the grind...
Back to it, that is... kids, sleep, work, repeat.
I’m sitting here on the train with the book that I managed to finish about 4/5 of while I was away and debating spending the train ride reading instead of planning for this morning’s class. Why not? Why not “wing”? Sometimes magical and brilliant things happen when you wing a lecture. And sometimes it just sucks. And the fact that I don’t really care anymore enters into the equation as well.
I feel like I’ve blogged myself silly over the past three days. There are some things happening back in the Real World, but nothing I feel compelled to start going on and on about.
Yesterday I took some time to clean off my desktop. The computer incarnation, that is. The Desktop on my Mac is a striking display of controlled chaos. And while my hard drive is a fairly organized affair, my Desktop serves as a place to hold everything that I am currently working on, and anything I need frequent and daily access to. Everything is neatly grouped into specific areas, and the SIZE of the icons serves as an indicator of the relative importance of a particular file or folder. (This feature is not part of the OS, but a courtesy of a Finder hack that I can’t recall the name of.) So the busier I am, the more STUFF accumulates on my Desktop. And in the past few weeks, it had gotten a little crazy, with a long diagonal line of folders creeping across the middle of the screen. But now with the conference done and a couple of other things out of the way... the associated documents having been either filed or deleted... the center of my Desktop is clear again. I was surprised when I did it how much of a relief it was to see all that empty space.
But now it’s time to start thinking about all the things I’ve been putting off because of the conference. Grading, planning, writing letters of recommendation, grading, working on the play, grading.
Did I mention “grading”?
My wife asked me if I felt “recharged” after the weekend, and the thing is... I had to say... really, no. I mean... it was nice while it lasted, but now? I just feel like I’ve hit the ground stressing. Maybe it would cheer me up to look at a calendar and see how few weeks we really have left in the semester.
Anyway. Back to work.
D.
Sunday, April 4
the return trip...
Sunday morning, There was a TV in the airport shuttlebus. Ernest Angley was on. You know him, even if you think you don’t. He is a TV preacher. Strike that... he is the TV preacher. He is the TV preacher that Robin Williams is doing when Robin Williams does a TV preacher. One of those TV preachers who manages to make “God” into a three syllable word. (“Ga-HOWWWd-uh!”) I haven’t seen him since I was a teenager. I had no idea he was still around, and still sporting the same toup’ apparently. Nice. I was watching the “healing” portion of the program with strange fascination. I just can’t imaging believing that hard in anything. I was mildly amused until they brought a little 8 year old kid up there, which immediately turned curiosity into revulsion. Keep your Crazy God Talk off the kids, please.
--- --- --- --- ---
I checked out of the hotel at 10:45 AM in that automated way you can do nowadays without ever talking to a real person. Dial #7080, and you’re checked out. We slipped your bill under the door last night. It’s a futuristic kind of efficiency. The whole hotel was like that. Robotic. And yet “organic” too, because the building itself had no straight lines. The high speed elevators that rushed me up and down to and from the 46th floor were these curvy transparent-pod-things... like the one that Derek Smalls gets stuck in during “Rock and Roll Creation”. The 50 story high atrium inside the hotel was bounded by curved railings and gently looping concrete balconies. It was like being inside of a skyscraper-sized aorta. It wasn’t hard to imagine the whole hotel growing out of the earth like a giant H.R. Giger biomechanical living structure. Minus the “wet”.
--- --- --- --- ---
Here in today’s enlightened age, you’d think that the archetype of the “hot flight attendant” would be one which would have faded away by now.... disappearing hand-in-hand with the now decidedly 1970’s sounding word “stewardess”.
The thing is? Really... not.
Yeah.
--- --- --- --- ---
Takeoff was rough. It was a windy day in Atlanta today – enough so that I was actually glad I had worn my out-of-place looking black leather New York coat as I stood waiting for the airport shuttle this morning. The plane moved down the runway like a soccer ball being dribbled down field... with far more back and forth motion than you’d reasonably expect an airplane to have while it is still on the ground.
Apart from the Hot Flight Attendant Archetypes, there are a smattering of attractive women in the general area who bear commenting on. A very attractive Latina woman next to me, who seems to be traveling with her Mother. An indeterminately ethnic woman two rows black with that thick, thick, thick, curly, curly, curly black hair that many indeterminately ethnic woman have, and that I will never forgive myself for dying without ever having touched. And a black-clad woman who could very well be carved out of stone, and appears to perhaps be flying to Pilates class.
