What A Relief!

I was very pleased to hear that Tijuana was starting to gear up their tourism industry since there are "Far fewer beheadings and public shoot-outs" these days.

I mean, I guess a few beheadings and shoot-outs can add a little spice to a Mexican vacation. But you don't want too many.

Bitchin' Camaro Vermont Style

I've landed in Vermont and this is the view out of my window. Don't get me wrong, I'm in one of the best places I've ever stayed at:

• Kitchenette
• King Sized Bed
• Two TV's
• Leather furniture
• A chair with wheels and a wood floor to roll it on

Fabulous!

Sadly, though, I'm sitting here working, watching a Friends Christmas episode. Ah well...

UPDATES: Blogger Meet Ups and The Blog Card

Hey, everyone! I'm back from Tennessee, home of Monkey Central: Playground of Dr. Monkey Muck. He and his lovely gal, Sparky, hosted me for a fabulous evening of food and laughs. It's fun to meet up with blogger buddies...they're strangers, but not strangers. We know a lot about each other, just not what it's like to be in the same room together.



The Good Doctor and Sparky kept me laughing and laughed at my silly self. We learned that we are all pretty much normal too, which is a comfort. Their home was lovely and cozy. We gabbed and gabbed and drank and I got the tour of Monkey Central and and a private showing of the impressive Swag collection. I actually got to sample a monkey mint, courtesly of GKL.



I'm glad they welcomed me into their home because the could have just as easily told me to shove it. See, I thought I was flying in on Monday, which is usually the way it works for business trips around here. I had all kinds of plans lined up. I had even packed. Then I learned Monday morning that the trip was actually for Tuesday...UGH! All that angst for nothing! I then spent Monday feeling like I may have slipped into a Final Destiny situation.

But all scheduling sins were forgiven and the Trip was a huge success.

So now that the girl's birthday party is over and I made it through my conference last week and a business trip this week, I finally found the time to send off the Blog Card. I'm ashamed to admit that I've had it for over two months. But it's on it's way to the lovely Bad Tempered, Snow-Covered Zombie, Barbara. I hope you enjoy it as much as we did!

As you may have noticed, I have a bit of a time management problem. But take heart, we got a new riding lawn mower that has reduced our grass mowing time from 4 hours to 13 minutes, if you consider the time it takes to do donuts in the monster during your victory lap around the lawn. Othewise, it only takes 11 minutes. I hope this improves my response time.

But back to the topic of blogetherness. I'm going to be in Olympian Fields, IL May 11th and 12th and my evenings will be free. I wonder if anyone in Chicago blogs...Let me know in the comments or via email at GREENPEARL42 at yahoo dot com if you want to get together.

And in other news, my co-workers have learned of my vendetta against Mel Gibson. I came back to work today to find that scraggly-assed picture of Mel Gibson tacked to my cube wall. A certain co-worker spearheaded this escapade, let's call him Buttercup. He's been surruptitiously planting pics of MG at my desk all day. I just keep taking them down and giving them back to him. He then tapes them up on his cabinet. He's going to have quite the collection.

So all's well in the kingdom as I settle into a new summer routine, filled with good will and a spring in my step. I'm lucky the people in my life both here and out there are endlessly entertaining and wonderful. Thanks for being the you that you are.

Love,
Flannery
xoxox

Sweet Home Ohio

I'm back! I'm burried in work! I've got lots to say and no time to say it. Check in with me late tonight...perhaps I'll get a chance to post my adventures in Nashville.

Missed you all!

On The Road Again Soon!

I'm off to Nashville in a couple of weeks (November 10-12). Anyone care to meet? Just let me know. I guess it's the week of the CMA awards so I may get to meet the likes of Billy Ray Cyrus and those guys in that one band that not Kelly Pickler but that other blond on AI loved...she won...what the hell is her name? I can't remember...she knocked out headlights in one of her songs and she wanted Jesus to take the wheel. Seriously...I've totally blanked.

When You Get Caught Between The Moon & New York City

It wasn’t until our plane finally took off 20 minutes later than expected that I placed my Metro card in my book to mark the page and I started to pray. I always do this while taking off. It’s usually the Lord’s Prayer, which never fails to get me and my plane off the ground. It was dark and we were leaving LaGuardia, which is truly a pit of human misery.

