Is this a nightclub or an aircraft ?

There are many unwritten rules in life. We know about them, they exist
but they are never written down.
There are some things that you should just be aware of.

"Look both ways before you cross the street" is one such rule. It has
appeared in writing at times, but not so much as a warning, but instead
as a posthumous statement, usually by a close relative when they were
asked by the authorities questions like "Did you offer him any advice ?"

Like most things we tend to encounter in the day to day, they happen so
often there is no point in writing them down. It is also worth noting
that the same rules are broken in the same ways by the same people.

Like red-eye etiquite.

If you are, as I have been on too many occasions, stuck on a plane for
more than 5 hours in the middle of the night; the thing you most want to
do is sleep.

So the the most important thing that you MUST do is shut the fuck up and
let the people around you sleep.

You should not, and this brings us back to the reason such unwritten
rules exist, transgress these boundaries and do something unthinkable like
spend all night talking very loudly to the attractive woman next to you in
the hopes of getting a second date. ( We will ignore for the moment that
the first one is under duress )

I have been victim to this twice and it is always the same.

A guy ( it is always the males that instigate this ) finds himself
sitting next to the most attractive women he has ever met, this week. He
realises that he has only the duration of this flight to impress her and get a
phone number.

He thus weighs up his options, reaches for the unwritten rule book,
promptly throws it out the metaphorical window, and forges any attempt
at sleep in deference to trying to 'Pick up the hot chick in seat 16D'

As a result those of us within earshot ( i.e. most of the plane ) have to
suffer through the night as he tries his to sound intelligent and
interested in the face of a woman who is, mostly, just being polite.

It never works, he never gets her address and in the mean time the rest
if us can't sleep.

Earplugs, a business class upgrade and a pillow over the head were still
not enough.

More than once I considered getting up and telling the poor sap that
there was "no hope, you aren't getting in her pants". But fear of
situations like 'Making a Scene' and 'We had to find an Air Marshall'
made me change my mind

In the end I just had to ride it out and wait for that final point in the
evening where the poor victim ( her ) decided enough was enough and she (
and the rest of us ) also needed sleep.

So, should you ever think that a seat by the exit aisle has lots of leg
room and is worth fighting for, I would like to point out that this seat
is also right by the toilets and will usually result in 'jenny' the
dancer meeting 'frank' the idiot and you end up learning far too much
about why a dancer needs to do her stretches and why a horny male thinks
this is interesting.

Take a seat in the back of the bus. It is quieter there.

And so it begins.

Despite my prolific attempt to garner an audience six months ago, I
was rapidly overcome by a bad case of writers block.

For a while I put it down to just being too busy. Then I foolishly read
some article ( probably a blog ) that put forward the point that people
who wrote blogs were just on a catharsis trip and using it as some form
of therapy.

So I stopped for fear of being labeled a self indulgent looney.

Then I got all caught up in the facts that my rants were "too long" but
brevity didn't give me the literary freedom that I required.

But recently I realised that it is because that just not a lot of
interesting crap happens in late summer. Fall, autumn, beltane or whatever
you want call this time of year. It is a quiet time where we all just get
shit done and don't bitch about it.

Of course, I'm realising all this in hindsight. Silly season is kicking
in and I'm in the middle of it

Tonight, I'm doing my best to stay one step ahead of a bartender who plans
to keep me liquored up, while outside the rain has stopped, the
temperature has dropped and the forecast is for snow. ( Sounds like a
line from a country and western song)

Tomorrow is the day before thanksgiving and I have to fly ( sounds like
the chorus ). So I've had to deal all day with people saying things like

"Hope you get out before the blizzard comes"

Fokkers

This is going to suck. I know it is. Tomorrow I well get up to three feet
of snow, dig myself out of the hotel and spend all day in a departure
lounge next some loser from Michigan who has had a personality bypass
and a screaming case of halitosis. He will try to keep me entertained
with stories of his hockey days while I make every possible phone call I
can in the hopes of getting the fuck out of dodge

Then, just as the sky clears and our ground-hold is lifted, I will be
unable to get the phone number of the supermodel who has being trying to
get my attention all afternoon because my PDA has tanked and my phone is
sans battery.

Been there, done that, still have the scars.

But at least I'm prepared. Start low, finish high.

You may now ransack my room.

In case you hadn't noticed I tend to travel a bit, a lot actually.

It tends to make me a tad high maintenance about my hotel room. This is
understandable since I could be on the one place for more than a week but
I get particular about a few things: too close to the elevator, too noisy.
Too far, too far to walk. is the bathroom big enough? Are there enough
towels ? etc etc.

So I expect things to be in a certain order, and I don't expect my
hotel to fight me or cause me stress. Unfortunately I also don't take
much luggage, and I'm very neat. This has, on occasion, led the hotel to
believe that I've actually checked out.

Mostly this is amusing, you get the odd phone call "Sir, would you mind
paying your bill", or your key no longer works. But last night, things
got a little out of hand.

I came back to my room and discovered that all my stuff was gone. My key
still worked, but there was no evidence that I'd ever been there.

Somewhat panicked and angry I called reception and they did their best
to track down the problem. In the mean time I did a quick inventory and
realised I was missing a few shirts and all my toiletries. You'd be
surprised how annoying this is.

They called back a few minutes later with the bad news

"Housekeeping thought you had left and threw all your stuff out"

Gone, no lost property, no note, just straight into the dumpster.

As my eyes clouded over and I was filled with visions of lurching around
town trying to find a toothbrush and a clean shirt, I spent a few minutes
at being a very irate customer

"... you don't quite get it, that was an expensive, badger fur shaving
brush your minions just absconded with, you can't just get those at the
corner pharmacy..."

And the hotel decided that it was in their best interests to replace my
items. ( and pay cash for the receipts )

But they left me with the actual exercise of getting the stuff. So about
an hour later I had surprisingly found substitutes for almost everything
and was somewhat back on track, but late for dinner.