The flight TO Atlanta was packed with what I have come to refer to as “Sweatpant Girls”. You know the ones. This flight appears to be mercifully Sweatpant Girl free.
The flight boarding at the gate opposite mine was notable in that every woman in line at the gate was wearing a miniskirt. Every one. A glance at the board... FLIGHT 1265, DEPARTING 13:30, ATLANTA, CANCUN.
Go wild, girls.
--- --- --- --- ---
Back in NY, as soon as shoes hit pavement there is an immediate shift to a different energy... a different way of moving. It’s cliché, but true.
The sky here is gray and cold and wet. In comparison to Atlanta, it seems like a different season. Or a different country. It’s like I’ve flown to London in September.
T-minus one hour aboard the train, and then it’s back to My Life. It was a good vacation, but I think I needed one more full day. Then maybe I’d feel ready. Right now I don’t.
D.
Sunday morning, There was a TV in the airport shuttlebus. Ernest Angley was on. You know him, even if you think you don’t. He is a TV preacher. Strike that... he is the TV preacher. He is the TV preacher that Robin Williams is doing when Robin Williams does a TV preacher. One of those TV preachers who manages to make “God” into a three syllable word. (“Ga-HOWWWd-uh!”) I haven’t seen him since I was a teenager. I had no idea he was still around, and still sporting the same toup’ apparently. Nice. I was watching the “healing” portion of the program with strange fascination. I just can’t imaging believing that hard in anything. I was mildly amused until they brought a little 8 year old kid up there, which immediately turned curiosity into revulsion. Keep your Crazy God Talk off the kids, please.
I checked out of the hotel at 10:45 AM in that automated way you can do nowadays without ever talking to a real person. Dial #7080, and you’re checked out. We slipped your bill under the door last night. It’s a futuristic kind of efficiency. The whole hotel was like that. Robotic. And yet “organic” too, because the building itself had no straight lines. The high speed elevators that rushed me up and down to and from the 46th floor were these curvy transparent-pod-things... like the one that Derek Smalls gets stuck in during “Rock and Roll Creation”. The 50 story high atrium inside the hotel was bounded by curved railings and gently looping concrete balconies. It was like being inside of a skyscraper-sized aorta. It wasn’t hard to imagine the whole hotel growing out of the earth like a giant H.R. Giger biomechanical living structure. Minus the “wet”.
Here in today’s enlightened age, you’d think that the archetype of the “hot flight attendant” would be one which would have faded away by now.... disappearing hand-in-hand with the now decidedly 1970’s sounding word “stewardess”.
The thing is? Really... not.
Yeah.
Takeoff was rough. It was a windy day in Atlanta today – enough so that I was actually glad I had worn my out-of-place looking black leather New York coat as I stood waiting for the airport shuttle this morning. The plane moved down the runway like a soccer ball being dribbled down field... with far more back and forth motion than you’d reasonably expect an airplane to have while it is still on the ground.
Apart from the Hot Flight Attendant Archetypes, there are a smattering of attractive women in the general area who bear commenting on. A very attractive Latina woman next to me, who seems to be traveling with her Mother. An indeterminately ethnic woman two rows black with that thick, thick, thick, curly, curly, curly black hair that many indeterminately ethnic woman have, and that I will never forgive myself for dying without ever having touched. And a black-clad woman who could very well be carved out of stone, and appears to perhaps be flying to Pilates class.
The flight TO Atlanta was packed with what I have come to refer to as “Sweatpant Girls”. You know the ones. This flight appears to be mercifully Sweatpant Girl free.
The flight boarding at the gate opposite mine was notable in that every woman in line at the gate was wearing a miniskirt. Every one. A glance at the board... FLIGHT 1265, DEPARTING 13:30, ATLANTA, CANCUN.
Go wild, girls.
Back in NY, as soon as shoes hit pavement there is an immediate shift to a different energy... a different way of moving. It’s cliché, but true.
The sky here is gray and cold and wet. In comparison to Atlanta, it seems like a different season. Or a different country. It’s like I’ve flown to London in September.
