Man carrying box,
talks to it, pets it, hugs it -
inanimate love...
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Monday, August 28, 2006
Going to the Emmys...
Going to the Emmys... Again, can't really go into the details of the how and why, but thought I'd share a day of mine that was anything but the typical Sunday. Of course, it'd probably be nice if I could show you evidence that I really went, however, anything I post that is video and or photo related to the event is against copyright, and I'd get into a lot of trouble. So dear reader, I hope that you can just trust me on this one - I know, you're going out on a limb for me, but hey, I just had to write this so I COULD believe it really happened, so let me indulge for a moment...
Just like the last blog, here's some observations and thoughts on what went on:
1. The logistics of parking has turned into an awesome science of awe and beauty, at least, for the audience attending. We park at another site, a shuttle drives us over to the Awards Ceremony at the Shrine Auditorium, and we are herded like cattle once we get there. However, such precision cannot be said of the limo situation that occurs every year - super-long traffic jams for celebrity's vehicles, and an even longer line at the valet for celebrities to head out once the ceremony is over. It was like we were getting better service than the celebs, which I found hysterically ironic. I guess in Hollywood, VIP is just a three letter acronym for "wait your damn turn."
2. The cast of "Grey's Anatomy" is even hotter in person than on television. I was about 2 feet away from Katherine Heigl when I walked in, and my jacket was almost set ablaze by our proximity. Dare not walk too close to the entire cast, or you will spontaneously combust. Now, I can finally understand first hand why so many people tune in.
3. While viewers at home experienced commercial breaks, we were shown highlights from Emmy's past, a few of which involved Lucille Ball which were quite funny, and there was even one montage that involved the "don't forget to thank your spouse" theme, which showed various people almost forgetting to thank their significant other while giving their acceptance speeches.
4. During the early part of the program, you may have noticed that there were a lot of close up shots of Conan O'Brien and not so many wide shots of the stage area - that's because the flat panel TVs that were on the sides of the stage were going haywire, and I guess they didn't want people at home to think that they didn't have their act together. Also, if you noticed the panel TVs, your eyes aren't deceiving you - they only had a bank of them on stage right, and none on the left. It felt subconsciously, a bit "unbalanced".
5. During the tribute to Aaron Spelling, when they had Farrah, Kate and Jacklyn come out on stage - they either have the greatest makeup and plastic surgeons on Earth, or they haven't aged a day since 1985! It was a surreal moment, and seriously, Jacklyn Smith has not aged at all, period.
6. At the Governor's Ball (the party right after the ceremony held at the Shrine), Heidi Klum's husband, Seal, got up on stage and did an impromptu crooning of "Mona Lisa" for all the guests, sort of like a little tribute for his wife who did not get the Emmy for "Project Runway" - a nice consolation prize, I suppose - but hey, Seal was awesome and the crowd couldn't be happier.
7. People that win an Emmy tend to have a Kung-Fu grip on their trophies. I saw people eat, talk and drink with the things in their hands, never letting them go. While at the Men's room, one winner I noticed even put it on top of the the urinal he was at while he was doing his business. A little freaky? I think so...
8. While I was leaving, one of the writers from the "Daily Show with Jon Stewart" - who won an Emmy - asked if I could help take his picture with his friends on the red carpet. I don't know what they shine the Emmy trophies with, but in the bright lights and the flash from the camera, that thing was glowing - so basically, I don't know whether or not their picture came out all right or not. But I do know that the trophy stands out, guaranteed!
Anyway, those are some of my 2006 Emmy memories that shine most bright in my noggin'. Thanks for reading, and oh, I'll be out of town for a few days, but will be back with new stuff, I promise.
Super Winks!... ;)
Just like the last blog, here's some observations and thoughts on what went on:
1. The logistics of parking has turned into an awesome science of awe and beauty, at least, for the audience attending. We park at another site, a shuttle drives us over to the Awards Ceremony at the Shrine Auditorium, and we are herded like cattle once we get there. However, such precision cannot be said of the limo situation that occurs every year - super-long traffic jams for celebrity's vehicles, and an even longer line at the valet for celebrities to head out once the ceremony is over. It was like we were getting better service than the celebs, which I found hysterically ironic. I guess in Hollywood, VIP is just a three letter acronym for "wait your damn turn."
2. The cast of "Grey's Anatomy" is even hotter in person than on television. I was about 2 feet away from Katherine Heigl when I walked in, and my jacket was almost set ablaze by our proximity. Dare not walk too close to the entire cast, or you will spontaneously combust. Now, I can finally understand first hand why so many people tune in.
3. While viewers at home experienced commercial breaks, we were shown highlights from Emmy's past, a few of which involved Lucille Ball which were quite funny, and there was even one montage that involved the "don't forget to thank your spouse" theme, which showed various people almost forgetting to thank their significant other while giving their acceptance speeches.
4. During the early part of the program, you may have noticed that there were a lot of close up shots of Conan O'Brien and not so many wide shots of the stage area - that's because the flat panel TVs that were on the sides of the stage were going haywire, and I guess they didn't want people at home to think that they didn't have their act together. Also, if you noticed the panel TVs, your eyes aren't deceiving you - they only had a bank of them on stage right, and none on the left. It felt subconsciously, a bit "unbalanced".
5. During the tribute to Aaron Spelling, when they had Farrah, Kate and Jacklyn come out on stage - they either have the greatest makeup and plastic surgeons on Earth, or they haven't aged a day since 1985! It was a surreal moment, and seriously, Jacklyn Smith has not aged at all, period.
6. At the Governor's Ball (the party right after the ceremony held at the Shrine), Heidi Klum's husband, Seal, got up on stage and did an impromptu crooning of "Mona Lisa" for all the guests, sort of like a little tribute for his wife who did not get the Emmy for "Project Runway" - a nice consolation prize, I suppose - but hey, Seal was awesome and the crowd couldn't be happier.
7. People that win an Emmy tend to have a Kung-Fu grip on their trophies. I saw people eat, talk and drink with the things in their hands, never letting them go. While at the Men's room, one winner I noticed even put it on top of the the urinal he was at while he was doing his business. A little freaky? I think so...
8. While I was leaving, one of the writers from the "Daily Show with Jon Stewart" - who won an Emmy - asked if I could help take his picture with his friends on the red carpet. I don't know what they shine the Emmy trophies with, but in the bright lights and the flash from the camera, that thing was glowing - so basically, I don't know whether or not their picture came out all right or not. But I do know that the trophy stands out, guaranteed!
Anyway, those are some of my 2006 Emmy memories that shine most bright in my noggin'. Thanks for reading, and oh, I'll be out of town for a few days, but will be back with new stuff, I promise.
Super Winks!... ;)
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Observations from a trip to Disneyland...
Well, I'm behind on all my other blogs, the blogs from which I've been tagged, and of course, trying to pump out new poetry. So, what else is new?
Anyway, without getting into the details of why and how I ended up at the "Happiest place on Earth," (believe me, it's a story I would tell you if I could), here's a few things that I observed happen at the Magic Kingdom, and continue to still ponder:
1. It's the 21st century - why are we still walking around the park? For a place that was first with the Monorail, I think they could have installed a million conveyor belts by now, so we could all glide around like George Jetson. Tired parents would be forever grateful.