My colleague, D, and I wound up our tasks for the day and dubiously hopped into a cab for the airport. We had designs on catching an earlier flight out. Yesterday, when catching a ride with a cabbie from the same company, we were subjected to a cab ride designed by Satan himself. First, we nearly had to tackle him in order to stop him from taking off without us. Our hosts had ordered this cab for us and rather than getting us promptly to the curb, they delayed us with shop talk. So, he was grumpy and expressed it through an obvious vehicle: his cab.

As we bounced along the streets of the Bronx and onto the highway, we were forced to endure talk radio and gale force winds. The driver, obviously deaf or full of hate and bile, kept cranking up the political talk and rock. Also, the window controls in the back seat were locked so I couldn’t roll mine up, causing me to absorb blasts of wind in my hair and face. While all of these assaults were taking place on our persons, this maniacal man alternatively pressed the gas pedal and the brake pedal in an erratic fashion; one would almost call it “maverick.” We were jostled enough that by the time we arrived at our hotel, we were both nauseous and suffering from the effects of inner ear disturbances.

Undaunted, we stashed our stuff in our rooms, changed clothes, and gamely hopped on a bus to take us to the subway to take us to Manhattan. It was a beautiful night and we both enjoyed the luxuriously smooth ride we experienced on both the bus and the subway. We arrived at Grand Central Station and made our way out onto 42nd Street…Avenue…I can’t remember which, but it took us right out to the Pershing Square Café, where I met Coaster Punchman, Poor George, and BeckEye one lovely night a month or two ago. I stood there for a moment, remembering. I was sad that I wasn’t going to meet them there again; it actually bummed me out a bit. Next time I’m here, I’ll make plans again. In know CP is gone, but that doesn’t mean we can’t meet without him.

D and I pressed on. I think she was looking to me to lead a grand adventure in the City, having heard of my trip here and in St. Louis. But I was just not inspired. I was actually ashamed to admit that I was hoping to have dinner at our hotel and retire to an evening reading. It wasn’t the company; I just wasn’t feeling like seizing the day. But we wandered around, checking out the shops and gasping at the prices.

As we weaved our way around, we were drawn to a well lit set of windows on a mostly dark street. It contained the Mercantile Library. We moved closer and looked in. It was a marvelous little spot. Beyond the glass, we could see several modest book shelves full of library books. Toward the back of the main room, a young, willowy librarian stood reading behind a wooden counter top, which was home to several large pieces of parchment and oversized books. I was momentarily spellbound by the scene, which could have been captured Edward Hopper and displayed right next to "Nighthawks." I wanted to go in, but I didn't want to disturb the scene. I looked away and glanced at some smaller writing at the top of the windows. It read "Headquarters for the National Mystery Writers of America." It was really cool to be standing there. Someday, I'll be a member, I thought.

Satisfied at having Seen Something Special, we decided to move along. We came upon a road side vendor selling silk pashminas for five bucks. Ah ha! Something to bring home for the girls! I know they’d love to have long, beautiful scarves to drape around themselves. It sounded good to me too so I bought three.

Cheered a bit by this we tromped off to find someplace to eat. We were headed back to the Pershing Square Café, when we were seduced by the spells of Tequilaville. As we passed by the windows we saw heaping plates of “Mexican” food and endless bowls of chips and salsa. We diverted our trajectory towards the door and found a seat. The waiter brought us menus and I went to the bar to treat myself to a Dos Equis. I brought my beer back to the table and settled in.

Unfortunately, it was loud in there. The music was loud and there was bacchanalian cacophony pulsating from a group of about 15 people sitting in the back corner. They were yelling at each other, singing Mexican drinking songs, and doing body shots. At one point, they ordered another round of tequila. I mean, come on! It’s Tuesday night! It’s not even Tiki night! These fools are going to be sorry in the morning. That gave us some satisfaction, as we ate chips and cringed as the f-bombs dropped and some hyena-woman laughed her Wipe-Out laugh every 20 seconds or so.

By the time we left, my nerves were so rattled that I couldn’t bear the thought of using the taxi voucher I had, which would mean waiting for 30 minutes for our ride to arrive. So we decided to rely on public transportation. In Grand Central station, we found a quiet spot to examine the subway map and plot our route home. Nearly confident that we knew what we were doing, we spelunked our way to the right train and headed out.

