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.