T-minus one hour aboard the train, and then it’s back to My Life. It was a good vacation, but I think I needed one more full day. Then maybe I’d feel ready. Right now I don’t.
D.
Saturday, April 3
the same...
Saturday morning. I got up before 9:00... got dressed...walked downstairs to get a hot tea and some donuts... came back up... polished the PowerPoint... met with my co-presenters. That done, and having toyed with the idea of going “out” in some unspecified way, I got back into my pajama bottoms and an unbuttoned short-sleeve shirt and parked myself in front of the giant hotel window to read... once again, doing “nothing” in the most deliberate way I know how.
The results of last night’s experiment are indeterminate. It was only one drink, but I felt... nothing. I’m not sure what I expected, but I think that was the result I was most afraid of.
D.
Saturday morning. I got up before 9:00... got dressed...walked downstairs to get a hot tea and some donuts... came back up... polished the PowerPoint... met with my co-presenters. That done, and having toyed with the idea of going “out” in some unspecified way, I got back into my pajama bottoms and an unbuttoned short-sleeve shirt and parked myself in front of the giant hotel window to read... once again, doing “nothing” in the most deliberate way I know how.
The results of last night’s experiment are indeterminate. It was only one drink, but I felt... nothing. I’m not sure what I expected, but I think that was the result I was most afraid of.
D.
too much nothing...
It’s 10:00 PM on a Friday night, and I find that my enjoyment of my solitude is being disturbed by the nagging sense that I should be doing something. Meaning – something MORE than listening to Beethoven and reading science fiction. Why? I don’t know. If you had asked me a week ago I’d have told you that I would KILL for a whole evening alone to read science fiction and listen to Beethoven. And yet now... I can’t seem to still my brain, so I’m back down in the hotel lobby... hanging out... typing.... considering walking over to the Lounge and ordering a vodka and something... anything just so I can feel... I don’t know... a little more present or something?
Something...
--- --- --- ---
Hotels are always crawling with beautiful women... especially in the evening. Even the science teacher women seem to have dressed themselves up for the night and come out to play. Problem is, they are all in the places where I have no desire to be.... the crowded Lounge, the noisy Sporty Bar. I walk into those places and I can just feel the pressure of all the people pushing in on the air. And yet... that’s where the women are. Except for one. A little while ago she asked me in the elevator for directions to the Sporty Bar, but now she’s sitting outside of the Sporty Bar... in the Lobby...
Reading a book...
That’s like... a SIGN right? Or close to a sign. Closer than I usually get, anyway.
And yet it would still involve staring a conversation.
”Too dark in the Sports Bar to read??”
Bleah.
Its times like these that I really, really hate being me.
D.
It’s 10:00 PM on a Friday night, and I find that my enjoyment of my solitude is being disturbed by the nagging sense that I should be doing something. Meaning – something MORE than listening to Beethoven and reading science fiction. Why? I don’t know. If you had asked me a week ago I’d have told you that I would KILL for a whole evening alone to read science fiction and listen to Beethoven. And yet now... I can’t seem to still my brain, so I’m back down in the hotel lobby... hanging out... typing.... considering walking over to the Lounge and ordering a vodka and something... anything just so I can feel... I don’t know... a little more present or something?
Something...
Hotels are always crawling with beautiful women... especially in the evening. Even the science teacher women seem to have dressed themselves up for the night and come out to play. Problem is, they are all in the places where I have no desire to be.... the crowded Lounge, the noisy Sporty Bar. I walk into those places and I can just feel the pressure of all the people pushing in on the air. And yet... that’s where the women are. Except for one. A little while ago she asked me in the elevator for directions to the Sporty Bar, but now she’s sitting outside of the Sporty Bar... in the Lobby...
Reading a book...
That’s like... a SIGN right? Or close to a sign. Closer than I usually get, anyway.
And yet it would still involve staring a conversation.
”Too dark in the Sports Bar to read??”
Bleah.
Its times like these that I really, really hate being me.
D.
Friday, April 2
confer...
The whole “conference” part of the Conference, I could do without. I went into a talk today for about 5 minutes and then walked out. Not to sound stuck up or anything, but... these people have nothing to offer me! I just mean that... look, I’m not going to learn any SCIENCE in any of these talks, and I’m not actually TEACHING anymore, so I have no need to pick up cute little classroom hints or activities or new approaches to this topic or that. So why bother? I’ve decided not to even fake it.