This morning, on the way out, I left my newspaper on the bed as an 'experiment'

When I came back tonight, it was gone.

And yes, from now on, the shaving brush stays at home.

Keep the engine running...

The conversation finished like this :

"... And if you pay me cash now I can keep the car here on the street. "

Respect the valet, For they are God.

I've lost count of the number of times I've sat in a car while someone
drove around the block sixteen times looking for a parking space. It
strikes me as insane. It really does.

I just don't have the patience for it anymore. For me, a simple
transaction and a modest tip ensured that my car was taken care of. It
could be because I live in California (when I'm actually home) but I have
really come to depend on valet parking.

It is so simple. You get out of the car. Do what you need to do and get
on with your life.

Don't park - valet.

Perhaps I should get a bumper sticker...

You can't touch this.

I'm getting concerned about the number of places where I have seen
people, in the service industry, wearing latex gloves. I mostly see it
in restaurant kitchens, but it is also appearing in the corner deli, and,
on a recent flight to San Diego, on the hands of the flight
attendants.

I'm casually asking for a beverage, and the next thing I see is this
plastic wrapped hand thrusting a package of peanuts towards me.

Have we evolved so much in the last ten years they we have now developed a
sensitivity to bad food ? Or is it just one too many yahoos with a weak
immune system and a need for vengance. One fool has eaten some salsa
that's been in the sun too long and suddenly the Great Chefs of Europe are
poisoning us.


What really bothers me is that these gloves aren't really going to help.
When you look at all the culinary horror stories out there, they usually
involve things like poorly prepared rats or misplaced fingers. A latex
glove isn't going to offer much protection when you use 12 inches of
surgical steel to take the end off your left index. Sooner or later it is
still getting into the salad.

So this is more a philosophical approach to what were doing. We think
those white frocked fools can't touch the food, so we think everything is
kosher. But, and let's all just agree on this, gloves aren't stopping a
pube getting into the lobster bisque.

It is all about perceived risk.

I was in a supermarket recently and saw two things that disturbed me. The
first was that I could now buy Hand Sanitising Soap in 1 Gallon Bottles.
Apparently people are drinking this stuff. The second one was that just
near all the shopping carts was a dispenser of hand sanitiser.

At first I thought this was some sort of effort to keep all the fresh
produce clean. But after a doing a bit of research I found that there had
been a report produced that stated the dirtiest part of a supermarket was
the shopping cart. So now there was sanitiser for the users convenience.

I feel I should point out that the research was sponsored by a company
that makes soap and hand sanitiser.

Statistically, it can't be that bad. If it was : (a) we would all be dead
by how and (b) we wouldn't have survived the last thousands of years
without refrigeration.

Me ? well I'm going to go out and eat some dirt.

Put down the bag, Lady.

The Roll-Aboard.

OK, I've tried by best, I've sucked it up, I said I wouldn't do it, but
I've cracked. I really need to vent about hand luggage.

Flying standby finally did it. I was one of the last on the plane and had
do to the walk of the homeless as I tried to find somewhere, anywhere to
stash my one carry-on.

Boarding a plane late sucks. There is a reason the frequent flyers get to
board first and it isn't for the free drinks. Airlines can make rules all
they want but by the time that tin can is 50% full all the overheads are
overfilled with oversized oversuffed roll-aboards packed in a completely
inefficient way.

And this is what really irks me - I don't honestly believe that all these
people are flying for the first time. Some of them must know that their
bag doesn't fit but still they continue to bang and push and twist and
hammer and generally act in denial about what they are doing. I actually
had to sit there and watch while a flight attendant repeatedly asked "Who
owns this ?" while everyone pretended not to notice a roll-aboard the size
of a small coffin sticking out of the overhead. Sisyphus (he was the dude
with the rock) had it easy.

So I admit it, I'm a bastard when it comes to the carry-on. I'm a baggage
Nazi and proud of it. I have one carry-on. It fits over my shoulder, it
will take my laptop and is designed to fit in both 'the overhead bin' and
'underneath the seat in front of me'.

I'm also numb to the excuses of "I need all this stuff" or "It's the only
thing that holds my laptop" blah blah blah. It's all bullshit. If I can
fit a weeks worth of stuff in one bag, then everyone can. If you have
more crap than that, check the bag, sit down and shut up.

These days I just deal. I don't complain, I don't get all huffy. I know
my bag will fit under the seat, but that doesn't mean all those other
selfish bastards get to hog the overhead. I will move things around,
rearrange bags and do the unthinkable of actually rotating a roll-aboard
90 degrees so it takes less room.

Thus, being reminded again about how dumb people are, I found myself at
the back of the plane dealing with a square peg and a round hole. I had
just cleared enough space for a few more bags and was about to sit down
when it happened.

'She' came down the aisle.

She had the apprehensive look that can only spell trouble and baggage to
match. She turned at me like I'm someone who might care and said those
drop dead words :

"I Hope there is still room for this."

I looked down to see that she was lugging not just a full sized
roll-aboard but also a big honking backpack. Inside my head the voices
were screaming "WHAT PART OF THE PHRASE 'ONE PIECE OF CARRY-ON' DON'T YOU
UNDERSTAND!". But I held my tongue and took the passive aggressive
approach. I just stood there and let her deal with the problem herself.
As she struggled to lift the behemoth I noticed that it had 'HEAVY' tag on
it.

She tried for a whole 3 seconds before turning to me like I was the
hotel porter.

"I'm sorry I can't lift it"

Justice. I'm thinking of all the ways she will be punished in what I hope
is the special part of hell they reserve for these people when I harp on
an idea. I grab the bag and just shove it in the overhead. Not only will
she go away, but she will now have to endure the pain of getting it out
again and I get to be a smug bastard.