2. Why can't they sell food and beverages while we're standing in line for the rides? They already do it at ballparks, what's the difference? I would love to be able to chow down while waiting to board Space Mountain, then have the privilege of hurling the hot dog I just ate immediately after I got off the ride. It's efficient, you gotta admit.
3. Anyone else get the irony that Space Mountain in Tomorrowland is the longest and slowest line, wheras Frontierland and Fantasyland has the most efficient line speeds? Get it together - the future is now, and the future operates at the speed of light. Seriously, build another Space Mountain already.
4. Why do people keep asking for funnel cakes at commisaries that DO NOT HAVE THEM ON THE MENU? Look people, I know you're probably brain dead from wheeling your children from ride to ride and making sure they don't do something stupid, but please reserve some brain power and read the menu carefully. If it's not there, it's elsewhere, so don't assume EVERY place has them. The 20 people behind you waiting to order the garbage that is on the menu will be greatful.
5. Why do they put warning labels on plush toys for ages 2 and up, but there's no warnings on these twirling light things that have these LED tentacles attached? It's like waving around a blender near your face. So I guess it's not safe to chew on a plush Mickie, but the risk of losing an eye on one of those light toys is perfectly normal. Talk about collateral damage...
6. Speaking of light toys, why are people still buying those flourescant glow bands and sticks? You are not going to get the one that lasts forever, so move on. If you want to get a light toy, get the cheap-o Light Saber rip offs. Yes, those don't come with warning labels either, but this gripe is about value, not safety.
7. Stop with the harsh start/stops at the end of rides. I don't remember having the sensation of a "train" being run up my ass like I was in San Quentin promised in the brochure. Invest in better shocks, I think you guys can afford it. Besides, the whiplash I already got is plenty.
8. And finally, there's a place to store your stuff and a Lost and Found section - why isn't there a Nap Space made? There are fathers out there that were sleeping behind the wheel - during Autopia! And I had a mother and daughter literally pass out right next to me on the Disney Train. I know, there's a hotel in the park, but what about us One Day-Passer's? You could charge us up the nose for a little cot, but the feeling of being refreshed and not going postal on our kids at the end of the day would be worth it.
So until my next adventure, thanks for reading... ;)
Anyway, without getting into the details of why and how I ended up at the "Happiest place on Earth," (believe me, it's a story I would tell you if I could), here's a few things that I observed happen at the Magic Kingdom, and continue to still ponder:
1. It's the 21st century - why are we still walking around the park? For a place that was first with the Monorail, I think they could have installed a million conveyor belts by now, so we could all glide around like George Jetson. Tired parents would be forever grateful.
2. Why can't they sell food and beverages while we're standing in line for the rides? They already do it at ballparks, what's the difference? I would love to be able to chow down while waiting to board Space Mountain, then have the privilege of hurling the hot dog I just ate immediately after I got off the ride. It's efficient, you gotta admit.
3. Anyone else get the irony that Space Mountain in Tomorrowland is the longest and slowest line, wheras Frontierland and Fantasyland has the most efficient line speeds? Get it together - the future is now, and the future operates at the speed of light. Seriously, build another Space Mountain already.
4. Why do people keep asking for funnel cakes at commisaries that DO NOT HAVE THEM ON THE MENU? Look people, I know you're probably brain dead from wheeling your children from ride to ride and making sure they don't do something stupid, but please reserve some brain power and read the menu carefully. If it's not there, it's elsewhere, so don't assume EVERY place has them. The 20 people behind you waiting to order the garbage that is on the menu will be greatful.
5. Why do they put warning labels on plush toys for ages 2 and up, but there's no warnings on these twirling light things that have these LED tentacles attached? It's like waving around a blender near your face. So I guess it's not safe to chew on a plush Mickie, but the risk of losing an eye on one of those light toys is perfectly normal. Talk about collateral damage...
6. Speaking of light toys, why are people still buying those flourescant glow bands and sticks? You are not going to get the one that lasts forever, so move on. If you want to get a light toy, get the cheap-o Light Saber rip offs. Yes, those don't come with warning labels either, but this gripe is about value, not safety.
7. Stop with the harsh start/stops at the end of rides. I don't remember having the sensation of a "train" being run up my ass like I was in San Quentin promised in the brochure. Invest in better shocks, I think you guys can afford it. Besides, the whiplash I already got is plenty.
8. And finally, there's a place to store your stuff and a Lost and Found section - why isn't there a Nap Space made? There are fathers out there that were sleeping behind the wheel - during Autopia! And I had a mother and daughter literally pass out right next to me on the Disney Train. I know, there's a hotel in the park, but what about us One Day-Passer's? You could charge us up the nose for a little cot, but the feeling of being refreshed and not going postal on our kids at the end of the day would be worth it.
So until my next adventure, thanks for reading... ;)
Thursday, August 24, 2006
When Beauty, is the Beast: A Slap-On-The-Face Wake Up Call
WARNING: This blog is rated PG-13 for Adult Themes, and graphic descriptions of bodily behavior, and oh, probably NSFW - due to scene that may conduce involuntary laughter and or disgust not easily hidden behind a stoic facial expression. Reader discretion is advised. Okay, on to the story!...
It's no surprise men, as a whole, like beautiful things: elegant cars, handsome suits, and for most heterosexual men, drop-dead gorgeous women. Men love women who have all the right curves in all the right places, and legs that seem to go on forever. Those women lucky enough to be endowed with such beauty flaunt it with reckless abandon.
However, what men tend to forget is that no matter how beautiful the woman is, she is, for all intents and purposes, still just another human being - goddesses are but flawed mortals in disguise, they just hide it a little better. Or do they?
Case in point: I was out at a restaurant two nights ago, in the crowded bar section, when I noticed these two very lovely women(one blonde, one brunette) standing around, waiting for a table. They were the epitomy of cliche' LA beauties - tall, tanned, and toned out of marble. They even wore sweat suits that seemed to convey "We don't have to work out, but we like to look like we do." A lot of guys around me noticed them, but they didn't seem to care, carrying an air of superiority that fended off the smarmy guys looking for a little action. They weren't buying what the guys were selling.
A bar table emptied next to mine, and they both jumped on it like their lives depended on it. Happy at their perfect timing, they began ordering beer and appetizers not long after plopping their finely-shaped hineys on the bar stools.
A couple drinks later, the blonde excuses herself, and leaves the brunette to sit nursing her beer. Now, remember that I said that the bar was a bit crowded at the time? 'Cause this piece of information is what I believe to be what caused the brunette to do something that I will not soon forget. WARNING - for those that are easily squeamish, you should stop here, otherwise, continue...
She reaches down her long leg, and starts scratching what looks to be her ankle.
But she doesn't stop there.
She proceeds to continue scratching past her ankle, slides off her shoe a bit, goes underneath her sock, and starts scratching the bottom of her foot vigorously! For all I know, I may have been the only one that noticed this. It was hard to keep my jaw from dropping, let me tell you!
She was scratching her foot as if there was a forest fire blazing on her bottom sole, and the only way to put it out was by scratching as fast as she could! She looked around a bit, but I guess she didn't think anyone was looking, so she just kept on scratching. This was starting to become more and more like that ad for athlete's foot spray, you know, the one where the toes are on fire and the only way to soothe the pain is by blastingTinactin on them? God, if I had foot fungal spray on me, I would throw it to her right then and there!
