to change, looking for all the world like flipping idiots? You may now count me among their number. Hell, I may be their king, for all I know.
***
It turns out if you leave your change on the counter in a hotel, it is taken as a gratuity. This bugged me the first night, when I lost all my change. I love change, unlike most people. Still, I guessed that I'd leave it as the gratuity when I was done anyways, so I just ended up emptying my pockets every night, leaving it there. Still sucked.
***
So I managed to make myself look like a complete idiot every time I walked through New York, staring up at the gigantic buildings like a complete fool. Yay, buildings. Now, I'm just a simple backwater country lawyer, but…
***
There was no free internet at the hotel, so the only time for most of the week I had an internet connection was through the client site. While at the client site, most of the time I was working on client hardware. Thus, my work week was almost like a mini vacation from my life, as I did not really respond to anyone's emails, did not keep up with the happenstances in the world at large, didn't waste hours upon hours browsing the intarwebs.
It was actually really nice. I spent a lot of my free time reading A Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin. Such an epic scope, but at the same time, he focuses so well on a few characters that you feel immersed in it.
Living in that hotel room made me realize I have far too much stuff right now, and if I planned right, I really could get away with having very little. Since I'm moving (of necessity) fairly soon, this should be my goal, to get rid of everything nonessential, that I need not have to take it with me.
***
It's odd, I know the work when I go back will be absolutely horrific, but… I can't wait.

Ravenous Hunger

Well, I just watched the Baltimore Ravens get kicked in the teeth by the Miami Dolphins in overtime. I didn't really watch the game, as R.Y. came over and we were connecting (i.e. playing Halo and not really connecting). However, I did have to leave to mail out some Christmas presents (were you one of those lucky few? Stay tuned, you should have your answer by Wednesday). When I came back, the internets told me that it was 16-13, and the Ravens had 4th and goal at the 1 yard line. I turn on the television, and it turns out they kicked the field goal to tie it up.

You have it that close, and you're not going to go for it? Your team's offense is based on the running game, overtime is essentially a toss up, all you need to do is stack the line and essentially fall forward, and you're not going to go for it? You have an excellent chance to avoid the humiliation of losing to a winless team in week 14 of the NFL season, and you're not going to go for it?

In overtime, the Ravens did get the ball, and they put it on Matt Stover's foot to kick the winning field goal. It was a 44 yard field goal, not an automatic make for every kicker, and certainly not for Matt Stover, now about 62 years old. I do not blame him for the miss, because he can only do so much. No, when you have to gain 3 feet, and you do not go for it, and you think a 44 yard field goal, or losing that field position in OT, is the better option, you deserve to lose. Brian Billick, you make baby Jesus cry. Shame on you. I hope you go coach the Patriots as their offensive coordinator next year.

At Steak

At the T.S. Christmas party (held at Ruth's Chris Steak House, hence the bad pun title), what was at stake for me? Two things, getting to mess around with my co-workers outside of the office, and determining whether or not to mess around with my friends in Azeroth.

The confluence of those things came in the form of D.C., long-standing friend and new co-worker. In an attempt to get me to rejoin the fold and start playing World of Warcraft again, he convinced R.L. to start tweaking my nipples, and to not stop until I started playing again.

R.L. resides in the office next to mine. You see how this would cause issues in the office. When I have time, I'm going to probably work on an installation.

There was also a lot of drunken merriment (read: drunken people). It is surprising how people can really knock back the booze. Nothing out of the ordinary, except one entire table cheering for what I assume was a plane taking off.

I wish I could tell you more, but this was one time I wanted to have fun solely to have fun. We'll keep closer track of details at a later date.

Presenting Christmas

I've gotten to the point where I don't much care about what I get, so much as what I give for Christmas. This is dangerous when mixed with my perpetual laziness, because then I just give everyone money. Not that people mind so much, but when it comes down to it, sometimes I think they think they'd rather I put some thought into my gift giving. I posit.

Christmas has lost a lot of meaning for me. It's the end of the calendar year, and a time to exchange presents, but I no longer feel extra good will at this time of year. The optimist in me says it's because I try to extend that elevated level of good will all year, but the pessimist says it's because there's no good will left in me. The realist just doesn't have time, and wants to give everyone $20s.

Still, there I was just now, rushing from store to store, picking up presents for people, trying to keep track of what I still had to get, a bit flustered at my inability to keep it all straight. Told myself that I'd do the online shopping, like I tell myself every year. Realized that it wasn't going to happen because I was too lazy. Note the irony, since I spend weeks, months in a year doing nothing in the internet. How hard would it have been to take a quick shop? Pretty freaking hard, apparently.

Nonetheless, Happy (early) Christmas.