I turn to her and, fighting the urge to say something very rude, simply
say :

"You really need to get some smaller hand luggage."

A skeleton walks into a bar...

...And says "I'll have a beer, and a mop".

I have just witnessed the most amazing rain in DC. The kind of
stuff I haven't seen since the tropics. Big honking buckets that chose to
wait until I had started walking from my hotel to the bar before dumping
all over me and my silk shirts.

Fortunately the waitress took pity on my wet dog look and has been
supplying me with free margaritas and a towel to dry off. That, or she
just appreciated the big tip I left at lunch.

So, soaked to the bone and slowly getting hammered, I do my best to
recover from another abortive effort of flying through Chicago. This time
my airline cursed me by offering the most insane promotion of the summer :

"If your flight is delayed leaving Chicago, we'll give you 500 miles"

So, naturally, I was well and truly delayed. Not only do I feel I know
the layout of what is normally a transit point far too well, but this is
getting boring to the point that I'm having trouble finding the humour
anymore.

Not only was the plane delayed getting into San Jose (as usual), but we
were again delayed getting out of SJC (as usual). The Pilot was kind
enough to let us know that we were on a ground hold because of (no points
for guessing) storms in Chicago. Now, although we were assured that this
would mean that all the other flights out of Chicago would also be
delayed, they neglected, as usual, to mention that a large number of
planes would never make it to the airport at all. So it was just one big
timetable crap shoot.

Making up a surprising amount of time, We landed in time to discover that
my connection was delayed indefinitely - Mechanical issues it seems.

As the weather cleared and everyone else took off, we stood around
for two hours waiting for our drop dead time. Eventually they gave up
screwing around with duct tape and found us another plane.

But by this time we were so hopelessly late that I arrived in DC
at 2 am with no rental car and no taxis. I had to go back the next
morning and get my ride.

Then, well, it was just work, rain and margaritas.

At some point I'm going to have to seriously wake up and consider using a
different airport that gets me direct flights. The trouble is that I'm
never given enough notice the plan my flights so I can never get seats on
a direct.

Ironically, on this particular return journey I actually HAD to stay in
Chicago for a few days. Coming through security there I was relieved to
hear that there would be major disruptions because of storms.

Waiter, this wine is corked

Calistoga. I've been here 2 days and already I'm a wine snob. In fact everyone here is a wine snob. I can't spit around the restaurant here without hearing someone say things like

“Can I get something with more oak ?”

“This is very dry”

“Yes, that would be a good season for the pinot”

Who are we fooling. Just because we have all spent the last few hours bouncing between wineries trying to grasp the finer differences between zinfandel and syrah doesn't make us an instant wine expert. Two weeks from now we will all be back at the supermarket buying five dollar bottles of no-name brand wine and convincing ourseleves that is “better than any of that overpriced crap you get in Napa”

Sigh. When in rome.

So instead of admiting out weaknesses, we feel overwhelmed by the wine lists in these places (which are very good, by the way) and hide our inadequaecy by doing dumb things like sniffing the cork, tasting things twice and pretending like we actually know what we are doing. In my case, I had to send back the wine.

I'm my own defence, I did get stuck with the dumbest barman in town. The dead giveway was when someone started a tab.

The guy handed the barman his credit card :

“Start a tab please.”

“And what name is that in ?”

“The name on the card perhaps ?”

“Oh”

I was victim to his style when I ordered said glass of wine. After tasting something nice, I ordered a glass of it. So he pours me the glass, I take a mouthfull, and it tastes completey different. It tastes bad, odd. It is just not the same.

Suddenly I'm torn. I mean , I know that this is not the same wine, but have my two days here suddenly turned me into a stupid wine expert. But I have to know. This wine is different and I need to know if it is the glass, the bottle, or just me smoking crack.

I consider doing nothing and dealing with it, but the glass I have is terrible, so I have to ask.

“Um, are you sure this is the same wine ?”

He just shrugs. “Yes”

“Really sure ? Perhaps this glass wasn't washed properly ?”

“I'm sure it was, but how about I just pour you another glass”

So he reaches into the fridge and pulls out a completely different bottle. I point this out to him.

“Oh, then I gave you a glass of the Pinot grigio”

At that point we are both exonerated. He screwed up and I can't tell when I've been given a completely different glass of wine

La dolche vita.

Wl spl 4 k'pad

What is with this whole 'wr R. U' crap that my friends keep sending me on
my phone ?

Some sort of revolution has occurred and it seems that people are actually
aware that their phone is capable of more than just telling them they have
voicemail. But now I have to endure messages in a half baked language
that reflects the fact that we can only type with our thumbs.

None of us are 13 anymore and, frankly, it's embarrasing.

I'm not even buying the "texting is NU" horseshit. It's not my fault the
USA finally woke up and discovered GSM. That makes it even worse, now you
have no excuses. Even if it is on a paris hilton signature edition
sidekick. You have a full keyboard, Use it.

If this was 10 years ago and we all had Motorolas the size of a briefcase
I might look the other way. But his is the 21st century and we've had
years of reasearch in to making a keypad as useful as a keyboard.

If I can write this blog on my mobile phone,
the rest of you can catch up.

C U LTr

Apparently, manhattan has art

I'm in Manhattan for 3 days and it is just one gallery opening after the
next.

The trouble is that I kinda dislike most of it and I'm not sure how to
react. There's the occasional snippet that will attract my interest, but
a lot of the stuff just doesn't grab me. It isn't interesting. I'll rip
through most places in the first five minutes looking for something I
like.

Now I don't know why people get all bothered by not liking all art.
Especially in this town. You just have to look around at the diversity of
cultures to realise that not everything is going to be to everyones
taste.

So why should art be any different.