A couple minutes later - but for what seemed like an eternity - relief must have come because she let out a little sigh, replaced her shoe and socks back on, and sipped her beer with a grin on her face. As if by some stroke of perfect timing, her blonde friend returns. The brunette acts as if NOTHING HAS HAPPENED!
Don't think this story can get any worse? A few minutes after that, a waiter comes by and sets down their quesadilla appetizer. The brunette, I KID YOU NOT, starts peeling off pieces of the quesadilla... and HANDS A PIECE to her friend!
Oh, did I forget to mention: The brunette DID NOT WASH HER HANDS!!!!!
The blonde is happily enjoying the cheesy, tasty app, pulling off pieces of stray cheese, stuffing it in her mouth and then LICKING HER FINGERS! The brunette, with quesadilla in her mouth, chews silently, but smiles at her unsuspecting friend.
I couldn't take it any more - I settled my tab, grabbed my coat and ran out of there as fast as I could before my brain could think to vomit. Now, as I reflect on this entire exchange, I am still unsure whether or not the brunette was being malicious, or, she was just being her disgusting self. But what I can tell you is that I am now sure more than ever, that gorgeous women - however angelic they may seem - are in reality more earthbound than we think.
Beware, the beautiful people, beware... ;)
It's no surprise men, as a whole, like beautiful things: elegant cars, handsome suits, and for most heterosexual men, drop-dead gorgeous women. Men love women who have all the right curves in all the right places, and legs that seem to go on forever. Those women lucky enough to be endowed with such beauty flaunt it with reckless abandon.
However, what men tend to forget is that no matter how beautiful the woman is, she is, for all intents and purposes, still just another human being - goddesses are but flawed mortals in disguise, they just hide it a little better. Or do they?
Case in point: I was out at a restaurant two nights ago, in the crowded bar section, when I noticed these two very lovely women(one blonde, one brunette) standing around, waiting for a table. They were the epitomy of cliche' LA beauties - tall, tanned, and toned out of marble. They even wore sweat suits that seemed to convey "We don't have to work out, but we like to look like we do." A lot of guys around me noticed them, but they didn't seem to care, carrying an air of superiority that fended off the smarmy guys looking for a little action. They weren't buying what the guys were selling.
A bar table emptied next to mine, and they both jumped on it like their lives depended on it. Happy at their perfect timing, they began ordering beer and appetizers not long after plopping their finely-shaped hineys on the bar stools.
A couple drinks later, the blonde excuses herself, and leaves the brunette to sit nursing her beer. Now, remember that I said that the bar was a bit crowded at the time? 'Cause this piece of information is what I believe to be what caused the brunette to do something that I will not soon forget. WARNING - for those that are easily squeamish, you should stop here, otherwise, continue...
She reaches down her long leg, and starts scratching what looks to be her ankle.
But she doesn't stop there.
She proceeds to continue scratching past her ankle, slides off her shoe a bit, goes underneath her sock, and starts scratching the bottom of her foot vigorously! For all I know, I may have been the only one that noticed this. It was hard to keep my jaw from dropping, let me tell you!
She was scratching her foot as if there was a forest fire blazing on her bottom sole, and the only way to put it out was by scratching as fast as she could! She looked around a bit, but I guess she didn't think anyone was looking, so she just kept on scratching. This was starting to become more and more like that ad for athlete's foot spray, you know, the one where the toes are on fire and the only way to soothe the pain is by blastingTinactin on them? God, if I had foot fungal spray on me, I would throw it to her right then and there!
A couple minutes later - but for what seemed like an eternity - relief must have come because she let out a little sigh, replaced her shoe and socks back on, and sipped her beer with a grin on her face. As if by some stroke of perfect timing, her blonde friend returns. The brunette acts as if NOTHING HAS HAPPENED!
Don't think this story can get any worse? A few minutes after that, a waiter comes by and sets down their quesadilla appetizer. The brunette, I KID YOU NOT, starts peeling off pieces of the quesadilla... and HANDS A PIECE to her friend!
Oh, did I forget to mention: The brunette DID NOT WASH HER HANDS!!!!!
The blonde is happily enjoying the cheesy, tasty app, pulling off pieces of stray cheese, stuffing it in her mouth and then LICKING HER FINGERS! The brunette, with quesadilla in her mouth, chews silently, but smiles at her unsuspecting friend.
I couldn't take it any more - I settled my tab, grabbed my coat and ran out of there as fast as I could before my brain could think to vomit. Now, as I reflect on this entire exchange, I am still unsure whether or not the brunette was being malicious, or, she was just being her disgusting self. But what I can tell you is that I am now sure more than ever, that gorgeous women - however angelic they may seem - are in reality more earthbound than we think.
Beware, the beautiful people, beware... ;)
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
The Best of "Nothing Fights" - So You Want Fries Or Not?
INT. Restaurant - NIGHT
B= Boy
G= Girl
W= Waiter
G: Honey, what are you gonna have?
B: I think I might just go with the burger.
G: Oh good, that comes with fries!
Boy flops down his menu.
G: What?
B: Oh, you know what!
Girl silent.
B: If you want fries, why don't you just order them?
G: 'Cause I can't finish a whole order by myself?
B: But we can take the rest home!
G: Yeah, but they'll be all soggy and oily later.
B: If we nuke them, it'll be all right.
G: It's just not the same.
Boy sighs.
B: Do you think just once - just, once - I can get my own fries?
G: I don't see why we can't share. You don't love me enough to share, is that it?
B: Yes, I mean, no...
Boy pauses.
B: Everytime I get them, you eat ALL OF THEM!
G: It's not my fault you're a slow eater.
B: Just because I like to ENJOY MY FOOD!
G: I thought you didn't like fries anyway.
B: I love fries! Curly, spicy, steak-size, shoestring, tater-tots, hashborwns, you name it! I really love it when I can EAT THEM!
Silence.
G: So... you want fries or not?
Waiter comes up.
W: Ready to order?
B: Uh, yeah, can I get the burger, but instead of fries... can I get cole slaw?
G: (mutters to herself) Dick.
And, scene... ;)
B= Boy
G= Girl
W= Waiter
G: Honey, what are you gonna have?
B: I think I might just go with the burger.
G: Oh good, that comes with fries!
Boy flops down his menu.
G: What?
B: Oh, you know what!
Girl silent.
B: If you want fries, why don't you just order them?
G: 'Cause I can't finish a whole order by myself?
B: But we can take the rest home!
G: Yeah, but they'll be all soggy and oily later.
B: If we nuke them, it'll be all right.
G: It's just not the same.
Boy sighs.
B: Do you think just once - just, once - I can get my own fries?
G: I don't see why we can't share. You don't love me enough to share, is that it?
B: Yes, I mean, no...
Boy pauses.
B: Everytime I get them, you eat ALL OF THEM!
G: It's not my fault you're a slow eater.
B: Just because I like to ENJOY MY FOOD!
G: I thought you didn't like fries anyway.
B: I love fries! Curly, spicy, steak-size, shoestring, tater-tots, hashborwns, you name it! I really love it when I can EAT THEM!
Silence.
G: So... you want fries or not?
Waiter comes up.
W: Ready to order?
B: Uh, yeah, can I get the burger, but instead of fries... can I get cole slaw?
G: (mutters to herself) Dick.
And, scene... ;)
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Oh, Canada! - The Vacation 2006, Part 1A: A Customs Bitch Says "What"?