Two trains later, we had to grab a bus to finish our journey. It was my first time using a Metro card on a bus, so, of course, I put it in the wrong way. When I tried again, the bus driver (I think his nametag read "Beelzebub") snatched the card out of my hand and said, "I ain't got time for this!" and jerked his thumb toward the back of the bus.

We took our seat and held on. At one point, near the airport, the bus was stopped at a light. It was also stopped at a bus stop, but the doors were closed. Some poor guy was standing on the sidewalk, signalling that he wanted to get on. The light changed to green and the bus driver looked at the guy, shook his head and took off, laughing maniacally. D and I looked at each other in fear as our bus ride turned into Space Mountain. We zoomed around the airport and I told D, "Let's get off at the next stop, shall we?"

We made it to the Northwest terminal and slipped through the back door, happy to be alive and to have escaped a fate of being fed ramen noodles in a bucket at the bottom of a well in this guy's back yard. We called for the hotel shuttle and called our families just to hear their voices again. The shuttle picked us up and we were greeted by a cheerful driver who seemed glad to see us. He made one more stop to pick up a gaggle of Air Canada flight staff. This cheered me a bit as the flight attendants had jaunty red bows tied at their throats and I love to listen to Canadians talk.

As I listened to the dulcet tones of the Air Canada Staff talking about how they felt sorry for the crews that have the "Sascatoon Duty," I was struck by the thought that I'm having an international experience that Disney tries to make me believe I'm having at places like Epcot Center. Here I was with Canadians, Carribeans, and a Conservative, having just gotten off an exciting ride. But it was for real. The hole time in NYC, I was working and sharing space with people from all over the world and none of us was wearing nametags. I recommend the experience.


The next day was pretty routine and we took another uncomfortable cab ride to the airport. We weren't able to get an earlier flight, so we had a pretty good meal at Fig's. We waited to board and finished up the books we were reading. I was really ready to be home. I thought back over the trip and some of the disappointments I experienced, mainly the missed opportunity to hook up with some of you folks. I must say, and I know others have said it too, it's really cool to meet fellow bloggers. There's none of the dread you experience when meeting strangers for the first time, because I'm pretty familiar with the quirks that I'm likely to face, like emptying an egg carton from the edges first and making sure the eggs balance before putting them back. I was kicking myself a little bit for not being brave enough to contact Beckeye and demanding another meeting.

We boarded the plane and got ourselves situated. I was feeling kind of blue because I'd finished a delightful book and starting a new one seemed kind of pointless. I wasn't really up for meeting new people. As we ascended into the night sky, I put my book down and looked out the window. We circled around New York City and I was suddenly struck by the fact that it was very familiar. It looked just like my map of Manhattan! Oblong and striped with different colors, glittering under the moonlight. My spirits lifted in time with our altitude and I decided to whip out my laptop and get crack-a-lackin' on this post. If I couldn't be with you while I was there, I sure as heck fire could try to make you feel like you were along for the ride.

See you next time I'm in town!

Love,
Flannery

I meant to show you this a while back...

It's the watch I got for 330 Coke Rewards! Remember? Pretty snazzy, don't you think?

I'm in Queens and getting ready to take on tomorrow. I'm sleepy having filled up on brick oven pizza. My co-worker, D, and I road the bus to Forest Hills and spent a happy few hours wandering through the shops. We did find some post cards for our other co-worker, who has a quest to find the world's worst post cards:

I also found an Obama button, which I'm not 100% sure came from campaign central, but, hey, I can't get my hands on anything with his name on it for love nor money, so I'll take what I can get.

Besides, the back has a real, honest to God safety pin, so you know it's pure:

Well, kids, I'm off to bed. I'm going to finish reading this wacky book called The Matchmaker of Perigord, which has such delightful phrasings as:

Picking up the fork, the barber selected a piece of plump sausage for his first mouthful. But, as he went to spear it, he suddenly stopped and stared blankly for several minutes. Then, very slowly, he put down the empty fork. As he sat back, a warm fat tear slid down his corow's-feet, shot over a tiny scar, rattled over his stubble and came to an abrupt halt at the bottom of his chin where it hung quivering.

Lovely, isn't it?

In closing, I leave you with a kiss goodnight and a horse's patoot:

And, heck, how about a giraffe's patoot to seal the deal?

Peace out and more tomorrow!

Honey, I'm Home!