My theory is that its just a plan to distract the art critics and keep
the safely off the streets. If we were all just ok with our opinions they
might have to get real jobs with the rest of us.

Instead they are banging away telling us what to think and I'm trying to
make sense of an exhibition of works by people who are famous, but not
for their art. And it mostly shows.

I'm still not sure what to make from the placing of a photo by rudy
guiliani next to a painting by congo the chimp. But I know I should be
concerned by stars whose only contribution is a self portrait.

Sometime later, fueled with alcohol, I pour myself into a cab and head
back to my hotel which is an artform all to its own. Like most hotels
you'll either love it or hate it. I think mine is working on the niche
"18 to 30 all style, no substance" market. But, despite the
velvet rope and bouncers at the bar, I'm a guest here and I know where
the pool table is hidden.

Maybe I can find an art critic who wants to play a few games.

Did I mention the Rum ?

Pirates log :

9:00 am  - Shiver me timbers
10:00 am  - Drink Rum
11:00 am  - Swash me buckle
12:00 am  - Drink Rum
1:00 pm  - Force Scurvy dogs off plank
2:00 pm  - Drink Rum
3:00 pm  - Bury Treasure
4:00 pm  - Drink Rum
5:00 pm  - Avast me hearties
6:00 pm  - Drink Rum
7:00 pm  - Try to remember where
          treasure is buried
8:00 pm  - DRINK RUM

Last time I checked it was more than 30 degrees (Celsius) in the shade and
just standing around made you break out in a sweat. Very few people are
actually on the beach here. Instead they are all out where the water is
about five feet deep and standing with just their heads above the waves.

So I'm not sure how the British Navy ever survived out here, all those
wool uniforms and ruffles and stockings. You'd die of heat exhaustion in
about 10 minutes. I'm guessing that's where the rum comes into play.
Being drunk or hangover gives you other things to worry about.

In my case it was the three days of the music festival with, you guessed
it, more reggae. The music wasn't the problem as much as the fact that it
was constant and loud from lunchtime until 2am. Oh, and the hotel room
was right behind the stage. The best workaround was to get so hammered
that you just eventually passed out and hope you left the air-conditioner
on.

So I've been alternating between finding places to swim and places to
drink, and thus I'm now well informed about all the bars in a 10 mile
radius (which is most of the island).

For The curious, they can all mostly fit into the same review of "Offered
variations of rum cocktails in a decor inspired by driftwood shacks and
beer promoters". The one exception to this was a bar at the end of a dirt
track on the edge of the island (and thus didn't get many tourists). It
had the best cocktail collection around and offered ambient and trip hop
instead of reggae.

Of course it also suffered from not being walking distance to anywhere.
But that was a minor price to pay when you realise that it also was too
far away for the cruise ship jetsam to find.

The peace and quiet only lasted for so long before, on the last day
fortunately, the beach was overrun with tourists from the dark side again.
One minute there were about ten of as and a few stray dogs. The next it
was all bahama shorts and too much skin that should never see the light of
day.

It was time to get out when some yahoo completely ignored the rest of us
in the shop and demanded immediate service, even after the shopkeeper
explained that hew was out of stock of the required item.

On the way back the plane was delayed getting into Chicago.

No, I don't care who shot the Sheriff.

For the record: I am sick of reggae music.

(and Eric Clapton for that matter) It all sounds the same to me. And I'm
not just being a music snob here, it really does sound the same. I know
this because the the guy who is renting me my deckchair has been playing
the same damn song on repeat all day. The one CD, the one long song, the
repeat button.

And this is not an isolated case, every beach bar has their one CD, and
they keep them all on repeat. It is worse than Christmas shopping. If I
hear one more person waxing lyrical about "his brothers" I'm going to have
to kill someone. What I don't know is if this is revenge on the tourists, or
just a scam the get people like me to give them money to turn the music
off. ( I considered this option more than once ). I figure it can't be a
revenge plan because the locals have to endure it as much as we do. Or at
least I hope that's the case.

Then again, it could just be the whole "Things aren't quite right
here, but that's the way we like it" setup they have going on.

Renting a car is, for example, an experience. The car I have must be very
old. I say this because it has 30,000 miles on it and in the last 2 days
I've added about 10 miles to the clock and won't need to refill the gas
tank when i return it. When i was collecting the car the guy had only 1
word of advice 'use first gear'. He was right. If you just leave the
thing in 1st all the time you get the joy of Caribbean cruise control.
It's like being at Disneyland, you just turn the engine on, get in and
steer.

But after two days of driving around in the heat I'd decided that I had
enough of avoiding dogs, chickens, goats, garbage and young children and
needed to get back to the beach for some serious drinking. I also was a
bit worried by the fact the local boat rental guy had five boats in the
water but at least ten rotting away up on blocks in a back street.

Either way it is probably a gentle reminder that you don't want to stray
too far from the beach, you might see the ugly underside of your tourist
bliss.

Besides it is still too hot to do anything useful. A few bars down I
can get "Mikes Hard Lemonade" for $1.

A bottle of water will cost me $1.50.

Ditch your laptop.

I just found out that I can post to this page directly from my
mobile phone.

Great, now I have no excuses. Before I had to wait until I had an hour or
two to focus and get some of this down in writing. Now this page is
going to be riddled with random missives everytime something curls my
interest.

I'm just lucky my phone doesn't have a camera.

Please settle your tab at the end of the week

Jost Van Dyke, I'm still here

I've been drinking at a place called something like "Ivan's stress free
bar". According to a regular, this place started out 15 years ago as a
guy with a cooler, and now it is a ramshackle collection of driftwood and
shells with at least 2 working fridges. In this place, that's significant
progress.

However, what keeps me coming back to this establishment is not the
decor but their method of service, or more correctly the complete absence
of it. Most of the time there isn't even a bartender. Instead there is a
book and a simple process :

You make your own drink
You write it in the book
When you leave you add it up yourself and pay what you owe.