Well, this entry has been a long time coming, and if I didn't write this one out soon, I think I was gonna burst. This was probably the sorest spot of my whole vacation, which kept sticking with me throughout the rest of the trip. But damned if I was gonna let it ruin my good time. Let me roll back a bit...
I'd like to make it clear that I love Canadians. They are a fun-loving, smart, drink-you-under-the-table kind of folk that enjoy Curling, Canoeing, and Cottages - not always in that order. But I am wholly convinced that the coniving jerk-wads that give other Canadians a bad name, are all shoved into the same job together working Customs and Immigration. Granted, they are doing their country an important service, but do they have to be such, what is the word - "tools"?
Actually, this torture occurred in two stages - First, I was in the Customs line, just like everyone else, where you present your passport and entry card to the person working the counter. They swipe the passport, look over your answers on the form, and then ask you THE SAME EXACT QUESTIONS on the entry form. I'm not exactly sure why they do this - perhaps to test if you were the one that wrote the answers, or to test for language competency, but if that were the case, it still seems really asanine to me. Now here's the funny thing - every time I answer (no matter how ridiculous I feel about this exercise), I always answer concisely, politely, and to the point. However, even after I give them my reasons for coming to Canada, I am inexplicably excused over to the Immigration line without fail - for further interrogation. But the traveler in the line next to mine answered all his questions back with sarcasm and rudeness - yet, he was able to pass on through with no problem. I guess there's some sort of "Canadian-asshole speak" that I haven't quite mastered yet, so go figure...
I approach the VERY EMPTY Immigration section with much trepidation along with mild heart palpatations. Although I'm not doing anything wrong, I get really defensive all of a sudden, and shifty as a junkie coming off a meth-high. I'm also convinced that the hard-asses of the hard-asses are also the ones assigned to Immigration, to which this personality trait was supremely assigned to the Immigration Officer with whom we will refer to as "Karen".
Karen, who probably murdered her own spiritual kindness sometime in her early teens and now exiled to this exalted position, was clearly power-tripping this morning. She looked at me from a mile away, probably assuming that I'm some sort of illegal trying to smuggle my way to Canada or worse - act as some sort of emissary for the imminent American Invasion force that would never, appear. In short, she already hated my guts since breakfast.
Now, I can understand that there's a lot of pressure to spot the people who are legitimately coming to visit Canada - such as myself - compared to those that are entering for the sole purpose of causing a ruckus, but seriously - do they have to be rude while doing it?
"What is your reason for coming to Canada?", she asks in a tone both stern and uncaring at the same time.
"Vacation. Visiting family friends," I answer back in a quivering, meek voice.
"And how long will you be staying?"
"4 days."
"And where will you be staying?"
I give her the name of the hotel, my travel itinerary, and pretty much the first quarter of my life story. But she was still not satisfied.
She begins tapping on her keyboard, staring blankly at her computer screen. She types for what feels like hours, and then finally asks, "Have you ever been stopped before?"
I tap my fingers nervously on the counter. "Uh, yeah."
"What was the reason?"
"Failure to show proper papers for work status, and that was taken care of later, and every other time after that, I've just come in to visit, and that's it."
Karen gives me an evil stare, as if she's trying to perform a Voight-Kampff on me from Blade Runner. Her glower lasts for a good 10 seconds, and I can feel my retinas burn a little.
She takes my passport and opens it, looking at the various pages for an empty spot, then notices one stamp in particular. "What is this?"
"Oh, that? I got that stamp at, uh, this place in Ireland that puts the crest of the town as if it's a border crossing."
Karen is not amused. She looks at me as if I just told her that I enjoy swimming in sewers looking for diamonds. As our little interrogation comes to an end, she asks blithely, "Do you travel much?"
"Uh, gee, not really - why do you ask? Do you want to go with me somewhere, cause I'd rather eat rat excrement and wash it down with a cockroach smoothie than to spend one more second with you!"
Okay - I didn't really say that, but it just seems more interesting than my real answer:
"No, not really."
Having run out of things to scrutinize my existence on this planet, she begrudgingly takes out her Entry stamp and SLAMS it down on my passport. She slides it back to me as if she's giving me my food order at McDonald's - which is probably where she worked at before Immigration!
And then, I'll never forget this, she has the nerve to say,"Have a nice day."
But that is not what I heard - she may have conveyed a sentiment, but the tone she used made it sound more like "Get out of here ass-clown."
Again, I had one of two choices: 1, I could have "kept it real" and gone apeshit on her ass, which would have resulted in my being restrained and subsequent detainment, or, 2, I could let it slide and walk out of there and begin my vacation. I chose the latter, and walked out with about a micro-piece of my dignity intact. Do I wish I gave Karen a kick to the teeth? Of course I do, but I figured that karma will take care of her later.
I meet up with my father not long after that, and assume that he's driving us to Toronto, but I was wrong...
TO BE CONTINUED... ;)
I'd like to make it clear that I love Canadians. They are a fun-loving, smart, drink-you-under-the-table kind of folk that enjoy Curling, Canoeing, and Cottages - not always in that order. But I am wholly convinced that the coniving jerk-wads that give other Canadians a bad name, are all shoved into the same job together working Customs and Immigration. Granted, they are doing their country an important service, but do they have to be such, what is the word - "tools"?
Actually, this torture occurred in two stages - First, I was in the Customs line, just like everyone else, where you present your passport and entry card to the person working the counter. They swipe the passport, look over your answers on the form, and then ask you THE SAME EXACT QUESTIONS on the entry form. I'm not exactly sure why they do this - perhaps to test if you were the one that wrote the answers, or to test for language competency, but if that were the case, it still seems really asanine to me. Now here's the funny thing - every time I answer (no matter how ridiculous I feel about this exercise), I always answer concisely, politely, and to the point. However, even after I give them my reasons for coming to Canada, I am inexplicably excused over to the Immigration line without fail - for further interrogation. But the traveler in the line next to mine answered all his questions back with sarcasm and rudeness - yet, he was able to pass on through with no problem. I guess there's some sort of "Canadian-asshole speak" that I haven't quite mastered yet, so go figure...
I approach the VERY EMPTY Immigration section with much trepidation along with mild heart palpatations. Although I'm not doing anything wrong, I get really defensive all of a sudden, and shifty as a junkie coming off a meth-high. I'm also convinced that the hard-asses of the hard-asses are also the ones assigned to Immigration, to which this personality trait was supremely assigned to the Immigration Officer with whom we will refer to as "Karen".
Karen, who probably murdered her own spiritual kindness sometime in her early teens and now exiled to this exalted position, was clearly power-tripping this morning. She looked at me from a mile away, probably assuming that I'm some sort of illegal trying to smuggle my way to Canada or worse - act as some sort of emissary for the imminent American Invasion force that would never, appear. In short, she already hated my guts since breakfast.
Now, I can understand that there's a lot of pressure to spot the people who are legitimately coming to visit Canada - such as myself - compared to those that are entering for the sole purpose of causing a ruckus, but seriously - do they have to be rude while doing it?
"What is your reason for coming to Canada?", she asks in a tone both stern and uncaring at the same time.
"Vacation. Visiting family friends," I answer back in a quivering, meek voice.
"And how long will you be staying?"
"4 days."
"And where will you be staying?"
I give her the name of the hotel, my travel itinerary, and pretty much the first quarter of my life story. But she was still not satisfied.
She begins tapping on her keyboard, staring blankly at her computer screen. She types for what feels like hours, and then finally asks, "Have you ever been stopped before?"
