I woke up from an expected nap to find my Northwest flight paused on the tarmac. The engines spun up then stopped. I could see the shadow of an “off-contract mechanic” standing below the wing. A heavily loaded electrical motor whined, then paused. Clunk after metallic clunk announced our resumption of travel.
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I have been having a great time! Everyone is awesome, and we were all BFF. We are visiting Bharat’s palatial Google estate in Chelsea (just down the street from the Rawhide bar, grrrrowl!) and there will soon be massive amounts of food delivered. My laptop has been unable to connect to the wifi in the hotel, so I’m depending on the kindness of strangers. Well, the kindness of Bharat. Anyway, I have to try and be a little bit social now. HAHAHAHAHA! I gave the first “toast” last night, and by toast I mean long winded, hysterically funny, and completely blue speech. Bharat’s was better, h0bbel’s was amazing, and I was closing out the open bar during Volksport’s speech (which got a lot of laughs, but free wine! Free Wine!).
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I made it! I got a limo ride from the airport at my own expense. I may have been literally taken for a ride, but I don’t mind so much ‘cause it’s raining and all. Andy (valiant) is here already, and his Swiss accent is charming. I’m bouncing off the walls ‘cause I’m so excited! Hooray!
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I couldn’t help but stare at the word “RABBI�? embroidered in gold on the yarmulke of the man a row in front of me, cunningly concealed under a baseball cap bearing the words “New York.�”
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Lisa and Stan bought themselves a digital camera so that I could have a pocket camera to pack on the trip. Yes, I will also have my big iron, my D-SLR, but, for instance, at the dinner with 20+ other photo nerds, I will need to represent, and I don’t want to find a home for ten pounds of camera amidst the filet mignon and lobster claws.
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Gabe’s last day is tomorrow, so there was a potluck thing. Someone left a delicious pasilla pepper out, so I started eating it. This may not have been wise, since I just saw my spirit animal.
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It was Jeremy’s birthday today, so the Keathlys and I piled into the old jalopy and drove over to their deluxe apartment in the sky. I foolishly neglected to bring my camera, so you don’t get to see their views or Jeremy’s very nice LeMond bike, which was probably more expensive than my green car plus a year’s worth of gas, insurance, and maybe even parking. Anyway, good times, bla bla bla. Jeremy recommended that I check out the Specialized Allez. Don’t tell Freewheel. It was on my list anyway.
I got to see the photos that Tor was taking, and he does indeed have a much nicer camera than I do. Also he did not get roaringly drunk and wasn’t too shy to take pictures of all the cute women there. Well, he probably knew them already, so whatever, shyness probably didn’t factor in.
The really interesting part was spotting Joe Scrimshaw in the background of some of the shots. Joe Scrimshaw!
It’s about foot sex!
So, really, I ended up having a two degree (or less) connection to four out of the five Fringe Festival shows that I saw.
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It would be nice if on a day when I come bouncing and dancing into work, ready to kick ass and take names, if I would not get phone calls where the party at the other end starts crying. That’s just an FYI. I’m not saying that people should stop calling me at work and crying, but it would be nice if they didn’t have to.
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Lisa, Paul, and Kassie all want me to go back to posting every thirty seconds. Bharat says two posts per day, and they have to be good.
“Who is this Bharat fellow?” you might ask, and that would be a reasonable question, because you might not know about my late nights struggling to program my way out of a paper bag. Volunteering on the Gallery project has taught me more about programming than all of my programming and computer science courses together. On the other hand, I had never quite gotten object orientation except as a handy way to do things until the elaboring variable scoping puzzles presented in Scheme form in CSci 1901. Bharat was my almost-mentor for a long time. When I was at my lowest he tried very hard to talk to me about it, despite not seeming to understand very well. He used to kick me in the ass when I was dragging. I used to have a faux bumper sticker up in my cubicle: “I’d rather be programming.” If it weren’t for Gallery, and by extension Bharat, I wouldn’t be, and I wouldn’t call myself a programmer.
Things that will stop me from posting this fall:
- 16 credits of classes (”Post in class,” she says. “Buy me a new laptop,” I respond)
- Actually working at work. I love my job. We aren’t changing the world, but, uh, free movies at Coffman? That has to be a good thing.
- When I get home from all that my brain will be well and truly fried, so I will likely just watch tv and write code until I fall asleep.
- I have a friend who actually appreciates my fistfuls of metaphor. She might just receive all the written output that I would produce.
- I might get tired of all the narcississtic blather that I produce and go back to using this site as a place for public notes.
- I like to make lists
- Lists of lists
- Tra la la
Oh yeah, I mentioned that I am considering writing a novel, and Kassie suggested that I write it on my blog. I’ve seen that done, and it only works if the reader has kept up to date because of the reverse ordering thing. I suppose that I could write a little php magic to put novel posts in order on a special page, but, uh never mind. I shouldn’t have said anything, because once you say that you are going to do something you look like a jackass when you don’t end up doing it.
It should be noted that I still post more than everyone except maybe Paul.
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