It is deceptively simple. You can't blame anyone else if the drinks are
bad, you can't complain about the rate of service and you can't really
skip out on the bill. You see, you're kinda stuck on this island. There
is not really that much to it and there is not that far you can go.
Everyone basicly knows everyone else so if you cause trouble you won't
last that long. Instead you do your best not to overdose on alcohol and
just enjoy what you have.

At one point, while I was mixing something deadly involving rum and an
unknown fruit juice, I noticed that there was a 'TIP' jar at the end of the
bar. This didn't make much sense since I couldn't see the point in leaving
myself a tip, but there wasn't anything else you could call it. If you
named it the 'Building Improvement Fund' I don't think it would attract
any more attention. Perhaps they should have just left it there with a
note

"Help keep things the way they are"

Or perhaps it should have said "Help keep away the cruises".

No matter how cool they look in the advertisements, you do not want to go
near a cruise. We had one invade the island during the week and it was
not a pretty event.

One minute it was a quiet morning of rum and skittles, the next we're
being invaded by a stream of fat suburbanites with nothing better to do
than sing too loudly, yell too loudly and generally cause a nuisance for
themselves. And this was one of the small ships. It was a nice
four-masted, wooden decked, sailing number that probably tries to attract
the hippies by putting ads in the outdoor magazines. The thought of being
stuck on a boat with them for seven days makes my skin crawl.

It was perhaps good that this happened on the last day and I was able to
use it as an excuse to get out of dodge before everything went to crap.

To put me in my place I was given the royal treatment on the way to the
ferry. The taxi was not only late because the driver fell asleep, but the
doors were held closed with old seat belts (probably from the drivers
seat) he dodn't go faster than about 10 miles an hour and he took pains to
stop along the way and have a chat with some friends. Meanwhile I'm in
the back sweating about missing the last ferry for the day.

The taxi got to the dock with 15 minutes to spare.

I wouldn't want to change a thing.

"Is it hot, or is it Just me ?"

Jost Van Dyke, The British Virgin Islands.

Should you ever end up here, as I have, you only really need to remember
one thing - what you want for dinner.

You see, you not only have to make all evening reservations before 4pm but
you also have to select what you want from the menu as well. Given that I
was on an island with a population of about 200 and there is little to do
here but sleep, swim, drink and eat, this initially struck me as far too
stressful a decision to make so early in the day.

But it didn't take long to realise that this is not weird behavior by the
locals but a clever design driven by selfish laziness. If no-one makes a
reservation, the restaurant doesn't open and the local can all go do
something else. It actually makes a lot of sense. I'd rather know that I
have a free evening earlier in the day, then finding out half way into the
night.

As to the problem of choosing from the menu, well you'll just have to
trust me when I say that any combination of BBQ chicken, Ribs, fish or
lobster is going to be ideal. And make sure that you get lots of BBQ
Corn.

So, plan your meals. Oh, and get bug spray. The really good stuff, make
sure it has lots of DEET. The insects here show no mercy. Not only are
the flies and mosquitos a force to be reckoned with, but there are these
insatiable sand fleas that, unfortunately, make it almost impossible to
sit on the sand after dark.

So don't say I didn't warn you. Oh, and did I mention the heat ? Or the
humidity ? It is really, really hot here. I'm not sure how hot because
no-one had a thermometer, so I never sound out (I think this was
deliberate to avoid putting the tourists in shock). But it is really hot.
The only way to deal with it is to go as deep into the water as possible
and just stand there with a cold drink.

So, yes. I'm stuck on an island wasting away my time with nothing to do
but drink rum, read a book and go for the occasional long swim.

I couldn't be happier.

"Don't ask about my divorce"

I'm at a payphone in Philadelphia. The person at the other end, who does
not want me to know about her divorce, is Gina. I only know this because
I happened to be walking past the payphone when it rang.

I wasn't going to answer it, but someone else on the street also gave the
phone a second glance, so my competitive side got the better of me. That,
and it had already been a strange night.

I started in the hotel bar where I was doing my best to explain, without
much success, to the waitress the difference between a "Vodka, Lime and
Soda" , and a "Vodka tonic". As a result, the whole exchange tweaked the
interest of the person next to me and I thus met Anna, who was from
Brazil, I think.

I don't recall a lot about her, not because the conversation wasn't
interesting, but because of what happened about 20 minutes later. You see,
she was waiting at the bar to meet a friend from work - Mike or someone
like that. Mike worked in a remote office and was staying at the hotel.

So Mike showed up after a while, and we made the usual polite conversation
that strangers are forced to do. But eventually Anna and Mike had to go
off to their next appointment. So they did. They said good bye, crossed
the lobby, got into an elevator and went, presumably, straight back to
Mike's room. From the on the night only got stranger.

Looking for somewhere to eat I later found myself at some South
American-Cuban fusion bar offering mojitos and ceviche. I ended up
staying there longer than I expected because the kids at the end of the
bar were having the an incredibly interesting, and not very quiet,
conversation about their whole on-again/off-again relationship. The
bartender and I were taking turns to keep them plied with alcohol just so
we could get more dirt.

However they eventually had to go home, or find a hotel room, I'm not sure
which. So I paid up and went for a walk. I vaguely recall passing a a
jazz bar in the theatre district where Lou Rawls was playing, but I can't
be sure because that's also around the time I walked past the payphone.

Gina had called me, or, more correctly, the number for the phone. Now she
sounded like a Heavy Chain smoker, or a Drag Queen, or both and before I
could get a word in beyond "Hello ?" She started asking me a few too many
personal questions. "How tall are you?", "How old are you?", "What do you
weigh ?". and then the drop dead question :

"Are you well hung ?"

"Um, What ? " I asked.

She replied with another question..