I tap my fingers nervously on the counter. "Uh, yeah."
"What was the reason?"
"Failure to show proper papers for work status, and that was taken care of later, and every other time after that, I've just come in to visit, and that's it."
Karen gives me an evil stare, as if she's trying to perform a Voight-Kampff on me from Blade Runner. Her glower lasts for a good 10 seconds, and I can feel my retinas burn a little.
She takes my passport and opens it, looking at the various pages for an empty spot, then notices one stamp in particular. "What is this?"
"Oh, that? I got that stamp at, uh, this place in Ireland that puts the crest of the town as if it's a border crossing."
Karen is not amused. She looks at me as if I just told her that I enjoy swimming in sewers looking for diamonds. As our little interrogation comes to an end, she asks blithely, "Do you travel much?"
"Uh, gee, not really - why do you ask? Do you want to go with me somewhere, cause I'd rather eat rat excrement and wash it down with a cockroach smoothie than to spend one more second with you!"
Okay - I didn't really say that, but it just seems more interesting than my real answer:
"No, not really."
Having run out of things to scrutinize my existence on this planet, she begrudgingly takes out her Entry stamp and SLAMS it down on my passport. She slides it back to me as if she's giving me my food order at McDonald's - which is probably where she worked at before Immigration!
And then, I'll never forget this, she has the nerve to say,"Have a nice day."
But that is not what I heard - she may have conveyed a sentiment, but the tone she used made it sound more like "Get out of here ass-clown."
Again, I had one of two choices: 1, I could have "kept it real" and gone apeshit on her ass, which would have resulted in my being restrained and subsequent detainment, or, 2, I could let it slide and walk out of there and begin my vacation. I chose the latter, and walked out with about a micro-piece of my dignity intact. Do I wish I gave Karen a kick to the teeth? Of course I do, but I figured that karma will take care of her later.
I meet up with my father not long after that, and assume that he's driving us to Toronto, but I was wrong...
TO BE CONTINUED... ;)
Friday, August 18, 2006
Canada, Day 1: Toronto, Downtown, All-Around...
Shot of a Toronto trolley. Luckily, we were driving on the right side of the road, or elseour vacation would have been cut short.
View from the sunroof of the rental car. Don't worry, I wasn't standing up -- or was I?
A backlit of the famous CN Tower. Or am I in Seattle, and this is actually the Space Needle? Hmmm...
This giant "X" in the sky is for the airplanes, so they know where the heck Torontois located.
This concert was held at the Harbourfront, right out on the edge of Lake Ontario.A Reggae Festival was happening the whole weekend, and various Rasta bands
played on stage all day and all night. It was some of the finest weed - er, music - I've experienced in a long time...
Oh, and there was a FOOD PAVILION right next to the whole venue,surprise, surprise...
... Cause you know, "concert going" can make you hungry, uh, yeah, that's it!Stay tuned, for Day 2,
TO BE CONTINUED... ;)
TO BE CONTINUED... ;)
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Getting More Than Just Fillings... My Visit to the Dentist
On the road of blogging, sometimes you just get sidetracked by other hitch-hiked stories that come along the way. I know, I'm way behind on my Canada stuff, but thought I'd take a moment, and share with you today's adventure: My Visit to the Dentist.
Actually, this all started last Thursday - while stopping in for my 6 month checkup/cleaning, my Dentist noticed that the fillings in my back molars on my right side, and a bi-cuspid on on my left, seemed to be decaying - or at least, that's what he told me, and it wasn't like I was gonna whip out my non-existent dental degree from dental school to argue with him.
So, instead of putting it off to get them fixed, I set up the appointment for next Tuesday. Flashforward to today: Now, before I go any further, I'd like to mention that the dentist I go to is a complete tech-geek. I mean, he has iTunes being pumped through the sound system, so you never hear the song twice, he has video monitors EVERYWHERE, and if I could get SportsCenter on, I would, and the strangest thing of all - there's no sign in clipboard. It's like he's turned his office into an airport, where everyone's appointments are like scheduled flights, and all the patients are lined up like planes in a row, waiting for takeoff. Today was no exception.
I'm greeted by a lovely female dental assistant, who, shall we say, was a cross between Halle Berry and Catherine Zeta-Jones in beauty - already, my mind is distracted. I'm lead to an operating room where the seat and all the tools of the procedure are laid out, ready to go, with careful attention to placement only an OCD'er would appreciate.
Up in the corner, is a large, flat LCD television, with a DVD playing some Sea-Life documentary from the BBC, looped in the background. The dental assistant asked me if I wanted to watch a different movie, and I thought, "Gee, do you have Old School"? Of course, that would be ridiculous - not that it'd probably by inappropriate for this environment, but I really wouldn't want my oral surgeon to be laughing his ass off while holding sharp tools in my mouth anyway. I said no thanks, and so she just started the Sea-Life DVD, and boy, would I regret it later...
So, my Dentist comes in, right on schedule, and gets right to work. Now, there are two kinds of surgeons when it comes to bedside manner - those that have it, and those that slept through that particular course at school. Guess what my dentist has? In his defense, what he lacks in personal skills, he makes up for in speed, as was the case today.
Apparently, this was going to involve A LOT of novocaine, and if he would have told me sooner, I could have braced myself, but since he decided that he was just gonna surprise me at every corner, all I could do was quietly squirm and try not to look too much like a pussy in front of the hot dental goddess. The Dentist swabs my mouth with some sort of analgesic gel, right before he takes out this HUGE syringe and sticks me in the mouth with it. As he's pushing about 1,000cc's of novocaine, I suddently feel this strange rub on my shoulder.
Shocked, my brain is now wondering what the hell is going on? As it turns out, the dental goddess was massaging my shoulder in order for me not to think about the syringe, but since nobody told me, I'm now thinking about my pulsating heart rate, the huge needle and the pleasant rub all at the same time. This was not relaxing at first, but once I started to let go a bit, I took it in, and started to calm down.
As the 2nd dose of novocaine was thrust into the left side of my cheek, the shoulder rub was starting to get more familiar, as my face was slowly feeling like it had gone 10 rounds with Evander Hollyfield. With the novocaine portion of the torture complete, my Dentist said "You shouldn't be feeling that much discomfort, mostly a lot of water, and a lot of vibrating, okay?" What, like I was in a position to back out now? What the heck!
With pretty much all my options gone, I let him get to work, and as predicted, his movements were precise, and my mouth had a great workout at being kept open the entire time. With all the suctioning, prodding, scrapping, drilling, sanding, and heating (yep, he used a tiny hair-dryer like device to dry my fillings), it looked like I was gonna come out of this okay. But this wouldn't be a story without a little twist.
Remember I said I was gonna regret that Sea-Life documentary? Well, as all this is going on, no one told me that part of the documentary covered the mating rituals of seals. Yep, you did not read that wrong. I was watching Oceanographic Porn!, or as I call it, "Porn-ceanography".
It wasn't like it showed a lot of the, uh, "actions" involved, but there was definite "humping movements" that could refer to a position style commonly associated with a dog, per se. Apparently, these people have never watched this documentary either, as they were focused on their work, and never once looked up at the television. I guess they couldn't quite make out the terror in my eyes as I was forced to watch nature taking its long and winding course.