Phew! It was a whirlwind trip to Boston but I made it. Doc greeted me with bells on and we shared a drink from the Growler I brought home from John Harvard's in Cambridge. Then I shooed him off to Tiki while I thought I'd join the kids. But they were asleep, so I squandered my evening playing Cake Mania in my jammies.

I get to go back to work tomorrow and see my buddies. You might think I would groan to have to go back to work so soon after getting home from such a journey, but I don't. I like the people I work with and I look forward to sharing my adventures and getting back into the swing of things.

Doc just got back and brought me some pumkin seeds that Mark harvested and baked from our crop of pumpkins. Mmm...they're yummy. You should stop by and have some when you get the chance and before they're all gone.

I missed you all and I'm glad to be home. Peace out and sweet dreams.

One If By Land, Two If By Sea

I'm off to Boston today and I'll be there 'til Wednesday. My colleague, Di and I will spend the evening in Cambridge tonight and then we'll spend the next two days in Hell's Own Training Room, according to my pal Jeff, who recently returned from a training trip at the same place. Apparently, it's right near the boiler and it's super hot.

But I don't care. I love Boston. I love it so much, I ought to marry it. I'm looking forward to taking lots of pictures and I hope to see something awesome to tell you all about. I'm so psyched about this trip, I didn't even have any anxiety dreams. In fact, I'm currently experiencing no pre-flight jitters or other fears. I'm sure that means I'm doomed, but I just can't seem to get any angst up about it.

The next time you hear from me, all be in Beantown.

Peace out!

Geeks Take St. Louis

My buddy, Jeff, and I went to St. Louis a few weeks ago and decided to document our search for kicks on Route 66. Watch as we get lost...

On the road again...

I'm packed and ready to go to Staten Island, NY tomorrow morning. What did I forget? Here's what I have so far:

• Clothes for Tuesday and Wednesday
• Camera
• Camera Charger
• Itinerary
• 2 books from the library: A Murder She Wrote mystery and Paid Companion by Amanda Quick (thanks for the recommendation, Raven!)
• My iPod with pirate music and the Wiggles overwritten
• Earbuds
• Hairbrush
• Travel sized toothpaste and deoderant in a travel zip lock
• Make up and toothbrush to be packed in the morning
• Comfortable shoes to train in
• Phone
• Phone charger
• Wallet with driver's license
• Band-aides
• Business cards
• Travel pack from work
• Xanax

That about covers it. I will print my boarding pass from work and pack up my work laptop tomorrow morning. I should have everything I need and I don't have to check my bags because it all fits in my duffel.

Everytime I go on a trip via airplane, I always have this sensation of doom. I worry that I will sleep through the alarm and miss my flight. Or, that I will realize as I buckle my seat belt that I didn't bring any underwear. When it gets into the wee hours of the night, I will probably dream that I will be trapped on a plane between Lemmy and Carol Channing, worried about whether I packed underwear or not when the pilot announces we are on our way to Guantanamo Bay, where you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.

I think the trick to travel is imagination. I pretend that I'm just getting on a bus. When I look out the window, I imagine that it must be a NASA trick. I take my 2/3's cup of Diet Coke from the Attendant and use it to wash down the three fingernail sized pretzels in a ritualistic fashion. When I arrive in the Newark airport, I know I will feel disoriented but I will buck myself up and perservere, knowing that I can go through with this. I will do my job and enjoy my hotel room. I will cruise around Staten Island, looking for things that will be of interest to you.

Wish me luck as I step away from my lovely little home and my beautiful family so that I may see the world and help some people make heads or tails of their paperwork. Also, please let me know if you think I've forgotten anything.

Uncle Louis

Well, I'm back from STL and I'll tell you one thing: It's no NYC. But I guess I should have suspected as much. Maybe it was my high expectations, but I left there feeling duped. The Arch! The Mississippi! Louis and Clark statues! Route 66! Budweiser! And the Bowling Hall of Fame! Yes, they are all there, but they might as well be here.

I've noticed a trend recently. From Easton Town Center to Legacy Village to the Warehouse District in Cleveland, to Akron, to St. Louis: in order to spruce up the place, they've all taken a page from Disney's book and remade their downtowns in the image of a simpler time. While I appreciate the charm of an outdoor village with cute shops, it kind of all feels soulless.