"Will you tell me to rub my bits ?"

Paydirt - I'd hit on a mis-dialed phone sex callback. So with nothing
better to do I decided to mess with the protocol and started asking her
all the same questions. I'd got as far as finding out basic personal
statistics, the fact that she lived with her cousin, and her general
mental welfare before the conversation came around to her divorce.

As soon as I asked her about that she hung up on me. I guess I hit
a sore spot.

The night was still early, so I found another bar that was playing hip hop bar
with a live percussion act.

Who says Philly is dull ?

"I hope you realise this is Your Fault"

The passenger sitting next to me just picked up his mobile phone and had
the following conversation :

"Tom, I'm in still stuck in Boston, and it is all your fault"

"Well, apparently there are thunderstorms in Chicago, or storms near
Chicago. Or somewhere within 3000 miles of Chicago there is a
thunderstorm and, as you know, this has a tendency to cause
problems..."

Never fly at the last minute, The tickets are expensive and you can never
get the good routes. So I'm stuck here, where we've been sitting for the
for the last 3 hours, waiting for the rain to stop. All this because my
route takes me through Chicago.

Now, while this incident was just the usual a case of (a) me getting to the airport to find that all my flights had been delayed, (b) all the flights on alternate routes were booked out and, (c) I had to play the shell game of picking a flight that might actually leave tonight, You have to consider the bigger picture :
my last 3 days of travel were like this.

On my way to the east coast I was also routed through Chicago. Of my 3
nights away I have managed to spend 2 of them in Chicago airport hotels.

Simply trying to get out of San Jose turned out to be a problem when I
discovered that my airline has an inability to realise what 'special
assistance' means and decided to board the 2 wheel-chairs last. At a gate
that had no jet-way.

So we were entertained for the first few minutes as we watched a very
chipper young man crawl around on his knees and very slowly prepare his
wheelchair for flight. But after about 20 minutes, when he was finally cranked
up the stairs and we took off 45 minutes late most of us had lost our
sense of humour.

When the pilot got on the horn and explained that there were 'headwinds' it became abundantly clear that I was not going to make my connection - the last for the day. So we bombed into Chicago during in that terrible limbo period where I had about 20 minutes to get to my connection but had to endure the longest taxi ever and then discovered that my connection was at the furthest gate possible. Despite what anyone may tell you :

NEVER RUN FOR YOUR CONNECTION

You won't make it, you never will, the airline already gave up on you,
sold your seat and closed the doors way before you ever landed.

When I did finally reach the gate I had to wait for a pair of sweaty and
wheezing customers take great pains to explain to the agent how it was
"their fault" and the "airline was hopeless" and generally do everything
possible to try an make someone (who did not cause the delay) feel they
had to do something (which they could not do) to get them on a plane (that
had already left)

I merely showed the agent my worthless boarding pass, and he apologised
and gave me a free hotel room for the night. Sitting in the hotel bar
making phone calls I watched as the rest of the people on my flight slowly
trickled in.

So, Thinking that I'd done my time already, I really wasn't mentally prepared for the failures of the return journey.

We probably spent about 3 hours sitting at the gate, and another hour or
more at the end of the runway waiting for the green light to get the hell
out of dodge. Every time we seemed close the pilot would offer another
snippet of Chicago weather

"..Apparently that storm left the airport, but now it is in our fight
path.."

"...There is now a second storm at Chicago..."

"...Golf ball sized hail stones..."

I was wondering where they were getting all this useful information before
they opened the cockpit door and I saw one pilot showing another the
latest weather.com map on his TREO. Technology, gotta love it.

When we did finally land, 5 hours late, the airport was so closed there weren't even agents to even handle re-bookings. There was just a very tired manager at the customer service centre handing out a 1-800 number for hotels, knowing full well that everything was booked. I also realise, in hindsight, that she failed to mention that the arrivals area was in chaos and there was a 45 minute wait for a taxi.

I had spent so much time in transit I had killed the battery on my mobile, my iPod and most of my laptop, so I had to scrounge for change and a payphone to find a hotel. Luckily (thanks to a corporate travel 24 hour number) I found one and legged it over to the international terminal where the cab line was much shorter.

Sometime later (i think it was 2 am) I crashed in my hotel room, left a few voicemails for people and failed completely to charge either my laptop or my phone - it seems the power outlet was connected to the light switch.

As I write this I have less than 5% left.

Next time, I'm booking in advance and getting a direct flight.

The joy of disk images

I've recently become an addict to MACOSX disk images.

We've all seen and felt disk images, those .dmg files that most software
comes as, but until I started playing around with them I didn't realise
how powerful they were. It all started with trying to burn an ISO format
CD and has degenerated to using images to backup data to my IPOD.

Allow me to explain.

I had downloaded a Linux distro for a friend and wanted to burn it to a
CD. So doing what I thought was the right thing I tried to drag the ISO
image into a blank CD (that I'd just inserted into the CD drive). But, to
my surprise, I got a "This is too big to fit" error.

So I tried the next most obvious thing: I double clicked on the ISO
image. Now, instead of bringing up some sort of CD burning tool,

MACOSX MOUNTED THE ISO IMAGE AS A DISK !.

I was able to browse the filesystem, look at the contents of the ISO and
generally treat it like a mounted file system.

Not being a virgin to things like loopfs I wasn't really shocked, but I
had to dig into how far apple had gone with automounting image files.
After a fair amount of googling I learnt learnt a lot of scary stuff
about disk images.

So what ? Well, what we're talking about is a REAL FILESYSTEM that can
live anywhere, In any format you like. Just like tarballs, all the
permissions and other stuff are stored in the image. But unlike a tarball
you can add and delete data by mounting the image and using normal
commands like 'cp' and 'mv'

I also found that the tool I really needed was the "Disk Utility" (you can
find it in the Utilities folder). This is the motherlode of all things
image wise and it has a CLI. From here you can burn images to CD, create
images and do all sorts of other neat things...