45 minutes later - 10 minutes ahead of schedule - he was done, and I was spent and DEFINITELY not in the good way. They both flashed plastic smiles, and I could only imagine that I smiled back, for the feeling in my face had not returned and wouldn't for another 5 hours - or my Dentist said. I had also underestimated the numbness in my mouth so much so that when I was trying to gargle some mouthwash, I ended up slobbering it all over my bib, with the hot dental assistant cleaning me up like a little baby. Not, my best moment.
I walked away today with 3 new fillings, about 400 hundred dollars lighter in my pocket, and the images of seals doing the nasty - which will surely be sticking in my mind for the next few days. Again, no one mentioned that extreme exhaustion is a side effect, so I had an awesome time calling the office, mumbling incoherently that I'd be taking off the rest of the day, and finding myself collapsing on my bed for a long coma.
As of writing this, I've only now started to get the full use of my mouth back. Bring on the Jolly Ranchers! And thanks for reading!
Super Winks!... ;)
Actually, this all started last Thursday - while stopping in for my 6 month checkup/cleaning, my Dentist noticed that the fillings in my back molars on my right side, and a bi-cuspid on on my left, seemed to be decaying - or at least, that's what he told me, and it wasn't like I was gonna whip out my non-existent dental degree from dental school to argue with him.
So, instead of putting it off to get them fixed, I set up the appointment for next Tuesday. Flashforward to today: Now, before I go any further, I'd like to mention that the dentist I go to is a complete tech-geek. I mean, he has iTunes being pumped through the sound system, so you never hear the song twice, he has video monitors EVERYWHERE, and if I could get SportsCenter on, I would, and the strangest thing of all - there's no sign in clipboard. It's like he's turned his office into an airport, where everyone's appointments are like scheduled flights, and all the patients are lined up like planes in a row, waiting for takeoff. Today was no exception.
I'm greeted by a lovely female dental assistant, who, shall we say, was a cross between Halle Berry and Catherine Zeta-Jones in beauty - already, my mind is distracted. I'm lead to an operating room where the seat and all the tools of the procedure are laid out, ready to go, with careful attention to placement only an OCD'er would appreciate.
Up in the corner, is a large, flat LCD television, with a DVD playing some Sea-Life documentary from the BBC, looped in the background. The dental assistant asked me if I wanted to watch a different movie, and I thought, "Gee, do you have Old School"? Of course, that would be ridiculous - not that it'd probably by inappropriate for this environment, but I really wouldn't want my oral surgeon to be laughing his ass off while holding sharp tools in my mouth anyway. I said no thanks, and so she just started the Sea-Life DVD, and boy, would I regret it later...
So, my Dentist comes in, right on schedule, and gets right to work. Now, there are two kinds of surgeons when it comes to bedside manner - those that have it, and those that slept through that particular course at school. Guess what my dentist has? In his defense, what he lacks in personal skills, he makes up for in speed, as was the case today.
Apparently, this was going to involve A LOT of novocaine, and if he would have told me sooner, I could have braced myself, but since he decided that he was just gonna surprise me at every corner, all I could do was quietly squirm and try not to look too much like a pussy in front of the hot dental goddess. The Dentist swabs my mouth with some sort of analgesic gel, right before he takes out this HUGE syringe and sticks me in the mouth with it. As he's pushing about 1,000cc's of novocaine, I suddently feel this strange rub on my shoulder.
Shocked, my brain is now wondering what the hell is going on? As it turns out, the dental goddess was massaging my shoulder in order for me not to think about the syringe, but since nobody told me, I'm now thinking about my pulsating heart rate, the huge needle and the pleasant rub all at the same time. This was not relaxing at first, but once I started to let go a bit, I took it in, and started to calm down.
As the 2nd dose of novocaine was thrust into the left side of my cheek, the shoulder rub was starting to get more familiar, as my face was slowly feeling like it had gone 10 rounds with Evander Hollyfield. With the novocaine portion of the torture complete, my Dentist said "You shouldn't be feeling that much discomfort, mostly a lot of water, and a lot of vibrating, okay?" What, like I was in a position to back out now? What the heck!
With pretty much all my options gone, I let him get to work, and as predicted, his movements were precise, and my mouth had a great workout at being kept open the entire time. With all the suctioning, prodding, scrapping, drilling, sanding, and heating (yep, he used a tiny hair-dryer like device to dry my fillings), it looked like I was gonna come out of this okay. But this wouldn't be a story without a little twist.
Remember I said I was gonna regret that Sea-Life documentary? Well, as all this is going on, no one told me that part of the documentary covered the mating rituals of seals. Yep, you did not read that wrong. I was watching Oceanographic Porn!, or as I call it, "Porn-ceanography".
It wasn't like it showed a lot of the, uh, "actions" involved, but there was definite "humping movements" that could refer to a position style commonly associated with a dog, per se. Apparently, these people have never watched this documentary either, as they were focused on their work, and never once looked up at the television. I guess they couldn't quite make out the terror in my eyes as I was forced to watch nature taking its long and winding course.
45 minutes later - 10 minutes ahead of schedule - he was done, and I was spent and DEFINITELY not in the good way. They both flashed plastic smiles, and I could only imagine that I smiled back, for the feeling in my face had not returned and wouldn't for another 5 hours - or my Dentist said. I had also underestimated the numbness in my mouth so much so that when I was trying to gargle some mouthwash, I ended up slobbering it all over my bib, with the hot dental assistant cleaning me up like a little baby. Not, my best moment.
I walked away today with 3 new fillings, about 400 hundred dollars lighter in my pocket, and the images of seals doing the nasty - which will surely be sticking in my mind for the next few days. Again, no one mentioned that extreme exhaustion is a side effect, so I had an awesome time calling the office, mumbling incoherently that I'd be taking off the rest of the day, and finding myself collapsing on my bed for a long coma.
As of writing this, I've only now started to get the full use of my mouth back. Bring on the Jolly Ranchers! And thanks for reading!
Super Winks!... ;)
Saturday, August 12, 2006
When the Pen truly is as mighty as a Sword...
Okay, strange thing just happened to me at Denny's - and no, the strange thing is not that I ate at Denny's.
As I was getting up to leave and pay for my delicious meal - okay, it was mostly edible - I went up to the register, and tried to look for a pen to sign my check. You see, I wanted to pay by credit card, but first you need to add in the tip before you hand over the check to the cashier.
I'm looking around, and then I see this Gi-normous-looking thing that may, or may not be, a pen. It was right next to the cash register, and when I leaned down to look at it, it was indeed a push-top pen - only it was 8 times the normal size.
At first, I thought it was a gag, but when I picked it up, it ACTUALLY wrote! It had a huge rubber grip on the tip, which made it a bit easier to handle, but I couldn't imagine using it the whole day. I'd develop carpal tunnel just looking at it.
I asked the cashier if they were using this kind of sized pen so that people would stop stealing pens, but she said no. Apparently, she brought it to work, and probably wanted to get amusement by the customers trying to weild a pen the size of a machete. We both had a good laugh, as I was trying to keep this "monument" steady while signing my name, and really, I haven't had this hard a time signing a check since that time I was in Mazatlan - and that is an ENTIRELY different story.
The irony was, this was EXACTLY the kind of pen I'd have love to have stolen... ;)
As I was getting up to leave and pay for my delicious meal - okay, it was mostly edible - I went up to the register, and tried to look for a pen to sign my check. You see, I wanted to pay by credit card, but first you need to add in the tip before you hand over the check to the cashier.