I did hit the exhibits today, but even there... I wasn’t quite sure what I was looking for. Am I here as a teacher, or representing my NEXT job? I’m in limbo. So mostly I just wandered. There weren’t even many cool giveaways. I did get a stuffed Shamu from the Sea World booth, so... at least I have something to bring back for the 5 year old.
Then I went back to the hotel room (by now it’s only noon!) took a nap, got up, bailed on my 5 minute talk, went to lunch at the mall, came back to the hotel, logged to my email and IM, and wound up talking to an Internet Friend / Weblog Reader Person for like 2 hours on the phone. (When you sign up for high-speed net access, the hotel lets you make as many long distance calls as you want!)
Now I’m sitting downstairs at the hotel’s fake-Starbucksy place and having a tea and a Krispy Kreme and waiting for a beautiful young science teacher chick to come by and lock eyes with me.
Hey... it could happen.
D.
The whole “conference” part of the Conference, I could do without. I went into a talk today for about 5 minutes and then walked out. Not to sound stuck up or anything, but... these people have nothing to offer me! I just mean that... look, I’m not going to learn any SCIENCE in any of these talks, and I’m not actually TEACHING anymore, so I have no need to pick up cute little classroom hints or activities or new approaches to this topic or that. So why bother? I’ve decided not to even fake it.
I did hit the exhibits today, but even there... I wasn’t quite sure what I was looking for. Am I here as a teacher, or representing my NEXT job? I’m in limbo. So mostly I just wandered. There weren’t even many cool giveaways. I did get a stuffed Shamu from the Sea World booth, so... at least I have something to bring back for the 5 year old.
Then I went back to the hotel room (by now it’s only noon!) took a nap, got up, bailed on my 5 minute talk, went to lunch at the mall, came back to the hotel, logged to my email and IM, and wound up talking to an Internet Friend / Weblog Reader Person for like 2 hours on the phone. (When you sign up for high-speed net access, the hotel lets you make as many long distance calls as you want!)
Now I’m sitting downstairs at the hotel’s fake-Starbucksy place and having a tea and a Krispy Kreme and waiting for a beautiful young science teacher chick to come by and lock eyes with me.
Hey... it could happen.
D.
our intial descent...
I can’t remember the last time I was disappointed to hear that a plane was landing. What a difference traveling alone makes. Every time I hear a screaming child, it makes me smile... secure in the knowledge that it is NOT my problem.
The awesome travel day went south when I got to the hotel and my room wasn’t ready. They suggested that I go to the Convention Center to register for the conference, which I did, only to find that the registration desk had closed and the shuttlebus had stopped running. So I wound up walking like 3.5 miles, round trip, for nothing. On the way back I stopped at this place called the CNN Center, which seems to be a combination of a hotel, a mall-type-thing, and actual CNN offices. Very odd. Anyway, I grabbed a bite to eat and posted last night’s travel entries by leeching off the Omni hotel’s wireless network.
So, yesterday evening was kinda crappy, but I’m not about to complain, because I went to bed at 2:00 last night, then woke up at 7:00. Then again at 8:00. Then I got out of bed at 8:30. And I promise you I’ll be back here in the hotel sleeping at noon.
Conferences so totally rock.
D.
I can’t remember the last time I was disappointed to hear that a plane was landing. What a difference traveling alone makes. Every time I hear a screaming child, it makes me smile... secure in the knowledge that it is NOT my problem.
The awesome travel day went south when I got to the hotel and my room wasn’t ready. They suggested that I go to the Convention Center to register for the conference, which I did, only to find that the registration desk had closed and the shuttlebus had stopped running. So I wound up walking like 3.5 miles, round trip, for nothing. On the way back I stopped at this place called the CNN Center, which seems to be a combination of a hotel, a mall-type-thing, and actual CNN offices. Very odd. Anyway, I grabbed a bite to eat and posted last night’s travel entries by leeching off the Omni hotel’s wireless network.
So, yesterday evening was kinda crappy, but I’m not about to complain, because I went to bed at 2:00 last night, then woke up at 7:00. Then again at 8:00. Then I got out of bed at 8:30. And I promise you I’ll be back here in the hotel sleeping at noon.