If you want to burn and ISO image you just DRAG the ISO into the pane on
the left and select 'Burn'. This almost makes sense.

But you can also create disk images (those .dmg files). Select
'Images->new->Blank Image...' And you can create a .dmg in any size and
format you want. From then on you can mount that image and add stuff into
it.

If you already have some files, you can create a custom sized image.
Select 'Images->new->Image from Folder...' And you'll have .dmg of that
data. Packaging made simple.

Trust me, it gets better.

Digging further I found that "Disk Utility" has a command line version
that is more powerful, its called "hdiutil" (man hdiutil) and has the all
important 'SPARSE' feature. A SPARSE image is a disk image that only uses
up as much disk space as the contents, not the actual size of the disk.
So you can create a 4GB disk image, but if there is nothing in it, it will
be a lot smaller (like ~10Mb).

You can try this yourself, want a journalled HFS+ filesystem ?

hdiutil create -type SPARSE -size 4g -fs HFS+J ~/Desktop/tmp.dmg

Then mount the file that gets created on your desktop (tmp.dmg.sparseimage)

So now we're really getting somewhere. For me this is very useful because
my IPOD is windows format,

This is a deliberate choice because it means I can mount the disk anywhere
and get at the data, but VFAT doesn't really handle permissions very
well. As I have some data that will really only work on a MAC and I'd
like to keep its permissions. Solution : create a sparse disk image on
the IPOD and copy the files into that. I can also use things like rsync
to keep the data up to date with the originals (this is a tad harder with
'tar')

What about encryption ?

Well, it is probably a good idea to encrypt your whole disk, but
something about that concept scares me - do I really want to boot from an
encrypted kernel ? Instead, I can just keep some of my data on an
encrypted disk image:

  hdiutil create -encryption -size 50m e.dmg -fs HFS+J

I can mount it when I need to, and just leave it sitting there when I
don't.

The list of features is really endless, but I'll finish the way I started,
with that ISO image. It turns out I CAN burn a CD from the commandline :

  hdiutil burn myImage.iso 

Oh, and I enjoyed this snippet from the hdiutil manpage :

    Image from folder (new-style):
          hdiutil create -srcfolder mydir mydir.dmg

    Image from folder (10.1-style; of historical interest):
          du -s myFolder             # du(1) will count resource forks
          10542
          hdiutil create -sectors 10642 folder     # add ~1% for filesytem
          hdid -nomount folder.dmg
          ...
          /dev/disk1s2            Apple_HFS
          newfs_hfs -v myFolderImage /dev/rdisk1s2
          hdiutil detach disk1
          hdid folder.dmg
          ...
          /dev/disk1s2            Apple_HFS /Volumes/myFolderImage
          sudo mount -u -t hfs -o perm /dev/disk1s2 /Volumes/myFolderImage
          # optionally enable owners; sudo unneeded if manually mounted

          ditto -rsrcFork myFolder /Volumes/myFolderImage
          hdiutil detach disk1s2               # when you are all done
          hdiutil convert -format UDZO -o folder.z.dmg folder.dmg # compress

"Will give up seat for voltage"

We are all just shameless power whores. I've been wandering around the
terminal for the last 10 mins trying to find a seat near a power outlet so
I can charge my laptop.

When it comes to laptop power we have no shame. we will unplug fax
machines, disconnect illuminated signs, and sit down on the floor just to
get to the precious juice. I think that we'd give our left nut for
wireless laptop power even when you see the irony that the radiation would
eventually fry our nads.

And while I'm on the subject of whoring I think it is worth discussing
those poor junkies (myself included) who will rack up frequent flyer miles
just to get upgrades. Really, this makes no sense. We will willingly sit
for long periods of time inside these tin cans just so that we don't have
to sit at the back of the plane. However, for those of us who don't have
a choice in the matter, we suck it up and become upgrade whores. We lurk
on the empty flights, fly at times that give us the best opportunity and
have no problem bumping some poor sap with lower mileage credit just so we
can get the free drinks and the bigger seat.

What really sucks is the demographic of my peers. Flying First class in
United is some sort of bizzare mens club. It seems to be the domain of
the male over 35 set, at least it is on the routes I take.

This fight is no exception. There are 24 seats in first, we're full, and
there are only 2 women in this section. One is 80+ and flying with her
grandson and the other looks is 55+ and either retired or has just been
in the biz a long time. While flying to Chicago the other week, someone
had turned up the stereotype dial and the only female on board was toting
a fur coat, heels, and a custom chrry red Powerbook. (she also spent more
time doing email that I did and was reading 'Semiconductor Weekly'). I
don't know where they find these people. I feel obligated to wear my
grungiest city clothes and a five o'clock shadow whenever I get on board
these days.

But why so many males ? Not that I'm asking for this to be some sort of
"Meet the Chicks" club, but it just plain bizzare. It makes you ask all
sorts of pertinent questions like

"Is the business world this male biased, and there just aren't
that many women who get to fly first class ?"

Or is it something more benign like that they don't want to fly in first
because, frankly, it is a scary boring mens club.

I'd go with either answer, but it is still a poor reflection of society.

I'll have mine with salsa

I recommend listening to salsa music while watching the crows gather
around the gate. they are all have that expectant look on their faces
like the poor saps at the edge of the dance floor waiting for someone to
ask them to dance. As soon as the gate opens it gets even better - find a
good Tito Puente number and imagine them in a large conga line on their
way to the seats. Perfection.

It is the weekend before Presidents Day and I'm in Chicago. Things are
not going well. They switched gates on me while I was in the terminal so
I've just shlepped my arse half way across the world to have to turn
around again.