I'm looking around, and then I see this Gi-normous-looking thing that may, or may not be, a pen. It was right next to the cash register, and when I leaned down to look at it, it was indeed a push-top pen - only it was 8 times the normal size.
At first, I thought it was a gag, but when I picked it up, it ACTUALLY wrote! It had a huge rubber grip on the tip, which made it a bit easier to handle, but I couldn't imagine using it the whole day. I'd develop carpal tunnel just looking at it.
I asked the cashier if they were using this kind of sized pen so that people would stop stealing pens, but she said no. Apparently, she brought it to work, and probably wanted to get amusement by the customers trying to weild a pen the size of a machete. We both had a good laugh, as I was trying to keep this "monument" steady while signing my name, and really, I haven't had this hard a time signing a check since that time I was in Mazatlan - and that is an ENTIRELY different story.
The irony was, this was EXACTLY the kind of pen I'd have love to have stolen... ;)
Friday, August 11, 2006
Difference Between What Was Said.... And What Was Meant
In life, verbal communication has a life all its own - full of hidden clues, inuendo, and subtext as laiden as the Da Vinci Code.
And to that end, what we perceive to be the message that we are hearing, is not what our brains are processing at all. For instance, I had to talk to a client over the phone at work today, and, let's call her "Emily." Emily and I, you could say, don't really get along, but we fake it anyway, for the sake of "keeping it professional." You know what I'm talking about.
Here's what was SAID:
Me: Hello?
Emily: Hi, it's Emily!
Me: Hey, what's up!
Emily: Just wanted to give you a heads up on some reservation orders that I just sent through.
Me: Oh, okay.
Emily: I actually sent out 2 of the same orders before I realized that I had the wrong info on one of them, so if you could make sure that the one marked for Spain goes, that would be great!
Me: So, what do you want me to do with the other one?
Emily: Oh, that one you can ignore.
Me: Okay, got it.
Emily: So, just the one marked for Spain, is the right one.
Me: No problem.
Emily: Thanks!
CLICK!
Here's what was MEANT:
Me: Yeah?
Emily: It's Emily, asshole.
Me: What do you want, twat?
Emily: Just wanted to let you know I've got some shit I don't want you to fuck up.
Me: Oh, really? Bring it on, Cunty McCunterson!
Emily: So I sent you two orders of the same thing - one of them is wrong, so just use the one marked for "Spain." Do you THINK you can remember that?
Me: Uh, yeah, bitch - let me write it down (I'm making gestures in the air, as if I'm scribbling it all out), and so, like, what the hell you want me to do with the other order? Shove it in your pie-hole?
Emily: Oh, that one you can stick up your ass.
Me: Yeah, thought so, rug-muncher.
Emily: So, just the one for "Spain" - you know, Spain, right? Do I need to draw you a fucking map?
Me: No, I'll just remember that you're such a fucking PAIN that it rhymes with SPAIN, so, I won't forget. Seriously, blow me.
Emily: Fuck your mother!
CLICK!
And, scene.
DISCLAIMER: What you've just read may, or may not be, a work of fiction. Thanks for reading!... ;)
And to that end, what we perceive to be the message that we are hearing, is not what our brains are processing at all. For instance, I had to talk to a client over the phone at work today, and, let's call her "Emily." Emily and I, you could say, don't really get along, but we fake it anyway, for the sake of "keeping it professional." You know what I'm talking about.
Here's what was SAID:
Me: Hello?
Emily: Hi, it's Emily!
Me: Hey, what's up!
Emily: Just wanted to give you a heads up on some reservation orders that I just sent through.
Me: Oh, okay.
Emily: I actually sent out 2 of the same orders before I realized that I had the wrong info on one of them, so if you could make sure that the one marked for Spain goes, that would be great!
Me: So, what do you want me to do with the other one?
Emily: Oh, that one you can ignore.
Me: Okay, got it.
Emily: So, just the one marked for Spain, is the right one.
Me: No problem.
Emily: Thanks!
CLICK!
Here's what was MEANT:
Me: Yeah?
Emily: It's Emily, asshole.
Me: What do you want, twat?
Emily: Just wanted to let you know I've got some shit I don't want you to fuck up.
Me: Oh, really? Bring it on, Cunty McCunterson!
Emily: So I sent you two orders of the same thing - one of them is wrong, so just use the one marked for "Spain." Do you THINK you can remember that?
Me: Uh, yeah, bitch - let me write it down (I'm making gestures in the air, as if I'm scribbling it all out), and so, like, what the hell you want me to do with the other order? Shove it in your pie-hole?
Emily: Oh, that one you can stick up your ass.
Me: Yeah, thought so, rug-muncher.
Emily: So, just the one for "Spain" - you know, Spain, right? Do I need to draw you a fucking map?
Me: No, I'll just remember that you're such a fucking PAIN that it rhymes with SPAIN, so, I won't forget. Seriously, blow me.
Emily: Fuck your mother!
CLICK!
And, scene.
DISCLAIMER: What you've just read may, or may not be, a work of fiction. Thanks for reading!... ;)
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Oh, Canada! - The Vacation 2006, Part 1: LAX to Toronto
*****Augest 4th, 2006 - LAX Airport*****
8:15 PM - Arrive at the airport. Use E-Ticket machine that looks like R2-D2's cousin to get my boarding pass. I'm amused. So far, so good.
8:25 PM - Pass through security screening. Screener with the magic wand looks at me like I'm retarded - gee, do I need to take off my shoes or not? Just tell me! He is shocked that I speak English, I have no idea why.
8:27 PM - Guy operating X-Ray machine forgets to move my stuff along the conveyor. I'm left standing around looking like a moron with socks on. The security guys find this hilarious. I want to slap them. I see "Mr. Magic Wand" chuckle from the corner of my eye. I think about "getting real" at this moment, but decide to let it slide.
8:35 PM - I find a seat at the gate among other "world-weary" travelers. Some have turned benches into makeshift beds, bending their bodies around the permanent armrests that are supposed to deter such napping. Humans can be clever, stupid and hicks at the same time.
8:40 PM - Evesdrop on kid sitting next to me, talking loudly on his cellphone to his brother. They argue about "carbonation conten in carbonated beverages." Shouting match ensues. His brother hangs up. I grin a little.
8:49 PM - Stare up at the flight updates monitor. It's still there.
8:50 PM - Check the flight updates monitor again. It blinks sporadically for a second, then - nothing. Still on time.
9:10 PM - I'm reading "Fast Food Nation" across from some guy that is eating a Big Mac. The irony is not lost on the both of us. I continue to read and he slurps his cola.
9:15 PM - A line starts forming next to me to board the plane. However, several passengers are turned away - a flight before us is using OUR gate to board passengers, and the confusion has got the natives riled up. Ho-hum, do read your tickets.
9:40 PM - An older female counter attendant that was chewing out an irrate passenger a few minutes before, is now smiling and making funny faces to a baby being held by his father. So quickly we can switch from postal to passionate.
10:08 PM - Boarding the aircraft. Loud, shrieking noise blares from the umbilical entrance. I have to stand at the door for 2 minutes. Ears almost bleeding. Noise stops as I walk to my seat.
10:12 PM - I ask a flight attendant where I can stow my bag in the overhead. Clearly Canadian, she points to an empty spot I miss and gives me the evil eye at the same time. She scares me.