I suppose it's better than boarded up shops and cracked up streets. I'm sure all these places are the victims of "best practices." The city planners have all visited each other and said, "Hey! It works for Columbus, it will work here!" It's the same mentality that got us into the War: If democracy works for us, it will work for everyone. And we all know that was a big farce. We want the fast track to oil or tourists dollars or what's left of our disposable income. We don't care to take those best practices and have them custom made for the locality. No, that would require what we call "thinking." I guess, on the positive side, we're pretty good a mass production.

Don't get me wrong; I love my country. But we keep selling ourselves short. Rather than slowing down, taking a breath and sleeping on it, we slap what looks like it will work on top of a mess and hope for the best. And we repeat it everywhere we can. How else do you explain tax abatements?

I had dinner one night at a restaurant that was supposed to make me feel like I was in NYC. I visited the "Warehouse District" and I was supposed to feel like I was in the early 20th Century. Why can't I just go somewhere and feel like I was where I was? And that was somewhere special because it represented something and not because of some Sears & Robuck style smoke and mirrors? Only the eight of an inch that remains of Route 66 in this area made me feel like I was somewhere special.

We stopped at Ted Drewes Custard stand, which was busy and thriving. It also looked like it belonged on Route 66. And unlike the other Historic Sites on Route 66 that we passed, it was open and people from this day and age were spending some time together. It was sunny, people were happy. And everyone seemed to understand this was special. My pal Jeff and I were taking pictures of each other next to the route 66 sign and Ted Drewes. Some locals offered to get us both in the shot. They asked us where we were from and recommended their favorites.

We walked up to the menu posted on the side of the ice cream stand. An older gentleman was looking up, confounded. He was trying to find the price of a Sin Sundae so that he could figure out what he owed his friend. He asked us if we knew, but we didn't. We helped him find the price and tried to figure out what we wanted too.

We ended up with small sundaes, eaten out of a plastic St. Louis Cardinals ball cap. We ate quickly. lest the ice cream melt and, besides, we were anxiouse to head west on Route 66 for some kicks. I'm sure we must have taken a wrong turn. In fact, I'm surprised we didn't end up in Dale's backyard. But, before we knew it, we beheld the Arch off in the distance. We were headed back downtown.

It was here we gave up on St. Louis. We cried "uncle" and decided to cruise the street our hotel was on, Natural Bridge Road. We eventually found ourselves at the Breakaway Cafe, which was marvelously "local." There were even locals there, enjoying their meals. I had one of the local brews, Budweiser (prounounced Bud-wyz-er) and enjoyed one of the best hambergers I've ever eaten.

We waddled back to our white Hyundai and made our way home: Just this side of the Hollywood Hustler store on Natural Bridge Road. We slid into an extra wide parking spot at the hotel and entered through the side door, welcomed by a blast of cold air, hotel cleansers and chlorine. I now know exactly how the Tydee Bowl man feels when he punches in at work.

But, hey, St. Louis is a place with all the baggage of a midwest recovering manufacuting town and all the charm of southern humidity. I realize that "Warehouse Districts" are trying to make use of old buildings, and I appreciate that. I don't like the complete new "villages" or "town centers" that wipe away clean the local mom and pop stuff. Why not give mom and pop grants to spiff up their images instead? Why not use open lots for something more organic than a place to park? Why not add some sidewalks, too. Lots of people are walking these days, just like Jesus did.

I came home from St. Louis with my eyes open. If we're not careful, the powers that be will franchise America. And that would be great, if other nations were buying it. It would fund new ideas and a Madonna-like reinvention of this old broad we call our home land. But they're not buying it...or maybe they are. And what will we do with all that cash?

I Meant To Tell You This Sooner...

I'm leaving for St. Louis, home of Chuck Berry, in about an hour. I'm off for another work related adventure. This time, I'll be travelling with my pal Jeff. We plan to visit Budweiser and the International Bowling Hall of Fame. Of course I will provide a vividly detailed account of the Bud tour over at Social Zymurgy.

If anyone is in the area and wants to meet up, just let me know! Sorry about the short notice. I am travelling to NY again in August...18-20. Let me know if you want to meet. You can ask Coaster Punchman, Beckeye, and Chris...I'm fairly normal.

Wish me luck. I've taken the seat over the wing, so if shit goes down, I'll be in charge, which is right where I want to be.