We are delayed about an hour waiting for our plane and the crowds are getting
restless. There is stil no aircraft at the gate. Just before boarding
time a jet finally decides to roll in and unloads some other poor saps
who are also late. My Blackberry permanently thinks it has voicemail and
I can't get any calls out.

Finally they open the flood gates and let us roll onto the plans with 5
mins to go before our scheduled departure. Fat chance we're ever getting
out of here. Every yahoo and his mother has decided the haul in about 3
pieces of carry on and they are, of course, all roll-aboards.

A friend of mine has a sewing machine. I know this because I asked him
about it one day and he told me that after his divorce he decided to
follow a bedouin tradition and only take what you could fit on a camel.
"A sewing machine fits on a camel" He said. I think that is an excellent
policy - You can only carry into the aircraft what will fit on a camel.

Averting my eyes from the circus I look out of the window to see a
tow-truck pull up to the plane and talk to the guy driving the luggage
conveyor. This can't be good. Oh and there is a maintenance guys in the
cockpit. We're never getting out of here

Google Maps

Google maps is potentially the greatest thing to kick the arse of mapquest. It has one of the cleanest interfaces as well as being fast and efficient. Someone really thought about this and realised that re-drawing a web-page everytime you wanted to zoom, pan or scan was, well, just plain dumb.

Of course, we had to put it to the test and see if it would tell us where to get crack in San Francisco.

Stuck in Newark

I should have realised things were going to be bad when I met friends at
the MOMA for an experience of 'performance art' that was so bad we had to
go out drinking for a long time to recover from it.

So I got up yesterday morning with a hangover.

Even though there was a storm warning for that night, I had to go to the
customer and fulfill my duties rather than cut and run. I was officially
expected to be there from 10am to Midday, or later if there were problems.

I also got paged in the morning telling me that my flight was canceled
and I was rebooked on another one at 5pm, so there seemed no need to
panic. I had to assume that they canceled flights in anticipation of
running a reduced capacity airport and runways.

At this point is is best to chronicle the incidents by timestamp (which I
did, by mining my mobile phone logs)

9:15 Staggered into starbucks for coffee.

9:30 Trundled down the the PATH to find that all the trains were
     delayed because of the cold.  It seemed pointless to wait
     another 20 mins.

9:35 Walked the mile in below freezing temperatures to their office

9:45 Get to office, My palm has died, I don't have the phone number
     I have to call Charlie and get it from him.

10:00 We begin the cutover.

11:40 Watched as the snow came in at midday and painted the carpark white

12:00 There are problems with forwarding mail, mail used to be handled by
      the old DNS server, we have to hang around.

12:30 Watched some more as the carpark got whiter.

12:43 Get paged, EWR to DEN canceled, re-booked on EWR to ORD at 5:20

1:20 Tried to call airline, couldn't get through, even in the premium lines,
     Tried to call again many times during the day, realiesd in horror
     as I was sucking through my only battery charge.

2:00 Get paged, EWR to ORD leaving on time

2:30 Finally cut my losses and headed for the airport
     The trip should normally take about 40 mins, so
     I was giving myself some lead time.

2:32 There was no hope of getting a cab, and the roads were humped anyway,
     Headed to PATH Train

2:40 get to PATH, trains delayed, but run every 15 mins

2:58 PATH train arrives

3:10 Get paged, EWR to ORD canceled, told to call reservations
     All lines busy, mobile battery getting flatter.

3:19 Get paged, Flight changed, told to call reservation
     I assume they have re-booked me
     All lines busy, mobile battery getting flatter.

     Getting to the airport is my only hope of finding someone who
     can get me on a plane out of here.

3:20 Get to Newark Penn station, trains to airport are delayed

3:40 train leaves Penn Station for EWR

3:45 Arrive at monorail interchange, get in monorail car

3:49 Doors to monorail are closed, train isn't moving, I can't get out.

4:10 Get out of Monorail after going nowhere, All Monorail
     Trains are now out of service. As this is the airport interchange
     there is no where to go and no taxi stand.

4:20 Indicator board says all United flights are canceled
     Continental still have lots of flights but none to
     the West Coast.

4:30 Busses are being sent, we are herded down a fire exit to the Ground.

4:31 We are stopped in the stairwell. The buses aren't here yet.

4:55 the Buses finally arrive,
     Mad panic as we all try to get on the first bus
     We have been stuck here for an hour

4:59 The bus is stopped at a gate that won't open, the driver finally
     rams it, cheers are heard from the back of the bus.

5:10 Arrive at terminal to find the United desks closed and empty.
     I use the easy checkin phone to find an agent and after much
     negotiation she has me on standby for flights tomorrow
     and standby for an America West flight in at 6pm

5:20 Get to AM West desk to discover that my flight is canceled

5:22 There are staff at the united desk, I need them to yank my ticket
     Back from AM West. Agent does that but says I have no standby
     I have to come back tomorrow, I was lied to by the first agent.

     I'm also told that no fights have left the airport since midday,
     and there won't be any until about 2-3pm tomorrow

5:31 Call Airport Marriott
     After organising a room, tne clerk asks me for my Hilton #.
     WTF ? I've been transferred to the Airport Hilton.

5:33 Decide to WALK across the airport to the Marriott to demand a room
     But step outside to realise that it is snowing so much I can't see
     the damn building (and I know it is only 100M away).  A gust of wind
     clears the falling snow and I see the lights of the hotel.  I take a
     bearing off the control tower and start walking.

     About 1/2 way there my shoes are filled with show, it is below
     freezing and I realise that this is a really bad idea. I suddenly
     visualise them finding my cold dead body in spring after the
     snowdrifts have thawed.

5:41 Get to Marriott, they have rooms ( I don't believe it ) and the
     room rate is only $119 !

5:49 I'm in the hotel room, start calling family.

IRONY :

5:52 Get paged, ORD to SJC leaving on time (fokkers)