10:15 PM - I meet my seat-mate, who's got the window seat. He's rapidly tapping on his laptop as if the fate of the world depended on his typing skills. He admires my SLVR cellphone. We geek-out for a few minutes. He goes back to talking a mile-a-minute on his cell.
10:23 PM - Final boarding. I'm sitting next to 3 empty seats. However, they are for the flight attendants, who seem to take great pleasure in turning away greedy seat hogs that come their way.
10:28 PM - A case of soap above my head starts leaking. Flight attendant cleans up the mess before I get a free shampooing. I am grateful.
10:30 PM - Safety video shows a guy switching off his iPod before take-off. Apple has finally become a lexicon of international aviation.
10:33 PM - A baby cries 4 ros ahead of me. My seatmate and I start going into our "happy places".
10:43 PM - Still at the gate. Seat-mate has put on sleeping mask over his eyes, so no chance for awkward chit-chat.
10:48 PM - Natives getting restless. Sitting next to lavatory blows. A guy trying to get one of the flight attendant's seat cannot understand that none of them are available. He's just dense, dumb, and dunced.
10:50 PM - Seat-mate and guy in front start talking after guy in front was beating out a Sehk-rhythm on his tray table, waking my seat-mate up. They leave me to writ about all this in peace.
10:58 PM - My Seat-mate is CJ. The guy in front is Panji. CJ is a professional singer, and Panji plays percussion. They music-geek it out for awhile, spilling their whole life stories BEFORE TAKE OFF.
11:03 PM - They are still talking about music. My ears need to be sowed back on.
11:04 PM - Takeoff, FINALLY!
11:14 PM - Cruising at altitude, tons of people make a bee-line to the lavatories. My elbows take a lot of abuse. I'm regretting my decision to sit in the aisle.
11:30 PM - In-flight movie is "Mission Impossible III". I watch it out of boredom.
Tom looks even smaller on a small screen.
8:15 PM - Arrive at the airport. Use E-Ticket machine that looks like R2-D2's cousin to get my boarding pass. I'm amused. So far, so good.
8:25 PM - Pass through security screening. Screener with the magic wand looks at me like I'm retarded - gee, do I need to take off my shoes or not? Just tell me! He is shocked that I speak English, I have no idea why.
8:27 PM - Guy operating X-Ray machine forgets to move my stuff along the conveyor. I'm left standing around looking like a moron with socks on. The security guys find this hilarious. I want to slap them. I see "Mr. Magic Wand" chuckle from the corner of my eye. I think about "getting real" at this moment, but decide to let it slide.
8:35 PM - I find a seat at the gate among other "world-weary" travelers. Some have turned benches into makeshift beds, bending their bodies around the permanent armrests that are supposed to deter such napping. Humans can be clever, stupid and hicks at the same time.
8:40 PM - Evesdrop on kid sitting next to me, talking loudly on his cellphone to his brother. They argue about "carbonation conten in carbonated beverages." Shouting match ensues. His brother hangs up. I grin a little.
8:49 PM - Stare up at the flight updates monitor. It's still there.
8:50 PM - Check the flight updates monitor again. It blinks sporadically for a second, then - nothing. Still on time.
9:10 PM - I'm reading "Fast Food Nation" across from some guy that is eating a Big Mac. The irony is not lost on the both of us. I continue to read and he slurps his cola.
9:15 PM - A line starts forming next to me to board the plane. However, several passengers are turned away - a flight before us is using OUR gate to board passengers, and the confusion has got the natives riled up. Ho-hum, do read your tickets.
9:40 PM - An older female counter attendant that was chewing out an irrate passenger a few minutes before, is now smiling and making funny faces to a baby being held by his father. So quickly we can switch from postal to passionate.
10:08 PM - Boarding the aircraft. Loud, shrieking noise blares from the umbilical entrance. I have to stand at the door for 2 minutes. Ears almost bleeding. Noise stops as I walk to my seat.
10:12 PM - I ask a flight attendant where I can stow my bag in the overhead. Clearly Canadian, she points to an empty spot I miss and gives me the evil eye at the same time. She scares me.
10:15 PM - I meet my seat-mate, who's got the window seat. He's rapidly tapping on his laptop as if the fate of the world depended on his typing skills. He admires my SLVR cellphone. We geek-out for a few minutes. He goes back to talking a mile-a-minute on his cell.
10:23 PM - Final boarding. I'm sitting next to 3 empty seats. However, they are for the flight attendants, who seem to take great pleasure in turning away greedy seat hogs that come their way.
10:28 PM - A case of soap above my head starts leaking. Flight attendant cleans up the mess before I get a free shampooing. I am grateful.
10:30 PM - Safety video shows a guy switching off his iPod before take-off. Apple has finally become a lexicon of international aviation.
10:33 PM - A baby cries 4 ros ahead of me. My seatmate and I start going into our "happy places".
10:43 PM - Still at the gate. Seat-mate has put on sleeping mask over his eyes, so no chance for awkward chit-chat.
10:48 PM - Natives getting restless. Sitting next to lavatory blows. A guy trying to get one of the flight attendant's seat cannot understand that none of them are available. He's just dense, dumb, and dunced.
10:50 PM - Seat-mate and guy in front start talking after guy in front was beating out a Sehk-rhythm on his tray table, waking my seat-mate up. They leave me to writ about all this in peace.
10:58 PM - My Seat-mate is CJ. The guy in front is Panji. CJ is a professional singer, and Panji plays percussion. They music-geek it out for awhile, spilling their whole life stories BEFORE TAKE OFF.
11:03 PM - They are still talking about music. My ears need to be sowed back on.
11:04 PM - Takeoff, FINALLY!
11:14 PM - Cruising at altitude, tons of people make a bee-line to the lavatories. My elbows take a lot of abuse. I'm regretting my decision to sit in the aisle.
11:30 PM - In-flight movie is "Mission Impossible III". I watch it out of boredom.
Tom looks even smaller on a small screen.
*****
6:04 AM - I hear the flight attendants gossip about someone stealing all the soap in one of the lavatories. Really, who does that?
*****
6:39 AM - Customs lines are slow, but moving. Some of us look like zombies.
... or so I thought...
TO BE CONTINUED... ;)
Thursday, August 03, 2006
When Junk Mail doesn't even pretend anymore...
Just a second ago, I received an e-mail that read:
SUBJECT: This is SPAM. Seriously, we are not kidding
I remember the days of fake letters requesting you to deliver money to some African Bank's account, or claiming a prize if you give the sponsors your personal information, or even the "How Hard Are You?" e-mails selling cialis, viagra, and everything else under the sun. At least all of those entertained me.
Have we become so numb to SPAM that it being so blatant now is the only real way that it'll get our attention? I'll admit, it had me at a head scratch, but geez, seriously, put a little effort at least.
It would certainly make my life all a nano-second more interesting... ;)
SUBJECT: This is SPAM. Seriously, we are not kidding
I remember the days of fake letters requesting you to deliver money to some African Bank's account, or claiming a prize if you give the sponsors your personal information, or even the "How Hard Are You?" e-mails selling cialis, viagra, and everything else under the sun. At least all of those entertained me.
Have we become so numb to SPAM that it being so blatant now is the only real way that it'll get our attention? I'll admit, it had me at a head scratch, but geez, seriously, put a little effort at least.
It would certainly make my life all a nano-second more interesting... ;)
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
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