Conferences so totally rock.
D.
Thursday, April 1
airplane seating tradeoffs...
Exit row... chatty old guy...
I figure it’s a wash.
I take that back... better than a wash. Chatty Old Guy takes the HeadPhone Hint and drifts off to sleep as I fire up some Philip Glass piano etudes on the iPod. (I have decided that an iPod can turn any experience... even flying... into a pleasant one.) I’m reading. A book. Fiction, Deliberately. Something that’s not about physics or astronomy or the philosophy and history thereof. William Gibson’s ”Pattern recognition”... an acquisition of the recent $200 Borders assult. Sitting in my flying steel tube, plugged into my palm sized 10,000 song music library, I feel like I could be a character in one of Gibson’s novels, if only I were better dressed.
It’s been so long since I’ve flown anything but Southwest, this Boeng 767-300 feels like a flying hotel. The exit door has an emergency handle that serves as a perfect iPod holder. I put down my book a bit to type on the computer, and Chatty Old Guy wakes up and pulls out his own book... a book called “The Complete Book of Dirty Tricks.” The dustjacket is safety-orange and has a picture of a gut with a giant screw through his head. Chatty Old Guy is wearing a jaunty red leather cap. I should try to sneak a photo.
Turbulence. I often wonder what that “feels” like to pilots. I mean, what is the driving equivalent? Is hitting turbulence as unremarkable as driving over a pothole or a patch of gravel? Or is it more like hydroplaning, or slipping on a patch of black ice? I suspect the former, but fear the latter.
Back to the book.
D.
Exit row... chatty old guy...
I figure it’s a wash.
I take that back... better than a wash. Chatty Old Guy takes the HeadPhone Hint and drifts off to sleep as I fire up some Philip Glass piano etudes on the iPod. (I have decided that an iPod can turn any experience... even flying... into a pleasant one.) I’m reading. A book. Fiction, Deliberately. Something that’s not about physics or astronomy or the philosophy and history thereof. William Gibson’s ”Pattern recognition”... an acquisition of the recent $200 Borders assult. Sitting in my flying steel tube, plugged into my palm sized 10,000 song music library, I feel like I could be a character in one of Gibson’s novels, if only I were better dressed.
It’s been so long since I’ve flown anything but Southwest, this Boeng 767-300 feels like a flying hotel. The exit door has an emergency handle that serves as a perfect iPod holder. I put down my book a bit to type on the computer, and Chatty Old Guy wakes up and pulls out his own book... a book called “The Complete Book of Dirty Tricks.” The dustjacket is safety-orange and has a picture of a gut with a giant screw through his head. Chatty Old Guy is wearing a jaunty red leather cap. I should try to sneak a photo.
Turbulence. I often wonder what that “feels” like to pilots. I mean, what is the driving equivalent? Is hitting turbulence as unremarkable as driving over a pothole or a patch of gravel? Or is it more like hydroplaning, or slipping on a patch of black ice? I suspect the former, but fear the latter.
Back to the book.
D.
I, RobotTrain...
I’ve decided to get to the airport today by taking the AirTrain, which is this new and somewhat disturbing Blade-Runneresque robotic unmanned elevated railway that runs from the Long Island Railroad station in Jamaica, Queens out to both NY airports. When they were testing the system last year, it went out of control and slammed into a wall and killed the operator. (It’s still unclear why there even WAS an “operator” aboard the robotic unmanned train.) And recently I hear that it’s just driven off on its own a couple of times and stranded people in the rail yard, surrounded by electrified tracks.
So... task number one for today... make it to the airport without being killed by a Robot Train.
d.
I’ve decided to get to the airport today by taking the AirTrain, which is this new and somewhat disturbing Blade-Runneresque robotic unmanned elevated railway that runs from the Long Island Railroad station in Jamaica, Queens out to both NY airports. When they were testing the system last year, it went out of control and slammed into a wall and killed the operator. (It’s still unclear why there even WAS an “operator” aboard the robotic unmanned train.) And recently I hear that it’s just driven off on its own a couple of times and stranded people in the rail yard, surrounded by electrified tracks.
So... task number one for today... make it to the airport without being killed by a Robot Train.
d.
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